#i may have drawn him looking older than that

[tblsomedoodles]

Donnieverse Part 3 (B/c i guess we're going all out now lol)

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This. This is the main reason why i wanted Webs to meet F!Webs. B/c i wanted F!Webs to see his past self, with all his limbs, and think "this kid barely has two years before he looses them" only to find out it's never going to happen b/c of time shenanigans. Because besides Raph's death, that incident was the most traumatic thing he went through. Knowing this kid will never have to go through it, was a relief.

Anyways! that is all. More shenanigans next week. I think i have maybe two or three more parts to this stop, and then on to the next!

#tmnt #rottmnt #my doodles #donnieverse #apocalypse timeline #rise donnatello #like five of them rn #four teens and a 27 yo #i may have drawn him looking older than that #but hey #if mikey can look like he's 80 while he's in his thirties #donnie can have some wrinkles in his twenties lol #the apocalypse ages people #he's under a lot of stress #and not exactly sleeping much #(though i'm pretty sure i say that about all the donnies) #(someone make that dude sleep!)

[vivwritescrappythings]

Saying Thanks

Joel Miller x afab!fem!reader

Joel is your grumpy patrol partner who doesn’t even talk to you in the streets of Jackson. But one night a man grabs your arm at the Tipsy Bison, and Joel’s decided he doesn’t like it.

tw: smut, fem reader, afab reader, unspecified age gap, reader is smaller than Joel (shorter, can be picked up by him), oral (m! receiving), p in v sex, crying, fighting, blood, drinking, Joel may be out of character but I don’t care, not proofread.

Word count: 8.1k

minors, fuck off

masterlist

—

Joel was seething. You’d never seen him like this, rage burning in his gaze and his hands balled into fists at his sides as he was pushed toward the door. Of course you’d seen him in fights before, dealing with raiders and infected on patrol was a bloody business at best, but the second the new guy, Jake? Jack, at the Tipsy Bison put a hand on you—just touching your arm—Joel exploded.

You didn’t even have time to blink before the man grabbing your arm was on the ground, ugly bruises blossoming on his face. You didn’t even launch into action to get Joel off of him, shock leaving you frozen. You only remained plastered against the bar, gaping at Joel’s savage expression and the way his fists bludgeoned Jack's face. The drink in your hand spilled over the sides a bit, a sticky combination of fruit juice and alcohol coating your skin and absorbing in the sleeve of your sweater.

You were already tipsy, your face hot and your eyes a bit glassy. You were more loose with your expressions, the careful filter you kept starting to deteriorate. By the time a bar fight broke out, you were already more than a few drinks in, your heart pounding in your chest along with the soft music and a thin layer of sweat starting to prickle at the back of your neck.

Joel had stayed quiet that night, sticking to the secluded booth in the back of the bar that he usually haunted. There was no acknowledgement of each other, his chocolate-colored eyes had landed on you for a moment when you walked in, shadowed over by his dark brow in its permanent scowl. As always, he didn’t speak to you despite the fact that you spent most mornings together patrolling the outskirts of Jackson.

He wasn’t your biggest fan, even going so far as to complain to his brother when the two of you had been assigned together. Tommy was giving you a shot on the patrol, you were newer to Jackson and needed a job. You could handle a gun and didn’t seem completely clueless, so he figured he would stick you with Joel to see if you made it out on the other side.

But, nevertheless, Joel was now being pulled off Jack by a few other patrons. They hauled him up by the collar of his canvas jacket, his knuckles bloodied and a snarl on his face as Jack scrambled away. You still stood wide-eyed and dopey, your voice caught in your throat as you struggled for something to say.

Joel wouldn’t look at you, eyes drilling into Jack as he was shoved toward the door. He kept hissing threats through his teeth, snippets of ‘I’ll break your fucking arm if you ever touch her again,’ audible above the music as he grappled with the men trying to contain him.

Your gaze traced the outline of his aquiline nose, the way his lips were pursed beneath his dark mustache. It was a struggle to push him out the door. You flinched when it slammed shut behind him, spilling more of your drink.

“You better get your damn dog on a leash.” It was one of the older women in the neighborhood, her brows drawn and a disgusted expression on her face as she regarded you. You finally snapped out of your shocked stupor, looking at Jack’s bloodied and swollen face as he was picked up and put into a booth.

What was Joel even thinking?

You downed your drink in a few gulps, setting the empty glass on the bar before pushing yourself away from the bar top. Wind swept inside the Tipsy Bison as you forced the door open, providing a moment of relief from the humid heat of the bar. It was starting to get cold out, dried leaves swirling in the breeze as autumn settled into the bones of Jackson.

You shivered, wrapping your arms around yourself as you peered out into the darkness. The leaves crunched under your shoes as you took a few tentative steps, the sweater you wore offering you little protection from the wind.

Joel leaned against the wall of a nearby business, his head tilted back and his throat bared to the dim light of the moon. He was sucking in deep breaths through his mouth, his bloody knuckles limp at his sides. His jacket was off-kilter from where he’d been thrown out the door, his hair mussed.

“Joel?” You approached him like you would a wild animal, on high alert and prepared for any sudden movement.

He looked at you with a bored expression, the moonlight catching on the silver hair that splintered at his temples and in his patchy beard. You hesitated, stopping your approach for a moment before pressing on until you were a few feet in front of him. His dark curls stuck up in every direction, they were a little long now that winter was approaching.

“What the hell was that?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest as your weight settled so one hip popped out to the side. You sounded more aggressive than you intended to, the words coming out like an accusation rather than a question.

It was times like this that made the age and size difference between you and Joel apparent. He stood up straight, towering over you a bit as he cleared his throat. Sometimes he made you feel like you were still just a dumb teenager instead of a woman in her mid twenties. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, his voice a deep grumble with a slight southern twang to it.

A scoff leaves your mouth before you can even stop it, the alcohol reducing your filter to near non-existence. “What do you mean, Joel? I watched you beat the shit out of that guy for what? Touching my arm?” You were a little too loud, your voice ricocheting off the buildings around you. Under different circumstances, you would have cringed and apologized immediately, but something forced you to soldier on.

Thankfully no one else was outside that night—it was too cold and still too early for the Tipsy Bison to have a last call. It felt like a standoff. His dark eyes were trained on your face, his mouth drawn into a scowl. You usually backed down to him, acquiescing to his stubborn nature.

“And so what if it was?” Joel grumbled, his attitude matching your own. The way he crossed his arms made his biceps bulge under the fabric of his jacket—your breath hitched for a moment before you glanced away.

You shook your head, disbelief coloring your expression as his words settled in. “You don’t even like me!” You can’t help but gesture wildly, your hands moving like they had minds of their own.

He ignored you regularly. There was an unspoken rule of only acknowledging one another on patrols together. The woods outside of Jackson were the only place that Joel would actually talk to you, otherwise you acted like perfect strangers in town.

His jaw clenched as he pushed off the wall, taking a few steps closer to you. “Who said I didn’t like you?” he asked, his voice lower as his head dipped toward yours.

He couldn’t be serious.

Your eyebrows shot up, disbelief making you smile incredulously. “What, so ignoring me in public and complaining about me to Tommy is how you treat your friends?” You were moments away from leaving and letting Joel find a new patrol partner.

You spent too much time defending Joel from his reputation as the town pariah, arguing that he wasn’t the animal everyone thought he was. He had a hard time blending in, bigger than most everyone except for his brother and unapproachable to a fault. It seemed that Tommy and Ellie were the only people he willingly spoke to, otherwise keeping largely to himself.

Sometimes you wondered if he heard the rumors going around about him—speculation that he used to be a hunter, a smuggler, a heartless killer. You never had it in you to ask him about it.

Not that he would tell you, anyways.

Joel’s scowl deepened, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. His silence did nothing but rile you up, it felt like an admission to the fact that you were right. You huffed, the autumnal breeze making dried leaves stick to your jeans and your breath clouding in the air.

“Well, Joel, you should really figure out how to act like an adult,” you snapped, shaking your head as you started to turn away from him. “You’re way too old to be beating up boys at a bar for touching someone you don’t even give a damn about.”

The Tipsy Bison called to you, warm light spilling out the windows and the people moving inside. Your friends were still in there, giggling with one another at the bar. You could see others nursing Jack in a booth, pressing ice wrapped in towels against his face as his blood turned them pink.

“I didn’t like how he was grabbing ya,” Joel finally said after you’d taken a few steps away. The admission made you stop in your tracks, looking back over your shoulder at the man. He looked sheepish as he admitted it, his gaze on the floor like a toddler getting scolded. He cleared his throat, taking a deep breath before redirecting his eyes to the sky. “You didn’t… you didn’t hear how he was talking about you… didn’t want you with a guy like that.”

Your eyebrows shot up, your lips parting slightly. Your head tilted up to look at him properly, eyes narrowed slightly as you evaluated him. He seemed shockingly sincere, the awkward expression on his face sealing the deal. “Careful Joel, I’m almost starting to think you care about me.”

There was something in the way his eyes shifted to meet yours that almost made your heart stop.

“Never said I didn’t care,” he mumbled, one of his baseball mitt hands coming to rub the back of his neck. The blood on his knuckles was drying, turning to a rust color under the moonlight. You couldn’t help but purse your lips, tilting your head to one side. It was hard to understand, the alcohol making you feel like you were buzzing as you mulled over Joel’s words.

He cleared his throat again, shuffling a little closer to you in the process. “When I talked to Tommy, I wasn’t complainin’ about you,” Joel said. His cheeks were flushed, making you wonder if he was cold or just from the alcohol. He was notorious for sucking down bourbon like it was water, especially on nights when he had nothing to do the next day.

“You weren’t?” you asked, probing the older man a bit. You had only walked by when Joel was talking to his brother, catching your name in their hushed whispers and Joel’s strained expression. You’d assumed it was because he was stuck with you, a newer recruit, a woman.

Joel sighed, shaking his head. It felt like you were pulling every word from his throat. “Tommy… he uh… he put us together because he thought it would be good for me,” he said, hesitating between parts of his sentence. “Thought you’d be good for me.”

“Good for you?” The alcohol made your voice soft around the edges, the question tumbling out of you before you had the sense to stop it. Joel stepped closer, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly. He was close enough that you could see the scar on his ear, the scars littering his bloodied hands and the ones across his nose. Sure, you’d seen them on patrol as you walked shoulder to shoulder, but for some reason you find yourself trying to memorize every detail about him in the moonlight.

“Yeah, sweetheart, good for me,” Joel mumbled, looking down at his boots for a moment before making eye contact with you again. Sweetheart. The nickname rattled around in your mind, echoing in time with your heartbeat. You would’ve punched anyone else for calling you sweetheart, but it sounded good coming from Joel.

Your face heated up, an odd smile quirking up the corners of your mouth as you struggled to find words to say. “You’re a liar, Joel,” you manage to spit out.

He let out a chuckle, the kind that hardly made any noise and just let out a sharp breath of air. You earned one every now and then, it always made you beam when you could get him to chuckle on patrol. “Yeah? I could’ve switched a long time ago,” Joel murmured, shrugging his broad shoulders. “Tommy offered to let me switch.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, a sliver of your combative nature rising up your throat. You wanted to argue with the older man, inform him that he was wrong.

Joel must have picked up at the way your jaw twitched, your expression twisting. “It’s nice to listen to ya blabber in the mornings,” he said, his tone lighter than it had been. It was almost easy to forget what happened in the Tipsy Bison, the way you watched him beat Jack’s face into a pulp.

You huffed, shaking your head. There was a small smile on your face as the heat continued to rise on your cheeks. “Then why do you act like I’m a stranger when I see you around?” you asked Joel. You scraped your teeth over your lower lip, scuffing the toe of your shoe in the dirt.

Joel’s face fell a bit, his eyes softening as he became serious once more. “You don’t want to be around me anyways, people would judge ya.” It was like he didn’t want to admit it, his voice low and mumbling.

You hummed your disagreement, deciding to be bold and step even closer to the huge man in front of you. He towered a head over most people in Jackson, strong and wide and sturdy. You looked over his tanned, weathered skin, his dark curls that were starting to show age through scattered silver strands. “You don’t seem too bad to me,” you said, nearly a whisper.

You saw how Ellie looked at him like he was her favorite person in the world. If that girl could trust him, then so could you.

Joel’s warmth radiated onto you in the cool evening, the smell of bourbon on his breath and blood on his hands. He shook his head, maintaining the closeness you’d established. “Sweetheart, you know most of the shit they say about me around this town is true.”

You’d figured as much. You’d watched Joel kill raiders without a blink of an eye and jump into action whenever infected approached the high, protective walls around Jackson. The first time you’d witnessed it, his precision took your breath away. Now it was something that you had come to depend on.

“I assumed as much,” you said with a shrug, folding your arms over your chest and tucking your hands under your armpits to keep them warm. “Never mattered to me,” you said, biting the inside of your cheek for a moment.

You considered going back to the bar to avoid the chill, but you didn’t feel like having to answer questions about you and Joel all night. Everyone would want to know what he said to you out here, would have their own ideas about why he did it. There were a few breaths of silence. “But, I should probably go home.”

“Not gonna go back inside?” Joel asked, nodding his chin toward the Tipsy Bison. His gaze was still focused on you. You thought about it for a moment before shaking your head, glancing back at the bar. It had lost its appeal.

“Just home, Joel. Have a good night… thanks for protecting my honor and stuff,” you said with a small smile. There was a lightness in the way you spoke, your eyes sparkling in the darkness.

You started to walk toward your house, living in the opposite direction from Joel. “Make sure you clean up those hands of yours, don’t want to have to get another patrol partner any time soon,” you said without looking back, dead leaves crunching under your feet with each step.

You heard his heavy footfalls behind you until Joel fell into step at your side. “Mind helping me out? Not great at first aid,” he said, holding his knuckles out in front of him. They were blown apart.

“Jesus, Joel,” you muttered, grabbing one of his wrists to inspect his hand as you walked. His wrist was warm and thick in your hand, he didn’t pull away. The wounds overlapped a number of scars beneath them, a snippet of Joel’s past violence. “Were you trying to kill him or just teach him a lesson?”

“I don’t pull my punches,” Joel said with a noncommittal shrug, making you roll your eyes. Of course he didn’t. Joel definitely taught him a lesson. You dropped his wrist, not giving him a response as you followed the path to your home.

Your house was one of the smaller ones, the yellow paint starting to peel off the siding and the wall around Jackson casting a shadow over it in the moonlight. Joel was grumbling about your proximity to the wall as you opened your front door and flicked on the lights.

“Take off your boots before you track mud in, I’ll meet you in the kitchen,” you tell Joel, toeing your shoes off before you head to one of the bathrooms. You can still hear him complaining as his heavy boots hit the floor, his lumbering footsteps going to the kitchen. The layout for all of the homes in Jackson was relatively the same, the sub-development it had been converted from seemed fairly cookie-cutter.

Joel sat patiently at the counter as you brought in the first aid kit, setting it down on the stone countertop and flicking it open. He seemed calm and unconcerned, more like a seasoned veteran to first aid than a novice. “I find it hard to believe that you’re bad at this,” you murmured, opening an alcohol wipe to start cleaning his knuckles.

Joel placed his big, catcher’s mitt hands flat on the counter for you to work. His jaw tensed a few times as you wiped over the largest knuckle on each of his hands. “I’m here for your gentle touch, sweetheart,” he muttered, sarcasm biting his tone and making you laugh.

“I’m not a nurse for a reason,” you said, smearing ointment onto the wounds with your fingertips. You tried to be careful, not applying too much pressure to the irritated skin.

Joel chuckled, watching your movements as you pulled out a roll of gauze and loosely wrapped his wounds to cover them. He flexed his hands as soon as you were finished, the gauze stretching tight when he made fists. “Good as new,” you said, leaning against the countertop. You both looked down at his bandaged wounds, lingering in the closeness before you stepped away.

“Now, you should hold off on bar fights for a while.” Mirth glittered in your eyes as you grabbed a wine bottle from one of the shelves in your kitchen. You grabbed two glasses without asking, methodically going through the motions of opening the bottle and pouring.

It felt like you and Joel were sprinting head-first at a line the two of you had never crossed before. There was a shift from coworkers to something else, and it started the second Joel pounced on Jack. You found yourself studying his face as you handed him a wine glass, categorizing his features as you took a sip. He was handsome, but he always had been—you just didn’t let yourself recognize it.

“No promises,” Joel grumbled, taking a long drink. You watched him swallow, your eyes partially lidded before you remembered yourself. You felt your cheeks and ears heat up as you took another drink, unclenching your fist at your side and focusing on the stretch of the bones and ligaments.

“You really didn’t need to beat Jack up, I can handle myself,” you murmured, your lashes fluttering as you redirected your gaze to Joel.

He just snorted softly, shaking his head. His expression twisted into amusement, the papery wrinkles of his crow’s feet becoming pronounced. Your brows furrowed, your head tilting as you prepared to argue the fact that you could, in fact, defend yourself. “His name is Jake.”

Embarrassment made blood rush to your face so quickly you almost felt light headed. A sheepish smile settled on your features, a giggle working its way through your throat. “He even let me call him Jack like… five times the other day,” you said into your wine glass, a guilty look on your face.

“Poor boy’s got it bad then,” Joel said, smirking at you. His dark eyes appeared even darker in the lighting of your kitchen.

“Don’t worry, I think you scared him enough,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully. You picked your glass up off the counter, walking out of the kitchen to your cozy living room.

Joel came to sit on the couch as you stoked a fire to life, burning some of the dried kindling you kept in a bucket near the fireplace to coax the logs to life. You could feel his eyes on your back as you crouched, the flames breathing warmth over you as they crackled. The combination of his gaze, the fire, and the wine you kept sucking down in mouthfuls made a sweat prickle at the back of your neck as you stood up straight.

He made himself comfortable, lounging on the couch with an arm draped on the back of it. He’d brought the bottle of wine, it sat on the coffee table next to his empty glass. One of your eyebrows arched as you sat next to him, leaving enough space between the two of you that you could twist and bring your knees and feet up onto the sofa.

“You really made yourself at home.”

Joel cracked an easy smile, the fire illuminating the deep shadows of scowl lines on his forehead. You felt the urge to smooth them out with your fingertips. “I’ve got a habit of doing that,” he said, his dark gaze sliding to the fireplace. One of the logs popped, sending sparks through the hearth.

There was a lapse of silence where you reached over and filled up his wine glass again. You felt surprisingly comfortable next to him, relaxing your side against the cushioned back of the couch as you faced Joel. “The ladies at the Tipsy Bison called you my guard dog.”

That made him outright snicker. “Yeah? I’m your guard dog, huh?” he asked, clearly teasing. The way his flannel clung to his shoulders was heavenly, wrapped around every well-defined muscle like a second skin. The wine was staining his mouth purple, you were enraptured as his tongue darted out to catch any remaining drops on his lips.

You cleared your throat, blinking as you nodded. “Said I should get you on a leash,” you mumbled, the heat on your cheeks spreading to your neck and ears. You gulped the wine to break some of the tension, your nose scrunching as you swallowed.

There was a shift, it would’ve gone unnoticed if you weren’t paying attention.

Joel stretched a bit, tilting his head back as he finished the rest of the wine in one gulp before setting the glass on the coffee table. When he sat back, he’d moved closer to you. Your knee was nearly touching his thigh, that inch of empty space feeling electric.

“Do you want me on a leash?” he asked, his voice deep. There was something different to his tone, the harsh edges of his voice rounded out more than usual. The question made your breath stutter in your chest. The sincerity in his expression caught you off guard. You opened your mouth to speak, only silence coming out. “If there was anyone who could convince me, it would probably be you, sweetheart.”

You choked on your wine, awkward and clumsy as you sat up straight to prevent it from coming out of your nose. Part of you felt like Joel had turned you inside out as you spluttered, confusion and self-consciousness running rampant.. Finally you got a hold of yourself, sucking in wet breaths with tears in your eyes.

“You okay?” His voice was sweet and soft when he asked, as though he hadn’t caused it. You nodded, waiving off his concern as his paw of a hand grabbed your shoulder. His touch was napalm, igniting your skin through your thin sweater.

“Just surprised me,” you choked out, wiping away the tears with the heel of your hand as you sniffled. Joel’s hand stayed where it was, his thumb rubbing along your collarbone over the black fabric. He did nothing but hum his acknowledgement, patiently waiting for you to catch your breath.

Another cough rattled through you before you could breathe again. Joel’s eyebrows were raised as he watched you, mirth sparkling in his eyes. “You are so full of shit, Joel Miller,” you finally said, pushing his shoulder lightly.

He still was touching you, leaning forward into your space as he did so. Your breaths were shallow, apprehensive and giddy in all the right ways.

“You think I’m full of shit?” he asked, smirking.

“I know you are.” You couldn’t help but flirt, batting your eyelashes and smirking at Joel. You felt electric, lightning just crackling under your skin with the potential thrill of him reciprocating. Sure, you were risking a decent work relationship, but you could get a new patrol partner.

He hummed thoughtfully, his hand creeping toward the back of your neck. The stretch of his fingers to the meat of his palm spanned nearly three-quarters of the circumference of your throat, something that should’ve chilled you to the bone. Excitement sparked in your belly as you swallowed against the firm press of his thumb on your windpipe.

“You don’t seem like an ‘on the leash’ kind of guy,” you murmured, the feeling of the gauze you’d wrapped around his knuckles rubbing against your soft skin making you shiver slightly.

“No, guess I don’t,” Joel agreed, his dark brown gaze shifting from your eyes to your mouth and back. It was so quick, but the thrill that followed made you feel like you were glowing. You slicked your tongue over your lower lip, making it shine in the firelight.

The way he spoke made you press your thighs together, the stiff seam of your jeans pressing against you in the perfect way if you shifted how you were sitting. Joel moved as well, his thighs spreading just a bit, a palm quickly smoothing over his lap in an action he probably didn’t think he would notice.

“Sweetheart, we should just get this out of the way.”

Your brow furrowed in confusion before Joel was pulling you toward him, his lips slotting over yours. A soft, startled noise was muffled against Joel’s mouth, shock dissipating quickly as your eyes slid shut. His mustache tickled your upper lip as you accidentally bumped your nose against his.

When he pulled back, there was a hint of a smile on his face. Your face felt like it was on fire, a goofy grin gracing your features as your gaze flickered over him.

Joel’s other hand crept onto your jean-clad thigh, a calloused thumb stroking along the frayed hole at your knee. “So, was that weird for you?” you asked like an insecure teenager, your teeth digging into your lower lip as you waited for his answer.

Your heart was pounding, the irrational side of your brain wondering if he was able to hear it. He surely felt it against his palm, his heavy hand resting near your pulse as he kept you close on the couch. He smiled at your question, shaking his head no as he pulled you back in for a second kiss. It was quicker, a messy stamp of his mouth over yours.

“Didn’t think you’d be into an old man like me,” he said with a chuckle. If you didn’t know better it almost seemed like Joel felt bashful. The apples of his cheeks were dusted pink, whether it was from the kiss or the wine you didn’t know.

Your eyebrow arched, a grin still on your face. “You’re not old,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully. Your hands were pressed into your lap, part of you not knowing what to do with them. You looked up at Joel through your eyelashes before your gaze dragged down his torso and to his jeans. The flannel he wore was thin, the fabric well-worn and not tucked into his blue jeans.

“I should, um, thank you,” you murmured, shifting to put your empty wine glass on the coffee table.

Joel chuckled, still watching you like a hawk that set sights on its prey. “Last I checked, you were just lecturing me about fighting your own battles,” he teased, curiosity shining deep in his chocolate eyes as you got off your couch.

The wine must have gotten to your head, because you would’ve thought you were losing your mind. You moved to stand between Joel’s legs, slowly sinking to your knees on the squishy gray carpet that covered your living room. “I don’t have to thank you if you don’t want me to, Joel,” you murmured, your hands hovering over his thick thighs for a moment before resting on them.

He looked dumbfounded and giddy, his hands already resting on the black, leather belt he wore around his waist. “No, sweetheart, you’ve got a…uh… promising idea,” Joel said with a smile, shifting his legs so they bracketed you and his knees pressed against the coffee table.

You laughed softly, hands roaming up his muscular thighs to where his belt rested just under the soft layer of fat covering his stomach. “You sure? I can always get back up,” you said teasingly, working your fingers under the tongue of his belt and pulling the buckle open. It clinked as it fell off to the sides, you didn’t bother pulling it from the belt loops.

Joel shook his head, leaning back farther into the couch and shifting his hips toward you. “M’sure,” he answered, preoccupied on the way your fingers popped open the button of his jeans and worked the zipper down.

He was already hard, the outline of his cock pressing against the denim and toward his thigh. You reached into his black boxers, pulling it out of its confinement with a satisfied sigh.

He was big, bigger than any other guy you’d been with. You held the base of his cock, fingers against the curly, dark hair that covered his pubic bone and ran up toward his belly button. It was hot to the touch, the head already leaking precum that followed the path of the prominent veins down his shaft. It was more pink than the rest of him, the head a shade darker than the rest.

You licked your lips, almost embarrassed to find yourself drooling as you braced your forearm on his thigh and kitten-licked at the underside of Joel’s cock. He grunted at the contact, his hands digging into the plush cushion of the couch as his hips twitched toward your face.

“Eager,” you mumbled, a smile on your face as you looked up at Joel through your eyelashes. He was already looking down at you, his lips parted in anticipation and his breaths heavier than they were. You licked the tip of his cock again, the salty taste of his precum on your tongue. There’s something about the way that Joel lets a breath out through his teeth that makes you feel like you were set on fire.

You let out a breathy chuckle, wrapping your lips around the head of him and hollowing out your cheeks on your descent toward his lap. It was a lot to take, your eyes watering as you swallowed more of Joel’s cock. His moans and sighs were enough to keep you going, your lips curled over your teeth and your head bobbing up and down.

One of his hands found the curve of your jaw, calloused fingers tracing it before hooking around the back of your head. You were fine with his direction, letting Joel gently press your head down to dictate your speed.

The taste of him was salty and heady, a musk that was distinctly Joel filling your nose as you drooled and sucked his cock. It was slick with your spit, the mix of your saliva and his precum coating your lips and chin. You still had your hand wrapped around the base of him and moving in tandem with your mouth, ensuring you could get everything that your throat couldn’t fit.

“Goddamn, sweetheart, you suck cock like you were made for it,” Joel said, his words punctuated with soft sighs and moans. It made you want to live permanently with his praise, your gaze flicking up to meet Joel’s for a moment.

He was completely blissed out, his head tilted back toward the ceiling as he bit his full lower lip between his teeth. His Adam’s apple kept moving erratically in his throat, like he couldn’t decide whether to breathe or not. His hand still cupped the black of your head, half-thought praises falling frantically from his lips. Joel was barely speaking in sentences, some words falling to the wayside of his soft grunts.

Feeling emboldened, you moved your hand away and tried to relax your jaw as your head descended far enough that your nose was pressed firmly against Joel’s pubic hair. It smelled surprisingly clean, just the undertone of musk clinging to the dark, curly thatch of hair as you resisted the urge to choke around his cock.

It was thick and heavy in your throat as you swallowed around him, eliciting groans and his hand pressing tightly against the back of your head. Tears burned in your eyes as Joel’s thick cock twitched in your throat, your hands spread flat on your thighs as he moaned your praises.

Joel barely thrusted his hips toward your awaiting mouth, your eyes slipped shut so you could focus on relaxing your throat. Lungs burning, you finally pulled off to suck in deep breaths. Your hand resumed what your mouth had been doing moments before, taking Joel in your fist and using your saliva as lubrication.

“Look at how pretty you are,” Joel murmured, his southern accent thicker than normal as the hand on the back of your head shifted to cup your cheek. Your eyes were watery with a few tears tracking down your face, your lips swollen and saliva coating the entirety of your chin.

You smiled, stroking his cock as you struggled to regain your breath. “Didn’t know you were such a good girl,” Joel drawled, dragging his thumb through the saliva on your chin and smearing the pad of it across your parted lips.

“When I want to be.” Your voice was thick and raspy, your eyes partially lidded. Your knees were digging into the carpet, his legs keeping you where you sat.

He smirked at that. Joel gently moved your hand away from his cock, his arms winding beneath your armpits and lifted you back up to the couch. You squealed in the back of your throat, surprised by his strength as he settled you against the arm of the couch and twisted to face you.

Large hands yanked your sweater over your head to reveal the black bra you wore, a soft groan coming from Joel. He didn’t waste time, finding the back closure and popping it open. You helped him, guiding the thin straps down your arms and tossing the garment aside.

“Christ,” Joel mumbled, his thick fingers brushing over one of your nipples. A jolt of electricity traveled down your spine at the touch, warmth blooming on your cheeks.

You were impatient, panties already soaked through and feeling uncomfortable as you popped open the button on your jeans. “Joel, I need you,” you murmured, leaning forward to kiss him as you shimmied your pants and underwear over your hips.

“So impatient,” he muttered between presses of your lips, pulling away so he could look at you properly. The firelight illuminated the curves and shadows that littered your body, stretch marks and scars visible on your skin. Self-consciousness reared its ugly head for a moment, your gaze fluttering away from Joel’s intensity as he just stared at you.

He grabbed your thighs, pulling you toward him until your back hit the couch. “Joel…” you whined as he pressed your thighs apart, his dark eyes focused on your sex.

He spread the slicked lips apart with his thumb, making you cover your face with your hands out of embarrassment. “Look at you…” he mumbled, hardly even talking to you. He let go of your other thigh, his fingertips teasing your clenching hole to gather some of the wetness dripping down you and smearing it across your clit.

You gasped, your back arching at the contact against the nerves. Joel’s fingers were calloused and thick and warm, drawing tight, slow circles over your clit as his other hand pressed into the crease between your inner thigh and your pubic bone. It kept your hips from squirming away from him.

“You’re so sensitive, sweetheart,” Joel said, the smile audible in his voice. You’d kept your hands over your face, your moans muffled by your palms as you resisted the urge to snap your thighs closed. You felt vulnerable and exposed under him.

“You’re teasing,” you mumbled, your hips twitching in an attempt to get more friction from his calloused fingers. He kept his touch agonizingly light, making you whine and whimper in your desperation for more from him. He chuckled, fingers dipping to tease your entrance again before trailing back up to your clit.

“Let me see ya,” Joel said, his hand leaving the nestle of your thigh to wrap around your wrists and pull them away from your face. He held both in one hand, keeping your wrists captive against your sternum.

Your breaths were heavy, his fingers strumming over the swollen bump of your clit pulling moans from your throat. Joel’s eyes were partially lidded as he looked down at you, a smirk growing on his face at your desperate expression. “Joel, please,” you begged, your cunt clenching around empty space as you wished he would just fucking fill you up already.

He chuckled, clicking his tongue against his teeth with mock disapproval. “If you’re so desperate, get up and turn around, sweetheart,” he said, pulling you up by your wrists. “My knees aren’t what they used to be, help an old man out.”

You’d normally take that opportunity to make a joke at his expense, but you just let him move you around like a doll. He guided you so you were kneeling on the couch, your chest pressed against the back of it. You arched your back as much as you could, sticking your ass out and hoping you looked pretty as you looked at Joel over your shoulder. He didn’t even bother getting undressed, just standing up behind you and taking his cock in his hand.

His other hand still rubbed over your cunt, smearing your arousal over your swollen lips and onto your inner thighs. Much to your relief, he pressed two thick fingers inside you. The sensation made you groan, resting your weight on your elbows and your knees as you pushed back against his fingers. They slid in so easy you were almost embarrassed.

“You’ll take me just fine, sweetheart,” Joel murmured, approval echoing in his voice. He crooked his fingers to press and massage the spongy spot inside of you, making your mouth fall open and your legs jerk.

You twisted enough to glare at him, Joel covered in shadow from the fire crackling behind him. “Quit being an asshole, Joel,” you said through your teeth, making him chuckle.

“Where are your manners, sweetheart?” he asked, pulling his fingers from your cunt. He brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a sigh before grabbing your hip with a hand. His wet fingers smeared against your heated skin as he pulled you back a little more, making your back arch like a bow pulled too tight.

He slid the blunt head of his cock between your folds until it tapped against your clit, making him when you whimpered. Joel finally granted you what you wanted, lining up with your entrance and pressing his way in. His cock caught, sliding in so slow that it made you squirm.

“Relax, sweetheart.” Joel’s big hand slid up and down your curved spine, calloused fingers feeling each and every notch of your vertebrae. Your pussy fluttered around him, stretched out and so eager as he bullied his way inside of you. The breath you took in was frantic and overwhelmed, it felt as though he was pushing all of the air out of your body. The two fingers he had pressed inside of you as a test didn’t prepare you at all for his thick cock.

You could hardly breathe, you’d never taken a cock this big inside of you without any preparation–but you were too impatient to wait for him to stretch you out on his fingers. You were pathetic, whining and wheezing as your hands clenched against the cushions on the back of your couch.

You’d never felt anything better in your life.

After what felt like ages, Joel was fully seated inside of you. His coarse jeans were pressed against your soft thighs, the two of you breathing heavily like you’d run a marathon.

“You’ve gotta relax. Feels like you’re gonna squeeze my dick off,” Joel said, slowly grinding his pelvis against the swell of your ass. You nodded, trying to take in deep breaths and get used to the feeling of being stretched full.

“Sorry,” you muttered as you focused on becoming pliant, your taught muscles slowly releasing. His beard rasped against the back of your neck as he kissed you there, a moment of intimacy to calm you down. It felt like a reward, your breaths slowing as you unclenched around Joel and welcomed him deeper.

The sound you made when Joel pulled out and pressed back in was pathetic. It felt like he was sawing you in half, carving a space for his cock inside of you with each thrust. There was some caution to his movements, his fingers digging into the fat of your hips as he grit his teeth.

“So fucking tight, sweetheart,” Joel said, his voice muffled as his mouth pressed against your neck. Each thrust coaxed a gasp from you, your nails digging into the fabric of the couch as you took whatever Joel is willing to give. Your vision was blurry from the overwhelmed tears brimming your eyes.

The sound of your bodies smacking together filled your living room, the open belt still threaded through Joel’s pants clinking on the off beat. He maintained his pace like a machine, drilling into the gummy spot inside you that made your eyes roll back in your head.

Your nipples were sensitive, rubbing against the coarse fabric of the couch cushions with every thrust. The noises you made were absolutely undignified, the sounds of someone being fucked completely stupid. He was filling you up so perfectly and the knowledge that it was Joel, your hardass patrol partner who never gave affection to anyone, it made you feel like you’d touched a live wire.

“Tell me how it feels, sweetheart,” Joel said, a wide hand reaching around you to fondle your breast. He used it to bring you back, curving your spine so the back of your head was pressed against his collarbone and you looked up at where the wall and ceiling met.

You felt helpless and primal, your mind scattered a million different places. “So good,” you gasped stupidly, hardly able to form words. Your hands grabbed his forearm and fisted in his flannel behind you, an effort to anchor yourself to him.

“I know,” he murmured, kissing the shell of your ear. You were vaguely aware of tears running down your cheeks, your mouth hanging open as you struggled to stay afloat. You were already lost, a sea of sensation pulling you under with only the places where you and Joel were pressed together serving as your lifeline.

Joel’s free hand reached around your belly, finding your neglected clit with practiced ease. You moaned his name like a broken record, your eyebrows furrowing. He rubbed it hard and fast, matching the pace he was rutting into you with. You already felt heat pooling in your lower abdomen.

“Oh god,” you gasped, already shaking from head to toe and your grip tightening around his forearm. “Joel I’m—yes, yes, yes—“

It felt like your whole world shattered as you came with a shout, your muscles convulsing. You clamped around Joel’s cock like a vise, your hips twitching wildly. Pleasure flooded through you from head to toe, warm and fuzzy and all-consuming. The sensation was simultaneously too much and not enough, Joel steadily fucking you through it as your vision went white.

Joel had to pull himself away from you, letting you slump forward on the couch cushion as you came down from your orgasm. You were clenching around nothing, whining at how cruel he was to leave you empty.

The wet, sticky sounds coming from him made you turn your head as you went boneless on the couch. Joel’s cheeks were red as he tugged at his cock, a hand squeezing the flesh of your ass. His dark eyes were focused on you, all loose limbed and spent.

He finally noticed you looking, his mouth open and panting. He took in your fucked out expression, your eyelashes clumped with tears and cheeks red. He’d made a mess of you, the dazed look on your face his undoing as he let out a grunt. He sunk his teeth into his lower lip as he came, spurting thick come over your ass as his fingers dug into you.

You sighed as you felt his hot come land on your ass and back, pooling in the curve of your spine. You were still floaty and out of it, vaguely aware of him milking the last spurts of his spend from his thick cock.

“Jesus,” he grumbled, swaying for a moment before sitting down on the couch next to you. He gathered you in his arms, pulling you onto his lap and against his chest as you went perfectly limp.

You nuzzled against his neck, humming your affection as his hand rubbed up and down your back. The motion smeared his come along your skin, his fingers rubbing it in like body lotion. It was like he’d stuck your brain in a blender, the mush of the aftermath hardly able to form more than feelings as you pressed your forehead against his beard.

“I’ll beat up the whole town if this is the thanks I get,” Joel said, pressing a kiss to your temple. His barrel chest shook beneath you with a chuckle, his hands never straying from your body.

“No one’s gonna want to touch me with a ten-foot pole,” you muttered after a moment of silence, it took you a beat to even process what Joel was saying. He snickered, seeming pleased with himself as you melted deeper into his embrace.

“Good, I should be the only one touching you,” he said, making warmth bloom in your chest. “Unless I’m assuming things.”

You smiled, a sleepy look still on your face as you wound your arms around his neck and snuggled in closer. “So this wasn’t a spur of the moment thing?” you asked, sounding shy as you said it.

Joel chuckled, shaking his head. “You know how many times I had to go home after patrol and take a cold shower just because you bumped my arm or bent over to pick something up? Felt like a damn teenager.”

You giggled, picking your head up to look at Joel properly. He looked so soft and sweet around the edges, that normal fire and flintiness was gone from his dark eyes. “You gonna stay tonight?”

He pulled you in for a kiss, it was sweet and over all too soon. “If you’ll let me,” Joel said, sounding earnest.

You nodded, tucking your head back against his neck. You were starting to succumb to your drowsy state, your eyes sliding shut as you puddled into Joel. You were vaguely aware of him lifting you off the couch, his good-natured grumbling about carrying you up the stairs filling your ears.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #the last of us #tlou #the last of us x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #the last of us smut #joel tlou #I pictured show Joel but you can picture game Joel #they’re both hot #pedro pascal #tlou hbo #tlou fanfiction

[sketchguk]

part time lover; jjk

➳ pairing: investigative journalist!jeongguk x daycare teacher!reader. alternatively, spy!jeongguk x assassin!reader

➳ genre: smut, fluff, angst, fake marriage au, dad au, spy x family au

➵ word count: 30.8k

➳ summary: there is no crime more perfect than marrying jeon jeongguk. your relationship is nothing more than a ruse - while your friends pester you for being perpetually single, jeongguk desperately needs a wife to complete the pristine image of a family, fooling his way through the parent interview at the nation’s most prestigious private school.

only time will tell how deep your lies will run as you find home in one another’s minds. because untangled in the moonlight, he is but a spy, exposing a secret world of corruption, and you, an assassin, ridding the streets of danger one hit at a time. 

➳ warnings: themes of parenthood, raising a child, reader and jk are both orphans, reader has a past where she struggled with financially supporting her family, eldest daughter trauma, reader is insecure, fears of abandonment, mentions of violence and m*rder (but not explicit), mention of weapons (guns, knives, grenades, poison),  jk has a bruise from boxing, descriptions of an explosion, blood is drawn twice (via kitchen knife and shrapnel from aforementioned explosion), (1) mention of weight loss, jk changes his appearance in an attempt to fit in, mention of a minor car crash, social drinking, scars (surgical/knife, bullet wounds), characters are liars for the sake of the plot, side characters are misogynists (satire), food descriptions, pet names (hers: angel, good girl, princess his: love). 

➳ a/n: thank you for being so patient with me as i toiled through this fic. it wasn't an easy one! but i do think it's special because of how healing the journey was for me <3 please enjoy, let me know what you think. don't forget to check out the other fics from the "industry baby" collab hosted by the ever so lovely @jeonjcngkook and @mercurygguk !

➳ smut warnings: virgin reader, sexual tension, body worship, nipple play, marking, oral (f receiving), fingering, hair pulling, unprotected sex, jk has a big dick, praising, stomach bulge, spitting, use of the word slut, marriage kink(?) he loves his wife so much, reader wants to be bred, cumshot

Jeongguk, 26 Investigative journalist at Golden News Network Less than a mile away To whom it may concern, I am a single father looking for a wife (DM me for serious inquiries only). 

“Your profile is dog shit,” Seokjin deadpans. The cringe settles into the downward turn of his lips as he swipes through his best friend’s Tinder account. “You’d be bitchless if you weren’t hot.” 

“Jin, watch your mouth.” Jeongguk shoots a deadly glare toward the older man. “There are children around.” 

From the kitchen, Jeongguk cranes his neck to take a peek into the messy living room where his adopted daughter sits, criss-crossed, in front of the television. Minji is too distracted by her weekly cartoon updates to even notice the crude language. 

“Minny, don’t sit too close to the TV,” he sends his daughter a stern yet gentle reminder. “Your eyeballs are gonna fall out of your head if you do.” 

A frown etches itself onto Minji’s face as she scooches back on her knees. 

Jeongguk returns his attention to the dinner he’s preparing tonight. A pot of homemade tomato sauce simmers on the stovetop. 

In the back of his mind, he wonders if his dating profile is as terribly unappealing as Seokjin says it is. Otherwise he wouldn’t have so many notifications, right? ー Messages from girls, asking if he could be their daddy too. Jeongguk’s bio is short and straight to the point. He’s not that ugly, or so he thinks. Being a journalist is a respectable occupation with steady income. So what could be so bad about it? 

Is it the fact that Jeongguk isn’t even his real name ー nothing but a fake persona to help him with his investigation? Maybe it’s because his adopted daughter doesn’t have a striking resemblance to him, and his pictures look like a shady scam. 

But there’s no way that they can see through Jeongguk’s facade. After all, he’s the best spy in the agency. His specialty is deceit. It’s foolproof. There’s no reason not to believe him. 

“I think they’re really into the whole dad thing,” Jeongguk nods, focusing on the sliced onions in front of him. The smell of garlic and fresh herbs permeate through the air.

“Really?” Seokjin says in feigned disbelief. He leans back against the couch, making himself comfortable. “It’s not because of the video where you’re deepthroating a deep dish pizza? Just for that, I would have gotten on my hands and knees to suck your di-.” 

“Can you seriously watch your language?” Jeongguk cuts him off before pointing a knife in his direction. 

Kim Seokjin may be his closest colleague, but that’s exactly where he draws the line. Seokjin is nothing more than Jeongguk’s informant. His job is to get the latest intel on all of his targets, and that’s it. He’s not here to fool around or make friends.

“We took that video in Chicago. Doesn’t it show that I’m well traveled?” Jeongguk asks with genuine curiosity. He remembers reading an article about how women love that sort of stuff. 

Seokjin pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s gonna be a long, long night,” he mutters to himself. His best friend is beyond the point of fixing, but at least he makes a good househusband. 

Jeongguk wipes his hands against his frilly apron before dipping a wooden spoon into the pot. He inches the tomato sauce closer to his pursed lips as he blows on the piping hot confection. It could use more parsley. 

Just when Jeongguk thought he could distract himself with cooking, he suddenly remembers the pressing problem that occupies all of his brain space: he is in desperate need of a wife. The constant reminder is taped to the front of the fridge 一 a letter from Minji’s prospective elementary school. 

Dear Jeon family,  Congratulations! Your child’s preliminary results indicate that he/she has passed the entrance exam at Hwa Yang Academy. Our institution carries a prestigious reputation, accepting only the nation’s brightest students. Due to your child’s outstanding academic score, we invite you to the second phase of admissions where a family interview will be conducted. Please have both parents and child present at Yeon Hwa Hall on the first of May, promptly at 10am.  It is our good fortune that you chose to apply to Hwa Yang Academy. We look forward to welcoming you and your family to our renowned institution.  Sincerely,  Department of Admissions at Hwa Yang Academy

The fact that Minji received an interview at the top school in the nation is amazing beyond belief. Everything is going according to plan. The only problem is that Jeon Jeongguk is, in fact, bitchless. 

“Remind me again, why do you need to get Minji into that school?” Seokjin furrows his brows. He’s never seen his best friend this stressed. The way that Jeongguk is willing to jump through hoops makes him feel as if he’s never wanted anything so bad in his life. 

Jeongguk clenches the wooden spoon in his hand, threatening to give himself a splinter. “I have to get access to Hwa Yang,” he says, like it’s do or die. “There are families with infinite amounts of political power there, including the prime minister. The big boss suspects that they’re planning a rebellion, and I need to get close to them to expose their secrets. Obviously I can’t even touch the elite without pretending to be one myself. So I need this family to be as perfect as it can be.” 

“You think you can prevent a whole rebellion and save the country if you go to a few parent association meetings? Bake a batch of cookies like a soccer mom?” Seokjin’s questions are sarcastic, but he’s not wrong. He needs to infiltrate the prime minister’s inner circle, befriend him, and uncover his government secrets. But doing so would be impossible without first securing a wife and earning acceptance into the school. 

“If it comes down to making a paper mache volcano, I’ll do it.” The determination in Jeongguk’s eyes is unwavering. 

“You really expect to get through the admission interview with a fake wife? I can’t even get a single date, but you think you can get married by the end of the month?” Seokjin laughs at the expense of his own heartache. 

“Maybe the mommies would like you more if you weren’t so de-looshe-in-ull,” Minji chimes. 

Has she been listening all along?

“Delusional?” Seokjin scoffs, fueled with exasperation. Lately, he’s had thoughts about being a kinder person, yet a part of him still believes that he deserves the last word in every conversation. “Where did you learn about that?” he queries, balling up his hands. 

“Appa,” Minji replies, pointing at the man in question. 

Seokjin winds his fist back as if he’s throwing a punch across the room, but he listens to the screaming voice in the back of his head. The one that tells him he’s much too pretty to get pummeled today ー that his face would look better if Jeongguk’s fist wasn’t imprinted on the surface of it. So instead of starting a fight with a five year old girl, Seokjin folds his knees against his chest, cursing under his breath. Maybe he can be the bigger person. 

“So why can’t the agency send another spy operative to play house with you?” Seokjin asks, resorting to a life of civility under Jeongguk’s roof. He forces a smile through gritted teeth and returns his attention to the dating app in the palm of his hands, half-listening to his best friend. 

“Well, a bunch of police officers arrested our agents. There’s only a few people left on the team. Haven’t you seen the news? The government is cracking down on espionage.” Jeongguk rolls his eyes, clenching his jaw. “They use women as their scapegoat, filling up some stupid quota for incarceration.” How can men be so ignorant and simple minded?  

Ironically, Seokjin flashes his phone in front of Jeongguk’s face. “Swipe left or right, what do you think?” Yep, the minds of men are pretty simple, and Seokjin definitely didn’t hear a single word that came out of Jeongguk’s mouth. 

Y/N Daycare teacher at children’s municipal library 1 mile away Critics review: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ “Loves her emotional support characters, and will only ever love her emotional support characters”  “Can’t cook to save her life, but she can top off your ramen with a fried egg”  “Pros: loving and down to earth, great with kids. Cons: doesn’t know her own strength, hates mushrooms, has a quirky laugh” 

“You know what? I’ll swipe right. You’ll get more matches if you do,” Seokjin suggests with a determined nod. 

Jeongguk stares at his informant in disbelief, jaw slack. There’s no way this stupid app is going to land him a wife by the end of the month. 

“What do you think about this guy?” 

“Hard pass. I mean, look at his photos. His whole personality is about working out.” 

“Okay, then what about this one?” 

“Nah, he looks too stuck-up. I don’t think he can take a joke.” 

“How about her? She’s pretty, right?” 

“She doesn’t even have a bio! What if she’s a catfish?” 

From the way your coworkers appraise these people, they act as if they’re the ones looking for a partner. Because as a matter of fact, it’s your phone in their hand, swiping away on your dating app. 

It doesn’t matter if there are library books that need to be stowed away or paperwork to be filed. They pay no mind to the clock indicating that there’s 30 minutes left in the work day because finding you a significant other seems to be their only priority. 

“Sujin, stop being so picky. At this rate, y/n isn’t going to get a date if you swipe left on everyone,” Yumi whines. 

“Why did you make a profile for me anyways? I don’t need to be in a relationship.” The sound of your widely unpopular opinion makes the two girls look up with big, round eyes. 

“Aren’t you ever lonely?” There’s a hint of pity that lingers in Yumi’s voice. 

You find it quite offensive that she would think that. As much as you’d like to keep your job, you would also like to rip the rug out from beneath Yumi’s feet until she falls flat on her face. But the reality is, you really need this job. So all you do is shake your head and grit your teeth. “No, not really.” 

“Life is soo much more romantic when you have someone to love.” Sujin’s unblinking eyes make you wonder if she’s being held hostage against her will. Is her boyfriend tapping into her phone, listening to all of her conversations? 

“y/n, you’ve never been in a relationship before. Do you ever feel like you’re missing out on something?” There’s a pout that rests on Yumi’s lips. Her tone leaks with faux sympathy. “Hobi just got married, and Nari’s having a baby. We’re all grown up, and I don’t want you to feel left out, especially at my engagement party next weekend. It might bring out some… bitter feelings.” 

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, reminding yourself that you should definitely not push Yumi down the stairs at the end of your shift. “I think I’ll be content on my own.” 

“Here, look through the app for a little while. Maybe you’ll find someone that you like. Just give it a chance, okay?” Sujin hands the phone back to you. “You should really think about it. San tells me he’s been worried about you.”

Your expression falls upon hearing your younger brother’s name. Of all people, San should know that you value nothing more than your independence. 

“He just wants you to be happy ー for someone to take care of you.” 

Some part of you believes that Sujin is projecting her opinions and throwing your brother under the bus. “I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” you assure her. “I can be happy on my own.” 

Nowadays, many people come to believe that a wedding ring is the solution to everyone’s misfortune. Supposedly, it’ll keep you safe from all things cruel in this world. They don’t seem to realize that there are problems that run much deeper than being single. It’s as if something must be inherently wrong with you if you’ve never had a partner, let alone a first kiss. 

You have to admit that sometimes, their words can hurt like knives. It’s damaging to your self-esteem if you really think about it. Because surely, everyone wants to be loved and to be desired ー to be chosen. How nice would it be to lie in bed, held and comforted by something other than the warmth of your own body?

If you were to have a relationship, perhaps you could go to bookstores together and read for hours on end. The two of you could laugh and sing at the top of your lungs, dancing like fools in the dim light of the bathroom with toothbrushes tucked between molars. You could listen to ballads on the radio and finally resonate with the lyrics, plastering a goofy, lovestruck smile on your face. If you were in love, you could share childhood memories, and even the mundane details would be tucked away for safekeeping. You’d know one another's biggest fears and greatest vulnerabilities. Even when you reveal the ugliest parts of yourself, they would choose you over and over again. 

If there was just one person to run their fingers across all of your curves, your dips, your scars, only to tell you that you are still the object of their affection, then perhaps you would give love a chance.

But having thought about love your entire life, and never yet to experience it, you’re certain that you’re better off on your own. Ever since you were a little kid, it’s always been you, yourself, and your grief. You’ve harbored yourself in your own bones for decades, so who knows you better than you know yourself ー truly and completely unfiltered? With your mind and wit so sharp, who will find you lovable when they discover there’s a blade where your heart is? 

If you were to find a partner, there is simply no way that you can continue the life that you have. You could never return to them at the end of the night, bloodied and bruised, with no questions asked. Surely, it’s not an easy pill to swallow when you tell them that you're an assassin. There’s no sugar coating that. 

Much like being a daycare teacher, being an assassin is just another job. You started living this secret identity because it earned enough money to take care of your younger brother after your parents had passed away. It put food on the table and cash toward your bills. Money would roll into your bank account by the thousands. At 18 years old, that type of money was unfathomable. But now that San is old enough to take care of himself, there’s really no need to continue this lifestyle. 

Yet you pursue the chase because there’s a certain thrill that comes from seeking justice and vigilance. These monsters no longer hide beneath your brother’s bed. Instead, they lurk between the shadows ー among the alleyways and abandoned parts of town. They prey on those who are weak and exploit them for all that they are. 

If the law enforcement team is never going to uphold their end of the social contract, you have to be the one to act first and eliminate them. So with every job completed, you can be certain that the world is safer one hit at a time. 

But to continue being an assassin, you have to keep this secret under wraps. You’ll be forced to hide under a life of normalcy, as nothing more than a naive and innocent daycare teacher at the local library ー a background character in the story of others. In all honesty, you prefer to keep your secrets tucked away. Because to be loved is to be known, and you simply cannot let that happen. 

Some people aren’t made for romance, and maybe you’re one of them. Nobody shall ever hold your heart in their hands without pricking their own flesh. 

Despite all that is said and done, some part of you thinks that there’s no harm in checking out the unpromising dating app. Curiosity gets the best of you as you mindlessly swipe through all of the profiles. However, everyone you’ve come across is either too shallow, too arrogant, or too boring. 

A defeated sigh slips past your lips until you come across a certain profile. You look closer at the photos, inspecting each one with great care. There are only so many pictures: one of him and his dog, a second one of him shoving a Chicago deep dish down his throat, and another with a young child. Tattoos litter across his sun-kissed skin, and piercings scatter his handsome face ー beautiful in the most unorthodox ways.

His bio reads: “To whom it may concern, I am a single father looking for a wife (DM me for serious inquiries only).” 

Have you seen this man before? Could it be… him? 

The longer that you stare at his profile, the more concerned you become. At this rate, you’ve created an entire fantasy about a relationship with this stranger, and now you’re planning the dinner menu for your wedding. But there’s no way that you’d actually consider swiping right and messaging him, right? You don’t even want a boyfriend! This man could be joking for all you know. 

When the clock strikes the hour, a chime resounds through the air. You shake your head, finally coming to your senses. You slip your device into your pocket, forgetting about the man who lives in your phone. 

Jeongguk. His name is Jeongguk. 

“Appaaa!” There’s a piercing cry that slices through the air as the little girl begs for her father’s affection. From behind the bookshelves, the curious librarian pokes her head between the gaps to catch a glimpse of the commotion. 

“Don’t let go, please, please, pleeease!” The young child slips her tiny hand into her father’s, shaking it back and forth with a sense of urgency. 

Jeongguk stands frozen in place. The apples of his cheeks darken into a rosy hue. It’s a little embarrassing to be that parent ー the one who can’t control his child’s outbursts in the middle of a public space, let alone a library, an academic sanctuary that promises peace and quiet. 

With a heavy, exhausted sigh, Jeongguk crouches down to meet his daughter’s innocent expression. “Minny, I promise you, I’m not going anywhere. I ask that you give me ten minutes, okay?” His voice is firm and assertive. It’s a little rough around the edges, but it can’t be helped. He speaks in a way that commands attention from the room. This is the only way he knows how to demand respect from his subordinates. 

“I just need to pick up a few things. We can go home afterwards, so be a good girl until then,” Jeongguk bargains. “You can go to the playroom, and the nice librarian will take care of you.” 

Minji squeezes her tiny hands into fists, and she dies on the inside. Tears form in the corner of her eyes. Even the slightest change in her father’s tone makes her believe that she’s done something wrong. Her worst nightmare flashes before her eyes. 

Would her father abandon if she were to misbehave? Or worse, would he dare to return her to the orphanage she was adopted from? What if her biggest fear comes to fruition? After all, it’s not uncommon for parents to realize far too late that kids are too difficult to handle. Then, they’re left hoping and praying for some kind of return policy for their own flesh and blood. 

Minji’s eyes become glossy at the thought of it, unlocking a hidden memory from the past, but she refuses to let herself falter underneath his piercing stare. Yet no matter how hard she tries to keep the tears at bay, her emotions get the best of her, and her resolve crumbles into smithereens. After all, she’s only five years old. 

It appears that the authoritative approach only works in the combat room, but perhaps not with a five year old girl. So Jeongguk lowers his defenses and drops to his knees. He wipes the tears away with the pad of his thumb, and she sniffles even harder when he comforts her. 

There’s something about the little girl’s demeanor that reminds Jeongguk of himself when he was younger. Perhaps it’s the need for her father’s approval ー the desire to please and put others above herself. Maybe it’s her tenacity for standing tall and strong despite the dull ache in her tender heart. 

“You can let it all out,” he reaffirms. A beat of silence passes by while he caresses her cheek, allowing the tears to fall. “You ’kay now?” 

Minji reluctantly agrees with the slow nod of her head, but she avoids her father’s strong gaze, staring down at her shoes, sullen. When the warmth of her father’s hand disappears, another sniffle racks through her body. 

Normally, Minji is never one to throw a tantrum, but what does Jeongguk know? Just when he thought he had a hang of the whole “parenting” thing, he’s thrown into a loop. In spite of Jeongguk’s confident demeanor, he genuinely doesn’t know the first thing about raising a child, let alone a daughter. 

In his past ten years of being an undercover spy, he has diffused nuclear bombs and hacked into government files, but nothing has ever prepared him for being a single parent. Yet as a man and a father, he needs to do better. He needs to be better. The least he can do is try.

Jeongguk raises a hand between their bodies, extending his pinky for her to interlock, pledging his vow. “I’ll be back for you in ten minutes, I swear.” He reassures his daughter before planting a kiss on the crown of her head. He crosses his fingers, silently praying that she won’t cry again. 

A dribble of snot falls from Minji’s nose. Her eyelashes are soaked. A dramatic hiccup heaves through her tiny, five-year old body. 

Jeongguk can feel the venomous judgment of everyone around him. They must think that he’s utterly unfit to be a father, and they would be right. 

They would wonder: What kind of child causes a scene in public, screaming, crying, and begging her father not to abandon her? How can he send her to the playroom where there’s nothing but disgusting germs and snotty kids? Is he seriously going to hand off his responsibilities to a total stranger in an underfunded public institution? 

They can easily write Jeongguk off as a villain ー a big, scary man with piercings and tattoos. They could hurl accusations at him with no regard as to where they land. All it takes is a quick glance and a first impression (a false one at that). Obviously, they would think he’s someone who’s not built for child rearing because of the slits in his eyebrows and the gel in his hair. There must not be a gentle bone that resides in his big, burly body, but for that, they would be wrong.

The worst part about this whole “father” situation is not necessarily the judgment of others. He is familiar with scrutiny, and he knows it all too well. Rather, it’s that Jeongguk was never particularly fond of having children of his own. Some people are not cut out for fatherhood, and that’s simply the truth of the matter. But that doesn’t mean he won't do his best. He can’t let Minji down. He won’t. 

As if Minji could read his thoughts, she raises her arms, begging to be picked up. Her sniffles have long died down. 

Jeongguk takes a deep breath before caving into her wishes and hooking an arm around her knees. Minji’s grimy, little hands cling around his neck, and an inaudible, celebratory noise escapes from her lips. 

Minji nuzzles her head beneath her father’s chin. She chatters about the incomprehensible things that only five year olds would understand. She is an enigma beyond her father’s own understanding, but he is determined to learn the ins and outs of this child no matter what it takes, even if it kills him. 

After Jeongguk had finally dropped Minji off at the library’s playroom, he peruses the non-fiction shelves in search of answers. 

How the hell is he going to raise a child? 

He thumbs through all of the top-rated parenting books available, skimming through the blurbs, trying to absorb enough information to pass judgment on them. Because if he’s going to follow parenting advice from someone else, they better be successful in their trials. Jeongguk doesn’t want to be the one to fuck up his own child’s brain chemistry.

There’s a sudden tap on his shoulder that helps Jeongguk to escape from the existential dread of fatherhood.

“Excuse me, sir.” A soft voice sounds from behind him. Your breath catches onto the nape of his neck.  

“How did this woman sneak up on me without me noticing? Maybe I’m losing my touch.” Jeongguk wonders, shocked by his carelessness. Because from behind, he didn’t hear the fall of a single footstep. The air was still and undisturbed until he felt your presence a moment too late. Normally, he would have surveilled everyone within a mile radius before they could even think about approaching him. But you managed to do it so effortlessly. He’s never met a woman so stealthy. 

“I think this belongs to you.” Your voice interrupts his stream of consciousness. 

The man before you turns around, and surely, he is a sight for sore eyes 一 a little intimidating to say the least. There’s a silver ring that protrudes from his bottom lip, contrasting against the subtle pink. Even more metal resides against the surface of his skin, a piercing on either side of his eyebrow. There’s a scar that sits on his cheekbone, and you can’t help but wonder how it got there. 

You’ve only ever admired this stranger from afar. Most days, he never fails to browse the children’s manhwa section with a talkative child latched onto his leg. Up close, he looks like a tough guy, but the moment he sees his adorable daughter clinging onto your dress, the hard look in his eyes softens. A dimple carves itself into the curve of his cheek. 

“Who do we have here?” His typical inflection changes into something slightly more playful. But he uses it to mask his exhausted state.

“Appa, appa! Miss y/l/n is so pretty, don’t you think?” Minji says enthusiastically. 

A flame ignites beneath the surface of Jeongguk’s skin. He grows flustered under the little girl’s stare.

Your eyes widen. You’ve never been considered “pretty” by conventional standards. It’s not often that you hear those words, if ever, really. 

“Minji, everyone has their own opinions, but you shouldn’t push your beliefs onto someone else,” you begin as a form of damage control. “I’m so sorry, but she ran up to me, saying she lost her father. She seemed so distressed, and I thought she was going to burst into tears if she couldn’t find you.” 

Jeon Jeongguk has never known peace before. Minji is just as sneaky and conniving as her father; she’s a filthy liar just like him. 

“No, no, it’s okay, don’t apologize. Her attachment issues have grown by the day,” Jeongguk replies, shaking his head. He wears a bashful smile, cheeks tinged with pink. “Minny, do you remember what I taught you?” He crouches down to pick his daughter up by the waist, squeezing her sides. 

“Don’t sleep with wet hair otherwise I might get hippo-pot-a-therm-ia?” Minji recalls, butchering the pronunciation. 

Jeongguk bites the inside of his cheek, shaking his head. “No, the other thing.” 

“Minny doesn’t have to eat anything that she doesn’t want to?” 

“I never said that.” A look of disapproval crosses her father’s features. 

“Drawing mustaches on sleepy people is wrong unless it’s Seokjin samchon?” 

He scrunches his nose, nodding his head from side to side as though he’s contemplating. “Well… yes, but no. Try again. The thing about beauty.” 

“Oh! Beauty is something that comes from the inside!” Minji’s eyes light up upon recognition.

“Exactly, it comes from inside.” Jeongguk reminds her. He presses his pointer finger against Minji’s sternum for emphasis. Upon his touch, a sweet giggle falls from her lips. 

“But you do think it’s true, don’t you?” Minji asks once again, persistent. “Miss y/l/n is really pretty.” 

The blush on his cheeks grow a shade darker. “Minny, of course I think she’s pretty. I thought we talked about this.” Although he lowers his voice like it’s a secret, you can still hear every single word. 

Minji giggles to herself, hiding her face behind her hands. 

Jeongguk has always known your face, but never your name. “Miss y/l/n, right?” 

It sounds odd to hear your title from a grown man, but you laugh it off with a chuckle. “Yeah, that’s what the kids at the daycare call me. It’s just y/n though.” 

Jeongguk readjusts his daughter in his arms before reaching for a handshake. “I’m just Jeongguk.” It doesn’t strike how little his name means to him. Of course it’s just an alias for the sake of the mission. He picked it on a whim, but it suits him more than he had thought. Jeon Jeongguk, pillar of the nation. The lie tumbles out of his lips so naturally, and he doesn't have to think twice. 

His eyes lower into crescent moons as the corner of his lips curve into a smile, something akin to fondness. A shallow dimple finds its way onto his cheeks. 

Dammit. He’s cute. 

You reach forward, cupping your hand around his in a reverent greeting. He holds you gently as if there’s a butterfly that had landed on the tip of his fingers. It contrasts against your strong grip. 

Observant as ever, Jeongguk notices that there’s no sign of a ring on your hand. He digs through the arsenal of intel that’s locked up inside his brain. Thanks to Seokjin’s sticky fingers, he managed to spend an entire weekend studying the most recent census information, getting to know the profiles of everyone in the city (just in case). There has to be some information about you stored in his head. 

“y/n… Where did I see that name before?” He thinks to himself, mentally sifting through all the files he’s read. “Ah, I remember now. File #901: y/l/n, y/n. Never married, never divorced. Orphaned at the age of eighteen. She has one younger brother. Both of them have clean records ー never been in trouble with the police, never even received a speeding ticket.”

“Jeongguk…” you murmur his name as if you’re testing the waters. “I know. I’ve seen you around before.” 

Minji might have accidentally let it slip that he’s the man who's been her appa ‘for a very long time.’ She never seemed to mention that she’s adopted. Instead, she continues to describe her father as someone super handsome and very single. 

“Really?” Although he’s noticed you plenty of times before, he’s surprised that you recognize him. Jeongguk doesn’t like drawing attention. He supposes that lately, it’s been difficult when his daughter attracts a lot of eyes. 

“Most of the time, you wander through the aisles, half-dead like a zombie, with a cup of coffee in your hand.” You lean forward, speaking in a hushed tone. “You really aren’t allowed to bring drinks into the library, but my coworkers let it slide because they think you’re handsome.” 

Perhaps you’ve overshared because Jeongguk stares at you blankly, taken aback by the news. 

“Here’s another secret.” You beckon him closer once again, speaking barely above a whisper. “You should be careful about reading parenting books. You’ll end up stressed about what to do if it doesn’t work, and you’ll feel like a failure by the end of it.”

His eyes widen in surprise. He had hoped that the parenting books would put an end to his sleepless nights. “What do you think I should do then? I don’t know how to deal with this monster right here.” He ruffles Minji’s hair in endearment. 

“Hey!” Minji shouts in defense of herself.

“That’s not to say you shouldn’t read any parenting books. It’s just trial and error,” you shrug. “As much as you don’t want to hear it, there’s really no right answer.”

Jeongguk drops his shoulders, slightly disappointed. The defeated look on his face is a feeling you can sympathize with. 

“But if it helps, I think it’s important that children need a little bit of softness every now and then, especially because the world is so cruel.” You flash him a gentle smile, urging him to lighten up on his daughter. He needs to stop pretending that raising a child is anything like the military or the spy academy. 

Upon hearing your conversation, there’s a mischievous sparkle that appears in Minji’s eyes. “Miss y/l/n, do you wanna be my eomma?” 

You stare blankly at her, blinking as though you are processing her question. The words die on your tongue, yet you cock your head to the side, meeting the little girl’s gaze. “Y- your eomma?” you reiterate, startled. 

“Pleaseee? I’m so lonely with no eomma,” Minji pouts, melodramatic as ever. She puts her hand on her forehead as if she’s feigning an illness. 

“Jeongguk, do you happen to be looking for a wife?” 

“Is this your way of asking me out?” He leans forward, inclined to hear your proposal. 

You wonder if this is a bad time to mention his Tinder profile. It could be a little awkward knowing that you’ve also made an account on that wretched app. There’s nothing inherently embarrassing about wanting to find love through modern dating, but why is it so hard to admit it?

You weigh your options in your head, but Jeongguk beats you to it. 

“Because if you did 一 ya’ know 一 ask me out, I would have said-” His words are cut short. 

“You know what? I’m sorry if I was being too forward-” Mentally, you want to smack yourself on the head.

Jeongguk didn’t mention anything about a girlfriend, let alone a wife. He has no idea that you’ve seen his Tinder before. You never even swiped. You never matched. 

After you found his profile, you tucked your phone away and refused to open the app again. The blissful state of not knowing is better than playing the waiting game. Will he swipe, will he not? Will he message you and jumpstart some epic romance? 

You decide to tell him the truth and swallow your pride before coming across as a complete weirdo wrapped up in her delusions. 

“It’s just that… the other day, my friends made a dating profile for me because they’re worried I’ll be single for the rest of my life. I came across your account, and I thought you looked familiar. So I just wanted to know if you’re actually looking for a wife because I swear, I’ll do it.” 

Jeongguk has never been this close to making a breakthrough, and he thinks he’s half in love with you. “Are you being serious?” he wonders as a precaution. “Don’t lie to me because I really need this to be a dream come true right now.” 

His daughter reaches forward to pinch his cheeks. Jeongguk winces at the pain, and he’s certain that this moment is real. 

“Do you want me to get down on one knee?” Your face is devoid of any banter, eyes fixed on Jeongguk as if you’re genuinely offering yourself to him. “Why do you need a wife? Tax money? Green card? Ex who won’t leave you alone?” 

“It’s complicated,” Jeongguk begins. 

“Trust me, I know it's complicated when I see it.” There’s a challenging look in your eyes, urging him to continue. 

“Well, the other day, Minny passed the entrance exam for Hwa Yang Academy. Now, the  board has to conduct an interview with the family, but they said they would want both parents to be there.” 

“You can’t tell them that you’re a single father?” 

“I think it’ll hurt her chances of getting accepted,” he explains. “I want my daughter to attend a good school. Her late mother would have wanted the same thing for her.” 

“Appa said lying is wrong, but he’s so good at it,” Minji thinks to herself. 

“Do you really think that I’m fit for the role?” You’ve never really had a penchant for acting or playing pretend. Lying, on the other hand, that is your strong suit. 

“I don’t mean to be too forward, but I think you’re perfect.” Jeongguk speaks his truth without any hesitation. He looks at you with such sweet and delicate eyes. “You seem to be great with children, and Minny adores you already.” 

You eye him as if you’re considering his offer, but you’ve already made up your mind. “I’ll do it, but only if you do a favor for me too. Are you free next weekend?” 

“Next weekend?” Jeongguk raises an eyebrow. It’s starting to make sense why you agreed to do this in the first place. You need something in exchange, quid pro quo. 

“My friends are throwing an engagement party. They’re worried about me all the time because I’m single, but I thought I would lay it to rest if I told them I finally had a boyfriend, or at least someone I’m talking to.” Your speech gets faster and faster with every word that comes out of your mouth. “I know it sounds crazy, Iー” 

“I’ll do it.”

You stare blankly at him, unsure if you heard correctly, but a smile continues to creep onto the corners of your lips. “You will?” 

Jeongguk reaches forward, gently taking your hand in his. “It would be an honor to be your boyfriend,” he says, even if it’s just pretend. “And an even bigger honor to be your husband.” 

“y/n!” 

You don’t hear your name being called relentlessly until your co-workers are shouting for your attention. Their words fall upon deaf ears. 

As usual, they had been gossiping about their boyfriends and their weekend plans. You checked out of the conversation the moment Yumi opened her mouth and uttered her fiancé’s name, resisting the urge to gag. 

You look up from your lap, slightly too distracted. There’s a small, maroon stain and a rip in the skirt of your dress. It’s not easy keeping your clothes in pristine condition when you’re constantly running toward danger. You’re lost in thought, wondering how much the tailor shop will charge you for sewing it back together. 

“What are you doing this weekend? There’s a new episode of that drama you like, right? Are you going to order delivery again?” Yumi assumes. “You know, you should step outside from time to time. Maybe you’ll find a nice person to date if Tinder doesn’t pan out.” 

“Actually, I have plans after work,” you announce before returning to inspect the damage on your dress. 

“With who? Did you meet someone on the app?” The cadence of Sujin’s voice is airy, shocked in disbelief. 

“I’m meeting up with some guy.” You try not to make it a big deal, but these girls always blow it out of proportion. “I didn’t meet him from the app though.” 

“You’re seeing someone? Who?! You can’t just drop the news and expect us not to ask for the details!” Sujin shouts. 

“He was at the library the other day, and he asked me out. He’s the one with the tattoos ー y’all would recognize him if you saw him,” you explain. “Minji is his daughter.” 

“The guy with the coffee?” Everyone collectively gasps upon connecting the dots. “Him? How did you manage to pull that?!” 

Ouch. That hurts. 

“I would dump my fiancé in a heartbeat if the coffee guy could blow my back out,” Yumi confesses. 

How could she be so shallow? She was just talking about how much she loved her fiancé. Is he really that disposable? Besides, is Jeongguk nothing more than the coffee guy? A pretty face who’s made for a one night stand? You’re starting to think that people don’t actually value their relationships. They just want a partner for the sake of having one.

There’s a sudden chime that resounds through the air, pulling you out of your thoughts. The service bell at the front desk had been struck. It’s odd considering most people exited the library by now, knowing that it closes in ten minutes. 

You all poke your head through the doorway to catch a glimpse of the patron. Their eyes widen in surprise when they see the coffee guy standing at the front desk. He stands tall and proud with a military stance, a head above everyone else. There’s a bouquet of pink camellias resting in his hand in place of his typical americano. 

“Jeongguk? I thought we were meeting at the cafe.” Perhaps you remembered the details of the conversation wrong.  

When you speak his name out loud, all the girls shift their gaze to one another. Could it really be true that you’re seeing a man? 

“I thought it would be nice if I could surprise you, and we’d walk there together.” He flashes a smile that sends an arrow straight through the heart (and through those of your coworkers). For a second, you think that Yumi might just faint. 

He’s handsome as ever, just as you recall. But today, there’s something that’s slightly out of place. There’s a bandage that rests on the bridge of his nose. It’s pink with Sanrio characters plastered all over it ー Hello Kitty and My Melody. There’s something about it that makes him even more endearing. 

You try to stifle a giggle as you shoot him an apology. “Sorry, can you hang around for a few more minutes? I have some things to do before closing.”

“Take your time, angel.” Jeongguk says. Crinkles begin to form at the corner of his eyes as the curve of his lips overtake him. 

You have to admit that the pet name made your heart flutter. He plays into the role of a sweet boyfriend pretty accurately. It’s all part of the act. 

Sujin closes the door to the office. The girls break into squeals. They playfully hit your shoulder in disbelief, elbowing your sides. “I can’t believe it! y/n is going out with a man?!” 

“And he’s hot!” 

You shake your head before returning to your work station, ignoring their cheers. But you can’t help the subtle smile that reaches your lips. Maybe the girls will finally leave you the fuck alone. 

“I’m so sorry for the wait.” You apologize as you approach Jeongguk, looking like a disheveled mess after an 8 hour shift. Your blouse is slightly wrinkled, and you’re certain there’s residue left behind from all the marker stains the kids had carelessly drawn on you. Your arm is full of stickers, and you’ll have to remember to peel them off later. 

In the daycare, Jeongguk is propped on top of a bean bag chair that is much too small for his body. There’s a manhwa that rests in his lap. It’s the one his daughter can’t stop talking about. 

“I got here ten minutes early anyways.” He places the book on the table before clambering to his feet. “Oh yeah, and these are for you.” He passes the bouquet of camellias. 

You raise your hands, not really sure how to accept the gift. You’re not the type of girl to receive flowers, love poems, or pretty things. Nobody has ever pursued you in that way. All you ever receive are cursory glances and awkward smiles, but never anything as beautiful as this. 

He inches the flowers a little closer to you, urging you to take it. 

You pull the bouquet to your nose, taking a whiff of the sweet scent. “These are really pretty. Thank you for that.” You motion for him to wait just a moment longer as you place the flowers into a vase. 

Through the porthole of the office door, you can see the girls squeal and jump around in unison. 

“Are you ready? Should we head out?” Jeongguk’s lips curl into a boyish smile. 

You nod, sharply turning your heels in an attempt to hide the fluster of your face. Before you could take a step forward, you’re pulled to a halt. There’s a tug on your arm that spins you around. Jeongguk’s fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling you close. 

“Wait one sec,” his breath fans across your face. “You have some chalk on your cheek. Can I-?” He raises his hand, tentatively learning forward. 

Heat rushes to the surface of your skin, yet you nod your head, giving into his request. “Is this part of the act?” you wonder out loud, low enough for Jeongguk to hear. 

“Only if you want it to be.” His deep voice sends a shiver down your spine. 

As he leans forward to wipe the dust off your cheek, your throat dries. You freeze, attempting to avoid his gaze. You’re not certain whether you’ll explode upon gazing into his dark brown eyes. 

Instead, you keep your sight locked straight ahead. It’s a terrible idea considering his strong chest is right in front of you. The top two buttons of his white collared shirt are undone, and the space between his pecs are exposed, a necklace dangling in between. There’s a chance that you might die staring at it, so you accept the risk of embarrassing yourself and glance at his visage instead. 

“There’s my pretty girl,” Jeongguk says, dusting off the chalk. 

A wave of butterflies swarm in the pit of your stomach, and your mind goes blank. You have no idea how to respond to such a compliment, and you’re unable to when your throat constricts. Your body warms, hyper aware of his palm on your cheek and the one wrapped around your wrist. Your one free hand that is not occupied by his clasp shoots up, hovering over the bandage plastered on his nose. 

“What happened here?” The words splutter out of your mouth, trying to say something. Anything. Perhaps your anxiety would be less noticeable if you could just act natural ー If you could stop standing there without a single thought in your head. 

“Bumped into a wall,” Jeongguk chuckles. It’s a blatant lie. He could never be this clumsy. In actuality, he had failed to duck during a sparring match with another spy at the agency. Fuck Kim Mingyu and his stupidly beefy arms. “Minny picked the bandage for me.” 

“You mean you didn’t choose to wear the Hello Kitty? I think it suits you.” As soon as you graze the bridge of his nose, his laughter turns into a dramatic groan. Soft murmurs of ‘ow, ow’ fall from his lips. 

“‘m sorry, ‘m sorry!” You apologize. 

His other hand gently grasps your palm, pulling it away from his sprained injury. Maybe your dating profile was right when it mentioned you don’t know your own strength. 

“Don’t worry, let’s just hope that Minny is okay,” Jeongguk remarks. “She insisted on wearing a matching bandaid because ‘if appa’s hurt, then Minny’s hurt.’ Kind of like a voodoo doll.” 

Subconsciously, the thought of Minny wearing a matching bandage despite being perfectly fine forces your lips into a smile. 

“Should we head out now?” Jeongguk leans closer, voice barely above a whisper. “Can I hold your hand? Give your friends a real show to watch?” It’s as if your hand wasn’t already in his. 

You nod your head, suddenly remembering that this is all an act. You’re reminded of the girls crowded around the office door, peeking through the small window to catch a glimpse of the action. 

Jeongguk’s hand glides down from your palm and between your fingers, lacing them together. A breath hitches in your throat, and you have to remind yourself to breathe. You can hear the high pitched screams from behind when the girls are convinced you’ve stepped far away enough. But it isn't as loud as the sound of your heart beating out of your chest. 

The two of you make your way to the cafe, walking side by side, hand-in-hand, occasionally bumping shoulders when you walk a little too close. 

“How was your day? I realized I never asked you what you do for work, and I don’t really know much about you in general,” you chuckle, slightly embarrassed. “I thought we would at least have our first kiss by now if we were married.” There’s a hint of sarcasm in your tone, one that Jeongguk easily recognizes because his informant, Seokjin, is nothing but shits and giggles. 

“We would have done more than kissing, but we can start slow.” The corners of his lips curl into a playful grin. His words make you freeze, but it doesn’t seem to faze him. 

With your hands linked together, Jeongguk is pulled back by your halted movements. He turns to face you, displaying his pretty eye-smile. “I’m a journalist,” he says. “I write investigative articles when they don’t ask me to cover silly politics.” 

Although it’s not completely true, it’s not totally false at the same time. He writes exposé articles based on the intel he uncovers from his spy missions. The articles that he writes are written under an anonymous name, obviously so he can’t be tracked for exposing highly classified information. Nobody should ever know that he’s digging into the lives of corrupt politicians. Jeongguk might never see the light of day if word gets out. 

“My routine is pretty consistent,” he explains. “I did some research for my article, wrote a few thousand words in my drafts before deciding to scrap the entirety of it, and I picked up Minny from kindergarten. I asked my friend to babysit her while I’m away tonight.” 

Jeongguk wants to scrub his tongue after admitting that Seokjin is his “friend.” 

“What about you? How’s your life at the library?” Jeongguk asks. 

You describe the events that spiraled today as the two of you head inside the coffee shop and place your orders. “Well, the girls seemed convinced that we’re on a date,” you chuckle. 

Jeongguk gasps. His hand clenches against his chest as if he’s wounded by your words. “You mean to tell me this isn’t a date? I thought we had something special.” He feigns exasperation. “You are my wife, after all, aren’t you?” 

You don’t care to admit how amusing it is to hear the word wife coming from him. Despite the smile that plays on your lips, you shake your head no.

“This isn’t a real date,” you explain in denial. Nobody has ever asked you out, and you’ll be damned if the first time is just pretend. “But I guess this is good practice, especially when the stakes are higher for the interview.” 

“Hmm… practice.” A crinkle forms between Jeongguk’s brows, lost in thought. 

“I have to admit that I don’t have a lot of experience with dating, and that’s why we have to practice.” You shake your head, flustered. “Actually, I’ve never even been in a relationship.” 

“Why’s that?” He asks the age-old question. 

“I’m not really the type that people fall for.” You tuck your head between your shoulders, offering a shrug. “I’m quiet ー Not really good with people. I’m a bit of a late bloomer. I spent a lot of my youth taking care of my younger brother.” That’s only the jist of it. You don’t bother getting into the nitty gritty details. Being a full-time assassin isn’t necessarily “first-date appropriate” conversation. 

“How many partners have you had?” You bounce back, diverting the attention away from you. 

“Just one, my wife who passed. We had been together since we were in high school.” The lie seeps through his teeth so easily. It’s terrifying. But the less you know, the better. 

The thought of being Jeongguk’s first “girlfriend” since the passing of his wife makes you incredibly nervous. Upon seeing the sullen avoidance in his eyes, you don’t bring it up again. Instead, you try to lighten the mood.

The two of you fall into a routine of volleying questions back and forth. If you’re planning to convince everyone that you’re husband and wife, you’re going to have to know more than just one another’s (supposed) names and (supposed) professions. 

You start with the easy stuff. “Where did you grow up?” 

“Busan. I miss the sound of the ocean, but I don’t mind the city as long as Minny goes to the best school in the country. What about you?” 

“I grew up in a town so small you wouldn’t be able to find it on the map, but it’s not far from the capital.”

“Cryptic, I like it.” A grin forms onto the corners of lips before he takes a sip of his coffee. 

Over the next hour, you learn that Jeongguk, as robust and intimidating as he looks, is warm and gentle. His favorite thing about being a father is having someone to love and protect. To him, Minji is a bundle of joy who makes his day brighter despite the hurdles that come with being a parent. He would do anything in the world to give his child the life he never quite had. 

Likewise, having lost his parents at a young age, he learned to lead a fulfilling life all on his own. Instead of letting it bog him down, he clings onto the simple things for respite, searching for happiness in every corner of the universe. 

He loves the rain and how it fleetingly smells like the warm and muggy summers of his hometown. Although he doesn’t experience the monsoon season quite like he used to, he loves to watch Minji splash around in her yellow rain boots. His favorite time of day is golden hour, especially when the fluffy white clouds are tinted with orange hues, reminding him of his first dog, Gureum. 

Jeongguk has a slight addiction to black coffee, even if it makes his stomach hurt on the odd occasions (and you suggest he tries tea instead). He likes his eggs scrambled, and he prefers waffles over pancakes. He has plenty of awful habits like singing karaoke at four in the morning followed by cooking a pot of instant ramen to satiate his brutal cravings (yes, his food preferences are vital to your understanding of who Jeongguk is as a person, down to his core). 

He tells you about his trip to Chicago some months ago where he definitely deepthroated a deep dish pizza after being dared by Seokjin. As much as he loved traveling, he was easily home-sick and desperately missing his fix of samgyeopsal. In fact, he tells you he would love to invite you over one day so he can make you a meal. And thank God for that because you are not handy in the kitchen whatsoever. 

You learn that not necessarily all of his tattoos have meaning. The tiger is an emblem of his country while the tiger lily is his birth flower, and it is a silent, desperate plea to be loved. There’s a silly emoji on his middle finger just because he thinks it’s funny. He hates having to cover it up when he goes to work (tattoos may not have been the smartest idea knowing that he has to keep his identity a secret, but the damage is already done), and he’s certain that everybody judges him for the ink on his arms. 

“As long as you like your tattoos, it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks.” You offer him a warm smile as though nothing could ever hurt him. God, how he wishes that was true. 

For some reason, Jeongguk doesn’t know how to react to your words. He’s only ever been told to cover up his skin as if he has something to be ashamed of.  

In exchange for his stories, you trade Jeongguk pieces of your life. How your favorite memory from youth was when you had taken the city bus an hour and a half down to the beach with your brother, San, where you’d build sand castles on the brink of collapse. Sometimes, the smell of salt air and the longing for August still lingers to this day. 

You tell him about your attempt at joining the knitting club so you could make cute sweaters and vests. They were never perfect. But at least they kept your brother warm during the winters. Besides, you had fun playing dress-up with him. Jeongguk finds that perhaps the boldest thing you’ve ever done is bleach your hair strawberry blonde, only for it to turn out orange. 

His laughter blooms through his chest when you tell him about the time you almost set the microwave on fire. Your mom never told you that aluminum foil doesn’t belong in there, and you had to learn that the hard way. That’s probably why you should never set foot in the kitchen again. Nevertheless, you made mistake after mistake just so that San could have food on the table everyday after school. At least you’ve perfected the art of cutting fruit at this point ー no cooking skills required. 

Although the two of you talk for what seems like hours, you can’t help but think there’s so much more to this man, and he’s unwilling to share. It doesn’t necessarily bother you because you, too, have secrets of your own. You can’t expect him to reveal everything about his life, even if he never does. 

It’s well into the evening when Jeongguk walks you home. The path is quiet. It’s illuminated by the dim light of the street lamps. It feels like a scene from a movie you’ve once watched ー the origin of all your teenage fantasies. But this is real. You’re just a girl, standing in front of a boy, and that’s where it all begins. 

“y/n?” The way he says your name brings you to a halt. His voice, although usually confident, is timid and uncertain. “I’ll see you tomorrow, right? We still have a lot to talk about.” He looks at you with stars in his eyes, although none of them belong to you, and they could never be yours. 

Your lips press together in a tight line, nodding your head in affirmation. As you bid your goodbyes, you wonder if it would be inappropriate to give him a hug. After all, you’ve only just met the day prior, and this is nothing but pretend. Yet how will you ever grow accustomed to the touch of your husband?

Your arms remain crossed over your chest. You look down at your shoes, kicking a loose pebble at the front of your door, contemplating. 

But he reaches for your hand, lightly grasping around your fingers. You jolt back as if he set your nerves aflame. Your gaze lifts toward his eyes, but it quickly lowers as Jeongguk descends down to one knee. 

Your heart pounds against your chest, and you pray that he cannot hear it. 

“I’m sorry I don’t have a proper ring…” He begins. “I hope you can accept this for now, and I swear I’ll get a diamond on your hand one day ー As big as you want.” 

Jeongguk carefully pulls a small metal band from his pocket. It can easily be confused for the end piece of a keychain ー perhaps it’s something that his daughter had left behind in his coat, never to be remembered. But for Jeongguk, he knows perfectly well that it’s the pin from a grenade he had tossed the week prior on an escape mission. He slides the ring onto your finger, and although it is slightly too large, you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“I may not have been your first choice of a partner, and for all I know, I could have been dead last, but thank you for sticking by me. I swear I’ll take care of you. I’ll hold your heart with gentle hands, and I won’t ever let it break.” 

After all, this is just pretend. 

But for some reason, his voice sounds so earnest, and you almost believe him. To be frank, you never really cared about lavish weddings and seven carat diamonds. If you were to ever look for a companion, all you could ask for is an honest partner. 

Too bad Jeon Jeongguk is anything but that.

Throughout the next week, you spend more and more time getting to know your new “boyfriend.” Because of this, you have to put your side hustle on pause and constantly decline assignments on your burner phone. You certainly wouldn’t want Jeongguk to overhear your plans to murder while he sits pretty beside you, waiting to hear about your day ー your hopes, your dreams, and anything else that’s on your mind. But it would be a shame if you cut your dates early, only to spend less than a second to put a bullet through your enemies’ heads.

You’d have much more fun with Jeongguk instead. Because he tends to plan the cutest surprise dates, and they’re so incredibly thoughtful. Sometimes, Minji would accompany your dates when Seokjin can’t babysit (he’s too busy trying to find his own baby mama so he can prove Minji wrong). Nevertheless, Minji adores the time that you spend together because it feels like you’re a real family.

The three of you would drive to the movies, play boardgames, and eat ice cream for dinner. Jeongguk had even taken you both to the annual carnival that you desperately wanted to check out. He wasn’t fond of going because those claw machines and arcade games are absolute scams! Yet you caught the smug grin on his face when he finally won a stuffed bunny after downing fifty bucks. He was just so addicted to the thrill of nearly winning: “I could have gotten that!” 

During your dates, you would laugh for hours on end, but by the end of the night, Minji would fall asleep on her father’s shoulder. That’s usually your cue to head home. Sometimes, you think that he might kiss you goodnight, but he never does. His lips only ever brush your knuckles like the gentleman that he is. 

…

True to his word, Jeongguk invites you over for dinner the following Friday.

When you arrive at his apartment, you are instantly the worst houseguest known to mankind. Your umbrella is dripping wet from the pouring rain, effectively ruining Jeongguk’s wooden floors. However, that’s not the problem that Jeongguk has with you. The problem is that you’re unable to stop laughing at Jeongguk’s attire. 

Surely, your parents had taught you to be kind, especially to your hosts. Well, when Jeongguk swings the door open, revealing a frilly apron, something akin to what your grandmother would wear, you couldn’t help it! A picture of My Melody is stamped onto the chest, staring straight into your soul. 

It isn’t lost on you ー the irony of a big, strong man, no doubt subjected to dress up in his daughter’s choice of clothing. 

“Don’t laugh at me,” Jeongguk pouts, tilting his head like a puppy. 

You stifle your giggle behind a tight lipped smile, but you’re so close to bursting at the seams. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

After placing your shoes at the door, Jeongguk leads you into his humble abode. He takes the bottle of chardonnay from your hands, thanking you for the gift, and places it onto the dining table. 

“Dinner should be ready in an hour,” he informs you. 

“I know I’m not very useful in the kitchen, but if you need help-” 

Before you can even think about lifting a finger, Jeongguk is quick to suggest an alternative. “No, don't worry, you’re my guest. Just relax, okay? Minny is in the living room. You should spend time with her.” 

In the adjacent room, Minji is crouched over her study material. Her worksheets spread across the coffee table. Each question covers a different subject: basic biology, political science, religion and ethics, foreign language, etc. You never quite realized how much pressure children face in the education system. 

After all, you were never really concerned with grades. You never thought about applying to the top school in the nation. In fact, your grades had fallen down a slippery slope by the time you were in high school. Rather, all of your time was dedicated to earning money and supporting your family. 

When you sit beside Minji, she beckons you closer before you can even greet her. “I’m dying. Help me,” she pleads with wide eyes. You look down to see her math homework ー fractions, Minji’s sworn enemy. 

“Appa wants me to study, but he won’t give me the answers,” Minji whines. 

You can’t help but chuckle. “Minny, you have to figure out the answers on your own if you want to do well.”

The sound of your advice makes her drop her head on the table with a soft thump. 

“Here, let’s do a few questions together,” you suggest. 

Try as you might, you only manage to complete half of the assignment. Minji huffs, slightly frustrated when she doesn’t understand the concept. 

You pat her back, consoling the small child. “Once you eat dinner, you’ll have more brain energy. Maybe you just need a break.” 

A lightbulb goes off above her head, and she springs to her feet. “Appa! Can I give eomma a tour of the house?” 

You tilt your head, amused by the sound of Minji calling you her mother. 

“That sounds like a great idea!” Jeongguk cranes his neck to peek at his devious daughter. “Just make sure you study again when you’re done.” 

Minji takes her father’s approval as a cue to grab your hand in hers, showing you every corner of the house ー all of her drawings taped to the fridge, her favorite stuffed animals lined up at the end of the bed, and the sparkly clean toilet where she poops every morning. After describing everything in excruciating detail, you could have sworn that Minji would run out of words to say. But she never does. 

“What’s behind that door?” You point to the end of the hall. 

“That’s appa’s bedroom. He told me I should never go in there unless he gives me permission.” 

You suppose it’s healthy to set boundaries between you and your child. It’s not like Jeongguk has distasteful art hanging on his walls, and it’s not likely that he’s hiding a dead body in there. He doesn’t seem to be the type to store skeletons in the closet. You, on the other hand, now that’s a different story. Perhaps Jeongguk just needs a little privacy at the end of every night. 

Minji’s voice breaks you out of your reverie. “Eomma! This is your room! Well, it’s a guest room, but appa says it’s basically yours if you ever want a place to stay.” 

You step into the final room, glancing around the walls at a loss of words. Your eyes are drawn to the shelves. They’re brimming with so many novels. It’s like your own personal library. You could probably spend the entire day just browsing through each book. 

As you slide open one of the drawers, you’re surprised to find an array of period products. There are also makeup wipes, an abundance of face masks, some sunscreen, and essential oils (apparently, women love that sort of stuff according to an article Jeongguk had bookmarked). There’s even a candle that’s labeled ‘ocean breeze.’

“Do you like it?” Minji looks up at you with wide, glimmering eyes as she uncaps the candle, shoving her entire nose against the wax with a hard whiff. 

“I love it, Minny, thank you for the tour. I really appreciate it. You should get back to your studies. I’ll help your dad with dinner, but if you need my help, just call me, okay?” 

Minji sniffles theatrically and drags her feet into the living room. 

You head towards the kitchen to find Jeongguk slicing a daikon radish with military precision. There’s soft music playing in the background, accompanied by the pouring rain outside, occasionally interrupted by the soft huff of frustration when Jeongguk’s bangs cover his eyes. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his elbows, revealing his strong forearms covered in tattoos. 

Jeongguk finally looks up at you in the doorway. He flashes you a smile ー delighted, and very much enamored. “How was the tour?” 

“Your home is so cozy. But I don’t know if I was supposed to look at the top secret file you forgot to put away.” 

“I- WHAT?” He yelps. The shock on his face is quickly replaced with an acute pain. The knife had sliced through his palm upon one careless motion. 

“Oh, fuck,” he mutters under his breath, ensuring that Minji won’t hear his foul language.

Jeongguk drops the radish onto the cutting board with a thud. He forces pressure onto the wound with the pad of his thumb to stop the bleeding. In actuality, he’s more concerned about the food than he is about his finger. 

“Oh my god, are you okay?” You rush over to his side, reaching for his wrist. “Let’s run it under cold water.” 

The two of you waddle towards the small sink, attached by the hip. 

“I was kidding about the secret files. I’m sorry about the cut.” You’re ridden with guilt, seeing that your mindless joke had cost Jeongguk his hand. 

“No, no, you don’t have to apologize. It was my fault. I was the one holding the knife.” 

You shake your head. “Don’t blame yourself either. It happens. I get cuts all the time.” If there’s ever a blade against your skin, it’s usually by the hands of your enemies. You, on the other hand, are a pro when it comes to handling knives. 

Jeongguk shuts the faucet off, examining the cut. It’s shallow. You could hardly see it.

“I’ll grab a bandaid for you,” you offer, already sprinting down the hallway. 

“They’re in the bathroom! Medicine cabinet!” Jeongguk shouts. 

“I know! Minny gave me a tour of everything,” you shout back. You pluck the ointment and the familiar Hello Kitty bandages off the shelf before shuffling back to the kitchen. “Minny shared way too much information about the inventory of your medicine cabinet. Apparently, you have two morphine capsules left. You should get a refill on those.” 

Jeongguk hums in recognition, and you wonder why he would need a painkiller as strong as morphine. 

Taking Jeongguk’s hand in yours, you assess the cut and gently blow on the appendages with the purse of your lips. You place the pink bandage onto his hand, and out of habit, you give him a quick kiss on the booboo. 

When you pull back, you’re absolutely mortified. You avoid his gaze, trying to hide your own humiliation. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to do that. The kids at the daycare always ask for a kiss when they’re injured.”

“It’s okay, I understand.” A rosy hue dusts over Jeongguk’s cheeks. Why is he so shy when he’s usually the bold and courageous one? He’ll be sure to call Seokjin tonight to ask what this means ー to be so flustered and afflicted by your touch. Is his skin supposed to feel like it’s on fire? 

With the look on his face, you’re not quite sure who’s more embarrassed. So you run towards the sink and nervously wash your hands, practically rubbing the skin raw. 

“I’ll cut the radish for you.” You take his place by the cutting board. 

When he asks if you’re sure, you just hum in response, having already started, and he succumbs to your offer. Typically, Jeongguk would not be willing to accept anyone’s help. But there’s warmth and sincerity in your tone.

“Let me tie this for you.” Jeongguk steps behind you, lightly brushing your hair back to keep it out of your eyes. 

Heat rushes to your face, and you nod in agreement. Instantly, Jeongguk separates your hair into three different strands.

“You know how to braid?” you ask, chopping away at the radish. “You can just tie a simple ponytail if you want.” 

“Minny said she wanted to go to school with a French braid. I didn’t know how to do it, so I looked at a video online. I’m not that good, but let me practice, okay?” He ties off your hair with the elastic that he keeps on his wrist for standby. “Tadaaa!” A proud grin sits on his pretty lips. 

You can tell that the braid is a little too loose for your liking, but you’ll be sure to show him how to properly braid later. Perhaps after dinner. “How does it look?” You wonder. 

“You’re perfect,” Jeongguk says affirmatively, sweet as ever. “Here, let me give you an apron.” 

Before you know it, he loops a string of fabric over your head. It sits loosely on the back of your neck. Jeongguk’s hand rests on your shoulder blade, pushing your hips against the counter as he reaches to tie the string around the small of your back. He fixates on the knot that tethers around his thick fingers as he works on the fabric. His breath is hot against your neck. You can feel the heat radiate off of him. 

When he pulls back, you swallow the lump in your throat, sighing a breath of relief. “Thanks,” you murmur. 

The worst part is that Jeongguk doesn’t even realize the effect that he has on you. You wonder when he’ll put an end to this madness. Because at this rate, you think you might explode if he inches any closer to you. 

As it seems, fate has other plans. 

While he watches you cook, he hovers behind you; not because he’s controlling, but because he wants to make sure you’re safe. He has to admit that you’re skilled with a knife, but your cooking techniques aren’t quite there. 

“When you cut, curl your fingers and tuck your knuckles underneath them.” Jeongguk inches closer and places his chin on the crown of your head. He slots himself against your back as his protective arms cage you against the marble counter. His hands slide down from your wrist, careful not to startle you, before cupping them around your fingers. He gently guides your hand, ensuring that you don’t cut yourself. 

You don’t realize that you’ve been holding your breath until he steps away. Maybe cooking isn’t as bad as you make it out to be.

The heavy downpour of rain patters against the windows. 

“It looks like the weather is getting worse. I didn’t realize it would storm tonight,” Jeongguk peeks between the blinds before lighting a few candles. The lamps had been flickering because of the torrential rain. “The roads aren’t very safe. If you want to stay over, you can take the guest room.” 

You nearly drop the cutlery on the table in the midst of setting up dinner. “Ar- are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother.” 

“Stop with that, you’re never a bother,” he reassures you. “If you want, I’ll drive you home first thing tomorrow morning.” 

You think about the invitation before ultimately deciding to accept. “Thank you, Jeongguk. And by the way, I really appreciate how you set the room up for me.” You shoot him a grateful smile. 

“Anything for my wife.” The warmth of his words makes your heart flutter. 

When the table is finally set, the three of you settle down for dinner. 

You bite the inside of your cheek as you stare at the beautiful arrangement of food you have yet to touch. There’s tender pork belly, fermented shrimp, spicy oyster radish, fresh garlic, and pickled cabbage among a bunch of other side dishes you can’t even put a name to. 

“You said you were hungry, right?” Jeongguk picks up the cabbage leaf and stuffs the ingredients inside. He wraps it into a roll and places it on top of your fluffy white rice. 

Watching the steam rise in front of you, you nearly bawl from how delicious it smells. The tears threaten to spill from the corners of your eyes. 

Nobody has ever made you a home-cooked meal since your parents had passed. 

“Are you- uhm,” Jeongguk lifts his hand, not knowing what to do with his own limbs. A set of chopsticks rests between his thumb and pointer finger, fish cake tucked between the silver metal. It hovers halfway across the table, abruptly stopping before he could reach your bowl. “You can cry, it’s okay-” 

You don’t dare to move a single muscle when the tear falls down your cheeks. 

Minji reaches over to wipe the droplet away. You can’t tell if she wants to comfort you, or rather, she’s just looking to steal a bite of your pork belly. But you’re inclined to believe it’s the former. Her father had already served a piece of meat in her bowl. 

“It’s okay, eomma. You can cry. Just… don’t do it over the dishes. You don’t want your food to be salty,” Minji advises. 

Jeongguk calls his daughter’s name, scolding. He plucks out a few tissues from the box and passes them across the table. 

You wipe your eyes, praying that the tears will stop. “I’m sorry, I’m fine,” you shake your head. “I just don’t really remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal with anyone other than myself. I think my parents were the last people to ever cook for me.” 

“What about your brother?” Jeongguk inquires. 

“I’ve always made food for him growing up, and ever since he went to university, he’s been away from home. I really haven’t seen him in a while.” A sullen smile tugs on your lips. “We usually just talk on the phone.” 

Jeongguk topples more food onto your bowl, filling it to the brim. “Whenever you come over, you can have any kind of food that you want. Just name it, and it’ll be yours. Even if I don’t know how to make it, I’ll learn. Now let’s eat up, okay?” He picks up a piece of pork belly, prepared to bribe you like a child who hasn’t stopped crying. 

You open your mouth, allowing him to feed you, humming in satisfaction. You mutter a thank you before putting on your bravest smile as the rain pours outside. 

It’s late in the night when you hear a soft sniffle that echoes from the other side of the bedroom door, followed by a dull strike against the wooden surface, a call for your attention.

“Eomma?”

It never takes you by surprise when a child who isn’t yours calls you their mother. It happens often enough at the daycare center. Tiny humans let the term of endearment slip from their loose lips ー some variation of “mom,” “mommy,” or “eomma.” 

These children cry for you when they have trouble opening their chocolate milk, or when they get a “booboo” from their arts and crafts activity, nothing but a measly, barely-there papercut. These children have an understanding that they’re safe with you. That you’d take care of them like a mother would, opening their bottles, helping to clean their mess, kissing their pain away, and wiping the tears dry. Sometimes they don’t notice their honest mistake, having called you their mother. Other times, they’re apologetic and embarrassed. But what’s there to be embarrassed about? 

The vocabulary of children is limited to only a few hundred words, but they always resort to the one thing they know. Whether it is, “mom,” “mommy,” “eomma,” or so on and so forth, they trust you in the purest form. They feel protected and comforted by you. 

Although you’ve heard it a dozen times before, you’ve never seen a child mean it so earnestly, not like Minji, and definitely not at two in the morning. 

You open the bedroom door, looking down to see her tear stained cheeks. The instinct to protect kicks in like second nature. “Minny, what’s wrong?” 

Lightning flashes through the sky, followed by a loud crash of thunder. The little girl flinches with a yelp, squeezing her eyes shut, pressing her hands against her ears. 

“It’s so loud, ‘m scared,” Minji pouts. 

You crouch down to wrap your arms around her shoulders, whispering sweet nothings into her ear. She shivers in your hold, trying to calm down as you rub soothing circles onto her back. 

“Don’t worry, Minny. The thunder can’t catch you while you’re in here,” you murmur, adjusting the nightcap on the top of her head. “You’re always safe with me.” 

“Can I sleep with you and appa tonight?” Minji asks. 

“Th- the both of us?” Your eyes widen. Perhaps Minji doesn’t quite understand the terms of your arrangement. You’re not actually her mom, and Jeongguk isn’t really your husband. Certainly, sleeping in the same bed as Jeongguk crosses some imaginary boundary. “I- I don’t know if appa would-” 

“Can we ask him?” Minji pleads, and she looks like she’s about to burst. It doesn’t hurt to try, right?

So you relent, and the two of you tiptoe down the hall to Jeongguk’s bedroom, hand-in-hand. There’s a light that leaks from the bottom of the doorway. Could he possibly be awake this late in the night? 

You motion at the door, encouraging Minji to knock. She has to be a big girl, expressing her needs, asking for help when she needs it. 

“Appa!” Minji whacks the palm of her hand against the wooden surface, and you have to correct her form. You squeeze her hands into a fist, showing her how to properly knock and urge her to try again. 

On the other side, you can hear the shuffle of papers and the sound of wheels scraping against the linoleum floor, followed by the pad of footsteps. The door swings open, revealing a set of sleepy eyes, shrouded behind a pair of glasses. Jeongguk’s hair is disheveled, having run his hands through his overgrown mane a million times (he’s been pondering whether he should cut it, but you’ve shyly expressed how he looks handsome either way, and right now is no exception). 

“Appa, can I sleep with the both of you tonight?” Minji hiccups between sniffles, and a tear treads down her cheek. When a crash of thunder sounds through the air, she lurches forward to wrap her arms around her father’s legs, shaking like a leaf.

Jeongguk pats the top of Minji’s head to comfort her. “What’s wrong? What happened?” 

“The sky,” Minji shakes her head, pressing her face deeper into her father’s thigh. “Too loud. It’s scary. Wanna sleep with you and eomma.” 

Normally, Jeongguk would be stressed, weighing his options, trying to determine the best course of action for his child. But there’s a sigh of relief that slips from his lips when his gaze meets yours. There’s a deep blush that spreads across his cheeks. “Is this okay with you?” His lips move in silence, mouthing the words, only for you to see.

In response, you nod your head and flash him a concerned smile. “You?” You mouth the words right back. 

Jeongguk’s answer is obvious when he wraps his arms around the little girl and lifts her into the air. “Let’s go to sleep, Minny.”

Jeongguk taps his chin, pondering, as he stares at the little girl sandwiched in the center of his bed. “Something doesn’t feel right.” But there’s an unmistakable glimmer in his eyes. As tired as he is, he doesn’t seem to let it show. “You know what we should do?” 

Before you can respond, he’s already darting out of the bedroom. He stumbles into the living area, grabbing all the mismatched furniture that he can find. There’s a coat rack in one hand and a stool in another. He runs to grab a fishing pole from the closet, one that he had stolen from Seokjin and never returned. 

“What’re you doing?” Your brows furrow, confused. But the smile on your face tells him that you’re thoroughly entertained. 

“We’re building a fort! Come help me!” He takes hold of your hand and leads you into the living room. “Here, take as many pillows as you can.” Instantly, he holds out a stack of cushions. And who are you to say no? 

With your inventory in hand, you run back to Jeongguk’s bedroom and plop them down onto the bed. “Minny, put the pillows wherever you want! Make it comfy for yourself.” 

The three of you get to work, constructing a pillow fort, and suddenly, you’re five years old all over again. 

Jeongguk returns with spare bed sheets and throw-blankets, tenting them over the makeshift poles. When you’re finally satisfied with your fort, the two of you climb onto the mattress on either side of Minji, huffing and puffing from all the energy exerted. 

“That was fun,” you say, exasperated. A beat of silence passes by as you catch your breath. “Thank you again for letting me sleep over, by the way.” 

There’s fondness in Jeongguk’s eyes as he turns to look at you. “I hope you know that you can stay as long as you want, and you’re always welcomed whenever.” His sentiment makes your heart beat a little faster. “I told you I’d take care of you.” 

“You should know…” As you stare at the roof of the makeshift fort, you try to make sense of how you ended up here. It doesn’t feel real. It doesn’t feel like you deserve it. “Taking care of me is more trouble than it’s worth.” 

Jeongguk’s voice is stern and relentless. “It’s not trouble. Not if it’s you. Do you really think I scare so easily?” 

You think you might cry, but you’ve already used up more than enough tears from your daily allowance. So you turn to thank him, only to be met with Jeongguk’s half-lidded eyes. He only hums in response ー there’s no need to thank him. 

His face is illuminated by the faint glow of the desk lamp on the other side of the room, the one he abandoned in favor of lulling his precious daughter to sleep. Minji holds her father’s hand while you stroke her hair. Within a few short minutes, she’s sound-asleep. The room is quiet, save for her soft snores. 

“Poor Minny, I hope that this doesn’t ruin her sleep schedule,” you whisper into the night. 

“She might need a nap tomorrow, but that’s okay. It happens sometimes.” Jeongguk lets out a yawn as he tugs the blankets up his shoulders. 

You remind him with gentle caution, “What about you? You shouldn’t sleep so late.” 

“I know, I know.” He presses his palms against his eyes, utterly exhausted. “I just wanted to squeeze one more chapter in.” 

You peek out from the gap in the fort, scanning the mess that lies on top of Jeongguk’s desk. Books are stacked across two different piles, separated by genre ー One of them being social psychology books required for his research; “How to Win Friends and Influence People” sits on the very top. 

Another stack is dedicated to the parenting books he often checks out from the library. There are Hello Kitty post-it notes that fill up nearly every page, bookmarked for future reference. 

Your eyes return to Jeongguk’s figure, convinced that you can steal a glance, evaluating his exhausted state. But he already has his eyes trained on you, albeit very groggy. A dopey grin stretches across his lips. If he wasn’t already tired before, he definitely is now. 

“You don’t have to do all this alone, Jeongguk. You need to rest.” You flash him a matching smile, hoping that the sentiment reaches him. “I don’t think that you scare easily, but I don’t think you’re immune to it either. And that’s perfectly okay. We’re all just people trying to get by.” 

Jeongguk sinks deeper into the pillows, succumbing to his sleepy desires. “Thank you,” he murmurs, slurring his words. Another yawn slips from his lips. “I’m just used to it 一 being on my own.” 

“Well, you’re not on your own anymore. You can count on me. We’re a team, remember?” 

Jeongguk hums, reduced to non-verbal responses that don’t require much energy. Exhaustion tugs at his eyelids until they’re shut. He makes a mental note to talk about this with you another day. 

You wave a hand in front of his face, convinced that he’s far gone from the state of consciousness. “If it makes you feel better, I can head back to my room now,” you whisper. You think it might be futile to warn him, considering he’s not awake. But as you peel the blanket back, one foot off the bed, there’s a warmth that envelops your wrist, and you halt in your tracks. 

“Stay,” Jeongguk, as tired as he is, manages to mutter with conviction. 

His grip doesn’t falter, and so, you relent. You crawl back beneath the sheets and let the night fade into dawn. 

The sound of rain splashes against the window. The petrichor smells like childhood. It feels like home, and Jeongguk has never slept so soundlessly in his entire life. 

Somehow, Jeongguk wakes up long before you, and you want to curse him for looking so handsome at the crack of dawn. His hair, although disheveled, looks perfectly imperfect. His shirt, as loose as it is, hugs his body in all the right places, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. His round specs perch on the bridge of his nose. 

“What do you think about going on a family outing?” Jeongguk suggests over breakfast. 

Minji’s eyes widen as excitement fills her tiny frame.

“That sounds like a fun idea,” you chime. “We should spend more time together so we can be perfect for the interview.” Because loving this man and his daughter is nothing more than a performance, right? 

 “Maybe we can stop at the convenience store and have a picnic in the park. What do you think?” In Jeongguk’s mind, he maps the layout of the market, pinpointing the food that the three of you would enjoy: kimbap, dried squid, potato chips, banana milk, and even fish shaped ice cream. 

“The weather cleared up today. It’s beautiful outside.” You say, chowing down on a bite of strawberries. 

Jeongguk raises a brow, questioning. “You want to go today? I thought you would want to go home after spending the night.” 

“I don’t have much else planned on a Sunday. It gets kind of lonely at my house,” you shrug. “Are you sick of me already?” 

But Jeongguk shakes his head. He’d be foolish to ever push you away. 

…

In sync, both you and Minji enthusiastically bounce on your feet through the streets of Seoul. You could easily pass as a family from that simple action alone. It’s evident when elders cross paths with you, a fond smile sitting on their faces: “You have a beautiful family!” There’s no denying that. The three of you are picture perfect as you link hands on either side of Minji because she is, in fact, the center of your universe. 

When you arrive at the convenience store, Jeongguk picks out a variety of nutritious food while Minji tries to slip cookies into the basket. She’s convinced that her father is not looking because he’s too busy sneaking glances at you from the other end of the snack aisle. He doesn’t think anyone would notice, but Minji surely does. 

For some reason, he feels so content standing in a supermarket with his wife who picks the freshest fruit, and his daughter who tries to distract him from seeing the junk food in her hands. In fact, he could probably spend the entire day comparing vegetable prices, and he would still have the time of his life with you. He used to hate running errands, unless it was doing laundry. But now, he doesn’t seem to mind it. Perhaps it’s because he has two companions at his side, and it feels a little less lonely. 

“Jeongguk?” You call his name from down the aisle. “Do you want me to grab coffee for you?” You reach for the top shelf on your tippy toes, struggling to grip your hands around the bottle. 

Within an instant, Jeongguk is already at your side. He wraps an arm around your waist to prevent you from falling forward. A heat envelops your hand as he wraps his fingers around your palm. “I think I’ll skip on coffee for now. How about tea?” 

Upon hearing his deep voice against the shell of your ear, you grow flustered. The heat of his body makes you freeze, and all you can do is nod your head, stunned. He reaches one shelf over to pluck a large bottle of tea, one that you can all share. 

Although he’s dropped your hand, he keeps a strong arm around your waist. His shoulders are broad enough to simply devour you. Even his chest is so firm pressed against your back.

“By the way, angel, don’t you think we’ve moved on from the formalities?” There’s a pout that rests on his lips. “I’d like it if you could call me something other than Jeongguk. I think it’s more convincing that way.” 

“But that’s your name. What do you want me to call you? Babe? Baby?” 

He shakes his head as he rests his chin in the crook of your neck. His hair brushes against your cheek, and your breath hitches in your throat.

You stutter the words out of your mouth, trying to act unaffected. “H- how about darling? Honey? Sweetie? … Handsome?” 

He doesn’t react to either of them, but handsome definitely makes him giggle. 

You ponder for a moment more. “Then what about love?” 

His arm squeezes your waist a little tighter as he presses an innocent kiss to your cheek. “That’s perfect, angel.” 

He unravels himself from you as you stare blankly at the beverage aisle in complete awe. You brush your fingertips against your cheek where his warmth lingers. 

This is still practice… right? 

As you stroll through the park, you come across a live performance at the base of the fountain. There’s a man playing guitar, and he’s serenading the crowd as he busks for money. The three of you stand to admire just for a moment. 

A few feet away, Minji is spinning and dancing to the soft melody. Meanwhile, Jeongguk moves his head to the beat of the song, singing the words, albeit faintly. 

“You have a pretty voice.” You nudge your shoulders against his to catch his attention. 

“Oh, it’s nothing.” He’s bashful. 

“You should sing for me one day.” You raise your brows, trying to tempt him. 

He contemplates your request, but he teases you with a soft “maybe.” He bumps his shoulder against yours like a high schooler with a crush. 

You return the sentiment in a playful back and forth. His sweet action makes you squeal, but not for the reason that you think. Because the affectionate brush of skin against yours quickly transforms into Jeongguk hauling you into his arms. His thick biceps wrap beneath your thighs, and he lifts you into the air. You can’t stop yourself from giggling when he spins you around. There’s a combination of thrill and euphoria in your chest. 

Jeongguk’s mind briefly wanders back to the conversation he had with Minji right before he tucked her into bed last night. “Appa, do you have a crush on eomma?” 

He had scoffed at the question, brushing it off as if that was far from the truth. But Minji had thought otherwise. “When you have a crush on someone, you think about them all the time. You want them to be happy, and you would do anything to make them smile. Whenever you look at eomma, I can see your ears go red. I think you were shy when she kissed your booboo, and you probably want to kiss her back, right?” For some reason, Minji’s advice seemed to be more introspective than what he could ever pull out of Seokjin. 

Jeongguk shakes his head, returning back to reality as he tucks the memory away. When he places you on the ground, you pant with adrenaline. “I thought I was going to fall.” 

His gaze meets yours, and he playfully brushes his knuckles beneath your chin. The peak of sunset illuminates your eyes, and you look golden. An epiphany flashes through his mind, and Jeongguk mutters a curse that echoes through his thoughts. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He wants to kiss you. 

But as usual, Jeongguk’s mind wins over his heart. He bites his tongue back and offers the next best thing: “Do you think I’d ever let you fall?” He grabs your hands as if nothing had happened ー as if he isn’t falling in love ー and you sway to the beat of the music, skipping to the lawn where you can enjoy your picnic. 

…

The park is bustling with so many individuals going about their day, minding their own business. The city comes alive with all of the action that surrounds you. 

“Eomma, what’s that over there?” Minji points at an art display at the other end of the fountain. There’s a throng of people, crowding around the small space. The three of you pack up your meal, making sure to toss all of your garbage, before heading over to catch sight of the action. 

There are rows of copy paper attached to a fishing line. It strings across a makeshift perimeter, rooted with no rhyme or reason. Apparently, all the buzz is about an interactive exhibit. Anonymous letters from passersby are posted for you to view, and you may even contribute by submitting your own story. You could write about anything you want. 

“That sounds like a fun idea,” Jeongguk suggests. So he grabs paper and markers for the three of you as you get to work. 

Jeongguk tries to steal a glance at your story, but you throw your body over the paper. 

“Hey, no peeking!” you shout. “These stories are supposed to belong to strangers, okay? Let’s keep it anonymous.” 

On the other hand, Minji is enthusiastic to show her father the family portrait she’s drawn. 

As the minutes pass, you finish jotting your thoughts. It’s not perfect by any means, but the sentiment is still there. When all is said and done, you’ve agreed that you wouldn’t read one another’s stories. One day, you both will disclose the contents of your letter, and you will finally know the truth, but today is not that day. 

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Dear reader, If I’m being honest, I’ve always felt undesirable. Nobody has ever confessed their feelings for me. I’ve never been in a relationship, nor have I had my first kiss. I’ve never been stopped in the middle of the street, only to be told that I have a beautiful smile. I’ve always been average at best.  My friends are concerned that I’m lonely. They’re convinced that I need someone to take care of me, but I constantly tell them that I can do it on my own. I’ve done it my entire life.  I’ve held my own hand, swallowed the heartache, and reminded myself “I can do this!” before doing the scary things I never wanted to do. I patted myself on the back when I finished school, earned my first job, and paid all my overdue bills. I raised my younger brother at the age of eighteen as if I was a single mother. I woke up to an empty bed every single day and fed myself scraps of food, even when I didn’t want to. Sometimes, it was burnt, charred, and a little too salty. But that’s what love tastes like, right? Through the smooth sailing and the rough patches, there was no boyfriend, no girlfriend, no partner or lover. Just me. But the more that I think about it, I am so, so tired.  Perhaps I grew up too fast and burned too bright. Because now, I don’t know what to do. There’s a guy that I like, or at least I think I do. Nobody ever taught me how to sort out my feelings. I’ve always been told to give and give and give. I’ve had to sacrifice my life, my time, and all of my energy. I was never allowed to feel anger, sadness, or human connection. I never had anything for myself, and I feel empty.  But lately, being with him brings me to life.  Although I don’t know what it’s like to be in love, this is the closest thing I’ve ever felt to it. When I’m with him, my inner child wants to come out and play. That little girl has always lived in my imagination. I don’t know her very well, but she’s running around, laughing and dancing as if she knows no pain. With him, she is always reminded that she is beautiful and spectacular. That she is stronger than anyone he knows. She is safe. She is protected. Above all, she feels seen. She gets ice cream for dinner, and it’s sweet. It doesn’t quite taste like the love she once knew, but somehow, she thinks it’s even more delicious.  Surely, yes, I can take care of myself. But maybe we can learn to take care of each other. 

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Hi. I don’t know who cares to read this, but if you do, welcome.  Where do I even begin? I know this sounds pathetic, but… I don’t think anyone has ever truly understood me for who I am. Perhaps that’s my fault. I constantly reinvent myself to be the person that they want me to be. Society has so many expectations as to how I should look, how I should act, and how I should feel.  Let me paint you a picture. I’m big ー horribly buff. I have tattoos and long hair. All the neighborhood grandmas tell me I should cut it because I’d be more handsome. They even tell their grandchildren not to look up to me because I’m far from being an aspiration. Even if I’m the most charming person in the room… if I change my appearance ー if I lose weight, cover my tattoos, and buzz off my hair, they’d find another reason to hate me. It’ll never be enough. They’ll always perceive me as the bad guy and villainize me for everything I do. They say it’s better to be feared than to be loved if I cannot be both. But… I think I want to be loved. I want to be loved so bad that I would do anything to make people look at me. Yet they all shove their unwanted opinions down my throat, and I have nothing left to swallow but my own pride. I have no choice but to be exactly what they want.  Most people assume that I’m indestructible. Fortified. That I don’t have a single worry in this world. They think that I can shoulder all of these burdens, and nothing could possibly hurt me. Supposedly, I don’t ever cry ー I never break or bend or shatter because showing emotion is a sign that I’ve already lost.  But it’s not true.  I’m softer than I look. I worry that I’m not good enough. I feel like I suck at my job, and I constantly make mistakes. I don’t know how to be a good father, but I try.  I don’t really know what I want to say. I just wish that people didn’t feel entitled to my body. My body is my own except when it isn’t. It happens more often than not. Maybe then, I could finally be myself, whoever that may be.  It sounds like my life is awful, but I promise it isn’t that bad. Recently, I’ve found a small glimmer of hope. There’s one person who accepts me for who I am. She doesn’t expect me to be anyone but myself. She looks at me like I’m human ー as if I’m someone who’s worth it. Like I’m more than just an idea. She showed me that there’s kindness in this world ー that there’s bravery in being soft. She sees me, and scary enough, I think she can even see right through me. I’ve told her so many vulnerable things about myself, and she could probably stab me in the back with all that she knows. I think it would be worth it though.  There’s still so much I have to tell her. She may not know the whole truth, but one day, she will. I hope she doesn’t leave me when she finds out. Until then, I will take care of her. I will keep her safe and protect her with every inch of my life. I promise.

By the end of the week, you and Jeongguk have amped yourselves up for Yumi’s engagement party. But there’s one problem. 

Jeongguk is late. 

He’s never late. When he needs to pick up his daughter from school, he always shows up thirty minutes before dismissal. On date nights, he knocks on your door while you’re in the midst of putting on makeup, and he gladly watches you doll yourself up for the entire hour. For Jeongguk to be late, something must be terribly wrong. 

The two of you had agreed to meet up at Yumi’s party seeing that Jeongguk was running behind from work. But where could he possibly be when you need him the most? 

Outside of Yumi’s apartment complex, you pace anxiously, twiddling with the engagement present in your hands ー a cast iron skillet that you and Jeongguk had both bought at the department store. From the sidewalk, you can hear the sound of music streaming from the open windows. Endless chatter filters between each beat. You glance at your watch for what feels like the hundredth time. 

“Jeongguk, where are you?” You groan, ready to accept defeat. 

A nervous sigh falls from your lips. Your shoulders slump. If you have to wait any longer, you might just head into the party all on your own and lose face in front of your friends. 

Suddenly, you hear the echo of your name from down the street. Jeongguk is sprinting towards you. He’s a blur of motion. Before you realize it, the air is knocked out of your lungs. Jeongguk had overestimated his speed, missed his landing, and he is colliding into you with open arms. 

“Angel, I’m so sorry I’m late.” He tucks his head against your shoulder, panting. His cheeks are hot, and his hair is disheveled. He murmurs apologies against your skin. The scratch of his voice etches a frown onto your face. 

Between the two of you, Jeongguk is the more composed one. You’ve always known him to be calm, collected, a little silly, but lovely nevertheless. You’ve never seen him quite like this. He’s shaking. 

You squeeze his shoulders in an attempt to peel his body away from yours. But his arms wrap around your waist even tighter, unwilling to part ways. This scene is rather familiar, something akin to a little child seeking comfort. You pat his back, hushing him, as to tell him that everything will be okay. 

So you start counting to ten, reminding him to breathe in and out. You place your hand on his chest, strong and reliable, right over the beat of his heart. His eyes close, concentrating all of his energy on the blooming feeling inside of his ribcage. So you paint a pretty picture for him as you dwell in a little puddle of grief together. 

“My mom used to tell me that if you transport yourself to a happy place, then all your worries will melt away.” 

Jeongguk doesn’t respond, but he hums against your collarbone. He wants nothing more but to hear you talk. He loves the sound of your voice. What is your happy place? 

“These days, I picture myself with you in your house. We’re baking a cake with Minny, and it’s going terribly wrong.” You let out a chuckle, and it’s the sweetest thing Jeongguk has ever heard. “Well, actually, the taste is perfect. You’re the head chef after all, and you’re so talented. You know better than me.” 

You interrupt your own story with something that will definitely make him laugh. “Did you know that I’ve been borrowing cookbooks from the library? I know it sounds ridiculous. I want to get better so you don’t have to cook all the time. It’d be such a shame if I accidentally poisoned you and the cops would swarm in, charging me with second degree murder.” You can feel his smile against your neck. “I found a recipe for buckwheat noodles, and maybe we should try it out next weekend.” 

He nods against your neck, sniffling. He doesn’t want to break it to you, but all you need is a boiling pot of water to cook the noodles. 

“Well anyways, in my happy place, the kitchen is a disaster because there’s icing everywhere. Sprinkles are in your hair. I think I have flour in my bra and butter on my cheek. But we’re having fun, singing along to the radio with all of the wrong lyrics. I’d ask you to dance, and when you’re too scared of looking stupid, Minny would pull out a dance move that’s even sillier than what you could ever imagine. Because even if we can’t do it perfectly, whether it is cooking or dancing or singing, we’re still trying.”

There’s a wet tear that falls onto your collarbone. You trace a circle against Jeongguk’s chest, reminding him to concentrate all of his feelings right there. His shoulders relax and his breath evens out. 

“When we’re in our happy place, we never go hungry. So if you ever feel sad or anxious, then just meet me right here. I’ll bring the cake ー sorry, just the ingredients, actually, but I’ll get better at cooking. I swear! Minny will bring her cute attitude. And you can just bring yourself.” 

There’s a soft breeze that surrounds you. The moonlight conspires with the flight of the fireflies, illuminating the dim sidewalk. The party is long forgotten as you hold onto Jeongguk for just another moment. Reluctantly, he steps back with his head down. His eyes train on the pavement.

“How do you feel, love? Look at me.” You cup his cheeks, and he leans into your touch, nuzzling into your embrace. 

After taking a deep sigh, he lifts his head to reveal a bruised cheek and a gash above his eye, right on the brow bone. The blood runs dry. 

Shock runs through your body. “What happened? Did someone hurt you?” You gently  move his head from side to side, examining every inch of his skin to check for more injuries. But your eyes are frantic. Your hands run through his hair, feeling for bumps and bruises. The search comes up empty, but your throat constricts at the thought of someone hurting your husband. 

You grab the cast iron skillet, wielding it like a weapon with the force of a grip so tight that it threatens to bend beneath your fingers. Your other hand clenches his palm, stomping in the direction he came from so he could lead you towards the perpetrator. 

Whoever did this to Jeongguk is going to pay, and you’re willing to kill whoever it is. Because for him, you would wage a full on war, running straight into your demise if it meant fighting for him. You would barrel through fire, load your rifles, and draw your daggers no matter what it takes. If they ask you to rip your heart out and put it in his hands, you would have considered the deal done long ago. 

Jeongguk is quick to extinguish the fiery passion that fuels your anger, reminding you to not make any rash decisions. The flash of his doe eyes is enough to soothe your worries, and all you want to do is hold him. 

The truth is, Jeongguk had already taken care of the situation. As the story goes, he had accepted a side mission to stop the smuggling of antiques from a museum ー gifts from a billionaire tycoon who had long passed. His heirs had sent the treasures to be appraised in the city before it was quickly intercepted by a smuggling ring. 

Jeongguk managed to save original art from dynasties past (no doubt stolen), rare coins, china sets, and clusters of intricate jewelry. He stopped the ploy before the thieves had even left the warehouse. However, being the best of the best does not mean he is able to escape unscathed every time. 

Jeongguk did not account for the hidden explosives on the agenda. A shrapnel had grazed his skin, forming a deep gash above his brow bone. Had he not been more careful, he would have been in much worse shape. 

Although Jeongguk had completed his mission, barely injured, he can’t help but feel guilty for showing up late. If his wound was much more serious, or perhaps he was left for dead, he would not have made it to Yumi’s engagement party. The last thing Jeongguk wants is to keep you waiting. 

While he zipped through the streets of Seoul, he didn’t even have a chance to think of a lie. All he could think about was running to you. So he says the first thing that comes to mind. “The airbags in my car set off.” 

“You were in a crash? Was Minny with you? What are you doing here? You should go to a hospital!” The words splutter out of your mouth.

His hand cups yours as they rest on his cheeks. “Minny’s with Seokjin today, so don’t worry. The collision was really minor, I swear. I already went to the emergency room, and they said I’ll be good as new.” His voice is eerily calm. 

He laces his fingers with yours and presses his lips against your knuckles before promptly taking the iron skillet from your hands. “I don’t want you to worry, let’s just go to the party, okay?” 

You’re too concerned to even dwell on that tender moment of intimacy. “You worry me too much, you know?” 

“I know, angel. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I swear.” 

You squeeze his hand a little tighter as you shake your head. “I don’t need anything. I’m just glad that you’re here.” 

But little do you know, there’s a diamond ring worth millions burning a hole in Jeongguk’s pocket. Some dead billionaire isn’t going to miss it. 

Everyone at the event is captivated by Jeongguk. Of course they would. It’s easy when Jeongguk is so charming in such a deceitful way. He can easily spin different versions of himself after each new greeting, creating a hundred nuances to his personality in an instant. He could tell everyone that he’s the prince of Joseon, and they would easily fall for his lies because of the charisma that he oozes. 

Your friends see him as the best boyfriend in the world, someone who’s the total package and simply put, he’s way out of your league. He’s romantic in every aspect of the word, he’s open about his feelings, and he’s the purest definition of a “girl dad.” What more could you possibly ask for? Whatever it is, Jeongguk is exactly that. 

Even when Jeongguk has no need to impress the men at the party, he has dozens of conversation topics up his sleeve. It’s impressive when he knows basically everything about everything. You name it: video games, boxing, and the federal reserve. This arsenal of information is stored in his mind simply because he’ll never know when he needs to strike up a conversation about camping, barbecuing, or fishing (despite never having an interest to sit and stare at the water with Seokjin for hours on end). Men are so simple minded. They’re absolute fools. 

Thankfully, your brother, San, is just another man who falls for the thinly veiled ruse. He seems to approve of your relationship with Jeongguk. Mostly because he can talk about their passion for different cuts of meat. But also because he sees the way that your “boyfriend” takes care of you in the most subtle ways ー by virtue, it’s the act of noticing. 

Jeongguk walks you through the crowds of people with a guiding hand on your lower back. He fixes your hair when it falls loose in front of your face. He refills your cup with your favorite drink without ever having to ask. He can’t stop talking about how grateful he is to have a chance with you ー how you’re so beautiful and smart and the only thing he ever wants. There’s obviously love and intention in Jeongguk’s eyes whenever he looks at you. Anyone could see that. To be loved is to be known, and Jeongguk knows you like the back of his hand. 

You can feel the pressure of having to prove your relationship when all of the girls gather around, asking invasive questions. How did you convince y/n to go out with you? We almost lost hope for the poor girl. Have you all hung out as a family yet? What does Minji think of your relationship? 

For some reason, it feels like you’re back in high school, listening to locker room gossip. It feels as if they’re judging you. They’re laughing at you. But time and time again, Jeongguk defends you and your honor. Not because you need his help, but because you love the safety and security of his words.

“I don’t appreciate you being passive aggressive. Because to me, y/n is the most precious person in the world. If you have something you want to say, then just say it to my face.” He bites back without ever breaking eye contact. He rolls up the sleeves of his shirt. It’s equal parts intimidating and the most attractive thing you have ever seen. 

All the girls seem to agree when they swallow a trace of spit and nod their heads in obedience. “Sorry, we just wanted to say that you’re both so lucky to find one another.” They drop the subject, but only for a little while. 

Throughout the party, Jeongguk holds you close because he knows how nervous you were to come, and rightfully so. You told him how scared you were to introduce him to all of your friends (he doesn’t see why they deserve that title when they’re nothing but mean girls). Nevertheless, you’re frightened because your relationship with Jeongguk is sacred. Untainted. Unconventional, yes. But it’s protected because only you know about the depths of your bond. After tonight, everything will change. Having your “friends” witness your love so openly feels as if you have to give up another piece of yourself. After making this public knowledge, nothing could ever fully be yours.

But this moment right here is yours to keep, yours to hold, and yours to cherish. Jeon Jeongguk is in your arms, and all you can do is make it known that you are in love. 

“Whatever they say, ignore them, okay? Just look at me.” His arm wraps around your waist, and you relax in his hold. The stars in his eyes keep you captivated, and everything else is long forgotten. He whispers sweet nothings in your ear, scared that if he were to go up one decibel, it would burst the little bubble that you’ve created for yourselves. Perhaps you would disappear if he says your name any louder, and he would wake up to realize that his dream girl is nothing but a figment of his imagination. 

But there’s nothing about this relationship that’s fake. Your brother can see it all. Although you haven’t hung out with him in ages, he’s very intrigued with the man hanging off of your arm. “Jeongguk, when did you realize that y/n was the one?” 

“Stop, we just started dating.” You smack the back of San’s head. But Jeongguk isn’t one to shy away from the question. 

“Well, it’s a funny story. The first time I saw her, I thought I had to talk to her. A few months ago, I dropped my daughter off at the daycare. When I walked past the door, I tripped on my own two feet. I saw y/n reading a story at the front of the class. She was so elegant, graceful, and just so, so gorgeous. My first thought was that she is the most incredible person I’ve ever seen.” Jeongguk tells the story without ever taking his eyes off of you. It’s as if you’re the only person in the whole world. There’s a beaming smile stretched across his face. His dimples are carved into his cheeks. 

“Minji, my daughter, she has a tendency to cry when I’m not there. So when she bursted into tears, y/n asked if she wanted to sit with her and help her read. She put my daughter on her lap, and instantly, Minny stopped crying.

“For weeks, I tried to work up the courage to approach her. I visited as much as I could. I borrowed more materials than I could even finish, and eventually, I had a pile of overdue books sitting in my apartment. When y/n wasn’t busy with the daycare, she worked at the front desk. I thought she might say something about my outstanding charges, but she never did. At that point, I wanted to talk to her so bad, but I was so foolish. I started bringing cups of coffee into the library, thinking that she would yell at me for breaking the rules.” 

“Did it work? Why didn’t you just say something?” San wonders. 

“I wasn’t sure what to say. I didn’t think she was interested. She barely looked at me. Never tried to initiate small talk,” Jeongguk shrugs. 

Avoiding eye contact is exactly how you show interest in someone. Is there any other way to do it? You had been so nervous to even glance in his general direction! Men don’t ever give you affection, especially not men as gorgeous as Jeongguk. It just felt so wrong to even think about crushing on him. 

“But one day, y/n approached me first by some miracle, and I was so shocked. I- I just thought she was an angel. My daughter was at her side. We talked. One thing led to another. The next thing I knew, I was stressing about what outfit to wear and buying flowers so I could pick her up for a coffee date. I don’t even know how to explain it. Everything just fell into place.” 

You were convinced that Jeongguk had never noticed you before you approached him that fateful day in the non-fiction aisle. But it rings true that Minji had cried some months ago during reading time. You recall all of the details, albeit vaguely. Had Jeongguk been watching all this time? Did he really borrow an excessive amount of books and purposely buy illicit coffee just to get your attention? 

There’s a soft smile that plays on your lips, and Jeongguk is certain that you’re a real life angel. “I hope you know that I waived your overdue fees every single time,” you confess. 

…

At some point in the night, you and Jeongguk ended up separating in the most nightmarish of ways. Your coworkers had looped their arms around yours and pulled you away for some girl talk. 

Meanwhile Jeongguk is at the other end of the hall, playing billiards with all of the other men. He socializes with them as if it’s effortless. He tells them jokes and makes them chuckle, but of course, his laugh is the one that stands out to you the most. He’s enchanting, and you are all but a moth drawn to a flame. He lights up every room he walks into, shining brighter than anything you’ve ever seen.

As you watch Jeongguk have his own fun, you check out of the conversation, barely listening to what Yumi has to say. You couldn’t quite relate to the stories that they’ve shared about their partners ー being engaged, moving in together, trying for children, having sex. 

“y/n, how big is your boyfriend?” 

You ponder the question. “Uhm, I don’t know his weight exactly…” 

“No, no, sweetie, I mean how big is his dick?” 

Your eyes widen in surprise as you shake your head. “We haven’t actually done anything yet. Our relationship is new, y’know. Also, I don’t think that’s any of your business-” 

“You mean you haven’t even seen him naked? Surely you’ve touched him when you’ve made out, right?” Their eyes widen when you shake your head no, trying to sputter a retort. 

“Even if you’re taking it slow, you must know what he likes in bed, right? Spitting? Choking? Spanking? A little bit of roleplay? Does he like to be called daddy?”

You, yourself, nearly choke on your own drink. 

“Most couples get intimate because- I hate to break it to you-” Yumi leans closer to you until her voice is all but a whisper. “All men have needs. If they aren’t met, then he might break up with you and look for satisfaction elsewhere.” 

You don’t know why you would believe Yumi’s words despite Jeongguk’s constant reassurance of how much you mean to him. She’s so fucking infuriating, but could she be right? Does Jeongguk see other women when you’re not around? Does he ever tell you that you’re pretty just for the performance of being a married couple? Has everything he said in the past few weeks been an act? Surely, you don’t know everything about this man, but would he ever lie to you? You bite the inside of your cheek as you anxiously pick on the skin around your nails, thinking about her advice. 

Seemingly, Jeongguk doesn’t know what the conversation is about. But he doesn’t need to be familiar with the details to know that you’re growing anxious. He can see it from the way you fiddle with your hands. From the way you furrow your brows and chew on your lips. From down the hall, he can pick up on your breathing. He can practically hear the hurricane of thoughts swirling around your head.

Before you can drown in your thoughts, Jeongguk makes his way over to you, nursing a glass of champagne in his hand. “Hi, angel.” He whispers against your jaw. His cheeks are flushed pink as his head rests against the crook of your neck, slotting together like two pieces of a puzzle. “Do you want to get out of here? You can stay over at my place tonight if you want,” he offers.  

“What’s wrong? Does it hurt?” You shift your gaze to the gash on his brow. Even when you don’t feel your best, you’re still concerned for those around you. That’s just the person you are. You’re so used to giving yourself away. 

“Kind of,” he says. But it hurts more knowing that you’re not okay. 

You ruffle your hands through his hair, trying to soothe his ache. “Do you want your painkillers?”

“Just want you.” His deep voice rumbles against your collarbone as he presses a shy kiss to your shoulder. “Come on, let’s go home.” He gently grabs your hand in his and leads you out the front door. You don’t even have a chance to say goodbye to all the guests. Quite frankly, you don’t even care. 

The moment you return to Jeongguk’s apartment, you dart to the medicine cabinet, filling a glass of water and instructing him to swallow the morphine pill. To soothe the pain, you apply some ointment onto his injury and gently blow on his gash, hoping that it doesn’t leave a scar to mar his beautiful face. But you avoid eye contact with him as much as you can. All while Jeongguk stares at your pretty lips and your glittery eyes. You look so cute when you’re concerned. A pout rests on your face, and he wants nothing more than to kiss it better. 

But then you bid him goodnight, rushing into the guest room, pacing back and forth behind closed doors. 

Jeongguk sits in the living room, stunned, wondering if he’s done something wrong. Whether his breath smells, or maybe he’s come on too strong. Is it obvious how much he cares for you? Yet a part of him wants you to know, even if you don’t reciprocate. To love you so freely is enough for him. 

For you, the problem is not Jeongguk. It’s the fact that you can’t stop thinking about the conversation from earlier in the night. Yumi’s voice echoes through your thoughts. All men have needs. If they aren’t met, then he might break up with you and look for satisfaction elsewhere.

A part of you needs Jeongguk to tell you that this isn’t true. Your heart and mind may not be able to rest otherwise. So for the sake of your fake relationship, you put on a brave face and patter down the hall to his room. 

…

The soft knock on Jeongguk’s door draws his attention away from the vanity. As soon as he tells you to come in, you hesitantly enter his bedroom. 

His back is turned as he faces the mirror, heedlessly applying his skincare. “What’s up? Do you need anything?” He spins around to meet you with curiosity written on his face. 

You catch a glimpse of his exposed chest, and your cheeks heats up in recognition. The top three buttons of his shirt are undone, seeing that he’s getting ready for bed. He removes his rings and the silver watch from his wrist. 

“Sorry, I- I didn’t know you were indecent.” You turn your head away, avoiding his strong build ー the biceps that bulge beneath his shirt and the muscles that flex with every movement. Your hand shoots up to hide your face in embarrassment. 

He finds it adorable how flustered you get upon seeing a little bit of skin. Still, he makes no effort to button up his shirt. Because that’s all that it is ー just skin. 

You swallow the lump in your throat, and your eyes flicker to the floor as if the rug is the most interesting thing in the world. “Can we talk about something?” 

“Talk?” He approaches the bed, patting the spot beside him. “Come here, what do you want to talk about?” 

You perch yourself onto the mattress bouncing up and down from the weight of the springs. Jeongguk sidles closer to you. His knees knock against yours. He smells like jasmine and musk, and it’s divine. 

“At the party, the girls were talking about relationships,” you begin.  

He hums with a nod, attentive as ever. Jeongguk looks at you as if you’re the only person in the world, but you don’t seem to notice, too preoccupied with anything else but the intensity of his eyes. 

“What did they say?” He wonders, readjusting your necklace so the pendant sits pretty on your neck. 

“Y’know.” You tug on your fingers, finding something to fiddle with. “The usual stuff.”

He reaches for your hands, instantly halting your movements. Soothing your nerves, he rubs his thumb over your knuckles. He knows that you must have mustered a lot of courage to come over and bring this up. “Angel, you have to use your words if you want to tell me what’s on your mind.” 

You grow bashful under his touch, but that’s exactly the problem. “They talked about stuff like this.” You squeeze his palms for emphasis. “Holding hands. Touching. Skinship.” You mumble the last part, too shy to say it out loud: “Kissing.” Turning your cheek towards him, you murmur an apology. “Sorry. You make me nervous.” 

Jeongguk doesn’t fail to notice the way your tongue licks the plump of your lips or the way your throat constricts after swallowing a trace of spit. “Nervous? C’mere- look at me.” 

His deep voice sends a shiver down your spine. It’s authoritative, and you can’t help but follow his orders. 

“I’m not familiar with being this close to someone,” you motion at the lack of space between his body and yours. “I wouldn’t want you to be upset with me if I’m not very affectionate.” 

“Angel, I’d never be upset with you. We can do whatever you want at your own pace.”

“Are you sure you’d never leave me if-”

Jeongguk stops your train of thought before allowing your mind to wander to a dark place. His voice hardens upon hearing such a suggestion. “I never want to even think about that possibility because I’m not letting you go. I’m yours no matter what. You’ll actually have to fight me if you want to push me away. Even then, I’d crawl right back to you.” He truly means every single word that he utters. 

There’s a hint of a smile on your lips. “Sorry. Intimacy is really scary for me,” you confess, hesitating. Jeongguk gives you another moment to collect your thoughts. He’d give you as long as you need, even if it’s a lifetime and all the stars in the night sky have burnt out. 

“But another reason I want to talk to you is because I’m concerned this won’t come across as a real marriage if we’re physically distant, y’know? The girls said that it’s normal for couples to be… intimate.”

Jeongguk doesn’t say anything, at least not immediately. He doesn’t react. His eyes are distracted by your mouth ー the way your gloss clings onto your lips and the way it moves so languidly with every word you articulate. 

“Jeongguk- Love?”

The sound of his name never really meant much to him. After all, it’s just an alias. Yet nothing sets him aflame more than the claim that you have on him ー the way that your lips purse when you call him your love.

“I know this sounds silly-” you begin. 

He shakes his head, brows furrowed, effectively wiping away all of your insecurities. “Never.” 

A naive grin spreads across your face. How could you be so foolish to believe that Jeongguk would make you feel anything less than important? Time and time again, he makes you feel heard. He makes you feel seen.

“Go on,” he urges. “Tell me.” 

“Well, I read an article about how looking into your partner’s eyes for a long period of time increases intimacy. It also builds trust and helps to recognize emotion.” It’s ironic how you explain all of this while avoiding his eyes. Instead, you keep them trained on the scar sitting pretty and kissable on his cheek. 

A dimpled smile spreads across Jeongguk’s face. “Okay, we can try,” he agrees. He reaches to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, and you think you might pass away. “But angel, you have to face me if we’re going to do this. I want you to be comfortable.” 

“Right, yeah,” you mumble. “Of course.” Shuffling from the edge of the bed, you turn to face your husband. You tuck your feet beneath your butt and sit on your knees.

“Relax, okay? There’s no need to be nervous around me.” His voice is reassuring. It’s heartwarming. 

You nod your head as you will yourself to meet his gaze. “I can do this. I can do this,” you think to yourself. 

Jeongguk’s pupils glimmer in the lowlight, warm and comforting, and you wonder how anyone could be so handsome. You try to focus on the task at hand, but it’s difficult when he, himself, is so distracting. There’s a beauty mark on his cheek. His jaw. His nose. Beneath his lip. You could trace them all day and night, if only he’d let you. 

Jeongguk’s deep voice cuts through the night. “Is there anything else that you want to try?” 

“M- maybe we could hold hands?” 

“We’ve held hands before.” He laces his fingers between yours so effortlessly, his hand engulfing. 

Your breath hitches in your throat. 

“Does it still make you nervous?” He wonders. 

“A little bit,” you glance at how small your hand looks in his. “But I can get used to it.” 

“Can I suggest something?” 

You nod, agreeing. “Anything.” 

He tilts his head to the side, raising a brow, unconvinced. “Anything? Are you sure?” 

You nod with more confidence. “I’ll tell you if I don’t like it.” 

“Then can I hold you?”

You hesitate for a second, unsure of what that entails. A beat goes by when Jeongguk is prepared to tell you that you’re free to say no. But you wipe that thought away, giving him your full consent.

Not a second passes by before he wraps his tattooed arms around your waist, tugging you onto his lap. Your thighs rest on either side of his hips, straddling him.

A squeak ー a fucking squeak. God, how much cuter can you get? ー slips past your lips. They’re swollen from how you nervously tug on the flesh, tethering it between your teeth. 

“Does this feel better?” There’s a sense of longing that drips from Jeongguk’s honeyed voice. 

“It’s… nice.” Your brain is on the verge of malfunctioning and shutting down upon feeling the heat of his skin against yours. “Better.” Your voice is breathy. It’s self preservation. You exhale deeply in an attempt to calm the flutter of your heart. 

To keep yourself occupied, you trace your fingers across your bare thighs, unsure of what to do with them. Jeongguk had let go of your hands in favor of holding your hips. So you play with the hem of your dress that’s currently riding up your legs. Suddenly, you’re very aware of how little you’re wearing. How your skin is burning beneath his fingertips. 

Jeongguk’s body is radiating, and you can feel the heat between your legs grow, the dampness in your underwear spreading. 

“You can touch me if you want,” he offers. 

You’re not as confident as Jeongguk, but oh, how you wish you were. 

“Do you want to?” He senses your hesitation, yet you nod your head, affirming.

“I do,” you bite the inside of your cheek. “I want to touch you- feel you.” 

Jeongguk wraps his fingers around your wrists, bringing your hands to rest on his broad shoulders. They’re muscular beneath your touch. You curse yourself for letting your mind wander and for letting your panties soak with arousal ー neither of which you can control. 

Somehow, you resist the urge to look down at his physique. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to the elbows, revealing his strong forearms, adorned by the dark tattoos that coil up his muscles. Your gaze darts across his features, struggling to focus on the starlight in his eyes. You switch between the edge of his jaw, the dip of his neck, and the plump of his lips. 

“My eyes are up here, angel.” The corner of his mouth draws into a smile ー so bright and devastatingly beautiful. He hooks a gentle hand beneath your chin, guiding you to meet his stare. “Tell me what you’re thinking about. What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” 

Your voice is soft, just barely above a whisper. It’s nearly inaudible. “Thinking about what it would be like to kiss you.” 

The innocence of your words makes Jeongguk blush. He’s never been the type to be so easily affected. After all, he’s the bold one in the relationship ー confident, decisive, dominant. But you make him weak in the knees.

“You don’t have to ask permission to kiss me.” Jeongguk inches closer, considerate hands squeezing around your waist. “You’re my wife.” 

Why does the thought of belonging to Jeongguk make your heart stutter? You’re certain that this is nothing but pretend, yet the only thing that makes you believe this could be real is the soothing circles that Jeongguk draws onto your skin. He’s present. He’s willing. His lips are right there, right in front of you. You could take the leap of faith and close the distance, leaning forward to kiss him. 

So you do. 

When your lips meet, it’s as if the rest of the world has gone silent. Time has stopped, and nothing else matters but the two of you at this moment. 

His lips are pillowy soft against yours. He tastes like champagne and mint. He’s gentle, only applying as much pressure as you do. You melt into his touch, feeling featherlight in his hold. His hands grip your waist so delicately, with love and intention, as if you are the most precious thing in his eyes. 

You pull apart to catch your breath, allowing the air to fill your lungs, regretfully so. If you were to drown, you would want to drown in Jeon Jeongguk. Your eyes flutter open, but you can’t seem to look at anything but his cherry lips. 

“Love…” The term of endearment leaves your lips in a pant, and he grows harder beneath you. “This is going to sound so embarrassing…” Your voice trails off as the heat engulfs your entire body. Your head lowers, feeling self-conscious of your actions. 

Jeongguk nuzzles his nose against your neck as he presses tender kisses on your collarbone. “What is it? You can tell me anything.” 

Your fingernails dig into his strong shoulders, squeezing his taut muscles as you muster the courage to tell him the truth. “That was my first kiss.” 

He peers up at you from beneath his long eyelashes. “That’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” Jeongguk shakes his head, squeezing your waist with reassurance. 

Your eyes are half lidded as you murmur a quiet confession, “I want to kiss you again.” Normally, you wouldn’t dare to be so bold, but you feel drunk on his taste.

“You can do whatever you want to me.” Jeongguk draws you closer, dragging your core onto the apex of his thighs, thick and sturdy. “I like anything that you like. Kissing you. Holding you. Just looking at you,” he shrugs. “And if it wasn’t obvious enough… I like you.” 

Jeon Jeongguk makes you absolutely breathless. “Ar- are we still pretending?” 

“Never.” Leaning forward, he brushes his mouth against yours. “I have never once pretended with you.” 

You kiss him back with more fervor, desperate and wanting. You’re more confident now, fully knowing that Jeongguk wants this as much as you do. 

“When you said I could do whatever…” You pull back, thinking about Jeongguk’s previous statement.

He nods his head with the most innocent beam on his face. “I mean it.”

God, you feel like such a pervert. You’ve shared your first kiss with him, something so sweet and innocent. Why couldn’t that be enough for you? You’re sitting on his lap, feeling the broad planes of his chest, and you can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to do more. To feel more. 

You’re ridden with guilt, drowning in your own arousal, but Jeongguk is so kind. He’s understanding. He’s staring at you as if you’re his whole world. He would never dare to objectify you because he’s a gentleman. But… What if you want him to? 

“The girls at the party were also talking about…” Your words begin to trail. 

“About what?” You subconsciously trace circles onto his shoulders, distracting yourself from the conversation, not knowing that Jeongguk’s eyes flutter close because he adores the drag of your nails and the subtle warmth of your fingertips. 

“About… doing it.” Your words come out in a hushed whisper. It feels too inappropriate to say it out loud. Yet you don’t dare to mention how your panties are absolutely ruined. 

“Angel, what did we talk about?” His lips press against your shoulder, at any inch of skin that he can reach. “You have to be more specific.”

Jeongguk has never once made you feel ashamed or embarrassed. He has never laughed at you or told you that you’re being silly. So why is it so difficult to tell him that you want him ー Need him? 

You take the leap of faith because this is your partner ー in life, in death, and in crime. This is Jeongguk. Your one and only lover who never fails to remind you that you are the strongest woman in the world. He who delivers nutritious lunch boxes to you and tucks cute notes into the lid because he knows that they make you smile. Jeon Jeongguk who massages the knots out of your shoulders after a secret night of combat. He who gets pouty when you call him anything other than ‘love.’

There’s no need to hide anything from this man. He’s your home, just as you are his.

“They talked about sex… You know… making love. ” The crude word sounds so wrong leaving your lips. So out of place. It’s dirty, and it’s naughty. “They said all couples do it, but we’ve never…” 

“Do you want to do it because you want to, or is it because your friends told you to?” Jeongguk searches your eyes for clarification. “Because if you feel pressured when you’re not ready-”

“No! I do!” You cling onto his shirt with more urgency. “I want to do it ー with you. I trust you.” You lean closer, brushing your lips against his ear. “You’re my husband.” 

Jeongguk groans at the sound of your words. At the way your fingernails scratch down his chest. At the way you sit so pretty and perfect on top of his lap, pressing your weight into his erection. 

He gulps as if this is the first time he’s ever been nervous in his life. “Why don’t you take off my shirt?” 

“C- can I?” you stutter. 

“Like I said, you can do whatever you want to me. You’re my wife, and I’m yours.” He presses his lips against your brow. “Yours to hold. To kiss. To love.” He kisses your nose. Your chin. Your jaw. He tucks your hair behind your ears and whispers. “I’m yours to make love to.” 

With trembling fingers, you reach for the button that barely holds Jeongguk’s shirt together. 

His hand engulfs yours. “Don’t forget to breathe, in and out, okay?” Jeongguk, patient as ever, waits for your respiration to steady. “You’re safe with me. If you want to stop, just say the word.” 

With each button undone, his shirt falls apart, revealing Jeongguk’s toned abs. As glorious as he is, your eyes are drawn to the scar on the side of his stomach, barely covered by the fabric that hangs off his back. The scar is jagged, and the skin is raised, the tissue is puckered at the edges. 

“Wha- what happened here?” Your fingertips reach down to trace over the scar, but before you make contact, you pull away. 

“You can touch it-” Jeongguk reaffirms. “Wherever you want. I’m yours.” 

Jeongguk’s breath hitches in his throat when your cold hands lightly graze the rough texture, feeling the ghost of his past. But he knows how you’ll respect his boundaries no matter what, and he relaxes, fully knowing that you’ll take care of him. 

“I had surgery when I was younger.” Jeongguk lies. “They took out my appendix.” 

Your brows furrow. There’s no reason not to believe him, but why is the scar so jagged and uneven? Certain parts are wider than others as if the surgeon had twisted a large blade into his abdomen, and not simply sliced to gain access to his organs. 

As usual, Jeongguk can read the concern written on your face. “It’s okay, it didn’t hurt much.” The curve of his lips settle into a warm and reassuring smile. “I promise.” 

Jeongguk doesn’t express any discomfort about his scar, yet you can’t help but wonder what kind of horrors he had to live through. 

To ease your mind, Jeongguk pulls you into his body and presses his hands beneath your thighs. 

A yelp escapes from your lips as he lifts you up. You’re chest to chest with him, legs wrapping around his waist. He presses your back down to the mattress, settling your head onto one of the pillows at the bedpost. 

He hovers above you, a hair's breadth away. 

“Hi,” he whispers against your lips. “You look so stunning.”

You grow shy with all the attention that Jeongguk feeds you. “Hi,” you whisper back. Your legs wrap tighter around his waist. 

“Can I take this off?” Jeongguk glides a finger beneath the strap of your dress.

There’s a rush in your head, feeling dizzy upon nodding your head with so much vigor. 

His lips pair with yours in a quick kiss before calling you a good girl. He shifts his weight off of you so that he can tug you into an upright position and peel the dress off. 

Jeongguk’s eyes widen at your bare chest, having omitted a bra so as to not ruin the outfit. His throat goes dry, and he’s having trouble forming words in his head. You’ve never seen him so speechless. 

Subconsciously, you raise your arms to cover your chest. 

“No, no, no, don’t do that.” Jeongguk wraps his fingers around your wrists, pressing a smooch to your delicate skin. “You’re so pretty like this. Don’t ever hide from me, okay?” 

His words make you shiver. Having someone dote on you as much as Jeongguk is something you’re not used to. But that’s exactly why you’re here, right? So you nod your head and let him pin your hands to the mattress before leading a trail of kisses down your body.

Curious fingers speak freely against your skin, exploring every inch of you. He takes note of every gasp, giggle, and moan that escapes your lips. He presses his swollen lips to your sensitive spots until you keen louder for him, desperately begging for more. His lips wrap around your nipple, sucking on the bud until you whimper. He’s a drooling mess over your tits as he leaves a trail of saliva, marking your skin and claiming you as his. 

Jeongguk furthers his descent down your tummy, placing sweet kisses against the waistband of your panties. He reaches down to feel the leather strap around your upper thigh. It’s the holster that you use to sheathe your knife, and thank God you disarmed before stepping into Jeongguk’s bedroom. 

“I use it to hold my pepper spray,” you murmur a half-ass excuse. “Some of my clothes have shallow pockets.” 

Jeongguk smiles against your skin as he ghosts his lips against your soft thighs. He doesn’t think much of it, but he does think it’s really hot. So he doesn’t bother to unstrap as he continues to worship your body. 

What catches his attention is not the way you’ve soaked through your underwear, as arousing as it is. But rather, he’s intrigued by the faint mark on the outside of your thigh. It’s not a regular, old scar. To Jeongguk, it’s oddly familiar because it’s what appears to be an old bullet wound. 

Jeongguk stutters in disbelief, eyes wide. “What’s this? W- were you sho-” He tries to mentally collect himself as he settles on a choice of words. “Were you hurt? Who hurt you?”

You look down, noticing the circular scar on your outer thigh before shaking it off. “It’s nothing. It was from an injection.” 

“Are you sure? It looks li- It looked serious.” His voice trembles with concern, hands fisting at his sides. 

You pull him up by the collar of his undone shirt, hanging off his broad shoulders. Your lips meet his in a delicate, comforting kiss. Jeongguk visibly relaxes in your hold.  

“I’m fine, really. I just want you.” You claw his shoulders in an attempt to peel the rest of the fabric off. 

Jeongguk sighs, trying to forget about what he had seen. But he’s certain that his mind will wander back to the scar at another point in time. He strips the shirt off his back, carelessly tossing the fabric onto the floor. 

Jeon Jeongguk is mesmerizing. You’ve never seen the entirety of his sleeve, but there it is, in all its glory. There’s a faint beauty mark on his chest, one that you did not account for when tracing all of the scars and marks on his upper body. 

“Tell me you want me,” his breath is hot and heavy against yours. 

Subconsciously, you clench at the sound of his words. “Guk- I want you more than anything.” Your hands float down to the buckle of his jeans as you unclasp the button. “You’re wearing too much. Take it off.” The plea that falls from your lips is breathy and desperate. 

“Fuck-” Jeongguk curses, trying to restrain himself.

Jeongguk has slept with plenty of women before, but never like this. He’s always had one night stands with an ulterior motive, whether it is for leverage or intel or for the sole purpose of converting an innocent woman into a whistleblower. He’s fucked with media journalists, cabinet members, and even the wives of politicians. He isn’t proud of it, but women, just like everyone else, are more likely to say things they don’t mean when their desires are fulfilled. They’re willing to trust him and spill their secrets when they’re lost in the throes of pleasure ー when he hands over his lust and his attention. It’s transactional. 

Jeongguk has always thought that love is cheap. But not with you. 

With you, Jeongguk has the innate need to take his time. He wants to show you what it means to make love. 

He hooks his hand beneath your panties, pulling them down your legs. There’s a string of arousal that breaks when he tugs the fabric off. It’s absolutely soaked in your arousal. Jeongguk’s lips press against every inch of your skin, leaving no spot untouched. 

You shudder when his hot breath meets your inner thighs, threatening to close them. He wraps his thick arms around your legs, digging his fingers into your hips, pinning you to the mattress. 

He keeps his eyes trained on your face as you tremble beneath his touch. He kitten licks your clit, careful as to not overwhelm you. But you quickly melt into the pillows, gripping his hair between your fingers.

Jeongguk wants to commit this to memory. The way that you look so angelic in this light. 

Quiet whimpers escape from your parted lips. “You don’t have to hold back,” he reminds you. “Be as loud as you want. Nobody’s home. We have all the time in the world, and I want you to feel good.” 

He wraps his lips around your clit, sucking softly on the bundle of nerves until you’re writhing against his mouth. Soon enough, you grind your hips, practically riding his face like a needy slut, desperate and wanting. 

The moans slip out of your mouth freely, and Jeongguk grows harder at how pretty you are, lost in pleasure. He begins to rut his hips against the mattress, seeking some kind of relief for his aching cock. 

His tongue slips between your walls, licking up the arousal that seeps down your thighs. His chin is coated in your wetness, and he’s utterly obsessed with your taste. 

Your nails dig into his hair, pulling on the roots. He elicits a moan against your core, and you’re muttering apologies, “sorry, ‘m sorry.” Yet you continue to grind your cunt against his tongue, proving that you’re not sorry at all.  

Your grip loosens, but Jeongguk whines at the loss of tension. “Feels good, angel, don’t stop.” 

He quickly grabs your hands and places them on the top of his head, encouraging you to tug as hard as you want. He’s obsessed with your taste, but he’s also addicted to the pain that you inflict on him. 

He dips his tongue between your walls, reaching as far as he can go. He smiles against your core as if he’s the one enjoying himself ー and truly, he is. He can’t get enough of you. Jeongguk loves to bury his face into your sweet pussy, making out with your cunt. His chin is doused in your essence, and he wants more. He needs to see you dripping in cum so he can taste you straight from the source. 

“Guk, it feels weird,” you choke on your words, pressing your hands against your tummy. The tears cascade down your cheeks as your high builds in the pit of your stomach.

“Shh, shh, angel,” he hushes before dropping a thick glob of spit onto your entrance. He can’t believe that you’ve never come in your life. Have you never played with your cute little cunt before? 

Jeongguk laps your clit while he works a finger into you, gliding between your tight walls. He pushes another one in, watching you stretch around his digits. In the back of his mind, he wonders how you’ll be able to take his cock when you can hardly take his fingers. He curls them inside of you, slowly adding a third. 

You will yourself to pick your head up, allowing your gaze to meet his. The sight before you is filthy beyond belief. You can’t believe that Jeongguk is making out with your naughty pussy, and you love it. His fingers are gliding inside of you, reaching places you’ve never reached before. He’s humping the mattress, trying to satiate his throbbing cock that’s leaking through his boxers. 

“Guk- love, I-”

“Just let go. Come for me,” his husky voice vibrates against your cunt. 

At the sound of his command, you unravel on his tongue, shuddering beneath his strong hold. Your cunt pulses as waves of pleasure rip through you. Soft moans flow through your parted lips, and it’s suddenly Jeongguk’s new favorite melody. 

He watches you fall apart with hearts in his eyes. His hands wrap around your thighs, holding you in place as he fucks you through your climax. You’ve never felt a sensation this strong before. It doesn’t even compare when you’re high on adrenaline. 

Yet Jeongguk laps your pussy as if he’s a puppy, so eager to please you as he collects all of your cum on his tongue. He wants you as much as you’ll allow. Before the overstimulation sets in, you have to weakly tap his shoulder, pushing him away as your thighs close around his head. 

He presses a smooch to your clit before finally pulling back. “How did that feel?” 

“Never felt anything like that before,” you gasp, trying to catch your breath. “C- can you show me how to touch you too?” The innocent look in your eyes drives him absolutely mad. “Wanna make you feel good.” You palm him through his boxers, and he groans at your touch. 

Fuck. “Tonight’s about you, angel.” Jeongguk curses at himself because you look so pretty batting your eyelashes at him. You’re practically begging to suck him off, and he can’t bring himself to say yes. Your hands dip beneath his underwear, gliding your hands up and down his throbbing cock. 

Jeongguk thinks that he might be in heaven. “Aren’t you too tired? I’ve already made you come once.” 

But you shake your head, “I want more, please? I can take it. Will you please give it to me?”

“I- I don’t have a condom,” he confesses. 

“Don’t care, I need you.” Your hands roam across the planes of his chest before settling on the back of his neck. You pull him closer until your lips brush against his. “Need you so bad…” You subconsciously roll your hips, grinding your bare cunt against his thigh, pleading ー begging for him to sink his cock inside of you to relieve the ache. “It hurts,” you murmur. 

What else is Jeongguk supposed to do when his baby is aching, begging and pleading for his help? So he pulls his cock out of his boxers, tossing the offensive material out of the way. Your mouth waters as your eyes meet his length. 

“It’s not gonna fit,” you shake your head. Surely, he could split you open with his sheer girth. “You’re too big.”

Jeongguk wraps his hand around his length, jerking himself off before pressing the length of his thick cock onto your stomach, measuring how deep he could possibly go. The pretty tip rests against your belly button. Jeon Jeongguk could actually break you, and you would let him. 

“Are you sure you want to do this? We can stop-” 

You shake your head with desperate vigor, and your imploring hands reach for his broad shoulders. “Just- just go slow, okay?”

Jeongguk pairs his lips with yours in a sweet kiss, “I’ll take care of you. I promise.” He releases a thick glob of spit onto your cunt before rubbing the tip of his cock against your core, spreading the sloppy mess across your mound. He drags his tip against your lips before slowly pushing into your soaked cunt. 

You gasp upon feeling the intrusion, squeezing your eyes shut. 

Jeongguk nibbles the column of your neck, whispering quiet praises against your skin to distract you from the discomfort. He looks down to see barely half of his length tucked inside of you, yet your walls are stretched to accommodate him. At the pit of your stomach, there’s a bulge where the tip of his cock prods against your cunt. It protrudes against your tummy, leaving an indentation. He can quite literally watch his dick plow into you.

“Angel, look at how well you take me,” he groans. 

You will yourself to open your eyes, seeing how he stuffs you to the brim. The visual is so filthy. 

“God, I’ve been dreaming of this.” Jeongguk drops another glob of spit where his length meets your cunt, allowing the glide to be more effortless. The way that your pretty pussy struggles to make room for him is the hottest thing he’s ever seen. His eyes roll back as he squeezes your waist, trying to regain an ounce of composure. 

“You’ve been thinking about this? About us?” You clench upon hearing his deepest desires. 

He curses under his breath, not knowing how much longer he’d last if you’re already this tight wrapped around his cock. “You have no idea-” When he rests his head against your shoulder, panting, another inch sinks inside of you. “Sorry, ‘m sorry. You just feel so fucking good.” 

His rough hands wander across your body, mapping every inch of your skin, committing it to memory. Jeongguk taps his fingers against your lips as he requests you to ‘open up.’ As obedient as you are, you part your lips, allowing him to slip his digits inside.

“Suck on my fingers,” he coos as he pushes himself further into your sweet pussy. “That’s my good girl.” He pulls his calloused fingers out of your mouth, and they find home onto your clit as he rubs figure eights onto your bundle of nerves. It serves as a distraction from the slight sting of resistance where his cock stretches your walls. 

But for Jeongguk, this feels like heaven. He resists the urge to sheathe himself into your virgin cunt, down to the hilt. “Can’t believe that I get to see you like this.” 

Jeongguk seriously can’t believe how fortunate he is that he’s your first. Nobody has ever touched you the way that Jeongguk does. Nobody will ever fuck you or make you come the way that he will. And certainly, nobody will ever get to see you act like a desperate little slut. You belong to Jeongguk just as he belongs to you. And this is the privilege he gets when you’re his wife. 

You watch his face twist in concentration as he works himself into you. His biceps bulge, and his skin dimples beneath the pressure of your fingers when you squeeze his arm. They feel so rock solid beneath your touch. So strong and so, so reliable like the Jeongguk you know and love. You whimper simply because he’s hot, and you could never resist him. 

“S- something wrong?” He stills his hips inside of you, and his cock pulses. 

“N- no,” you whine, shaking your head. “Just wanna hold your hand.” You scratch down his biceps as you paw at his chest. Even when he’s buried inside of you, it’s still not enough. You need him, and you need all of him. 

He grabs both of your hands, softly squeezing them as he pins them on either side of your head. Jeongguk cages you against the mattress as he presses his body weight against yours, plunging his cock deeper and deeper between your walls, inch by inch. 

Your chest heaves when his hips press against yours, completely buried inside of you, and a silent cry slips past your lips. Tears begin to form in the corner of your eyes. 

“Just breathe for me, angel, okay? Relax, ease up for me. I know it’s uncomfortable now, but you’ll feel so good, I swear.”

You nod your head, and you can’t help but cry. You just feel so full. Two twin tears trail down your cheeks, and Jeongguk is quick to kiss them away.

He soothes his thumb over the back of your hand as he praises you. “You’re doing so well for me. Such a good girl. You can take it, right? You can take it all for me.” 

You nod your head, letting the tears fall down like summer rain. “I can take it, I swear-” You sound so choked up, and it’s probably due to the fact that Jeongguk is so fucking deep, you can practically feel him in your throat. 

“Move, please, I need you so bad.” The broken sob rips out of your throat as you cry in desperation.

He pulls out with a shallow thrust, wanting to be as close to you as possible. Looking down, he can see where his cock fucks into you, where there’s a bulge that shadows every single one of his thrusts. He takes your hand down to rub over the protrusion. 

“Can you feel me? Right here?” He quickly slides out of you before pressing his hips flush against yours in one swift motion. 

A deep groan rumbles through his chest, sending a deep vibration through your body. His breath is hot against your lips, and you can actually feel him in your tummy. You can feel him everywhere. 

“How’s it, angel?” 

“Feels full-” you manage to choke the words out of your mouth. 

“Too much?” Jeongguk asks. His breath is shaky as he plows his hips against yours. His cock twitches inside of you, and he really doesn’t want to pull out. But if you had asked, he wouldn’t hesitate to do so. 

Thank God for your insatiability because you shake your head as you bring your intertwined hand to your lips, pressing a kiss to his skin. “Feels good- keep going, please,” you beg. 

“See? I knew you could take it like a good girl.” 

Soon enough, the discomfort subsides, and all you can feel is pleasure in the pit of your stomach. Jeongguk fucks into you until he bottoms out, prodding at the spot that has you seeing stars. Your eyes begin to cross, obsessed with the way he fills you up, turning you into a stuttering mess. 

“Oh my god, feels s’ good, Guk- Don’t stop,” you cry, wrapping your legs tightly around his waist to keep him close. 

Your mouth falls open and drool begins to slip from the corner of your lips. Jeongguk wedges his tongue into your mouth, swirling your spit and saliva together into one hungry mess. 

He shifts his attention to your sensitive neck as he sucks on the column of your throat. A mark begins to bloom above your collarbone. If anyone were to doubt your marriage and the fact that you belonged to Jeongguk, there would be no reason to do so now. 

The only thing you can focus on is the way that Jeongguk pokes your cervix, and you want nothing more but for him to flood your womb. Your heavy lidded eyes fall shut, your head lolls, and your cheek rests against the pillow. 

But Jeongguk refuses to let you look away. His hand hooks around your jaw, and his fingers dig into your cheek. “Look at me,” he demands. “Want to see you when you come.” He lifts your face off the pillow and presses his lips against yours. 

Jeongguk gives deep and pointed thrusts into your cunt. He grips your hands so tightly, but you welcome the embrace. His hips snap against yours, rutting into your battered hole as you desperately chase your high. 

“‘m sorry, princess, am I too rough?” He mouths against your lips. “Just f- feels so good around me. So tight n’ warm. You’re s’ perfect.” 

You shake your head in desperation. “N- no, I love it-” You love him. “I’m close,” you cry, overwhelmed with emotions. 

“Come for me, angel,” he groans into your ear, pressing kisses against your nose, your cheek, your lips. He squeezes your hands, never letting you go. 

He pounds into you once, twice, three-four times, bullying his cock into you, and you come undone with the rough snap of his hips. You tremble in his arms, feeling this orgasm tenfold compared to the last. Cum begins to seep out of your cunt, drenching Jeongguk’s cock until there’s a ring of cream at the base of his length. 

You tight little cunt clenches around him as if you never want him to leave. He finds it hard to breathe when you look so beautiful, so pretty, and just so cute caged beneath him. As much as he wants to come inside of you and stuff you full, Jeongguk is quick to pull out when he feels his climax approach. He glides his cock against your cunt, rutting against your lips. He paints your stomach with ribbons of white cum, groaning at the lewdness of it all. 

Thoughts of Jeongguk breeding your cunt flashes through your mind ー having him flood you with cum round after round until you can have a happy little family of four. 

Obscene images of you doing this again and again in different positions send your mind racing. You want him to bury himself to the hilt with your knees pinned against your chest. If only he could flood your womb as he holds you by the back of your thighs in a mating press. Maybe you can come when you’re on all fours, on your hands and knees. Or you could take him down your throat as deep as you can go, choking and gagging on his length with saliva dribbling out of your lips. Although you’re certain that you could barely take half of him considering his size and your inexperience. But Jeongguk can teach you, and you can practice night after night until he absolutely ruins you. 

“So much cum,” you murmur, admiring the liquid that rests on your tummy. You swipe your fingers across your stomach before sticking them in your mouth. Jeongguk’s cock twitches at the sight of you so desperate for a taste. 

He presses a kiss to your forehead, “How was it?” 

“Can we do it again?” Your eyes glimmer with wishful thinking. It’s safe to say that you had the best night of your life. 

Jeongguk sputters a laugh, shaking his head. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

He carries you to the bathroom, making sure you use the toilet to prevent UTIs. Meanwhile, he runs a bath for you where he lathers lavender shampoo in your hair and rubs the knots from your sore shoulders, down to your hips and legs. Between soft giggles and splashes of water, you share sweet kisses and loving stares. Before your fingers can prune, Jeongguk lifts you out of the tub and dries you off with a warm towel. 

The two of you tangle beneath the sheets. But before you fall asleep to the sound of one another’s heartbeat, you ask Jeongguk the question that’s been on your mind. 

“I was just wondering… Do you like to be called daddy?” 

His lips meet your forehead before tucking you closer to his chest. “Go to sleep, angel. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” 

Jeongguk, in fact, does like to be called daddy among a plethora of other vulgar words. This vital piece of information is not necessary for the Hwa Yang interview, but you tuck that specific fact into the recesses of your brain for future reference. 

Because the truth is, you don’t have enough time to memorize Jeongguk’s life story. You can save that for another day. The Hwa Yang interview is in less than a week, and you have to save all of your brain space for relevant ー appropriate information. Such as the values of your family and the importance of education in your lives. 

Thankfully, as Jeongguk’s informant, Seokjin managed to snag sample questions that the interviewers are likely to ask: What type of person do you want your child to grow up to be? What is your child’s school experience like thus far? What are some habits you practice to help your child acclimate to the academic rigor of this school? 

So Jeongguk, Minji, and you work tirelessly to come up with the perfect answers that give the impression that you are a family exuding elegance. In the eyes of the admissions director, it basically means that you have to rival the royal family. 

Minji should have interests beyond her plushies and her manhwas, something along the lines of tennis, horseback riding, or crossword puzzles. She has to continue with her studies ー global history, foreign affairs, music theory, and yes, even her sworn enemy, mathematics. At the mere age of five, she should obtain fluency in a second language (which is apparently really impressive if you’re the royal heir to the British empire). 

All of this preparation proves to be handy because at the academy, the board of interviewers ask about Minji’s interests and her hobbies. They want to know what type of learner she is and how she can contribute to the fast paced learning environment. 

Although Minji is exceptional as she is, you can’t help but wonder why a child has to be a prodigy to be deemed as someone worthy of a good education. What’s wrong with simply existing? What’s wrong with being average? Because if the price of being average is being a decent human being, you would rather take your chances at a different school. 

The sound of the headmaster’s voice breaks you out of your reverie. “I want to ask Minji what a typical day in the household looks like.”

She straightens her posture upon hearing her name. “I start the day when eomma wakes me up and helps me get ready for kindergarten. She double checks to make sure my homework and my school supplies are in my bag. She also packs extra clothes for me just in case. Appa makes breakfast in the kitchen, and when we finish eating, they walk me to school-” 

The headmaster crinkles his brows. A look of confusion crosses his features. “Does your father always cook for the family?” 

“Yes, appa usually cooks because eomma works really hard. Sometimes, she comes home with aches and pains because of all the energy she uses.” Minji shifts her gaze to her father, trying to gauge whether her answer is acceptable. Meanwhile, your eyes are filled with concern, worried she’ll somehow expose your criminal history. “But eomma always helps when she can. She goes to the market, and she does the laundry. She also makes tea for appa and hot chocolate for me. She helps me with my homework even if I don’t like fractions.” Minji says the last part in a hushed whisper. 

“Really? Is your mother someone you aspire to be? Despite your father being the one to prepare your meals? It’s rather untraditional.” 

“I don’t believe that question is pertinent to the interview. It’s quite leading,” Jeongguk states. His voice doesn’t falter, but there’s animosity in every breath that he takes. “I can assure you that my wife is a wonderful mother and role model to our daughter. Now may we please refocus our attention on Minji and her academics?” Jeongguk’s eyebrows furrow, and he is seething. He balls his hands into fists, resisting the urge to throw a right hook at the man across the table. 

Instinctually, your fingers inch across the settee, reaching for Jeongguk’s hand in order to soothe his nerves. His shoulders relax upon feeling the heat of your skin as if to quietly remind him that everything is okay. 

“Of course, I apologize.” The headmaster says diplomatically before jotting down a few words into his notebook. He raises his nose in the air as if he’s on some high horse.

The interview persists until the end of the hour, and Jeongguk remains at the edge of his seat. He holds his hand in yours to keep his composure intact. Thankfully, the dean of admissions and the executive advisor have more tasteful questions to ask. 

However, it doesn’t last long. The headmaster intercepts once again. “Mrs. Jeon, I noticed that your documents indicate you are Minji’s stepmother, correct? Do you ever feel some kind of disconnect considering that you are not her biological mother?” 

You’re taken aback by this impromptu question. You didn’t prepare an answer for this, although your natural response would be to wrap your hands around this man’s bare neck, wringing it dry. Yet you remain composed for the sake of Jeongguk and Minji. You can feel Jeongguk hold your hand tighter in his. But you pat his wrist, serving as both a warning and a comforting acknowledgement. 

“I love Minji as a daughter, just as any other mother. To me, it doesn’t matter if she’s not my blood relative. We’ve grown really close ever since we’ve met. I admit that I have never been a mom myself, and I’m faced with a new learning curve every single day. But isn’t that what motherhood is? It’s nothing I’m not used to. Growing up, I raised my younger brother. At work, I take care of children from all different backgrounds. Surely, I make mistakes, but I think every parent leaves a mark on their child no matter what they do. Sometimes it’s a stain. Other times it’s a break, a bend, or a crack. Other parents can splinter their kids, but I hope that I never get to that point. I’m not perfect, but I’m constantly trying to be better. I love Minji more than anything.” 

“So you never feel any sense of inadequacy or resentment?” The headmaster has the audacity to question your parenting skills. 

Jeongguk cannot stand to hear the headmaster criticize you anymore. In a blink of an eye, he slams his fist against the coffee table. The wood splits in half beneath the brute force of his hand, and you’re quite impressed by the display of action. 

“This is wildly inappropriate for an interview. This entire time, you’ve done nothing but berate my wife because we do not have a conventional family. We’re not wealthy people. We work hard for what we do. We take care of one another in a way that only we know and understand. If you can’t accept that, then maybe this is not the school that we want our child to be enrolled in.” Jeongguk’s chest heaves as he says his peace. 

He doesn’t even take another moment to listen to the headmaster. There’s nothing he could say that could warrant forgiveness. So Jeongguk picks up his daughter, and he grabs your hand before storming out of the interview room. 

Jeongguk is going to have a difficult time explaining to his boss why he’s failed his mission.

“I’m sorry I messed up Minji’s chance of going to Hwa Yang.” You tug at the sleeves of your dress as you stare at the floor.

Back at Jeongguk’s apartment, you sink into the couch, allowing the weight of the situation to finally settle. 

Jeongguk rests his hand on your shoulders, turning you so that you can meet his gaze. “You didn’t mess up anything.” His eyes are filled with warmth, but you feel as if you don’t deserve it. 

“We worked so hard for this, and it was all for nothing.” 

There’s still residual rage that flows through his veins. “Nothing? Don’t say that. Don’t you know that I lo-” 

Your heart lurches out of your chest as you stare at him in awe. He loves you? 

Jeongguk’s hands shift to hold your cheeks, running his calloused thumb against the edge of your jaw. He sighs, trying to collect his thoughts. “We have each other, and that’s all that matters at the end of the day, okay? We couldn’t anticipate that they’d be so cruel. I would defend you over anything in this world. So don’t you dare say that this was all for nothing.”

He pulls you into a tight hug, tucking your head beneath his chin. You can hear the sound of his heart beat, beating only for you. It’s distracting enough for you to miss his whispered declaration: “I’m seriously gonna marry you someday.” 

Minji climbs onto the couch, wedging herself between her parents. “If I don’t get accepted, I don’t have to go to school, right?” 

The two of you peel away from the embrace, glaring at Minji, shaking your heads. “No, you have to go,” you simultaneously declare with stern conviction. 

Minji huffs a sigh, looking downcast. But when her stomach grumbles, you effectively put an end to your pity party. You and Jeongguk drop everything, scurrying into the kitchen to prepare dinner for your precious daughter. She worked hard, and she did her very best. You all did. 

…

Tucked away into the busy streets of Seoul, there’s a tiny little apartment on the second story filled with music and laughter. 

While the water boils for the buckwheat noodles, Jeongguk watches over his precious family, reading the instructions for the sauce. All you need is a mixture of perilla oil, cham sauce, buldak sauce, buldak mayo, egg yolk, and a generous amount of furikake. But when you and Minji measure out everything to perfection, you cheer for one another as if you’ve made a meal worthy of praise from the world renown Gordon Ramsey. 

When the noodles are ready, you all gather around the table and laugh to your heart's content. You fill your stomachs with starch, a heavy amount of spice, and plenty of love. You dote on one another, too distracted with the loving family you’ve created to notice anything outside of your little bubble. 

This moment is yours, and yours alone. This is your happy place, and nobody can take it away from you. Not even the sound of the answering machine, echoing from the quaint living room.

“Due to your family’s impressive display of integrity at the institution’s interview, I would like to extend an offer to enroll Jeon Minji into the prestigious Hwa Yang Academy. Congratulations, and we hope to hear from you soon.” 

#jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts scenario #bts imagine #bts x reader #bts fan fic #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts fan fiction

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

Request from @bisexuawolfsalt: May you please write a Bucky x virgin!reader who’s never been able to get herself off?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female virgin!reader

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: masturbation, fingering

Everything about you was different. You'd always felt it. You never fit in with the people you'd grown up with. Friends had never felt close. You were sheltered, your parents had a habit of being overprotective, helicoptering over you until they were in a fatal accident just before your eighteenth birthday. That's when things changed for you, not just what you'd lost, but your body too. You were different, but not in the way you'd thought all your life. You were powered. You kept to yourself throughout college, barely keeping anyone around you as more than an acquaintance. Relationships were a foreign concept to you, be it one of friendship or romance. You'd experienced neither.

That was your story, until you found yourself in New York City in the middle of a Chitari invasion. When you back up an Avenger with your powers, you get noticed. Tony Stark found you and brought you in. It took some convincing, you weren't ready, you were afraid. You'd hidden yourself with a job in the New York Public library. But eventually you agreed to move into the Stark Tower.

That's where you first met Bucky. You had gotten to know Steve, Natasha, and Tony pretty well. Steve had come to knock on your door one day and brought Bucky with him. He had returned from Wakanda, free from his Winter Soldier programming. He didn't look as frightening as people had described him. There was a kindness behind his brilliant blue eyes, an intelligence and a sadness that drew you in. He was a solitary soul and so were you. 

You felt comfortable in his presence. He said very little, in fact he barely made eye contact initially. Steve had encouraged him to make a friend and Bucky had chosen you, you didn't pester him about his well being, didn't cajole him about attending therapy, in fact you didn't bother him at all. You were the perfect friend. These were the reasons you believed Bucky had chosen you.

In reality Bucky couldn't get enough of being around you. He was drawn to you and you to him. Finally he had confessed his feelings to you and you had kissed him. Only Steve knew about your relationship with Bucky, you kept things private. You spent all your down time with Bucky but the two of you hadn't slept together, yet. Bucky had insisted that you wait until you were ready, after you'd told him that you hadn't been in any relationships in the past.

Today hadn't been any different from any other, not really. You'd spent time training in the gym with Steve, you'd done some reading, having decided to pursue a medical degree with your interest in science. You had a lot to learn, but you decided to take a break and grab yourself a bit of food. You walked into the kitchen where a group of SHIELD agents were also eating and talking. You blushed profusely when you heard their topic of discussion… masturbation!

“I love my Lioness. I swear if men’s penises were made with a vibration setting, I'd actually consider being with one,” one of them mused.

“Oh sweet girl, I’ve been married for five years, and let me tell you, sometimes only you have the means to get the job done. I mean I love my human dildo, but the rubber one gets the job done much better. It's got a suction up, so just slam it against the wall and go to town on it," her older colleague chimed in.

"Ah, you kids and your new fangled inventions and toys. I'm pretty old school, my fingers have been doing the job just fine for me all these years. Batteries not included," she smirked.

Their words made you blush, you had no idea what a Lioness even was, you cowered in the corner trying not to eavesdrop. The last thing you wanted was to be involved in this conversa-

"Hey!" You heard Piper, one of the agents calling your name. "What's your preference?"

You mostly kept to yourself, the other agents had no idea of your childhood or your lack of experience and you'd kept to yourself to avoid questions exactly like this.

“I - ummm…” you started stuttering nervously, eyes darting around for an excuse to avoid answering the question. You hoped no one would notice you biting your lip and wringing your hands with anxiety. “You know…”

“Come on girl, are you saying that hunk of yours is that good?”

“What?” You were shocked by Piper’s comment. 

“Barnes, is he as good in bed as he looks like he would be?”

“What-”

“You don’t need to pretend, we’ve seen the two of you holding hands and smacking lips.”

You blushed, you had no idea that other people were aware of your relationship. But they couldn’t know that you hadn’t sealed the deal, could they?

“You have to give us some details,” they laughed good naturedly. “Is he that good that you don’t need to … you know, take care of yourself every now and then?”

There was no malicious intent in their questions, they were just making jovial conversation and including you, but you just wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole. You wanted to tell them that Bucky was good, but you knew that they weren’t asking if he was a good person, they wanted to know if he was good at sex. You weren’t so out of touch with the world that you didn’t know what they were insinuating.

“He’s an amazing person-”

You were cut off by their beepers sounding off at the same time. Saved by the bell.

“See you around.” They smiled and winked at you as they left to see to their duties.

A silent sigh of relief escaped your lips as you gathered your meal and sat down in the vacated dining area. Your heart was no longer pounding on the inside of your chest, but your brain was in overdrive as you ruminated over the conversation between the agents. Without realizing it, you were thinking about what masturbation would actually be like. 

You weren’t completely innocent or devoid of sexual urges, you had admired both handsome men and beautiful women, some of whom had even had you aroused. But you hadn’t dared act on those urges, mostly because you had no idea how and you were too ashamed to ask anyone you did know. You felt embarrassed that you had reached the age that you were without having had any real sexual encounters. You had been hesitant to explore your own anatomy, even in the privacy of your own home and now you’d reached the point in your life where you were too afraid to try it alone.

Your lunch remained half uneaten as you pondered your dilemma. Your interest had definitely been piqued and you started thinking about Bucky. He had been patient with you and your reluctance to engage in more intimate behavior. He had been incredibly understanding when you’d admitted to him that you were a virgin and hadn’t pushed you into any kind of non consensual conduct.

Everything you’d seen on television or read about, the act of sexual intercourse, the pleasure that came from an orgasm, you wanted to know how it felt. You felt a stirring between your legs at the very thought. But where would you get the information to do things right? You had so many questions. You thought about looking online but the computers in the Tower were all networked, and JARVIS had the ability to look into any search history. The thought of someone finding out terrified you. No, you would have to try something else.

This brought your thoughts around to Bucky. After careful consideration, you determined that Bucky was probably the best person to discuss your areas of learning. You knew that he was a little more experienced than you were and if you were to share a future with him, you would eventually engage in more intimate activity. So he would be the perfect person to ask. You picked up your phone and typed out a message.

You: Can I ask you something? It’s a bit embarrassing.

Bucky’s phone pinged as he sat listening to a discussion between Sam and Steve. He enjoyed watching them battle wits, as long as he wasn’t asked to take part. And when he did, he always sided with Steve, regardless of what his actual opinion was. He took his eyes off the pair to see your face light up his screen. Your face never failed to make the corner of Bucky’s mouth quirk up, as hard as he tried to hide it. 

Bucky had never met anyone quite like you. Despite the trauma and loneliness you had suffered, it hadn’t made you cold or hard, in fact he thought you were the single most kind-hearted and loving person he’d ever met. Your intelligence surpassed that of many and he was almost shocked that you had chosen to bestow your affection on him. You were his angel, sent from heaven to show him what real love was. He texted you back immediately.

Bucky: Anything. 

Bucky’s whole attention was on you now, your question had piqued his interest far more than the conversation between Sam and Steve ever had.

You: How do you masturbate?

Bucky’s eyes were ready to pop out of his skull as he read your question.

“Buck?” Steve called his friend again, trying to get his attention.

“Yeah?” Bucky cleared his throat, tearing his attention away from his phone.

“Can you settle this for us?”

“Yeah, I agree with Sam,” he answered.

Sam and Steve watched him get up and walk away with their jaws on the floor. But Bucky had no time for nor interest in their reaction. He was focused on your question.

Bucky: What makes you ask this question?

You: There were some agents in the kitchen and they were talking about masturbation…

Bucky: And you are curious?

You: Well yeah. So are you going to answer the question?

Bucky thought for a moment before responding.

Bucky: There isn’t just one way to masturbate. 

You: Care to elaborate?

Bucky: Most people use their fingers. Now they have all these toys.

He thought for a moment, before sending a follow up text.

Bucky: Back in the day, we would make do with what was around. You just need to use it right.

As much as Bucky longed to offer you a hands on demonstration of the concept, he knew that he should give you the space to learn and experience things at your own pace, particularly with regards to your sexual relationship.

Bucky: You need to figure out what YOU like.

You bit your lip as you read Bucky’s answers, your fingers hovering above the screen as you tried to work up the courage to continue your conversation.

You: I don’t know what to do.

Bucky: You just have to try things out and see how you feel.

You typed out your response, you felt a tingling between your legs and an unfamiliar dampness. It took you several minutes for you to press send.

You: Will you show me?

Bucky’s mouth went dry as he read your reply. He felt himself stir at that thought of your question. He read your words over and over, contemplating his next move.

Bucky: Are you sure?

Bucky didn’t want to pressure you, or make you do anything you didn’t feel comfortable with, but the thought of being closer to you, more intimate with you made his body react and he could feel blood pumping south.

You: Ordinarily I’d probably use a Google search but I’m not particularly where I should be looking. Also most things are probably not targeted at women past their teenage years. Also I didn’t particularly want to leave a trail of cookies in my search history.

Bucky wasn't quite sure he understood all of your message. I was rather old fashioned, and even though he had some understanding of the modern world, he didn't feel entirely comfortable. He decided to help you the best way he knew how.

Bucky: Meet me when you're done with work?

You: Sure. Where do you want to meet?

Bucky: Your room. 6pm. Wear something comfortable.

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as you read his message and answered.

You: See you soon.

Anticipation and anxiety had you back in your quarters much earlier than the time Bucky had advised. You decided to be prepared for his arrival, so you took a shower and performed all your necessary grooming rituals. You weren’t entirely out of the loop with regards to sex, but clinical application was very different from actual intimacy. The thought of Bucky’s touch excited you. Your relationship with him mostly involved emotional intimacy, he was nervous too, worried about hurting you physically. He had been happy to let you take the lead for the physical aspect of your relationship.

The thought of his touch elicited a tantalizing reaction from your body, the warmth, the wetness between your legs was exhilarating. There was an urge to touch yourself. It wasn’t that you hadn’t thought about this before, even tried exploring your own body, but you’d never quite achieved the intended goal. Today felt different. You could feel yourself pulsing in a way that you’d not felt before. And if Bucky wasn’t able to help you understand your own body, you were certain that no one would.

You put on a slightly oversized t-shirt, it was loose enough for you to move with ease, but fitted enough that your figure wasn’t hidden. You grabbed a pair of booty shorts, choosing to slip it over your hips without any underwear. The feeling of them against your uncovered core made you feel wicked. Your heart was still pounding and you needed something to relax, so you grabbed a bottle of Pinot Noir and poured yourself a generous glass.

A knock at the door made you jump, and the contents of the glass sloshed around dangerously. You took a small sip before putting it down on the counter of the small kitchenette in your room and went to answer the door. 

“Hi.” You barely breathed the word as you found Bucky at your door.

He looked ethereal, he had clearly taken the time to go back to his room and prepare for your rendezvous after spending the day training new recruits. He slipped past you with a gentle greeting. He had washed his long hair which was loose and still slightly damp. He had donned a maroon Henley which you had told him was your favorite and as he brushed against you, you caught the scent of his cologne which did nothing but increase your arousal.

“How was your day, Doll?” Bucky asked, giving you a gentle peck on the cheek.

“Seriously, you want to ask about my day?” you said nervously, wringing your hands together.

Suddenly you felt out of your depth. How could this beautiful specimen of a man possibly be here for intimate relations with you? You turned around and took a mouthful of wine, coughing slightly as you swallowed.

“Hey, easy there, Doll. Being drunk isn’t helpful. You know,” he paused for a moment, “we don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

He wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close to his chest. You could feel his heart beating as your head rested against him. It was calming and you looked up at him.

“I want to.”

“If you change your mind at any time, you will tell me, right?”

You nodded, appreciative of his understanding.

“Sit down for a minute. I’m just going to set up a few things.”

“What kind of things?

Bucky held up a few candles. “I thought they’d make you feel more comfortable, relaxed.”

You watched Bucky place candles around your room and then dim the lighting. His movements were elegant, so smooth. You marveled at his grace and agility, his touch was delicate and you wondered how his hands would feel on your body. When he was done he came over to sit beside you as you clutched your wine glass.

“Oh Bucky, I’m sorry, here, let me get yo-”

You stopped as he put his hands on your shoulders. “Listen, before we start, no matter what happens today, I’m just here to help you… you know, please yourself. That doesn’t mean that we need to go any further. You don’t owe me sex. Got that?”

You nodded, feeling more relaxed, like he’d taken the weight of expectation off your shoulders. “Yeah, okay,” you whispered.

“Anytime you want to sto-”

His words were cut off by your lips on his. “Sorry,” you pulled away slowly. “You were kinda freaking me out.”

Bucky chuckled at your shyness.

“So what now?” you asked, uncertain of how to proceed.

“Do you feel…” He wasn’t sure how to ask you if you felt turned on.

You shrugged. “Every time I think about this, I feel nervous, but also kinda tingly.” Subconsciously, you squeezed your legs together seeking the pleasure that came from the friction.

Your reflexive moments didn’t go unnoticed by Bucky. “You feel good?”

You nodded. “Will you kiss me?”

Bucky smiled, cupping your face with his hands, pulling your lips towards his, caressing them with his tongue before gently slipping it into your mouth. His right arm dropped down, coming to rest around your waist. Both of you lost yourselves in the kiss for a few minutes before Bucky pulled away. “Want to keep making out?”

“Well, it is nice, but I’m ready. What do I do?”

“Do you want to take your clothes off?”

A soft blush crossed your features, Bucky could see it in the glow of candlelight. You started taking off your t-shirt, raising your arms to pull it over your head. Bucky’s eyes lingered over your breasts, trying not to stare as you struggled with the neck. He eventually tore his gaze away to help you complete the task. Bucky tossed the shirt aside on a nearby armchair and turned back to you. You could help but try to cover yourself with your arms.

“You look beautiful, Doll.” Bucky murmured. “What can I do to make you feel more comfortable?”

“I mean, I feel kinda exposed. Maybe if we were on even footing it would be less awkward?”

Bucky laughed, “so you want me to take my top off?”

“I wouldn’t say no.”

Bucky used one hand to swiftly shed his Henley, letting you ogle his chiseled chest for a moment.

"Why don't make yourself comfortable on the pillows.” He nodded his head up to the top of the bed.

You followed his instruction, crawling over to the top. You’d spent many an evening with Bucky buried under the covers watching movies late into the night. Several times you’d woken up the following morning wrapped in his arms, but today was different. You sat back against the stack of pillows making yourself comfortable.

“Aren’t you coming?” You asked, realizing that he was still sitting at the end of the bed.

His eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “Well, if you want me to…” he answered, voice suddenly a little shaky.

“Were you planning on sitting there with all your clothes on, watching me get myself off. I mean that’s kinda off putting.”

He walked around the edge of the bed and climbed on to sit beside you.

“If you take off your pants, I’ll lose my shorts.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Doll.” He smirked before shimmying off his jeans.

As hard as you tried, you couldn’t help the flush on your face as you stared at the outline of his bulge. Bucky smirked.

“Like what you see, Doll?”

There was something in his tone that made your insides feel tight, like there was something inside you trying to escape and you kept squeezing to stop it. Your body responded to his words in a way you’d never felt before.

“Your turn,” he said quietly, not a command, more of a request.

You lifted your ass off the bed and pushed your shorts down, over your thighs, sliding them over your knees and let them fall over your calves. Bucky helped you to unhook them from your feet before tossing them to the foot of the bed, just in case you wanted them again. He took a moment to let his eyes rove over your naked form, oh how he longed to touch you, but today was not for him to indulge his fantasies. Today was for you.

“Will you sit with me?” you asked.

“Can’t get a lot closer than this, Doll.” He was sitting right beside you, his thigh touching yours.

“Can we sit like we did the other day? When we went to the beach?” You remembered how it had felt to sit between Bucky’s legs, his strong arms wrapped around you protectively. You felt safe from the world. It’s not that you needed Bucky to keep you safe physically, you were perfectly capable of looking after yourself, no, he made you feel accepted. It was a feeling you wanted to hold on to forever.

Bucky let you climb between his legs, taking a deep breath as your ass brushed against him, “Okay?” he asked, his hands holding the top of your arms gently.

You nodded. “What now?”

“Well… we just need to figure out what you like, what feels good for you.” He paused, trying to figure out how best to advise you. It wasn’t like there was an official manual to be followed. “May I?” He put his fingers around your wrist, asking for permission to guide your movements.

His palm radiated warmth and you felt goosebumps erupting across your arms. “That feel good?”

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t we start up here?” He guided your hand up to your neck. “Start with soft touches.”

Following Bucky’s instruction, you traced the muscles along your neck and across your clavicle. A soft sigh leaves your lips as you reach the center of your chest. Bucky’s eyes flicked to your face as you closed your eyes and leaned back into him, his chest moves up and down slowly. His sturdiness and strength only served to amplify your arousal. He saw you bite your lower lip as your fingers grazed the skin on your breast. Naturally you cupped it, massaging the tissue slowly. 

“Try pinching your nipple,” he whispered in your ear.

You do as you’re told and find yourself whimpering quietly. The feeling between your legs amplified ten fold, clenching needily.

“And the other side too, Doll.” Bucky muttered, his fingers sliding up and down your upper arm, the same arm you were using to touch your own body. “Feel good?”

“So good,” you sighed.

You leaned back again, the delectable sensations had you arching your back and now that you had moved past your breast, you noticed that the level of pleasure had changed a little, dimmed slightly. Bucky watched with rapt attention, mentally noting what you responded to for future reference. He resisted the urge to bury his face in your neck, press his lips against your sweet smelling skin. Your fingers skated quickly over your abdomen and made their way between your legs.

“Take your time, Doll. From what I've learned, getting a woman all worked up makes things more… intense.

"Before you touch down there, try rubbing here," he moved your hands to your thighs. "Just on the inside, Doll, just like that. You can use your fingers, or your whole hand. Try and see what you like."

You sighed, trying out the different techniques on the flesh of your thighs. Bucky’s skin itched with desire, there was nothing he wanted more than to put his own hands on your thighs, but he had promised you and he would keep his word.

“I like it more with my finger tips,” you leaned back into him, looking up into his eyes with a smile.

As you did, you noticed something pressing into your lower back. You pushed against it, curious about its shape. A shuddering breath and strangled moan escaped your boyfriend’s lips.

You looked back up at Bucky with surprise and you saw the blush on his face. It is a little embarrassing that it took you so long to realize what was touching you.

“Is that…”

“Yeah…you can just ignore… him. He shows up sometimes without invitation,” Bucky mumbled.

“Do you want me to-” you started asking if he wanted you to touch him, but Bucky cut you off.

“No, today we’re here for you. Focus on your own body.” Bucky shifted his hips back to avoid further friction but that didn’t quite stop his body reacting to you.

Bucky’s fingers skated across your skin with the lightest of touches, his breathing heavier than it was before as he watched your hands stroke over your inner thighs, edging closer and closer to your leaking core.

“Buck-” you whined quietly.

“Yeah?”

“I want…”

“Go ahead, start with one hand, maybe?” he suggested. “Feel over the outside.”

You hummed, arching back against him, and earning a groan from Bucky.

“If you feel comfortable, you can put your fingers between the folds and try rubbing your-.”

“Clit?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow, there’s a lot… it’s really wet.” You comment as your slick coats your exploring fingers.

“That’s good,” Bucky said encouragingly. “Have you found your-”

You gasped and grabbed Bucky’s muscular thigh as your fingers brushed over your sensitive bud for the first time. Your pussy clenched needily at the sensation. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he chuckled darkly.

You continue moaning as your fingers rub circles over your pulsing clit. “Oh Bucky…”

He groaned at the way his name left your lips, filled with such longing. He panted softly as his fingers dug into your flesh, he had moved them from your arms down to your waist and it was taking a lot of self control for him to not let them roam over the rest of your body.

“It feels, I … I -” You couldn’t find the words to express what you needed. The new deletable sensations were something you’d never experienced and it was almost overwhelming.

“Use your words, Doll. Tell me what you need.”

“Inside, I want something inside.” The throbbing at your core was getting stronger.

“Good girl, that means you’re doing it right.”

“How do I do it?”

“Move your legs apart a bit more.”

You obliged and Bucky moved his legs under yours so you could hook your ankles around them for support and open up for yourself.

“Ready?”

“Yes,” you said with more confidence, it felt good, you wanted this.

“Try putting one finger in first. Go slowly.” He put his hand on yours, directing your finger along your slit before helping you push into your entrance.

Your thighs tightened as your finger entered this new territory.

“Try to relax, Doll. Take your time.”

Your finger slipped inside, you took deep breaths in an attempt to slow your pounding heart. Bucky couldn't help himself, he put his hands on your thighs, almost a subconscious movement as he focused on your activities. Watching as you dragged your finger in and out of your dripping pussy.

"That's right, just like that." Bucky crooned in your ear. 

His lips felt soft on your neck. You didn't notice how he palmed himself at the same speed that your finger was disappearing inside you.

"If you want, you can put more fingers inside you."

“Umm hmmm.” You didn’t need his guidance to know what you wanted. “Keep talking though.” His voice in your ear was serving to be more an aphrodisiac than you’d expected. You changed the speed of your trusts, suddenly aware of a new feeling that you couldn’t quite identify.

“You like how that feels, Doll? Try hooking your fingers up slightly.” 

He knew you’d found the right spot because of the way you bit your lip and squeezed your eyes closed, pushing back into his chest.

“You’re allowed to make noise, Doll. Actually, I encourage it.”

Your hips began to rock of their own accord and you could hear Bucky panting behind you.

“Oh God,” you whined. “Bucky…”

“I’m right here, Doll. You’re doing so good,” he moaned. “Use this hand, here.” Bucky placed your other hand over your clit, letting you take over rubbing the hard bud.

“Bucky…”

“Yeah?”

“Bucky,” you whimpered desperately, brows knitted together. You had no idea what you wanted from him. “Bucky-yy.”

“It’s okay, Doll. You’ve got this.”

You did, because without warning you felt yourself hurtling over the edge of a precipice you didn’t know you’d been standing on. Your walls pulses around your fingers as your body undulated to the feeling of ecstasy spreading out from your core through to your fingertips. Your powers crackled in a glow that surrounded your body.

As your breath finally settled down, you relaxed back into Bucky’s arms, a ridiculous smile spread across your face. Bucky’s arms surrounded you, holding you making you feel safe and supported.

“So? How did it feel?” Bucky asked, a tad impatiently.

You laughed bashfully in response, words not quite able to describe how giddy you felt in that moment, until Bucky was laughing along with you. You caught his lips as he turned his head to look at you, expressing your thanks with an affectionate kiss. As you leaned back, you were reminded of Bucky’s situation. 

“That was amazing, Bucky. But what about you?” you asked.

“What about me?”

“Don’t you have to- I want to feel you… inside me.” Your voice dropped in volume at the end of your sentence.

Bucky shook his head. “Next time, today was for you. Besides, I kinda came when you were…” His voice trailed off looking a little embarrassed.

“Oh, sorry.” 

“No, it’s not your fault, well actually-”

“Hey!” you pouted.

“In a good way. You look beautiful."

"Thanks for not judging me."

"Thank you for accepting me. For trusting me."

"Of course, Bucky. What happens now?"

"After we get dressed, we can order some food and watch a movie?"

"And maybe plan for when we can do this again?" You asked shyly.

"Sure thing, Doll."

You were glad that you'd had the courage to ask Bucky for his help, and hopefully some day soon, you'd be able to feel even closer to him that you'd done today. 

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine

[dirtytomatoedwrites]

Preludes and Nocturnes - Part 1

Paring: Rafe Cameron x InnocentPogue!reader

Summary: Rafe discovers your hidden talent and now he has seen it, you have his full attention.

Warnings:  18+ Smut. Dark!Rafe. Virgin!Reader, Romance, Angst, Dub-Con, Fingering, squirting.  Not Proof-Read so mistakes are my own.

Word Count: 9k words (Yo it took me months to write but I finally did it) 

Author Note: Hello lovelies! So this is an original idea I’ve had for a while now... and this is the longest fanfic I’ve ever written for a character. Who did I write this tale about Rafe motherfucking Cameron of course. HA!  I may do a part 2 but we’ll see based on the response it gets.  Love you all and thanks for reading and listening - there’s music in there too so if you can listen to the tracks as you read it’ll heighten the experience. 🫶 Enjoy!

Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Please don’t steal or copy bits of my writing or any writing from other writers cause karma will get ya.  

Rose, elegant and poised as ever, fiddled with Ward's bowtie. It was a futile attempt to straighten it, and you wondered if the Kooks knew how ridiculous they looked, their privileged lives spent fussing over trivial things.

"Do you play?" Ward's voice was casual, but his eyes betrayed a glimmer of interest. He had seen you eyeing the piano in their opulent living room before, and it was clear he suspected you had a musical inclination.

"A little," you replied, shrugging nonchalantly. You didn't want to give too much away. The Kooks had a tendency to pry, and you had learned the hard way that it was better to keep your guard up.

The Camerons were pleasant enough, but like the other Kooks on Figure Eight, they didn't really care about the Pogues. You had grown up being told that Pogues were different from Kooks, but as you got older, you realized it was more complicated than that. The Kooks were narrow-minded, lacking empathy and understanding. They saw the Pogues as nothing more than servants, there to cater to their every whim. It was a toxic dynamic and one that you had learned to navigate with caution.

The key to survival on the Outer Banks was invisibility. You had learned that early on. The less you revealed about yourself, the safer you were. So you didn't tell Ward that your father had started teaching you piano before you could even walk. You didn't tell him that music was your escape, your solace, your everything.

"Well, a bit of something is better than nothing," Ward chuckled, his eyes flickering back to you. "I bought it thinking it would be nice to have music in the house that wasn't rap or pop, but you know how kids are." He chuckled again. "No one seems interested in learning how to play it. If you want to try it out, our door is always open."

The Kooks were the quintessential chameleons, expertly donning the cloak of benevolence and charity. But behind the facade lay their self-centered motives, concealed in plain sight. In their company, you had to be just as duplicitous as them, your true self lost in a sea of artifice. So you donned your own mask of deceit, feigning a grin while burying your true feelings behind a veneer of politeness.

As the grandfather clock in the hallway struck six, Rose and Mr. Cameron stepped into the warm North Carolina evening, dressed to the nines for their elegant black-tie affair. You were left behind in the kitchen with Wheezie, chatting aimlessly about everything and nothing. A comfortable silence settled between you.

"Want to watch a movie, Wheezie?" you asked, but you already knew the answer.

"Maybe next time? I'm having a Stranger Things watch party with my friends. We're on season three, actually," she replied as she pulled out her phone and began texting.

"Oh, that's cool. Sure, let me know when you're hungry and we'll order in."

A few minutes later, you were left alone in the kitchen, grappling with the void of the next five hours stretching before you. Your gaze was inexorably drawn to the open double doors of the living room, and a force beyond your control tugged at your heartstrings.

There, in the corner of the Camerons' living room, stood a magnificent black Steinway & Sons piano. A work of art that you had only seen in fleeting glimpses on the internet, played by virtuosos with mastery beyond compare.

The Camerons' piano was an exquisite piece. Valued upwards of forty thousand dollars, it was a show-stopper that begged to be played in a prestigious concert hall. And yet there it sat in their living room, untouched and unloved.

With a fluttering heart, you approached the baby grand piano, drawn by an unconscious force beyond your control. As you lifted the fallboard, a heady scent of wax and mahogany wafted into your nostrils, creating a longing you could barely contain. Your fingertips brushed against the smooth, pristine ivory keys, unable to resist the urge to touch. As you pressed down on one, a crystalline note filled the air, flawless and true. Before you could even think, you were seated on the bench.

Back straight and feet planted firmly on the floor, you thought about all the classical pieces you had practiced over the years and loved to play. How each piece would sound hollow on your cheap, antiquated piano in your small family home. Music was your first love, and you longed for the day to play on stage accompanied by the New York Symphony Orchestra.

Closing your eyes, you allowed your mind to wander, imagining a sea of faces, a packed audience hanging on your every note. In your mind's eye, you saw your dad sitting in the front row, his gaze filled with pride and love. The thought of his reaction, a validation of all his sacrifices over the years, filled you with purpose.

Driven by your distant dream, you let your fingers glide across the keys, effortlessly weaving a tapestry of sound that flooded the Camerons' living room with music.

With meticulous attention, you listened closely to the dynamics of the piece. You noticed the way the Steinway amplified the subtlest variations in volume, imbuing the composition with a melancholic mood. Your fingers moved with practiced ease, executing intricate runs and arpeggios with fluid grace.

Enraptured by the music, you let the notes wash over you. Every facial expression was a reflection of the emotional journey unfolding before you. As the piece reached its crescendo, your fingers moved faster, striking the keys with greater force, a physical manifestation of your emotions. Your hands flowed in flawless harmony with the rhythm, pouring your soul into the music. And with the final notes, you laughed breathlessly, basking in the afterglow of your musical outpouring.

But your blissful moment was cruelly interrupted as you suddenly sensed you weren’t alone. Your eyes snapped open, and a cold wave of fear washed over you.

“Shit! I am so sorry,” you stammered, your voice trailing off in a rush of apologies as you gingerly lowered the piano fallboard.

“You know,” Rafe’s words were laced with honey, each syllable slow and sweet, yet there was no mistaking the menacing undertone to them. “We don’t take kindly to people touching our things,” he drawled, his intense gaze locked onto yours, a warning glimmer lurking within his dark eyes.

“I… I had permission from your dad,” you insisted, your words barely audible above a whisper as you tried to defend your actions.

His response was a dismissive chuckle. The atmosphere was taut with tension as he nonchalantly propped his golf bag against the wall. Leisurely slow, he sauntered over to you, his hands casually tucked away in his pockets.

“What were you playing anyway?” he inquired, his tone deceptively relaxed.

“You mean the name of the piece?” you swallowed hard, fear palpable. “It’s called Nocturne in C-sharp Minor.”

The tall blonde squinted at you, and you could not decipher his expression. Wanting to avoid further irritation, you slowly rose from the piano bench and dusted it off.

“What kinda name is that?”

“I… I…” you stammered, blood surging in your ears from fear as Rafe suddenly leaned in and lifted the fallboard. He scanned the keys, perhaps checking for any scratches. You took a deep breath. The scent of his expensive cologne and freshly mown grass overwhelmed your senses.

“I don’t know. It worked for Chopin, I guess.” You said quietly.

“Chopin…” he said with his lip jutted.

“He’s the composer. He wrote it and-”

“I know Chopin,” Rafe interrupted, his eyes suddenly locked on you. Up close, you could not deny that they were a striking shade of blue, if not for the death glare he gave you. “Chopin, Beethoven, Einaudi, Bach…” He backed away and sat in a nearby chair. “Brahms… I’ve been to enough of those long-ass concerts to at least know their names.”

You felt a confusing mix of awe and jealousy as you listened to Rafe’s words. The pit in your stomach proved this. You had never been to a proper symphony concert, and the school concerts you had attended were barely amateur. The thought of your dad’s broken promise to take you to one was a constant source of frustration. However, Rafe’s casual disdain for the very concerts he was lucky enough to attend seemed to be a new addition.

“Well… I’m not getting paid to mess around on your piano,” you said with a wry smile, as you tried to mask your emotions.

“You’re right. You’re not,” Rafe retorted while he twisted the gold signet ring around his index finger with his thumb. Head tilted to the side, his eyes raked over every inch of you, from your hair, your oversized sweatshirt and jeans to your worn knockoff Converses. You felt self-conscious under his intense scrutiny. He made you want to crawl into a hole and hide.

“I… I should check on Wheezie,” you whispered, eager to escape the tension in the room.

“Why?” Rafe asked, halting his twirling of the signet ring. His face appeared bemused until a sly grin tugged at his lips. “Weeze is a big girl, right? Might as well… play Chopin while she’s doing her own thing…”

As you babysat for the Camerons, you occasionally spotted Rafe in the vicinity. Sometimes, he was accompanied by a striking beauty, while other times he hung out with his friends. Even when he was alone, his body language was a clear warning: "Keep your distance." His piercing gaze made you feel diminutive and unimportant, as if any attempts at interaction would be met with cold indifference. In his presence, you felt like you were navigating hostile terrain, just a misstep away from a precarious situation.

"Well?" he said, leaning back in his chair and tapping his lower lip with a finger. The gesture seemed to carry a message, but what message you weren't sure. What was certain was that his expression of amusement made it evident that the outcome was secondary—he was simply enjoying watching you squirm.

Your tongue darted out to moisten your parched lips, while anxiety twisted in your gut as you stared nervously at the grand Steinway piano and Rafe. The weight of his words lingered in the air, causing you to hesitate and consider the potential consequences of your answer.

Every which way you looked at it, you were fucked.

Rafe was bound to tell his parents, and you were sure enough about to lose your job once they found out. Despite Mr. Cameron's outward kindness and willingness to accommodate, you knew very well that playing their piano without supervision was not within the bounds of your permission. And he certainly would not appreciate you lying about it either.

Still, you were determined to make the most out of a shitty situation. You weren't trying to prove anything to Rafe, but if this was going to be your last time playing a Steinway, you would go out in style.

You had chosen a haunting, evocative melody,  a tale of lost love and longing. The notes rang out, clear and true, as your fingers danced over the keys. 

Closing your eyes and shutting out the world and Rafe, you allowed the music to flow from your fingertips, guided by instinct and emotion. Your touch was delicate yet confident, breathing life into the haunting melody.

After the last notes of the piece hung in the air like a delicate mist. You held your breath, waiting for some kind of response from Rafe, but all you got was a deafening silence. The room felt like it was closing in on you, and you couldn't help but cast a quick glance in his direction.

Rafe's eyes bored into yours with an intensity that made your heart stop. You shifted uncomfortably, feeling exposed under his scrutinizing gaze. When you finally lowered the fallboard, the tension was so thick you could practically cut it with a knife.

"I should check on Wheezie," you whispered, breaking the silence.

Rafe made no reply, and you took that as permission to leave. When you returned downstairs a half hour later, Rafe was nowhere to be seen and you sighed in relief.

In the best-case scenario, Rafe would keep your little transgression to himself. In the worst-case scenario, you could explain to Mr. Cameron that curiosity got the better of you and seek his forgiveness. Either way, you vowed never to touch their piano again.

"What's on your setlist today, piano girl?" Rafe's voice caused your heart to skip a beat, and you nearly spewed out the orange juice pooling in your mouth. A mere week had passed since your previous babysitting job at the illustrious Cameron residence. Yet here you were once again, feeling a pang of anxiety at the mere sight of him. You had desperately hoped to avoid any interaction with Rafe for the remainder of your shift, but fate had other plans in store.

There he was, sauntering into the kitchen, sporting an obnoxiously bright salmon polo shirt that clashed horribly with his teal shorts, and finished with a backwards baseball cap. Despite his frat boy appearance, you couldn't help but admit that he looked undeniably handsome. The realization hit you like a brick and left you feeling inexplicably uneasy.

"Excuse me?" you sputtered, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

Rafe's gaze shifted towards the living room, where the Steinway was waiting behind closed doors.

"No, I don't think it's a good idea," you said, your voice trailing off as you watched Rafe roll his eyes.

"Whatever," he drawled with a dismissive flick of his wrist, exuding an air of nonchalant superiority as he strode out of the kitchen.

You parroted his words under your breath, feeling frustration boil inside you. Despite his insufferable demeanor, you chose to let it slide. After all, you needed this job, and with a week of smooth sailing under your belt, you suspected that Rafe had kept your little piano incident under wraps. You weren't about to jeopardize your livelihood over a petty disagreement with Rafe Cameron of all people.

Just as you were considering taking refuge in the kitchen to avoid Rafe, the sound of a key being struck on the Steinway echoed through the kitchen, beckoning you towards it.

You stepped into the living room, a bundle of nerves and anticipation, only to find Rafe sprawled in the same chair as before. The piano's fallboard was already raised. Its ebony and ivory keys gleamed in the warm light of the setting sun. Rafe's piercing gaze locked onto yours, then flicked towards the piano.

"Do you want me to play something?" you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Rafe shrugged, looking uninterested. "Do you want to?" he asked, his voice dripping with boredom.

"I don't mind, I guess," you replied, chewing your bottom lip.

If you were to be completely honest with yourself, you were desperate for another chance to play the Steinway. There was a piece that you couldn't get out of your head, and you knew it would sound magnificent on it. You did not need to be asked twice. But at the same time, you were no fool.

You had heard whispers about the "Kook King." Infamous for settling disputes with his fists, not for acts of kindness. You had no idea what was taking place here or why Rafe was suddenly allowing you to play the Camerons' prized possession. But despite your internal warning bells that this could be a trap, you put your glass of orange juice on the floor next to the bench. Consequences be damned.

Taking a confident breath, you aimed to kill.

As you hit the final notes of the composition, the silence was shattered by Rafe's ragged breaths. Your eyes locked onto his, and you saw a flicker of something in his gaze that was gone as quickly as it appeared.

"I've been working on that one for a while," you said, trying to sound nonchalant despite his stare. "I know it's not perfect, but I-"

"No, it's good," Rafe interjected with a croak. "You're good."

His words validated your talent, and a rush of excitement surged through you, causing a grin to spread across your face as you basked in his praise. But the moment was short-lived as Rafe pulled out his phone and started scrolling, his demeanor shifting from impressed to cold indifference. Without warning, he abruptly rose from his seat, an air of superiority emanating from his towering frame.

"Tell Rose I'm having dinner at Top's," he drawled, his voice dripping with aloofness as he looked down his nose at you.

"Sure, okay," you stammered, still reeling from his sudden change in behavior.

Without another glance in your direction, he strode out of the room, leaving you to wonder what the hell just happened.

It became routine. A ritual. Embedded in your weekly visits to the Cameron residence.

Each time you babysat Wheezie, the air would fill with the soothing sound of classical music, as you took your place at the Steinway and brought the keys to life. Rafe, either in the background or seated nearby, listened intently. His brooding demeanor was a stark contrast to the beauty of the music.

As the weeks went by, playing the Steinway became a treasured routine, and it wasn't just the music that captivated you. With every note played, the invisible barrier between you and Rafe seemed to thin. Despite his reserved exterior, there was a subtle shift in the room when he was around, a magnetic pull that drew you closer to him until one evening, a simple question from him sparked a conversation that would change everything.

"Where did you even learn to play like that?" Rafe asked as the sun cast its final rays of light into the opulent living room, painting the space with a breathtaking array of orange, pink, and purple hues.

You had just finished playing a piece by Bach. The air was still thick with the lingering notes of the Prelude as you closed the Steinway lid.

"There's barely electricity on the cut. Far less for piano classes, and even if there was, you can't—you can't teach this, know what I mean? Well, not the way you play it anyway." His tone shifted, taking on a new quality of—dare you think it?—admiration. You couldn't help but wonder if the beer he was drinking had anything to do with his slip of the tongue and the emotions that seemed to seep through in his words.

You cast your eyes to find Rafe leaning forward in his chair, said beer bottle in hand, his hair falling into his face and his eyes laser-focused on you. There was an intensity in his eyes that made you feel like you were being seen, truly seen, by him. But as much as you were flattered by his attention, something lurking in the depths of his gaze made you feel uneasy, and you weren't entirely sure why. You brushed the stray thought aside.

"My dad taught me." You said with pride in your voice. "Did you know they used to have jazz nights at the Wreck?" You turned your body towards Rafe, eager to share this piece of history. "Back then, it wasn't called the Wreck. Anyway, my dad used to play there every night from seven until midnight until the Carreras took over. Now he works on the big oil rig in Burnsville."

"Does he still play?" Rafe asked.

You hesitated for a moment, realizing you were oversharing with Rafe Cameron of all people. But something about his presence made you feel comfortable enough to continue. "No, after my mom left," you trailed off, suddenly feeling vulnerable. "He just gave up on music altogether."

Rafe looked down, his expression unreadable.

"I guess I'm trying to keep the tradition alive, in my own way. It's not jazz, but he approves." You smiled softly. "Anyway, what about you?"

Arresting blue eyes flicked up at yours, and your stomach flipped.

"What about me?" he asked, his voice low and husky, dripping with curiosity and challenge. He leaned back in his chair, the rattan creaking beneath him. He lazily ran a hand through his blonde hair, revealing his chiselled features. You weren't sure why, but the gesture felt calculated. As though it was meant to entice you. And yet you couldn't help but feel a flutter in your chest as you drank in the sight of him.

"No offense, but you don't look like the type to be into..." you waved your hand towards the piano, trying to deflect his gaze and lighten the mood.

"Yeah? What do I look like I'm into?" Rafe purred seductively, his tongue swiping his top lip. His eyes fixed on you. You didn't miss his tone. The double entendre just beneath the surface, if you were bold enough to respond to it. You were sure the alcohol running through his veins had something to do with his sudden flirty behavior. Tomorrow, he'd probably forget the whole thing. But it still didn't stop the butterflies from dancing in your stomach.

"I...I..."

"Go on, don't be shy," Rafe coaxed, his eyes dark and intense, almost daring you to take the bait.

"I don't know," you breathed out a laugh, suddenly feeling flustered and self-conscious.

"Yeah, you do." Rafe said, his tone low and teasing. "Saying I don't look like the type means you have a type in your head. So, let's hear it. What kind of man do you think I am, Y/N?"

You were certain this was not about music anymore, and you felt way out of your element. What were you supposed to say about that? You decided to keep the conversation neutral and err on the side of caution.

"Okay," you nodded as you shifted on the bench. "You look like the type to be interested in other types of music, you know like rap or hip-hop, rock— even country and western, anything but this."

Rafe looked away with a chuckle, a deep rumble that made your skin tingle. He nodded slowly, pondering your words.

"Does that sound bad? I know it sounds awful. I'm sorry." You cringed.

"Nah, it's pretty tame actually... innocent even..." Rafe murmured more to himself than to you. You shivered as his piercing blue gaze met yours, then slowly traveled down to your lips, neck, and every inch of your oversized t-shirt and cardigan to your jeans-covered body.

He cleared his throat, his voice low as he spoke. "And you're not wrong. Classical music was my mom's thing. She loved it." He said taking a swig of his beer.

"Oh," you breathed out, taken aback by the unexpected answer. Suddenly, the pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place. Why Rafe was always so engrossed in the music each time you played. The wistful expression that crossed his face whenever he heard familiar pieces of music. It was like a window into his soul, a glimpse into a hidden part of him that he kept from the world. And just as you pieced together your thoughts, Rafe spoke, confirming your suspicions.

"We used to go to the mainland to see 'The Four Seasons' or 'Carmen' or some other shit like that. I don't know, it reminds me of her, I guess. Takes me back to happier times." Rafe shrugged, a hint of sadness in his eyes as he sipped his beer.

"I'm sorry..." you whispered.

"Nah, don't be. She was sick for a long time, and now she's... Anyway, It's all good now." Rafe replied with a forced nonchalance, a fragile façade attempting to conceal his true emotions.

"So, you listen to classical music for nostalgia..." you whispered, your voice tinged with a touch of melancholy.

“I guess you could say that,” Rafe said thoughtfully, tilting his head from side to side as he considered your words. He scrunched up his face, eyebrows drawn together as if he had tasted something bitter. “But I'm not a classical music aficionado or anything. It’s not like I’m requesting it in the club. Can you imagine that shit? Right after 21 Savage fuckin’ Mozart on blast. I’d get jumped.”

"I don’t know, you might start a trend," you smiled.

“Sounds like you want me to get jumped”

You outright laughed at that one. “Well, it depends, do you deserve it?”

“Oof” Rafe countered, clutching his chest faux wounded. “That was good.”

You shrugged with a smile, feeling an unexpected kinship with Rafe of all people. Here was this tough, brooding guy who, beneath the surface, was incredibly sentimental and even had a sense of humor. It was a sweet and surprising discovery.

"What about you? Why do you play?" He asked, his blue eyes roaming across your facial features slowly, curiously, when your laughter had died and all that was left was contented silence.

"Good question. Why do I play? Well, I guess for me... it's about the emotion," you replied, your fingers tracing the Steinway keys without pressing them. "Each note, each chord, each composition tells a story. It's like I'm a part of that story, and I get to bring it to life. You don’t need words you just… feel it.”

Rafe nodded, understanding. "I get it. You're the storyteller. The piano is your instrument channelin’ that shit.”

"Exactly!" you said, touching your nose and pointing to him with an earnest laugh.

"Exactly," Rafe repeated with a soft chuckle, his gaze fixated on you.

“Hey, how come I never see you at bonfires?” Rafe asked, a mischievous glint in his eye one sunny afternoon when Rose and Mr. Cameron went out for drinks with friends, leaving Wheezie in your care.

“Bonfires just aren’t my thing,” you replied with a shrug.

“What, no friends to hang out with?” he teased.

“I have plenty of friends!” you retorted, a hint of a smirk playing at your lips.

“Friends that I’ve never seen you with,” he pressed.

 “What do you mean ‘friends I’ve never seen you with’ are you stalking me around town?” 

“Maybe I am...” he shrugged a small devious smile curled his lips. “Whatever. Well, my friends and I clearly hang out when you’re not around,” you shot back, a playful smile lighting up your face.

“Sure you do,” he drawled, a chuckle rumbling in his chest.

Rafe leaned forward against the piano, the sun casting a warm glow on his handsome features. You couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed, and how the muscles in his arms flexed under his t-shirt while he absentmindedly tapped his index finger on the piano lid.

“You know, there’s more to life than playing music,” Rafe said, his voice low and smooth, as he turned the words over with his tongue. His finger tapping the lid, became slower, more measured.

“Oh, I know that,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “I have plenty of other things going on.”

“Yeah? Like what?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Like studying,” you said, trying to keep a straight face as Rafe scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I’m actually quite serious about my grades.”

"I wouldn't expect anything less from a good girl," Rafe chuckled. Once again, his comment caught you off guard. Although you knew he wasn't mocking you, it still felt strange that he felt the need to mention what he perceived was good girl behavior. “Seriously though, you should have some real fun too. Do some shit you probably shouldn’t do. Life’s too short to be cooped up not living it.”

You shrugged, unsure of what to say. Rafe had a point, but you weren’t sure if bonfires were the kind of fun you were looking for. Still, there was something about the way he looked at you that made your heart skip a beat, and you couldn’t help but swallow nervously. As if reading your thoughts, Rafe leaned closer.

“You know, I could show you a good time if you want.” Rafe’s voice was low and husky as he leaned in close, his minty breath fanning your cheek. While he had flirted before, this time there was a sober earnestness to his words that made your heart race. But before you could even formulate a response, the front door's slam cut through the thick tension.

Rafe straightened himself, briefly glancing towards the hallway before fixing his gaze back on you, his jaw tightly clenched in irritation. With determined strides, he purposefully walked away, the sound of his long steps resonating down the corridor, while you unintentionally caught snippets of his familiar argument with Sarah.

It seemed Sarah had developed an interest in John B, a guy you had seen around town, but Rafe vehemently disapproved due to his “pogue” status. You couldn’t fathom why he held such strong opposition, especially considering that you, too, were a Pogue. Had he conveniently forgotten? Or did he consider you an exception?

As you closed the lid of the Steinway, an inescapable curiosity filled your mind about what set your relationship with Rafe apart. Maybe he only saw you as a friend rather than a romantic interest the way Sarah felt about John B.

Reluctant to admit it to yourself, the thought pierced through, leaving you with a confusing mixture of disappointment, anger, and self-annoyance for even entertaining the idea that Rafe could ever feel that way about you.

As Rafe persisted in berating his sister, you dismissed any contemplation of what might have happened between the two of you if she had arrived just a few minutes later.

“Hello?”

“I'm in here.” Rose’s voice, sharp as a razor’s edge, resonated through the foyer of the Camerons’ residence. As you entered the kitchen, you discovered her gingerly picking up the remnants of a shattered vase from the tiled floor. You offered to help her, but she brushed you off with a dismissive gesture.

“No need, honey. I wouldn’t want you getting hurt.” She said, smiling unconvincingly.

Mr. Cameron burst into the room a few seconds later. His dominating presence charged the atmosphere, his eyes glinting like ice. It was only when his eyes landed on you that his demeanour changed.

“Oh, Y/N. Thanks for coming on such short notice. We’ll only need you for two hours. Sarah should be back by then.” He smiled, though it did not reach his eyes.

“Uh, sure. Of course.” You replied. You scurried out of his path as he snatched a file and car keys from the kitchen table.

“I’ll be in the car.” He informed Rose tersely, eliciting a stiff nod from her.

Feeling Rose’s disquiet, you intervened to clear the shattered vase. “I can pick these up for you, Rose.” You said warmly.

“Really? Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” You assured her with a nod.

“Thank you.” She murmured, her smile returning. “Wheeze is upstairs doing her homework. I’m sorry about all of this. Things are a bit crazy today.” She said, her grip on her bag and sunglasses tightening as if she were holding onto her sanity by a thread. And with that, she vanished, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the shattered pieces of the vase.

Having cleared the wreckage, you climbed the stairs to find Wheezie immersed in her studies in her room, her headphones firmly in place. You inquired if she needed anything or was okay, but she appeared blissfully unaware of the chaos that had unfolded. You marvelled at her ability to concentrate amidst the turmoil, yet you couldn’t dispel the nagging suspicion that the Camerons hid a dark secret beneath their façade of rich superiority. With a sigh, you left Wheezie to her schoolwork and descended the stairs as the sound of the living room door being opened roused your suspicions.

As you passed the living room, your heart sank at the sight of Rafe. He was sitting on his usual chair, swaying back and forth, lost in a jumble of incoherent words. His eyes were bloodshot and streaked with tears. You hurried towards him, your mind racing with worry and fear. You sat down on the floor in front of him, your heart pounding in your chest.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

He responded with a roar that shook you to your core. The words that spilled out of Rafe’s mouth were like knives, cutting deep into your soul. He berated himself with a ferocity that was frightening, how he was a failure in his father’s eyes, how he was nothing but a disappointment. You placed a comforting hand on his knee, giving it a gentle squeeze, trying to offer some solace amidst his torment.

His eyes flicked to your hand, then to your face, as if seeing you for the first time. Rafe’s jaw tightened, his eyes raw with emotions you couldn’t decipher. There was anger there, yes, but there was something else too – something deeper, more primal.

“Play something.” He suddenly demanded.

“I can- I can get someone for you. Do you want me to call your-”

“No. I don’t want that. I want you to play.” He almost sneered at you.

“Okay.” You whispered tentatively.

You made your way to the piano, your fingers trembling with anticipation. As you began to play, the haunting melody flowed from your fingertips.

As the tender notes from the piano enveloped you, the outside world ceased to exist. Within the protective cocoon of the Cameron's living room, you hoped your music might be a balm for Rafe’s pain. But this sanctuary of sound was violently shattered when an aggressive tug at your hair ripped you from your reverie.

Suddenly, Rafe was there, his fingers cruelly ensnared in your hair, exerting a force so savage it wrenched your head backward, choking off your breath and stilling the music in one brutal tug. The once harmonious room was now charged with an electrifying tension, your eyes captured and held hostage by the ferocity in his.

This was not the Rafe you knew.

The Rafe towering above you appeared utterly transformed. Unrecognizable in every way. Gone was the Rafe who had shared countless evenings filled with laughter and sharing stories. Gone was the anchor that made you feel connected and safe.

Instead, frustration etched itself onto his face like a battle scar, while his dilated pupils revealed an intensity you had never witnessed before, oscillating between your fear-stricken eyes.

His gaze dipped to your parted lips as you let out the breath you were holding, and before you could react, before you could appease him, Rafe captured your lips with his.

You froze. Paralyzed against Rafe's lips. Shock stole your breath away.

Time stopped in an instant as you grappled with the thought that this was a dream, a surreal nightmare. But that fragile notion shattered like glass as Rafe's movements became evident. His lips melded against yours like clay taking form. Hard and desperate, his kiss abruptly catapulted you back into the chilling reality that this was, without a doubt, happening.

Your instinct for survival surged as your fight-or-flight response kicked in. You attempted to push him away, but Rafe tightened his grip on your hair and yanked harder, forcing your submission, his tongue plunging into your mouth when you whined in protest.

The taste of alcohol on Rafe’s tongue was bitter and overwhelming. You tried to convince yourself that this was the reason behind Rafe's behaviour. Any moment now, he would realize his mistake, any moment he would let you go. But instead, Rafe's fingers sank into the hollow of your jaw, holding it open while his tongue explored the warm interior of your mouth.

You whimpered softly as his tongue twirled against yours with ferocity. Rafe adjusted his hand in your hair and gripped tighter, making you cry out as pain surged through your scalp and neck. The sound didn't deter him, as he forced your head back drinking from your mouth greedily.

Discordant notes rang out as you lashed out wildly, reaching for anything you could hold onto for balance. Your hands found Rafe's bicep and you dug your nails into his skin, trying to pull his hand away as he kissed you like a man possessed.

Your entire body was inflamed with sensations you had never experienced before as pleasure and pain bled into one. Your scalp ached yet your body felt hot. Your nipples were suddenly sensitive to your sweater's scraggly wool while you ached between your legs for something you had not experienced before. The whirlwind of sensations new and overwhelming within you made your eyes flutter shut on their own, your hands sliding up Rafe's wrist as you held on for balance.

Rafe's mouth worked over yours with an intensity so raw that your protests turned into breathless moans and frantic gasps as you succumbed to his kiss.  Your tongue tentatively meets his stroke for stroke.  Rafe growled in approval and you could feel him smile into the kiss, his tongue stoking the fire deep within you and just as quickly as it started, Rafe abruptly pulled away leaving you shaking and struggling for air.

Your heart raced within your chest as you abruptly pushed yourself off the piano bench, nearly causing it to tip over in your haste. Hand clutching your chest, you struggled to catch your breath, hastily wiping away tears that had unknowingly streamed down your cheeks. 

A fleeting glance at Rafe revealed his heavy breathing, his mouth agape in quick, shallow pants, and his pupils dilated, tinged with a faint hint of blue. Yet, it was the expression etched upon his face that sent a wave of terror crashing over you. 

Rafe's eyes showed no remorse.

Instead, you saw an overwhelming hunger within them that made your blood run cold. Rafe’s gaze moved down from your stunned face over your trembling body.  The danger that emanated from him made your knees buckle.

You took a step back, your mind whirling with fear and apprehension. But Rafe stepped forward, his eyes locked onto yours with determination.

"I-- I need to check on Wheezie. See what she'd like for dinner," you whispered, your voice shaking as you inched backwards toward the door. You turned to run but it was too late.

Rafe reached out and snatched the hem of your sweater, yanking you towards him. You struggled to break free, twisting and thrashing like a scared kitten in his grip but Rafe was relentless. His other hand reached for your waist as he pulled you close.  His nose and lips trailed the back of your neck and into your hairline and he groaned as he breathed you in. With a jab of your elbow into his rib you wriggled free.  It wasn't enough to wound him but it gave you the head start needed to run.

You dashed from the room, Rafe's pursuit relentless. His outstretched fingers grazed your sweater, narrowly missing its mark. It wasn't until you sprinted up the stairs that he abandoned the chase. You didn't need to glance back to feel his gaze on you.  The tendrils of his breathless laugh reverberated down the corridor.

You burst into Wheezie's room, a hot mess of tears and fear. You made up some excuse about feeling unwell and had to go home immediately. After calling Rose and arranging for a replacement babysitter for Wheezie, you sat in her room and waited for the sitter to arrive.

You didn't see Rafe when you left, and you thanked God for that. You knew that if you saw him, you would break down crying, and you couldn't bear to show him any more weakness. But the tears came anyways, hot and heavy, as soon as you got home. How could you have been so stupid? You knew all the rumors about him, knew that he wasn't a good guy, and yet somehow, you thought in your warped mind that he was different. A decent human being who was simply misunderstood.

It wasn't like you didn't see the signs. They were always there, staring you right in the face. The blatant flirting, the staring, the way he undressed you with his gaze. You dismissed every red flag, thinking he couldn't like you in that kind of way because you were not the type of girl Rafe Cameron would go for and you certainly weren't the type of girl Rafe Cameron would kiss.

And it wasn't just the kiss that scared you. It was the fact that Rafe had no intention of stopping. It was the way he held onto you, the way he made you feel like you were drowning in a sea of desire. He was a predator, relentless in his pursuit of you, and as you thought about how he grabbed onto your clothes his lips tracing your neck even as you protested you couldn't help but cry even harder.

No. There was no way you were setting foot in that house again. Not after the way Rafe kissed you, not after what he was determined to get out of you.

Over the next few weeks, Rose's texts kept coming, each one more insistent than the last. But you knew better than to give in to her demands. You couldn't go back to that house, not after what had happened with Rafe. It was too dangerous, too risky, and you couldn't afford to let your guard down again.

You thought about telling her what had happened with Rafe, but the thought of it made your stomach turn. How could you explain what had happened without sounding like a fool? That you had been hanging out with her stepson for months, that you had let things get out of hand?

You had every intention of never setting foot in that house again. But then Rose sent you a text, asking if you were available on Saturday. They were desperate, she said, and willing to offer triple what they usually paid. Rafe and Sarah were going to a game and the lady who was supposed to look after Wheezie had a family emergency.

You were going to turn them down, again, but the truth was that since you had dropped them as a client, it had been difficult to find other work. So, against your better judgement, you agreed, but only after Rose confirmed that she and Mr Cameron would be home long before Sarah and Rafe returned.

As the day of the babysitting gig approached, a sense of foreboding settled in the pit of your stomach. You knew that you shouldn't go, that it was too risky, too dangerous. But the promise of easy money was too tempting to ignore. And so, against your better judgement, you found yourself standing in front of the Cameron's house once again, your heart racing with a mix of fear and anticipation.

As you approached the front door, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. Rose had texted you on your way over, telling you that she would be getting ready and to let yourself in. But when you rang the doorbell and received no answer, you began to worry. Still, you didn't think anything of it when you turned the door handle and found that it was unlocked. You stepped inside and called out for Wheezie and Rose, but the house was silent.

Making your way to the kitchen, you put down your bag and pulled out your phone. You texted Rose and Wheezie to let them know that you had arrived and were in the kitchen, just in case Wheezie was plugged in. But as you waited for a response, your heart sank.

Something wasn't right. You could feel it.

You had been to the Camerons' house many times and had let yourself in on a few occasions when they were too busy to answer the door. None of this was new but it felt different. An ominous feeling washed over you. But just as you began to worry, the sound of footsteps in the hallway interrupted your thoughts, and you sighed in relief.

As you called out for Rose, a sudden hush fell over the room, broken only by the sound of footsteps approaching. You looked up, hoping to see Rose's familiar figure, but instead, your eyes met the last person you expected to see: Rafe.

His presence was jarring, like a thunderclap on a clear day. Your heart pounded in your chest as you tried to make sense of his unexpected appearance. But before you could utter a word, Rafe's murmur cut through the silence like a knife.

"Nah, not Rose," he said with a smile.

Fear took hold of you as you realized that he must have had something to do with Rose's texts in the first place. You stepped back, fear making your knees buckle.

"Where's Rose?" you whispered, wrapping your arms around yourself protectively, as if shielding yourself from him.

“Don’t worry about it,” he drawled, his voice low and dangerous.

“Don’t come near me,” you said firmly as Rafe rounded the kitchen island towards you. Immediately, you moved in the opposite direction away from him.

“I… I just… I needed to talk to you, like, a little bit. Is that okay?” he said, opening his hands to placate you.

“Did Rose actually text me?”

“She did,” Rafe soothed. “But then I, uh… I heard you’d be here tonight instead of Pat, and well… seeing you was more important to me than some game.” His eyes trailed over your face, studying your every reaction.

“Where’s Wheezie?”

“With Sarah.”

You shook your head, your mind reeling with disbelief. How could Rafe have orchestrated this situation for you to be alone with him without any of the Camerons noticing? But as if he heard your thoughts, a sly smile curled his lips and he chuckled softly.

“I told Rose I’d watch over Wheeze so she could catch an early ferry,” Rafe explained, his hands moving in slow, deliberate gestures, connecting invisible dots as he spoke. “After Rose left I gave my ticket to Wheeze.”

You felt like you were going to be sick.

“Look, I know the last time I was a little… a little intense…”

“Intense!” You choked. You would have laughed if the whole thing wasn’t so heartbreaking.

“Yes, and I’m -- I'm really sorry about that, okay? I really am.”

"You tried to ra-”

"No! No, no, I would never..." Rafe rushed towards you and you immediately backed away. He froze mid-step as you cowered, his hands still raised in surrender.  "I’m sorry things were confusing and it looked that way but I wasn't trying to hurt you. God, I- l’m-" Rafe sighed, deflated his hands landed on his hips, he looked away as he pressed his tongue on the inside of his cheek.

"You're sorry it looked that way?" you whispered your voice trembling. Rafe's words echoed in your mind while memories of that day in all its menacing glory flooded back. You looked at him flabbergasted.

"Rafe...you... you were kissing me-”

“I know but I-”

“And touching me--"

He breathed out a laugh "Come on, you know I was only-,"

“Without my consent, Rafe.”

He was silent with that and you hoped your words had finally sunk in, had finally made him understand how terrifying he was in that moment.

“Then you chased me.  You chased me like some...” you couldn’t even finish the sentence.  You didn’t know how to finish the sentence.  You were so hurt and confused.  That your friend could do something like that to you. “I don’t even know who you are. I- I don’t think I ever did,” you whispered.

Rafe's eyes landed on yours with that. His gaze was dark and intense, and for a moment, you thought you had gotten through to him because he nodded slowly. But then he let out a humourless chuckle, reminding you of the one he gave post-chase, and any hope of reaching him dissipated.

"You know, it’s funny ‘cause you say that...” Rafe said coldly, a hand gesturing to you as if trying to grasp his own thoughts “But you’re not entirely innocent in all of this, are you?” 

“I don't-- I don't understand."

“Do you have any idea what you're doing to me, huh, Y/N?

"Raf—"

"What kind of mental shit you put me through? Nah, you don't. You don't think about that, do you?" he asked, his hands gesturing toward you as his eyes narrowed and he stared you down. You felt a shiver run down your spine as you realized the gravity of Rafe's words. It was as if he was confessing to a darker truth, a mental anguish that he had been helplessly consumed by, something unintentionally sparked within him by your actions.

"I have my dad on my back talking about legacies, our family business and preparing me for that shit meanwhile Sarah’s running around town doing god knows what with some loser fucking up our family name. I have real shit to deal with...” he gave out a bitter laugh his hand clutched to his chest as he confessed.

“But even with all of that all I can think about every minute of every fucking day, is you.” Rafe's voice was raw and anguished. His hand moved up to his ear as he slowly walked towards you.

"It's like you've crawled into my brain, you know? Like I’m under some fucking spell with your music and your voice and your-" His eyes trailed down your body just as his hand followed the motion, and you shuddered. He was consuming you with his gaze every sinful thought etched across his features.

"Nah, you made me do this…” he said bitterly, his jaw clenched tight.

“Rafe--”

“You did and now I'm the bad guy because I had a moment of weakness. But you know what? Fuck, it.” he shrugged nonchalantly. “Fuck it, i’ll take responsibility for my part in this--”

“Rafe--”

“That’s what real men do, right? Take responsibility for their shit and I’m all about being accountable, so yeah, I kissed you.” He said nodding slowly. “But I’m not sorry.”

His words made you recoil, disbelief etched across your face as you stared at him.

“Yeah, you want me to pretend like I am. Act apologetic but I won’t. I'm not sorry and you should quit actin’ like you didn't enjoy it."

His words were like a punch to the gut, and you could feel the weight of his accusation settling in your stomach. Stunned, you opened your mouth to protest, but no words came out. A dry, humorless laugh left you instead. Rafe simply nodded slyly as he resumed his steps towards you, and as you stepped backwards, your back collided with the kitchen counter.

“That’s- that’s not true.”

“No?” he asked faux confused.

“It’s not- that’s not fair”

“Isn’t it?” he tutted.

"Rafe, listen to me," you whispered shakily, but he was already leaning in, his eyes dark and clouded.

"No. No, no, you listen.”  he rasped, circling in and looking down on you, his lips pouted as he leaned into the shell of your ear, “You were moaning Y/N- No, don’t do that.  Don’t shake your head, and act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. Don't stand there and pretend this whole fucking thing is one-sided. You were moaning into my mouth… and you...you held on to me, yeah? I didn’t force you to do those things."

"Rafe--”

“That was all you princess. So you gotta ask yourself. What kinda girl are you to be into that, hm?” Rafe whispered as he leaned into you.  “What kinda girl would moan like a whore when a guy manhandles her…”

“I didn’t- I wasn’t. I wanted you to stop Rafe and you-”

Rafe chuckled before you could even finish your sentence.

“Is that what was happening while you were kissing me back? Nah, see I know what your problem is. I know, I know, I know…” he repeated softly, as he gently rested his hands on your hips. “I know why you ran when deep down you wanted it.”

You opened your mouth to protest only for Rafe to push his body up against yours.  The hard wall of his body renders you speechless. “We eye fucked each other for months,”  he whispered, as he looked down at you.  His eyes darted to your lips as he licked his own.  “You wanted it.” He said coldly.

"But I get it. It was overwhelming... too much... too soon... hm?" he murmured as his nose grazed yours. "I should have approached you more patiently. I realize that now," he acknowledged with a slow nod. "I should have been gentle with you, and I had every intention to. But I -- I wanted you so bad that day that I couldn't think straight. I'm thinking straight now, though."

“Rafe...” you breathed out, your hands on his chest to push him away but not quite having the strength to do so.  Rafe must have picked up on this because he leaned in, his lips close to yours.

“You keep saying my name but you’re not telling me to stop...” Rafe whispered as his fingers caressed your cheek.  With a gentle touch, he lifted your chin, and you willingly yielded. His caress made you sway, your mind growing hazy and confused. To regain your balance, you closed your eyes.

“Why aren’t you telling me to stop, hm?” he whispered.

You could feel the electricity between you as Rafe leaned in, lips hovering over yours and you tilted your head up slightly, closing the distance, only to be met with nothing. When you opened your eyes, you were met with Rafe’s hooded ones a victorious smile creeping across his lips.  

“Come on” Rafe whispered, and before you could protest Rafe laced his fingers in yours and gently tugged you towards the living room.

Seated at the piano, Rafe smoothly lifted the fallboard with ease.

"Play something for me," he husked, gesturing for you to take a seat beside him on the bench. You felt a flutter of nervousness as you perched yourself next to him, unsure of where to start. You couldn't comprehend how you had gone from rejecting his advances to this moment of willing compliance and acceptance.

Rafe watched you intently. You had been up-close to Rafe before, but never this close. Not this intimately. Your mind became blank, overwhelmed with the prospect of playing for him.

"I...I don't know what to..." you stuttered.

"Anything, anything at all," Rafe whispered, his eyes studying your every move.

Taking a deep breath, you steadied your trembling fingers on the keys and began to release the notes,  slowly at first, but gaining confidence with every passing moment.

“I noticed you, you know,” Rafe rasped. His knuckles suddenly grazed your cheek, and you flinched. “The first time you came to babysit Wheeze, I noticed you.” Rafe followed his knuckles as he moved them across your jaw.

“I remember thinking you were beautiful… shy… innocent…” Opening his hand, his fingers trailed down your neck, and your breath hitched.

“You were wearing this exact sweater…” His fingers splayed over your collarbone as they moved slowly down to your chest.

“What are you hiding under here, hm?” he asked softly. “What are you hiding under these baggy clothes?”

You shied away from his touch, your hands withdrawing from the keys of the piano.

"No. None of that. I’ll tell you when to stop,” he said his voice stern yet soft.  Your eyes glanced at his as Rafe inched closer.  “I’ll tell you when to stop.” he iterated slowly. “Start again.”

Swallowing you placed your hands on the keys while the music resumed from your fingertips.

Rafe shifted closer his leg flushed against your own.  He wrapped his arm over the back of you and hooked it to the other side of the bench. Leaning in, his nose ghosted your neck.

“Raf-”

“Shhhh…”His nose nudged into your hairline.  His other hand on your chest continued its exploration.  It moved lower cupping your tit over your sweater.  The gasp you make made Rafe breathe even heavier, a deep pur coming from the back of his throat.

“Please-” you whispered shakily.

“I’ve always wanted to touch you, you know that?  Every time you played I’d think about what you’d feel like... what you’d look like, moaning for me.  I wanna hear you moan for me.”  

Determined Rafe’s hand moved lower until it dipped under your sweater. Deftly he fumbled under your t-shirt and you gasped when his warm fingers brushed the skin of your stomach. His other hand let go of the piano stool and was now under your sweater squeezing your tit through your bra.

“Rafe--”

“Keep playing” he whispered against your neck and you did. His hand at your stomach moved lower, finding the button on your jeans he unbutton it with one deft move and your hands falter.

“Keep playing” he murmured, face nudging into your neck, his lips pressing soft kisses to your throat.  “I wanna hear you play while I touch you”  

The sensation of Rafe's hands on your body was almost lost in the overwhelming numbness that had taken over you. His strong hand leisurely tugged at the waistband of your panties seeking to touch what lay beneath, while his other hand snaked under your bra. He caressed and teased your nipple until a soft sob erupted from you as pleasure surged through your veins.

Rafe moved his hand lower, slipping it between your wet folds and pushing his middle finger inside of you. You cried out, the intensity of sensation causing you to clutch onto Rafe's arm for support, music abandoned.

“It’s okay “ Rafe breathed deeply into your neck, as he roughly peppered your neck with kisses.  “You're okay. Just breathe...” and as he said those comforting words he gently wormed another slender finger passed your slippery folds and into you.

You hissed, trying to move away from the burning stretch of his long fingers. Your nails dug into the flesh of his wrist with enough force to draw blood but Rafe determined as ever slowly moved his fingers in and out of you, each time inserting them a little deeper until it reached his signet ring.  

"You've had more than one finger before?" he asked hotly against your neck. You shook your head no, gritting your teeth in an effort to endure him stretching you further still. Rafe groaned and nipped softly at your jawline, "Fuck, I can tell. I can barely move them. But you're a good girl, aren't you? You're taking them well and afterwards, I'm gonna train you to take all of me."

Rafe's lips trailed tender kisses down the length of your neck, then his mouth closed hungrily around the sensitive skin. His two fingers moved inside you and each slow thrust drew a soft moan from your lips.

With surety, he curled his fingers in a come-hither motion, barely grazing your clit with his thumb. The sensation was overwhelming and foreign, causing you to gasp and cum embarrassingly fast. Your pussy contracting around his fingers, milking them for all they were worth.

“Oh Fuuckk…” Rafe hissed. “You liked that, I can feel it.“ He sighed utterly mesmerised. “Well, if you like that...” Rafe groaned resting his forehead against the side of your face and planting soft kisses on your cheek. “You’re gonna love this.”

With his bottom lip caught between his teeth, Rafe's probing fingers started their relentless hunt for something deep within you. Suddenly, those searching digits found what they were looking for - a spot that caused you to arch over and clutch his hand as you cried out despite your best efforts.

“Oh- there it is” he chuckled softly, shunting his hand and hitting that spot over and over again with a speed and force that knocked the breath out of you, while his thumb expertly rubbed your clit and the fingers of his other hand mercilessly pulled and twisted your nipple.

“OhmyGOD!” you cried.

“That’s it, baby. Fuck my hand. Just like that.”

Rafe kept at it, even as your nails scraped along his wrist and arm for purchase.  Even as you screamed and tried to scissor your legs closed to shut him out. None of it mattered as your eyes crossed and you felt your orgasm raw and violent crash over you. 

Bucking violently into Rafe’s hand, you could feel your release seep through your jeans and onto the piano bench. Pooling and overflowing you could hear it trickle onto the hardwood floor like raindrops and still, Rafe kept going, kept finger fucking you.

Lost in a sea of agonising pleasure you could do nothing but slump against him and take it, your hips stuttering, your mouth sagging as you whimpered and gasped.

Rafe moaned against you, planting soft kisses on the column of your throat. He stilled his hand, his fingers buried deep inside while you desperately tried to catch your breath.

"Seems my fingers are just as talented as yours, hm?" he said with a breathless chuckle. His nose trailed along your neck, while his tongue darted out to capture the perspiration nestled there. 

Gently, Rafe removed his digits while you gazed in shock, unable to voice a single word as he brought the wet fingers to his lips and ravenously lapped up your fluids with a contented hum.

“It’s too much.” you said hoarsely  “I can’t-- I can't do this. No more, Rafe. No more,” you said weakly, trying to remove his hand from your breast and move away from his hold only for Rafe to seize your wrist painfully in his grasp.

"No more?" Rafe chuckled darkly, his gaze fixed on you with dilated pupils. "No more?" he repeated, inching closer as he shook his head. "Nah, baby. No. We're just getting started..."

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Thank you for reading.  Thanks for liking and reblogging. PART 2 / MASTERLIST

#rafe cameron x you #rafe x reader #dark!rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron imagine #rafe x you #rafe fic #outer banks fanfiction #rafe obx #rafe cameron x reader #dark!rafe #obx #obx rafe cameron #selfreblog #timezone reblog

[sideprince]

Eileen Prince

I'm relentlessly curious about how a witch from Slytherin, a house that values cunning and ambition on paper, and bloodlines/nobility in its culture, ended up living in a muggle slum.

Unfortunately for me, she's a barely mentioned character written by an author who consistently fails to portray female characters with depth or dimension. The women in Harry Potter are portrayed as either maternal or villains, or, in Ginny Weasley's case, as redeemed by their masculine traits (because Rowling's Thatcher era feminism dictates that equality for women = emulating patriarchal ideas of manhood). About as much as you can expect from an author who's as unable to acknowledge the personhood of trans women as she is to write women as actual people. This leaves a lot of room for interpreting or delving into what Eileen Prince's life may have looked like, and how that would have affected her son's development.

There are three direct mentions of Eileen in the text :

“The picture showed a skinny girl of around fifteen. She was not pretty; she looked simultaneously cross and sullen, with heavy brows and a long, pallid face. Underneath the photograph was the caption: Eileen Prince, Captain of the Hogwarts Gobstones Team.”

HBP Ch. 25

“I was going through the rest of the old Prophets and there was a tiny announcement about Eileen Prince marrying a man called Tobias Snape, and then later an announcement saying that she’d given birth to a" “ — murderer,” spat Harry.

HBP ch. 30

“Harry looked around: he was on platform nine and three-quarters, and Snape stood beside him, slightly hunched, next to a thin, sallow-faced, sour-looking woman who greatly resembled him.”

DH Ch. 33

(Shoutout to Harry James Potter, who didn't recognize Eileen's fifth year photo despite her resemblance to Snape, the teacher whose classroom he got his used Potions book from. Shoutout also to Harry James Potter who didn't connect the dots between the Prince's handwriting and Snape's, a teacher who regularly wrote instructions on the board. "I needed to make the plot work, ok?" - JK Rowling, probably.)

Other relevant excerpts:

“Snape staggered - his wand flew upwards, away from Harry - and suddenly Harry’s mind was teeming with memories that were not his: a hook-nosed man was shouting at a cowering woman, while a small dark-haired boy cried in a corner ”

OoTP Ch. 26

“Harry delved into his trunk and pulled out his copy of Advanced Potion-Making before getting into bed. There he turned its pages, searching, until he finally found, at the front of the book, the date that it had been published. It was nearly fifty years old.”

HBP Ch. 16

Supplemental material re: Gobstones from JK Rowling:

"...it remains a minority sport within the wizarding world, and does not enjoy a very ‘cool’ reputation, something its devotees tend to resent. Gobstones is most popular among very young wizards and witches, but they generally ‘grow out’ of the game, becoming more interested in Quidditch as they grow older.  ... Gobstones enjoys limited popularity at Hogwarts, ranking low among recreational activities, way behind Quidditch and even Wizarding Chess." [There's an additional sentence on the Harry Potter wiki's Gobstones page: "...it is also known as 'the thinking wizard's Quidditch.'"]

A few conclusions can be drawn from what little information we're given about Eileen:

She's described as "cross and sullen" around the age of 15, and as "sallow-faced, sour-looking" when she's older.

She's captain of the Gobstones club around her fifth year, so she likely marched to the beat of her own drum - given that Gobstones isn't particularly popular - and owns it proudly enough to take, or even seek out, a leadership role.

The sport is described as "the thinking wizard's Quidditch" which would imply Eileen was more interested in intellectual challenges and was clever (and can be paralleled with a young Severus' comment about "if you'd rather be brawny than brainy" to James Potter when they first meet on the Hogwarts Express).

Her marriage and the birth of her son are both announced in the paper, which might mean the family she came from was of some importance or note, or perhaps something else... but we'll get to that.

If we assume that Severus' secondhand copy of Advanced Potion Making was originally Eileen's (reasonable, though there is no textual evidence) then its publication date is likely around the time she was a sixth year, given that this particular text was specific to students beginning to prep for N.E.W.T. exams. Harry begins his sixth year in 1996 when the book is "nearly fifty years old," so we can assume Eileen was 16 years old sometime not long after 1946. Severus was born in 1960, which would mean Eileen was in her mid-late 20s at the time.

Her marriage was dysfunctional at best, abusive at worst. As per a Pottermore post that is still up on WizardingWorld.com: "...the desperately lonely and unhappy childhood [Severus] had with a harsh father who didn’t hold back when it came to the whip." Based on this, we can assume Tobias was abusive, and given Eileen's cowering as he shouted at her, she presumably feared him.

From these bits of information emerges the image of a woman who either had a surly personality, or at the very least was guarded, though perhaps just formal. There isn't really any difference in how her face is set when she's in an everyday setting like King's Cross, or when she's having her picture taken for the Gobstones Club. It's possible she was a stern, unsmiling person, but it's also possible - given that her wedding and child were announced in the paper - that she came from a family of some standing and was raised to conduct herself with hallmarks of British class, such as dignity and unaffectedness. After all, there are several wizarding families - such as the Potters - who are wealthy purebloods with social standing but are not part of the Sacred 28. Additionally, the Gobstones Club portrait would have been taken around the mid-1940s, when portraits were formal and their subjects did not often smile, and given that we see only a snippet of Eileen, we don't have enough information that she was unhappy or sour. It's also important to remember that we see her portrait and Snape's memory of her through Harry's perspective and, like his perception of Snape himself, this may convey Harry's biases.

We also know from the text that Snape had a house in a deserted part of Cokeworth, a fictional Midlands town that presumably had a collapsed milling industry, at the end of a street called Spinner's End. There's a great thread that goes into details about the kind of 2 up 2 down house it would have been, and we can assume that this is Snape's family home given that we know he and Lily grew up in Cokeworth. For all intents and purposes, the conclusion we can draw from this being the Snape family's home in the 60s is that they were working class and cripplingly poor. Most estates like this had been cleared by the 60s, and no longer exist today.

This begs the question: how did a witch from a possibly well-off family end up in an abusive marriage in an irrelevant slum?

Buckle up kids, we're leaving the world of textual references and veering into deep meta territory now. I won't label any of this as head canon because I'm not set on these interpretations, and am just drawing conclusions from the text, but some of it may be a bit loose even for meta.

If Eileen was 16 years old not long after 1946, then she would have finished school in the late 40s, possibly even 1950. While some people (including past me) posit the theory that Tobias may have been injured in WWII and his injuries debilitated him, forcing him to go on the dole and affecting his mental health, I'm increasingly skeptical of this theory. It would make more sense if Eileen had known him before he was drafted/enlisted and had committed to a relationship with him, which would then have changed when he came back from the war and was altered. If we assume Eileen's age based on the idea that it was her own copy of Advanced Potion Making Severus used, then she would still have been at school during WWII (which makes an interesting parallel with Severus' own experience of spending the bulk of the first wizarding war against Voldemort as a student at school).

I do think, however, that there's merit in the theory that Tobias suffered some kind of altering injury and that he wasn't necessarily abusive before Eileen committed herself to him. It makes little sense for a Slytherin graduate who was confident and self-posessed enough to be the face of an unpopular club to be drawn to a partner so abusive his shouts caused her to cower and who whipped his child freely. If, however, he was a charming, happy man when they met who suffered a life-altering injury, the trauma of which left him a shell of his former self, then someone like Eileen might stick around for the sake of the parts of his old self she can still see in him.

It's interesting that she didn't seem to use her magic to protect herself or her son, or even to dress her son in clothing that fit, but we know from the text that depression can cause a wizard's powers to wane:

“...it is also possible that her unrequited love and the attendant despair sapped her of her powers; that can happen”

HBP Ch. 13 (Dumbledore talking about Merope Gaunt)

The fact that the Snapes retained the house in Spinner's End seems to indicate that they continued to live there even when the local industry dried up and the slum was cleared as workers were moved to other parts of the country where they were needed (presumably what happened given *gestures at British history*). The most likely explanation for this would be that Tobias wasn't able to work, and perhaps did suffer an injury, only it was at work, and not during the war. This would mean the family lived on the dole (ie. welfare) and also that he would have spent a lot more time at home. It would also explain his anger and frustration that led to abusive behavior (which isn't to say that disabled people are abusive by any means, but it would have been emasculating for a man who considered himself the breadwinner in the 60s, and chronic pain coupled with limited abilities would give anyone a short fuse).

Moreover, this living situation seems to indicate that there is no additional support coming from anywhere. Where is Eileen's family? Why were they not helping? There's no indication in the text that there is any connection with them at all. We can infer from Snape's memories that, as a child, he learned what he knew about the magical world from his mother. This implies that she talked to him about it a fair amount, and his conviction that he and Lily were going to Hogwarts well before they got their letters also implies that Eileen expected him to go there and was set on her son having a magical education, despite how little she seemed to use her own powers.

Severus knows a lot about the wizarding world as a child, including that prisoners are sent to Azkaban and that it's guarded by Dementors, Hogwarts' house structure and what to expect when he and Lily get there, and about the Statute of Secrecy and the laws around it. When Lily asks him if it makes a difference being Muggleborn, Severus hesitates before replying no, presumably because he's aware of pureblood bias being a part of wizarding culture.

Perhaps that's the reason Eileen's family doesn't seem to be in the picture. My own theory is that Eileen hadn't planned to commit herself to Tobias long-term, and Severus was an accidental outcome of an innocent tryst in which a young Eileen, an educated witch from a well to do pureblood family, was having fun slumming it with a working class muggle and ended up pregnant. While we don't know the wizarding world's attitude around pregnancy and abortion, we do know it's a conservative and classist society that parallels muggle British culture fairly closely, and that the late 50s/early 60s were a time when an out of wedlock baby would have been considered a disgrace.

Add to that the anti-muggle bias of a pureblood family and it sounds like Eileen was disowned her for her mistake (and don't @ me, but even though I know that not all Slytherins are purebloods, it does seem to be a persistent cultural value of the house reaching back to Salazar Slytherin himself, so Eileen's being sorted into it can reasonably be taken as an indication of her blood status). Perhaps the marriage and birth announcements in the Daily Prophet were put in by Eileen herself, if she was a woman from a family where this was customary. It may have been her way of letting her family know of the events, or even of asserting herself and even deliberately defying them, announcing to the whole wizarding world that a Prince married and had a child with a muggle. It makes sense that the girl who wasn't just in the Gobstones club, but became captain, would also say to herself, why shouldn't I have my marriage announced in the paper like everyone else in the family?

It's worth noting that mid-late 20s is pretty young to have a baby in the wizarding world, where the life expectancy and child bearing years are much longer than they are for a muggle. According to the Harry Potter wiki:

"Wizard life expectancy in Britain reached an average 137¾ years in the mid-1990s, according to the Ministry of Divine Health ... Wizards in general have a much longer life expectancy than Muggles, usually living two or three times as long as their non magical counterparts, some living even longer than that depending on circumstances. In addition, seeing as James Potter's parents had him "late in life,” witches likely have significantly longer childbearing years than Muggle women."

Although we see several characters in Severus' generation getting married and having kids not long after leaving school, there's a mention in the text that a lot of people were doing this during Voldemort's reign, as the fear he inspired made people more eager to get a move on with life since they thought they might die any day (I think Mrs. Weasley says this but I can't find the quote, @ me if you do). It's clear this wasn't the norm in the wizarding world. Eileen was a Slytherin, a house that values cunning, ambition, and strong wizarding heritage. Something must have gone very wrong in Eileen's life for her to end up having a child so young and living in a muggle slum.

And so it's possible Eileen Prince found herself pregnant and alone, having been disowned by her family to save face in light of her disgrace, and dependent on the only person she was still close to, the father of her child. It's the kind of storyline that Rowling would write, and it would parallel fairly closely the story of Voldemort's mother, thus adding another to the long list of similarities between Voldemort and Snape.

Lorrie Kim makes an interesting point when she talks about how Snape has a strong reaction to other people having a love life or romantic experiences (the context being Rowling's intention of his love for Lily being romantic and unrequited), but doesn't react particularly strongly to mothers sacrificing themselves for their children, whereas Voldemort does. Her insight, and I think it's a reasonable one, is that Severus accepts the idea of mothers making sacrifices for their children, whether it's Lily giving her life for Harry or Narcissa risking all she did to ask for his help in protecting Draco, because his own mother protected him from his father as much as she could.

There's a lot of room for interpretation on what Eileen's relationship with her son looked like, and what it says about her own state. She may have prioritized not angering Tobias to protect Severus, who as a child might have perceived her actions as a form of rejection. At the same time, she seems to have prepared him thoroughly for life in the magical world, perhaps in the hope that he would find his place in it and escape home. Perhaps she missed it and told him so much about it so she could live through her own memories.

The only time we see her argue with Tobias, in Severus' memory, she's cowering as he shouts. We know from JK Rowling that Tobias used corporal punishment liberally, which implies Eileen didn't stop him despite her magical abilities. We also see in the text, however, that while at school Severus stood up for himself against bullies and fought back, and that he was an exceptionally clever and powerful wizard. As an adult he was brave enough to face Dumbledore when he betrayed Voldemort, and later fought against Voldemort right under his nose (or lack thereof). So it stands to reason that at some point Severus began to stand up against Tobias too.

How much of that was Eileen's influence, or the result of Severus seeing her acceptance of her fate and rejecting it for himself, is hard to say. As for what happened to Tobias and Eileen that their house was Severus' by the mid-90s and they were nowhere in sight, I don't think there's enough information in the text to infer.

#meta #long post #eileen prince

[yan-lorkai]

Hello! I have a Black butler request if you don’t mind! (It can be yandere but If you can make it not to noticeable??? If that makes sense.)

If I may could I request a Ciel Phantomhive x Cruella De Vill reader? I mean not exactly like Cruella but the fact she was born with hair spilt between black and white, she owns multiple Dalmatians which are really aggressive guard dogs for her. And she has a wonderful sense of fashion, even though most her clothes are only black, white or red. She even has a nickname that combines her name and Cruel together (like “Cruel-(/N)”) because she can be really honest and it comes off as rude. She is short temper but unlike Cruella she is only occasionally sassy but most of the time she is quiet because she used to get made fun of for her hair.

Also I was hoping it would be a oneshot, with a few hc. But if that’s to much it can just be hc! Thank you and have a nice day!

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: I hope I did this rq justice because I absolutely loved it. Detailed rqs my beloveds. As you ask, I did some hcs and then wrote a little drabble, though I do apologize for such delay in answer it. Hope you like darling <33

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Warnings: Platonic content. Maybe typos too.

☆*: In Ciel's ears, the news of a figure with two-tone hair who only dresses in black and red reaches him through gossip that Lau felt the need to share. The rumors, however, were not enough to capture the earl's attention at first. Who cares if Londoners are talking about this girl because she acts different and has a sharp tongue? Who cares if she has some protective dogs who can attack on command?

☆*: Certainly not Ciel. He has better things to worry about being the Queen's Watchdog besides running his own company. Gossip and rumors are not something that holds his attention unless they are related to the murderers who killed his parents.

☆*: So it takes a while before you finally get to know each other and he can get a glimpse of your strong genius. And heavens, he's enchanted, even if he doesn't know it, feelings aren't Ciel's thing. One thing he knows, this night will be one he would never forget.

...

Reluctantly, Ciel was participating in the celebration. A glass of juice in his hand as he watched each of the nobles approach the throne, kneel and say their rehearsed congratulations. So typical of nobles, so insincere. He hated it here, he could be doing so many things right in the comfort of his office. Still, he smiled and played his part when all adults around him looked down on him just because he was the only child here.

The starry night became filled with light and laughter; The Queen was throwing a party to celebrate another birthday well spent. Her age-kissed skin was still glowing, her eyes carrying a tinge of unforgettable joy, and her voice a jovial tone. As usual, she sat on her throne and waited for one by one the nobles to greet and boast about the gifts that were certainly better than the others.

It was funny to watch though. They all just seemed like jealous peacocks, huffing and puffing their feathers, wanting the queen attention on them.

Sebastian when can we leave? was what he wanted to ask to the butler at his side. What he almost asked. But right at that moment he heard a commotion.

A few meters ahead stood the notorious Cru-y/n DeVil, your presence commanding attention. Ciel couldn't help but be drawn to you, his gaze fixating on you with a mixture of intrigue and caution. Despite your reputation, he couldn't deny your beauty, a striking contrast to the darkness that surrounded your name. You were young, much like himself, yet exuded a confidence that belied your age, almost as if you too had to grown fast to protect yourself.

You seemed to be fighting a much older and powerful woman. The duchess who was always looking to fight someone and today had just found her new victim. But you aren't having any of that, making exaggerated gestures and smiling mockingly at the duchess.

Ciel observed the scene with a mixture of amusement and exasperation, at least the party turned out to be entertaining with this little fight happening and the queen was also watching you two too intently, curious, not at all bothered by it. Ciel couldn't help but roll his eyes when the duchess continued to argue and pointed her finger at you.

"Your hat is adorable" You say in a loud and clear tone, with the sweetest smile you can produce. "I'm sure it was worth sacrificing Big Bird, its poor beautiful yellow feathers wasted on this hat that perfectly fit your head."

A murmur starts around the two of you, some are laughing loudly, others are whispering among themselves, repeating what you said. The duchess, wanting to appear strong and resilient, fixes her khaki yellow hat - that barely fits in her head, lifts her chin an extra millimeter and leaves. However, Ciel knew that your comment would still haunt her for months to come. Today she had lost a fight and was insulted.

Undeniable was that the hat was horrendous.

Holding back a laugh that seems to want to escape him anyway, Ciel takes off his hat in greeting to you as soon as your eyes meet. He understood now why everyone was talking about you so much. To the court you were like a fresh breath of air, devastating if you hate it, great if you like it. And he absolutely like it. Not a lot of younger aristocrats behave this way and he really needs someone different to spend time, as Elizabeth is quite overwhelming with her affection and Sullivan is busy.

He approach you and with this gesture, plans to know more about you. He is now curious and his curiosity must be satisfied.

#yandere ciel #yandere ciel phantomhive #yandere ciel x reader #yandere ciel phantomhive x reader #yandere kuroshitsuji #yandere black butler #ciel phantomhive x reader #ciel x reader #kuroshitsuji ciel phantomhive #ciel phantomhive #fem reader #female reader #lorkai imagine

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: The long awaited chapter... Hehehe, I have seen so many theories, so many denials, everyone seems to think that I am lying about Alys' death. I can assure you, she is gone. >:) Bit of a longer chapter this time hehe <3 Enjoy you heathens

Chapter 89: The Merciless Princess

As you sat at the table, elation and excitement rolled through you. You let a laugh of delight fall from your lips before you shoved the necklace into the sleeve of your gown, walking back to your chambers.

You felt a spring in your step, and were far happier than you had been before. 

Alys was dead. 

Your parents had seen to that. They had killed her and his bastard that grew within. She would be a threat no longer, and Aegon could not use her to his advantage anymore. 

What was more, Aemond could not seek her out any longer. 

And that made you ecstatic.

Once you arrived to your chambers, Aemond was sat in his chair, head turning to watch you enter, energy radiating off of you as you smiled at him, before sitting at the chaise opposite. 

Aemond seemed uncertain by your sudden bout of elation, but when you had offered him a small, and shy smile once more, he returned it, though it was short lived. Aemond shifted in his seat as he uncrossed his leg, both hands rested atop the arms of the chair, whilst one tapped each finger atop his thumb and then back again in thought. 

“Aegon wishes for our presence this evening.”

Aegon could wish for whatever he wanted in that moment, and it still would not dampen your mood.

You smiled again at your husband and nodded, not arguing. Aemond looked at you oddly, brows drawn and lips pursed. When had you ever not argued about such a thing?

Standing, you moved towards him and pressed a kiss to where his brow was creased, soothing the tension there. When you pulled back, you let a hand rest atop his shoulder, “We shall do as the King commands of us. I am sorry I saw you off in my bad temper, that was not fair of me. I know that Aegon commanded you to leave, and you would not leave me unless you truly had to. I do not wish to fight. I am tired enough with this babe growing every day.” You let a hand rest against the front of your dress in show. 

Aemond placed his hand atop of yours, thumb brushing the back of your knuckles. One corner of his pouted lips lifted, and he gave you the tiniest of nods. You let him hold his hand against you a moment more before you turned away to flit around the chambers, opening the door to ask the knight to bring your maids to ready you for dinner.

As you shut the door behind you, and moved towards the vanity, you sat yourself down on the seat and looked into the mirror. Your cheeks were rosy, and your teeth were showing with the grin you could not keep from your lips. 

Aemond appeared behind you in the reflection, slowly stalking towards you with a sway that only Aemond had. Almost cat-like in his movements. He looked at you confused. 

“What has you so happy?”

You turned back to face him. 

If only you knew. 

“The Maester confirmed I was with child when you were gone. We should expect the babe to come in five, maybe six moons.” You spun around to look back at him though the mirror as he came to stand beside you, a small smile of his own winding on his cheeks, “He warned me my moods may be up and down, and right now? I'm overjoyed. I could not have asked for any greater sign from the Gods than the one I got today.”

Aemond let a hand brush against the back of your head, “What did the Gods show you?”

“Your heir.” You lied.

Your bastard dead.

Your whore dead.

Aemond moved forward, pressing a lingering kiss to the side of your face, his sharp nose buried into your hair. You hummed and let a hand reach up to caress his cheek, before you turned to face him, drawing his mouth down to yours. 

With lips slotted against each other, you poured the excitement that you felt into him. Not that he knew what truly brought your joy, but he took it nonetheless, kissing you back with passion and haste, his tongue teasing the front of your lips. You opened yourself willingly to him, wrapping your hands around his neck. 

Aemond groaned into the kiss, hands skating up your sides, tracing over the swell of your breasts in your dress. You hummed a short laugh into his mouth before pulling away, lips tingling from his touch, and a warmth settling in your core. 

Aemond smirked when you turned away flustered, pulling the earring that you wore from your ears, placing them into a small golden dish. 

“You’ve missed me.” He purred. 

“Like a hole in ones head.” You quipped back, a small chuckle leaving your lips. 

Aemond laughed a quiet laugh, before he pressed another chaste kiss to your cheek, before moving himself to sit by the fire again. Soon the maids arrived to the chambers to ready you both, Aemond opting to wear his black leather tunic and sweeping black coat. 

The Prince sat as he watched the maids begin to brush and braid your hair, refreshing your face with a wet cloth, and a light rouge being applied to your lips. You turned away for a moment, feeling his heated gaze. The sky had darkened, and soon you would be dining with Aegon. 

And soon he would know. 

“Go ahead without me.” You implored, “I will meet you there. I need to ask of some things from the Maester.”

Aemond came towards you and nodded, a small hum in agreement leaving his lips before he pressed his to yours once more. It was a soft kiss. Not so much filled with passion and fire as the last, and just as fleeting. The Prince straightened himself and left the chambers, the door shutting with a click.

Joanna and Amala dressed you in a tight black gown, your breasts that had begun to swell sitting heavily atop, with more cleavage shown than usual. The shoulders were embroidered with a fine netting, making them to appear as though they were dragons wings. 

As the girls tightened the back of the gown, you held the chain in your hand tightly, the Valyrian steel warm in your palm. As you held it, you felt the grooves of the chain, and the roundness of the emeralds rubbing against the scar of your palm.

You grit your teeth as you realised it was almost identical the one he had gifted you.

Swallowing that anger, you turned to Amala, who smoothed the skirts of your gown. Opening your palm you held it towards her, “Can you help me put this on?” You asked, a small smile on your lips as your heart beat against your chest. 

Amala stood straight and grasped the necklace from you, “Princess, this is beautiful.” She commented, moving to stand behind you as she opened the clasp, dragging the necklace across your skin.

“It is, isn’t it? It was a gift.”

You could hear Amala smile behind you, “How lovely of him to be so thoughtful, Your Grace.” 

Your teeth ground together, but you kept the smile upon your lips, “Yes, it was. My Lord Husband is a generous man.”

When you were dressed, you looked at yourself in the mirror one last time. 

You looked like your mother.

You looked like your father. 

You looked like the blood of the dragon.

And you were. 

Because seated along your collarbones was the proof of it. The evidence of it. The Valyrian steel shone in the light of the candles, and the emeralds appeared to be deeper than what they were, as though there was magic within them. 

But there wasn’t. 

Because the witch was dead.

You smiled brightly again, feeling a surge of pride and conviction within you before you turned to leave the chambers, feeling the weight of the necklace sit heavily on your neck. The knight bowed to you as you exited, and walked ahead to escort you to the Dining Hall, no doubt commanded to by Aemond.

And with each step you took, you felt giddy at the thought of your uncle seeing the stones atop your chest. Of Larys recognising it. Of watching Aemond come to the realisation of what you had done. What you had achieved. A promise that you delivered.

As you stood in front of the large wooden doors, you took a deep breath. 

Was this how it felt for Alicent when she wore green to your mothers wedding?

Was this how she felt when she declared a subtle war to the King and his daughter?

But you were not waging a war with Aemond. 

You had won it. 

The doors were opened, and you tipped your chin upwards, holding your head high as you were announced to the chambers, the room quieting as you entered. Your blood strummed in your veins with every beat of your heart, and excitement crackled at the tips of your fingers. 

The silver head of Aemond turned to watch as you came and sit beside him, a gentle smile gracing his face as he looked up at you in adoration. You smiled back down at him knowingly as he stood to pull out the seat for you, a soft ‘wife’ falling from his lips. 

You kept your eyes on his face. 

Waiting. 

And then, it happened. 

His eye grazed down to your chest, to where your breasts spilled heavily out the top, and then to your neck.

You watched his face drop. His lone eye snapping back up to yours as you smiled wolfishly at him.

A short and smug hum flitted from your lips as you leant forward and pressed a quick kiss to his lips before leaning back again, greeting the rest of the table with a nod of your head. Your eyes skated across the chambers, feeling the heat of Aemond’s gaze until you found your intended target.

Larys sat, eyes glued to the two of you as he was seated beside Alicent. With a subtle hand, you moved to tuck a strand of hair that was not there behind your ear, hand trailing down over the front of the necklace. Larys did not react, though if you had to guess, you would say he was schooling his reaction far better than Aemond was trying to. 

Anger positively radiated off of him. 

And Aegon seemed to notice. 

And if Aegon noticed, then everyone noticed. 

However, you pretended as though you didn’t feel the sudden and inexplicable shift of your husband beside you, dining beside him with a smile on your face as you listened to the Lords chatter amongst themselves, occasionally joining in. 

Aemond had not said a word the entire evening, his gaze burning a hole in your chest and the side of your face as he stared at the necklace. You watched as his hand gripped his goblet tightly, knuckles white, bringing it continuously to his lips more than Aegon did. 

Reaching out, you tried to soothe his hand with yours, running your fingers over his knuckles with a shit eating grin. 

You knew it was not smart to push his temper, but you couldn’t help it.

You had won. 

And there was nothing he could do to take that from you. 

Nothing he could do to bring her back.

And the greatest joy of all, was that he didn't even know it yet.

When the evening grew late, and the men all nursed their ale, some leaving, and others continuing to talk amongst themselves, you had made a point of staying longer than you usually would have, forcing Aemond to sit beside you and stew in his anger, and rage, and no doubt a multitude of questions without being able to act upon it. 

For if he did?

Then all would know you had bested him.

And Aemond was not one to show weakness.

A false yawn fell from your lips before you turned to kiss Aemond’s cheek, the skin hot to the touch and and jaw tensed. You turned to face what little men remained, and bowed to Aegon, begging his pardon and that you would bid them all a good night. Aegon grinned, sensing the tension between you, and was all too happy to send you on your merry way back to your chambers.

Aemond all but leapt from his seat, the chair scraping harshly against the stones as you lazily, and slowly took your time to stand, making a point to look at all the Lords and smile, which you had not yet done before, before turning to leave with him. 

It was tense, and you could feel the fury rolling from Aemond in waves, but not even his anger could take away your victory. The joy of knowing you took something away from him. The joy of knowing that you had won. That you had ripped something from his grasp that he used to seek refuge in.

No, not something.

Someone. 

His whore and his bastard. 

Two birds, one stone. 

Or more likely in the case of your father, two birds and the Dark Sister blade.

The Prince stormed ahead of you, but you did not chase after him, instead leisurely walking behind, enjoying the way his hair swayed with his gait, and his pale hands were tight in fists at his sides.

When finally you entered your shared chambers, Aemond having disappeared within the doors before you, your husband spun on his heel, the leather of his boot crackling against the stone as he stormed towards you, crowding your space as the door shut.

“What did you do?” Aemond demanded, brows drawn as he looked at you.

You cocked your head, “What do you mean, husband?” You responded, sickly sweet voice dripping from your lips.

“No more games. What. Did. You. Do.”

You sighed as you looked at your uncle, his eye crazed and chest heaving, as his gaze dropped to the necklace and back up to your impassive face.

Moving to the side of the chambers, you picked up the decanter, ignoring his questions as you poured yourself a goblet of wine.

The air around you shifted as Aemond charged towards you, ripping the cup from your hands and slamming it back down on the table, drops of wine spilling over the rim and onto the table. 

Calmly, you raised your head away from the spilt wine and looked at Aemond, who gazed at you murderously.

"Do you remember the Septa teaching us about the second wife of Maegor the Cruel? Alys her name was.” You mused, tilting your head as you looked at him, “The people called her the Whore of Harroway, such a familiar ring to it don’t you think? There are so many strange familiarities of it all. Alys Harroway gave birth to stillborn babe. Grotesque and twisted-“

“Enough with the juvenile history lessons.” Aemond interrupted.

“-And Maegor flew into a fit of rage after he was told she had been unfaithful. Any man, woman, or child was put to death with even just a drop of Harroway blood.” You shook your head, “Such a horrific end to her life, too. Alys was tortured for fourteen days, and fourteen nights by Maegor’s third wife, Tyanna. Then, when she died, they cut her into seven pieces, and mounted the pieces on spikes above the Seven Gates. Tyanna, of course, later confessed to poisoning the unborn child, but Alys’ death was merciless.”

Aemond stepped towards you, eye on your neck, “Where did you get that?”

Your hand rose to touch your chest softly, feeling the stones against your collarbones.

“This? It was a gift.” You moved to grab the goblet again, hand reaching in front of you. Aemond's own shot out and grasped your wrist tightly, pain shooting up your arm as he roughly tugged you towards him.

“What. Did. You. Do.” He growled, breath fanning over your face.

“You’re hurting me.” You sneered, trying to wrench your hand away from him, failing, “Let go of me.”

“No.”

“Let. Go!”

“What did you do, zāldritsos.” His voice lowered, and you felt a shiver run down your spine.

“Fire and blood. I made a promise to you, did I not?” You smiled up at him. 

Aemond stilled, grip faltering.

You saw your chance and ripped your hand away from him, grabbing the wine, and pulling it up to your lips. You sipped heavily, feeling the sharp spiced wine travel down your throat.

“What have you done?”

“Who knows if Alys Rivers was unfaithful, and that babe inside her deformed. I wish I could tell you that she did not face the same fate as Alys Harroway,” You grinned viciously at him, “But I can’t.” You whispered, “My only consolation I can offer you is that there is no more Strong blood, besides Larys. Just like you wanted.” You sneered, slamming the wine down as you got up in his face, raising your head to look up at him, his eye wild as he looked down at you, lips twitching.

“You fucking cunt.” He sneered, hand shooting out to grip your throat tightly, squeezing the air from you. 

You should feel fear. 

You should feel regret.

But all you felt was triumph. 

You beamed brightly at him as he squeezed your neck tighter, fingers pressing meanly into the sides of your throat, the size of his hand almost holding the entirety of it, lungs feeling tight and head feeling lighter.

“I couldn’t let you father a bastard. What would the court say? What about your honour?” You wheezed, and his hand tightened again, bruising your flesh as his face came forward, nose jabbing yours as he breathed raggedly in anger.

“You’re mine." You hissed, "Did you trust think I would continue to let you traipse around the realm to fuck your whore? I have given you an heir. You needn’t any other. I had disposed of your whore and unborn bastard so that you needn't fear about our child's succession. She's dead. Your precious Alys is dead, and you can thank me for it.” You purred, though it came out rough and crackled at the back of your throat from his grip on your neck.

Aemond watched your face, eye flickering back and forth on yours before down to his dead lovers necklace, fingers twitching against your neck, gaze flickering momentarily to your lips. 

“I love you.” You wheezed.

Aemond blinked as the words left your lips.

And silence filled the chambers.

The air in your lungs had stopped, and your eyes had widened.

The space between you was gone, and Aemond crashed his lips against yours, kissing you bruisingly, his grip on your neck not faltering as stars began to flood your vision. Aemond opened his mouth and bit down on your lip roughly, a squeak of pain flitting into his mouth, which he soothed with his tongue. 

You rose on your feet, hands coming to hook around his neck, to pull him closer, but also to seek purchase as your vision blackened. Your hands tightened in his hair, pulling cruelly at the roots as you brought him closer to you.

Five fingers released their pressure on your throat, and air came rushing back into your lungs. You gasped into Aemond’s mouth, which he swallowed down greedily. 

The large man's hands came to rip at the front of your dress, your breasts spilling forth from the broken silk, where his head dipped down to pull a sensitive nipple roughly into his mouth by his teeth. You hissed in pain, feeling his other hand move to squeeze the other painfully.

Aemond’s hands dropped down to the back of your thighs and hoisted you up, your legs instinctually closing around his waist as he turned and began to walk towards the bed, teeth piercing your neck, shoulders, and the tops of your breasts as he moved.

Any piece of bare skin revealed to him, he would bite down, bruising the flesh.

Your stomach dropped as Aemond threw you onto the bed without a care, your body bouncing onto its surface. His hands gripped your ankles and ripped you down the end of the bed, grasping at the rest of your dress in his hands before tearing it up the skirt. Adjusting his grip he grabbed it again, tearing it apart to reveal your sopping centre to him. 

Aemond stood back and looked at you as he began to undo the ties of his own breeches impatiently, pulling his cock out roughly as he began to tug it in his palm. He was already painfully hard, the tip leaking pre-cum. 

“Come here.” He commanded, still pumping himself roughly in his hand. 

Scooting down the bed, you let your legs hang off the edge as Aemond gripped the back of your head, pulling you down towards his length. Opening your mouth you took him on your tongue heavily, lapping at the underside of his shaft. 

Aemond sighed, thrusting into your mouth forcefully, cock hitting the back of your throat.

“Fucking cunt.” Aemond grunted, thrusting into your mouth as you gazed at him tearily, spit coating your lips and his cock. 

Heat bloomed inside of you as he looked down at you, anger still tight in his shoulders as he continued to thrust himself in and out.

Aemond used your head to fuck his cock into your mouth, hands gripping your hair and side of your face, sliding you up and down his shaft roughly, aggressively, without a care for your gags and splutters, strings of spit beginning to drip down onto the stone floor below.

“Cunt.” The Prince growled, pulling out of your mouth as you gasped for air, looking up at him as tears streaked your cheeks. 

Your dress was torn to shreds, your hair messed from his grip, lips swollen and wet from his actions, tears dripping down your cheeks and yet, he praised you.

“My beautiful cunt of a wife.” He gripped your jaw in one hand, squeezing painfully as your mouth dropped open, the joint groaning in protest. 

Aemond leant forwards and spat onto your tongue. You flinched feeling it land in your mouth warmly before he slid back inside rapidly. Aemond fucked your throat without abandon, slapping your cheek as you closed your eyes, trying to concentrate on breathing through your nose, desperate to get any air that he allowed you. 

His hand smacked against you again, and you looked up at him angrily, brows drawn.

“The Merciless.” Aemond mocked, pushing you off of his cock as you coughed, rubbing your throat as it felt raw from his hands and cock.

Aemond shoved you back against the bed, flipping you over as he fisted his length against your backside. You arched you back, angling yourself before he thrusted into your heat with no preparation. The sharp sting wound its way through your body, but pleasure soon replaced it. 

You did this. 

You made him this angry. 

Another victory.

Aemond fucked into you at a brutal pace, your body jolting beneath him with each thrust, hoarse gasps leaving your lips as he grunted and growled from above you.

“Fucking take it.” Aemond sneered, the head of his cock beating against your cervix painfully.

You grit your teeth, hands clawing the mattress as he used your body. But even then, you could feel the slickness between your thighs of your own bodies reaction. A whine left your swollen lips, muffled by the sheets of the bed.

“Such a fucking whore. So wet and tight.” The clapping of his hips filled the chambers alongside the wetness of your heat.

“You like this don’t you? Being treated like a cunt. Just a fucking hole to put my seed in.”

You whined beneath him, head turning to the side to look up at him as you grinned meanly back at him, your core clenching around his length.

Aemond sneered, slapping his hand on your face, using it to push his weight into the mattress for leverage as he fucked you. Pain pinged down your neck, but you ignored it, focusing on the way his cock bullied your spongey spot within, and the anger that poured from him.

“Fucking cunt.” Aemond swore, hand still pushing your head into the mattress as one of his legs propped up onto the bed, leveraging his thrusts to be harder and deeper.

“Fuck.” You garbled beneath him, feeling his cock in your stomach. 

“Shut up.” He snapped, grabbing your hair in both hands as he wrenched your head back, thrusts unwavering in their strength or pace. 

“Do you even deserve it? Do you even deserve my seed?”

You moaned beneath him, knuckles white as you felt pleasure bloom within your gut suddenly, wet seeping onto the mattress below you as you reached a painful peak. The wet sounds from your cunt got louder, fluttering walls sucking him in as he grunted. 

“Fucking filthy, look at you soaking the bed. Fucking disgusting whore.”

You groaned loudly, your body going limp underneath him, strength having seeped out of your bones, leaving you to be a puddle beneath him as he continued to drill into you cruelly, his pace beginning to falter. 

“Fuck. Fuck.” Aemond moaned, hunching over you, moving his head to bite at your shoulder. His mouth opened against your flesh before his teeth bit down, skin breaking underneath and pain rippling through you. 

“Ah!” You cried out, core clenching down on him tightly, bringing him to his release. 

Aemond thrusted into you deeply, pushing against your cervix as his seed filled your womb. He breathed heavily atop you as your eyes slid shut, utterly exhausted and not willing to move. 

Or more like, unable to move. Your limbs felt as heavy as a stone.

Aemond laid atop you for some time before he slowly slid out of your folds, hissing as you twitched around him. The heat of his body left your spine and you kept your eyes shut, regaining your breath as you basked in the victory of the day, and the pleasure of the evening.

Your throat and shoulder throbbed, and there was a dull ache that spread through your core, but despite this, it felt like you were floating.

Some time later, Aemond’s presence came behind you and you flinched as you felt pressure between your thighs, Aemond rubbing his seed into your sensitive folds with two long fingers. You jerked beneath him, a whine in protest falling from your lips. 

“Shh, my merciless thing.” 

Aemond sounded tired. Less angry. 

But there was still an underlying rage that lingered in the back of his throat, just barely contained, clipped and strained.

"Perfect fucking cunt. And mine."

Aemond dipped his head down and lapped at the bite on your shoulder, licking up the blood that had rose to the surface. You hissed as he pressed his tongue into it, a stinging pain blooming over the mark.

Aemond nipped the mark again, causing you to cry out.

His presence loomed over you as his two large hands scooped beneath your body, and hoisted you up the bed. 

“Do you need the privy?” He asked bluntly, ripping the sheets from beneath you more roughly than was needed.

“Mmm.” You mumbled, still feeling like you were floating away, little sparks floating through your limbs. 

You kept your eyes closed as Aemond tucked you beneath the covers, pulling the sheets up to your shoulders before he followed you, pulling you against him in the bed. You don’t remember him taking your dress from you, but as you curled into his side closer, you found your bare skin against his.

"What am I going to do with you, hm?" He whispered.

Aemond pressed a kiss to your hairline, though his lips were firmer than what could have been considered gentle.

You could still feel him seething with anger. 

The Prince’s fingertips danced over the bite mark on your shoulder, brushing over it in thought as he held you to him. Each brush of his fingers causing dull pain to crackle over the surface of your flesh.

And before long, sleep came to call, and begun to drag you under. Aemond’s hand grazed your neck, and you sighed.

You fell to sleep, naked in his arms, with his fingers tracing over the necklace that had once belonged to Alys Rivers.

"Perzys Ānogār."

Fire and Blood.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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#aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond x reader #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond smut #hotd smut #dark!aemond targaryen x reader #dark!aemond x reader #dark!aemond targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #dark!aemond #dark!fic #fic #series #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond #smoke fire and ash

[voidpetrova]

the bet — carl gallagher x reader

☄. *. ⋆

warnings and genre: swearing, use of alcohol — smut, angst, fluff

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

synopsis: a bet between carl and his friends leads to a challenge: carl must make you fall for him within a month. but as he spends more time with you, he starts to question his intentions and develops genuine feelings. what happens when the lines between the bet and reality blur?

✧.*

amidst the colorful chaos of the south side, where life was a constant hustle and survival was an art form, two paths converged in a twist of fate. carl gallagher, known for his rebellious spirit and devil-may-care attitude, found himself drawn to you, the enigmatic newcomer who seemed to carry a world of secrets in your eyes. as the summer sun cast its golden glow over the neighborhood's worn streets, an unexpected connection began to unfold, setting in motion a series of events that would challenge your perceptions, unravel your vulnerabilities, and lead you down a path neither of you had foreseen.

your first encounter was a collision of worlds - his brash confidence against your guarded reserve. carl, with his mischievous grin, approached you like he did with every challenge life threw his way. yet, there was something different about you, a quiet strength that intrigued him more than he cared to admit. you, on the other hand, met his advances with a mixture of skepticism and curiosity, wondering what lay beneath his tough exterior. it was a dance of wit and banter, each exchange a step closer to understanding the other's hidden depths. as the days turned into nights filled with shared laughter, secret conversations, and stolen glances, an unspoken connection began to blossom - a connection that held the promise of something more profound than either of them could have anticipated.

but despite your initial sparks, carl was resolute in his determination to win the bet. he was convinced he could make anyone fall for him, and he approached the challenge with unwavering commitment. he continued to flirt, tease, and charm, each interaction calculated to make your heart skip a beat. he reveled in your reactions, the way your cheeks would flush or how you'd roll her eyes at his audacious comments.

as the south side's summer heat intensified, so did the tension between you two. your stolen glances grew linger, their touches more deliberate, and the electricity in the air became palpable. yet, you both held back, aware of the fragile nature of your connection and the possibility of getting hurt. it was a slow burn, a delicate dance of emotions that neither of you were quite ready to rush into.

“i missed you today,” he murmured as the school's bells began to chime. his voice held a hint of something genuine, but his eyes flickered with a knowing glint. it was as if he was both acknowledging a connection and reminding himself of the game he was playing. you looked at him, your expression a mix of surprise and curiosity. there was a moment of vulnerability in his words, a vulnerability that he quickly masked with a playful grin. “guess i'm just getting used to having you around.” he added with a wink, effectively diverting the conversation away from any deeper meaning.

you smiled at him, oblivious to his ulterior motive. “i miss hanging out with you and fi,” he grinned at your words. he was almost relieved you had devoted yourself to him and his family, including his older sister.

as the school day came to an end and you went your separate ways, carl's thoughts were a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. he was still determined to win the bet, to prove his prowess in matters of the heart. yet, there was a growing awareness that he was no longer just chasing a victory - he was chasing a feeling, a connection that had started to take root within him. he was treading on unfamiliar ground, torn between the thrill of the game and the pull of something deeper. and as he looked back at the school building one last time before disappearing into the bustling streets of the south side, he couldn't deny that the lines between the bet and reality were becoming increasingly blurred.

the day's sunlight cast a warm, golden glow over the gallagher house as you found yourselves seated on the worn-out couch. it was a rare moment of respite amidst the chaos of the south side, and you were both acutely aware of the fragile nature of their connection. you fidgeted with a loose thread on your jeans, your gaze fixed on the floor as you hesitated before speaking.

“you know, i've always admired lip,” you began softly, her voice carrying a hint of nostalgia. “he's got this passion for knowledge and a way of seeing the world that's magnetic. he's so pretty.” you glanced up at carl, your expression a mix of fondness and wistfulness. “i've always been drawn to him.”

carl's jaw clenched almost imperceptibly, a wave of jealousy igniting within him. he knew you were just sharing a piece of your past, but the thought of you admiring someone else, especially lip, tugged at something deep within him. he cleared his throat, trying to keep his tone nonchalant. “yeah, lip's got his moments, i guess.”

you sensed a shift in his demeanor, but you weren't quite sure what was behind it. taking a deep breath, you decided to open up a bit more, hoping to bridge the gap between them. “it's just, i've always been attracted to people who challenge me intellectually, who make me think in new ways.”

he nodded, though his attention had shifted inward, his mind grappling with a revelation he hadn't anticipated sharing so soon. he knew it was time to come clean, even if it meant risking the fragile connection you had built.

“look,” he began, his voice quieter now, “there's something i have to tell you.” you turned to him, eyes locking as a nervous expression crossed his face. “this entire thing—us—it started off as a bet, as a bet where i had to make you fall in love with me. but, everything changed. i changed.”

you looked at him, your eyes narrowing slightly as you tried to decipher his words. “changed how?”

he met your gaze, his eyes more vulnerable than you had ever seen them. “i started to care about you, not just because of the bet, but because—i genuinely like being around you. and i'm not sure what to do with that”

a mixture of surprise and hurt washed over you. you had sensed something shifting between you, but to hear him admit it so openly was both exhilarating and terrifying. “are you saying you have feelings for me?” he nodded, his expression earnest. “yeah, (y/n). i guess i am.”

anger flashed in your eyes as the pieces fell into place. “after all this time, all i was, was just another conquest in your game? a challenge to conquer?”

his face fell as he realized the gravity of his mistake. “no, that's not... i mean, it started that way, but it's not like that anymore. i care about you, and i wanted you to know the truth.”

tears welled up in your eyes as you looked away, trying to process the conflicting emotions that were coursing through you. “you played with my feelings, carl. you made me believe there was something real between us, and all along, it was just part of your game.”

he reached out, his hand hovering in the air as if he wanted to touch you but didn't dare. “i didn't mean for this to happen. i never wanted to hurt you.”

you let out a shaky breath, your voice trembling as you spoke. “you know, i thought there was something different about you. i thought you were someone i could trust. but now— now i don't even know who you are anymore.”

your words hit him like a punch to the gut. he hadn't meant for things to unravel this way, for you to see him as someone you couldn't trust. but he had to face the consequences of his actions, no matter how painful they were. as your tears spilled over, he felt a pang of regret that cut deeper than he could have imagined. the bet had transformed into something he never intended, and he had lost something far more valuable than any victory.

silence hung heavily in the room, broken only by the distant sounds of the neighborhood outside. it was a tense and fragile moment, the weight of your emotions filling the space between you. carl watched her, his heart aching at the sight of her tears, the pain he had caused etched across her face.

“i'm so sorry,” he finally whispered, his voice thick with regret. “i never wanted to hurt you. i didn't think it would get this far.”

you wiped away a tear, your gaze meeting his as you struggled to compose yourself. “you can't just expect me to forget everything and forgive you just like that,” you said softly, your voice quivering.

“i know,” he replied, his tone earnest. “i messed up, big time. but i'm telling you the truth now, and i'm not proud of what i did. i want you to know that.”

for a long moment, neither of you spoke. the weight of the truth hung in the air, a stark reminder of the complexities of your connection. slowly, you let out a sigh, your shoulders slumping as some of the tension left your body.

“i need time,” you said, your voice more steady now. “time to process everything, to figure out where we go from here.”

he nodded, understanding the gravity of your words. “i'll give you all the time i need.”

as the evening sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a warm, orange glow through the windows, you both felt the weight of the moment. it was a turning point, a crossroads you had reached together.

days turned into weeks, and the dynamic between you two shifted. carl gave you space, respecting your need for time to heal and come to terms with what had happened. he focused on repairing the trust he had broken, taking steps to show you that his feelings were genuine and his regret was sincere.

one evening, as you found yourselves on the same rooftop where your connection had begun, you finally turned to him. your expression was a mix of uncertainty and vulnerability, but there was a glimmer of something else in your eyes - a willingness to see beyond the mistakes of the past.

“i've thought about it a lot,” you began, your voice soft but steady. “and i realize that we're all flawed, that we all make mistakes. you messed up, but i also saw something in you that i can't ignore.”

he met your gaze, his heart pounding as he held onto your words, unsure of what was to come.

“i don't know if i can trust you completely again,” you continued, your gaze searching his, “but i want to try.”

relief washed over him, a mixture of gratitude and hope filling his chest. “i understand if it takes time,” he said, his voice filled with sincerity. “i'll do whatever it takes to earn your trust back.”

you offered him a small smile, a hint of the connection you had shared before slowly starting to resurface. “let's start over,” you said, your voice a whisper carried by the breeze. “no more games, no more bets. just two people getting to know each other for who we really are.”

he nodded, his heart full of determination and a renewed sense of purpose. it wouldn't be easy, he knew, but he was willing to put in the effort to make things right. as you sat side by side, looking out at the twinkling lights of the south side, you knew that your journey was far from over. but you were willing to take the first steps, one day at a time, navigating the complexities of your emotions and the path that lay ahead.

#shameless #carl gallagher #carl x reader #carl gallagher x reader #lip gallagher x reader #lip gallagher #fiona gallagher #x reader

[slytherizz]

In The Shadow of Us - Sebastian Sallow x Female!MC/Reader

a/n Scene from Chapter 11 of 'ItSoU' commissioned from the incredibly talented @diligentcranberry as a Christmas present to myself - It's so pretty I still cannot stop staring at my traumatised darlings. I never really shared much of my long fics on Tumblr besides the first chapters so here's some smut.

Chapter 11 Tags: Smut | Angst | Post-Azkaban!Seb | Enemies to Lovers | explicit sexual content | explicit language | forced proximity | Only One Bed (life sentence in Azkaban for me and my tropes)

You can read the complete fic on Ao3.

Chapter 11 under the cut...

The streets of Hogsmeade were deserted besides a small grey cat that scurried along the chimney stacks. Perhaps the return of Ashwinders to the area had scared most reasonable people to their beds. But neither she nor Sebastian had ever been reasonable people and they stood oddly calm in the night air outside the familiar tavern she'd apparated them to. 

“I don’t want to go back to Poppy’s - too dangerous. Harlow may be bold but even he’d think twice before darkening Sirona’s door,” she said with a tight smile. Sebastian recalled that first trip to Hogsmead and was pleased to know some things hadn't changed.   

She pushed through the heavy doors of the ancient pub. It was quiet. Where one would usually find patrons huddled in corners, playing cards over stiff drinks there were empty chairs. Where you'd see student that had sneaked out of the castle to drink and sing crude songs of their rival Quidditch teams until Sirona would shoo them out in the wee hours of the morning, there was silence. There would be no stumbling drunken feet of friends and young lovers up the long path to the castle castle tonight.

“Sirona?” she called and her voice echoed through the emptiness. The older witch appeared from behind the bar, her wand in hand as if she expected trouble to come knocking more than revelers these days.

“Oh, there’s a face I haven’t seen in a while. Hello, love-” her eyes landed on Sebastian with a look of surprise, but her eyes softened as she took him in. 

“Hello son, you look like you could use a drink,” she smiled. Sirona looked older, her hair peppered with grey around her temples the creases around her eyes more defined but her manner was familiar and Sebastian felt the tension leave his shoulders. 

Sirona like any good innkeeper, had that innate ability to sense your needs before you had a chance to voice them. With a flick of her wand two glasses of firewhiskey settled on the bar in front of her. Sebastian took a seat on the high stool and took a deep gulp from the glass relishing the burn as the amber liquid slipped down his throat. 

The witch slid into the space seat beside him and took a tentative sip from her own glass with a wince. She never had been able to handle her drink and he laughed slightly at her sour expression. 

"It's good to see you, Sirona," Sebastian said honestly. Sirona had always been kind to him. An aunt like figure to Sebastian and a shoulder to lean on more times than he’d care to remember. She'd seen him grow from a mischievous boy into a troubled young man, but unlike other she had never drawn back from Sebastian. Much like the pub itself Sirona was a constant pillar of support, always open when someone needed it most. 

Sirona poured herself her own glass, and topped up Sebastian's. She leaned back on against the counter on the opposite side of the bar her eye flicked between the two of them. 

"I won't ask exactly what event have led to you both being here tonight," she gestured between them amused "I know you can't tell me about your work dear, as much as I'd love to know the details - my guess it has something to do with Harlow."

"You're too perceptive for your own good, Sirona," the auror chuckled. "I promise, you'll be the first to know when this is all over."

"I hope so. Business has been dreadful, the inn is doing well but my bar sales..." she grimaced "Hogwarts is practically under lock down and even I'm beginning to miss the Gryffindor Quidditch team's terrible singing." 

"No one wants to be on the streets these days so most of my rooms are full. Unfortunatly, you'll have to share." The witch sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and looked at Sebastian nervously through her lashes. It wasn't like they had never slept together before. They had infact done a lot more together than sleep, it was almost amusing how this woman who had fought fully grown trolls at the tender age of fifteen, who had spent the last five years fighting dark wizards; yet Sebastian made her nervous and he luxuriated in the knowlege. He shrugged at her, as he schooled his features into an unreadable mask. Sirona's eyes flicked between them. 

The witch beside him stretched her arms as she yawned and wrinkled her nose at the dirt crusted under her fingernails. 

“It’s the usual place in the attic, dear. The bathrooms just down the hall,” Sirona smiled warmly at her. The witch finished the last dregs from the bottom of her glass, stifled a cough on her sleeve from the burn and slid off the stool to make her way upstairs. 

Sebastian tracked her movements across the bar before she slipped up the stairs. A knowing smiled tugged at the corner of Sirona’s mouth, her eyebrows quirked and he drowned the lump that formed in his throat with a deep swig from his glass.

“I must admit despite the circumstances - it's nice to see you both together again. You two were inseparable as teenagers and both so serious too. I guess with hindsight, I know why…" a sad smile deepened the creases around her eyes. 

"We bring out the worst in each other," he sighed with a shake of his head.

"I'm not so sure. Unfortunately, I think you both would be who you are no matter what. You both had to grow up far too fast, but I think you understand each other in a way others can't."

“Maybe we didn’t understand each other as well as you thought,” he grumbled. If she truly understood Sebastian wouldn't she have stood by his side after everything that happened but her words still rung in his mind -

I would care.

Sirona fixed him with an assessing eye, as if she was peeling him back. As if she could sense every hateful, lusty and confusing thought he’d had of the witch upstairs. Sebastian shifted uncomfortably under her gaze and she softened. 

"Not everyone gets a second chance at happiness, Sebastian. Don't waste yours."

Sirona said it like it was so simple. Like he could erase the last five years if he let himself. Coming from anyone else he would have hexed them. Sirona she met the world through the doors of this old pub, listened to everything from the lamenting of love sick teenager and world weary travelers who'd seen the darkest crevices of this world. He didn't know where his own problems fit in to that scale but he rolled it over in his mind.

A second chance. The words soothed his soul.

***

The summer at Poppy’s had done him good. Sebastian stared at his face no longer gaunt and hollow through the steamed up mirror of the small bathroom in the Three Broomsticks. If it wasn’t for the tattoos that covered his torso and crept up his neck he would barely think he’d been in Azkaban at all.

His clothes no longer hung off of him as he’d regained the strength and despite the nightmares that still haunted him nightly his eyes were no longer framed by dark bruises. The constellations of freckles that peppered his face and shoulder had returned in earnest, dark across his nose and cheeks. He adjusted his towel around his neck to cover the tattoo on his chest and placed his hand over the one on his neck.

This is who he would have been, if he’d never been to Azkaban.

He muttered a scourgify on his trousers before he pulled them on. Spells never made his clothes fully clean and not wanting to dirty himself further he left his dusty shirt in a the wicker laundry basket. Sebastian padded across the hall and hesitated in front of the door. He couldn't hear anything from beyond the door. 

With a long exhale he stilled his breath and rapped once on the door to announce his entrance.

She leaned against the windowsill her arms crossed over her thin nightdress. Her hair was loose from its braids and it fluttered in the warm summer breeze from the window. She watched the streets with a feline stillness, like an assassin on the roof alert and vigilant. Her eyes flicked up to meet his own as the door creaked, announcing his arrival. 

He clicked the door behind him but he could feel her eyes on him. Sebastian raised his eyebrows at her a small smile tugged at his lips at the way her eyes roamed over the bare expanse of his chest. The room seemed stiflingly small, the low vaulted ceiling left little space for more than the bed and a small nightstand. She was propped up on the windowsill, Sebastian leaned beside her and felt the warm air lick over his skin. 

She swallowed audibly and pulled her lower lip between her teeth. He see her from the corner of his eyes scan the bare expanse of his skin. 

"What do they mean?"

"You're an auror, I thought they would teach you this kind of thing?" Sebastian frowned. 

"No."

Sebastian moved in front of her her and caught her hand in his, admiring the way her chest swelled as she held in a tight breath. He brought her fingers to press into neck, his skin tingled under the featherlight touch.

“This is me. Prisoner identification number,” he supplied, as he turned so her fingers could glide down his spine "These mark each unforgivable curse, they found when the Wizengamot surveyed my wand."

Her nimble fingers traced each ugly black stain on his skin in turn. 

Crucio. Imperio. Avada Kadavra.

She lingered over each one, as if they were familiar like she knew they should decorate her own skin. 

Sebastian turned slowly back to face her and took her hand in his once again. Finally, he pressed her palm flat over the one on his chest. Directly over his heart. He knew she could feel how hard it pounded in his chest. Sebastian's face so close to hers, he could feel her stuttered breaths against his freckled cheeks.

"This is my sentence. Life In Azkaban." She sucked in a breath through her teeth. 

Sebastian didn’t want to explain the one on his wrist. The one he scratched at more fervently than the others. A particularly cruel form of punishment designed especially for him. When they peered into my mind, saw what tortured him most; It was always her. They’d inked her name in their ancient texts.

They stared into each other for what felt like an eternity. He waited for her to pull back, to recoil from him. Waited for his own body to do the same; to remember every aching moment of the past five years. But with her hand still pressed against his skin, her eyes boring into his own every rational thought burned away.

Sebastian wanted to be the version of him that stared back at him from the mirror. The one that did not bear the weight of the last five years. 

He let his lips ghost across hers.

Sebastian wondered if this was some new form of torture and this was some feverish fantasy of a man slowly dying in Azkaban. Or if they'd chained him to her on purpose, the only one who made him feel blood boiling hatred and blinding desire. A kaleidoscope of feelings, brutal, dirty and wonderful. To make him lose every rational thought in his body as her mere existence overwhelmed him before they ripped it away. 

She whimpered into the hairbreadth distance between his lips and hers. A pleasureful little sound that made some primal part of Sebastian practically purr with need. With one hand still pressed to his chest her other to wrapped around his neck to roughly pull his lips to hers in a feverish kiss.

Sebastian’s hands fisted into her hair, drawing her into him. The taste of her, the feel of her pressed against him made him feel like the world tipped on its axis. He nipped needily at her bottom lip and she gasped, granting him access to flick his tongue between her now parted lips.

She kissed him back feverishly, her own tongue collided with his own. He knew no one had touched her like this and it was like they’d both been starving. Her lips hungry against his own.

But he needed more.

In his desperation to feel as much of her as he could, hold her to him so she couldn't be stolen from his grasp Sebastian maneuverer her back until she collided with the wall. He pressed the entirety of himself against her, shamelessly dragging his hands along her curves.

He knew he was being rougher than he’d ever been as his hands groped every inch of her. But he was a man starved of touch for so long and he clung to her as if his very life depended on it. She seemed to crave that hardness as much as he did, as she ground her core against him where his leg had nestled between her thighs. Her fingers clung to his shoulders; her nails decorated half-moons amongst the splattered freckles. He hissed with delight at the pleasureful pain, as it broke through the numbness he’d felt for so long.

He grasped her chin to access her neck, to trail fire down her skin as he nipped at her thundering pulse. His teeth grazing every inch of her throat.

Sebastian snaked down the dips of her curves, to pinch and knead at her sides through the fabric as he worked his way to the hem of her nightdress. He slipped under her skirt to squeeze her backside and he savoured the vibrations in her throat against his lips from the groan that escaped her lips.

With how soft her skin was against his calloused hands he wanted – no needed to feel more of it.

She groaned in protest at the loss of his lips as he pulled the offending garment over her head. As if to stop their passions for even for a second would stifle the flames.

Sebastian stopped his assault on her skin to drink her in. His hands swept over the curves, fuller than he remembered, over the puckered skin of faded battle scars. In the soft lamp light, her hair unbound and wild, her lips swollen and her chest heaving she looked fucking exquisite.

She pulled him back into her roughly, her teeth knocked against his as her tongue delved into his mouth once more. Her fingers entwined in his chestnut hair, he shuddered as her nails scratched against his scalp. Sebastian hands resumed their assault, exploring ever dip and curve of her exposed flesh he’d devoured with his eyes. Intoxicated by the way her nipples pebbled as he grasped her breasts in his calloused hands. He captured the needy mewls that escaped her as he rolled them between his fingertips.

Sebastian trailed his hand between the peaks and down her stomach. His fingers grazed the sensitive spot between her thighs through the lace of her knickers. He chuckled against her lips as he slid his hand beneath the already damp material. Her folds were already slick and needy. Her lips didn’t say it, but her wetness told him she craved him as much as he did her. He stroked tantalising circles the small bundle of nerves, savouring every moan and whimper against his lips. He could feel her heart hammer in her chest. She ground her hips against his fingers as her eyes fluttered closed as a waves of pleasure crashed over her.

“Look at me,” he commanded. Her eyes snapped open to meet his own, she looked at him through hooded eyes “I want you to know it’s me - Who does this to you. Makes you feel like this.”

Her lips were parted as if she was going to respond but any words died on her lips as he slid a finger inside of her. Sebastian crooked his finger to find that spot inside of her that made her knees buckle. Her head lolled back against the wall with a throaty cry, barely held up by her weaked legs but her eyes never left his. He nipped at her throat approvingly.

Sebastian was achingly hard and strained against his trousers. He relished the friction of where his cock was rutted against her thigh. The scent of her own arousal coupled with the feel of his own was a heady concoction. He wanted to feel her climax under the entirety of him not just his fingers.

He withdrew sharply from her; a groan escaped her at the loss but Sebastian was quick. He unbuckled his belt and tore the leather from around his hips. His hands groped her perfect backside, as he lifted her up. She yelped in surprise, but her thighs instinctively squeezed round his middle. She kissed across his freckled face, and nipped at his earlobe as he carried her.  

Sebastian flung her onto the mattress and it creaked under her weight. He shoved off his trousers and underwear in one swift motion. His hard cock arching proudly, relieved to finally be released from the confines of his trousers. He prowled up the bed towards her and she lifted her hips so he could peel her knickers down her legs.

He ran his hands along her shapely calves and trailed his mouth along her stomach. He took her nipple in his mouth; he flicked his tongue over the bud whilst his hand re-found the bundle of nerves at her core. He circled it twice before teased two fingers into her entrance, she groaned and rutted her hips shamelessly against his fingers. She wanted him, her kiss swollen lips wouldn’t say it, but her body couldn’t lie.

She clasped at his freckled cheeks and pulled his lips to hers again. He growled with satisfaction as moved her legs apart expectantly. Caged under the full weight of him she wanted to feel all of him, between her legs.  

Sebastian aligned himself with her entrance and paused to savour the lusty look in her eyes. Sprawled out below him, bare and wild like a nymph from some Greek tragedy that would surely be his undoing. They would be each others undoing. 

She wouldn’t say it, but he knew he needed to hear it from her swollen lips. 

“Beg me for it,” he growled low in her ear, his nose burrowed into her tangled hair.

“W-What?” she stammered. Her pupils were blown wide, and he savoured the mix of confusion and lust that swam in her eyes. He knew she wanted him. He could feel it between her thighs. But he wanted her to proclaim it, to know he wasn’t mad to think this was something she didn't just want but needed; just desperately as he did. 

“I said - Beg. Me.”

“Please-” she murmured as her hips inched towards him.   

“You can do better than that,” he purred, as he teased his hardened length across her folds once more making her groan.

They both knew this was insane. But if he was going to succumb to complete blinding madness, throw all rationale away; then she was coming down with him.

“I want you- I need you inside me. Sebastian, please,” her fingers scratched across his freckled shoulders in a desperate attempt to pull him inside of her.

Sebastian practically purred with delight to hear her beg for the man she’d condemned. Satisfied he sheathed the entirety of himself inside of her with one strong thrust. Her eyes rolled back and her eyelashes fluttered as she arched her back as he filled her. The feel of her pulsing heat around him almost sent him immediately over the edge. He released a groan of his own, low, and deep.

This was not the tender explorative touches of teenagers it had once been.

With every deliberate thrust into her, he drew incomprehensible moans and pleas to deities from her lips. Her hips bucked to meet each stroke as she writhed under him. Her calloused fingers mapped his skin, over each tattoo along his spine. Each one a mark of the sordid past they shared. She traced every freckle in every impossible spot no one had seen but her. The sensation of each featherlight touch and rough scratch sent shivers cascading through him.

Sebastian’s mouth fixed on her neck, leaving red welts where he sucked at the skin like he could replicate the branding of her that marked his own skin. To claim what had always been his.

As he ground his hips against her and she arched her back in approval, Sebastian wrapped his arm through the vacant space below her. He hauled her up to leave more bites along her chest. His other hand fisted possessively into her hair as if he despite the impossibility he could be closer to her. Each frantic thrust brought incoherent curses and praise from her lips. He felt dizzy with how her hips jerked demanding as much of him as she could, with how perfectly he fit inside her even after all this time.

Her nimble fingers pushed his still wet hair from where it had dropped into his eyes. She pressed her lips to his to absorb the curses and moans he hadn’t even realised were spilling out of his own mouth.  

Sebastian caught her trembling leg behind her knee in a bruising grip to hitch it up. To roughly plunge himself deeper inside of her, she released a strangled cry of approval. Her legs were strong from years of fighting, but he admired the valleys and dips he created in the soft skin of her thighs with his fingers. Her breathing hitched becoming more frantic as the angle pushed her to new heights of bliss. Every rasped moan spurred the motion of his hips as he eagerly chased the sounds only he could draw from her.

He could feel her body begin to tighten and pulse around him in a way that was maddening. Sebastian was desperate to feel her peak, but his body had a mind of its own as he thrust into her desperately, he knew his own release build deep in his gut. The last coherent part of his brain not overtaken by an animalistic need guided his hand down her stomach to stroke her clit. The overwhelming sensation of his cock and his fingers had her keening and stuttering as she began to crest her peak.  

“Say my name,” his voice no more than growl, as he struggled to hold back his own release.

Amongst the other senseless words that escaped her she cried his name. Loud and desperate from her swollen lips; an intoxicating sirens call, he would follow willingly to a watery grave. She hauled him down to bring his full weight on top of her as she climaxed. The way she said his name, even when she was near delirious, practically vibrating as she rode her orgasm.

To know he was the one who made he feel like this. The only one who could make her skin feel like it was on fire. The only mans name she’d ever cried when her earth shattered.

He slammed into her hard and fast prolonging that feeling of ecstasy for as long as long as his own frenzy would allow. But the feeling of her trembling release, and the continued raspy gasps of his name made his hips faulter. His teeth bit into her shoulder to muffle her own name that slipped from his lips in a guttural moan as he released inside her.

Sebastian’s chest heaved as his heart rattled against his ribcage, as he came down from his own earth-shattering bliss. They stayed like that for a while, his head pressed into the crook of her neck, still inside her to the hilt. Every inch of his skin where they were connected felt like it was on fire.

He didn’t kiss her again.

Sebastian rolled off of her, and she whimpered slightly at the loss of him inside her. They lay there together, sheets tangled around their limbs their minds fogged from their shared ecstasy.

Her mallowsweet scent was on the sheets, on his skin; it soaked into Sebastian’s mind. It silenced intrusive questions that simmered in his mind about what they’d just done. He knew they would come; he’d have to face them eventually but for now he wanted to pretend things were different.

So, for the first time in years - Sebastian slept and didn’t dream.

***

Sebastian woke as the dawn light streamed through the curtains. Golden hues illuminated the witch still curled beside him. The sheets tangled around her doing little to hide the curve of her hips, her hair fanned out around her like a halo.

He groaned and rubbed his eyes. His brain felt loud as too many questions bubbled to the surface and made his head spin.

She stirred slightly when the mattress dipped as he climbed out of bed, but she buried her head back into the pillow. Sebastian released a relieved breath he didn’t realise he was holding. He needed to clear his head before he was ready to face her. He pulled on spare clothes from the nightstand Sirona had left out for him and slipped out the door.

It was the crack of dawn and Hogsmead was still very much asleep. He walked the empty cobble streets and tried to make sense of the complicated cocktail of emotions that bubbled in his chest. Sebastian seemed to be existing in a plane somewhere between self-loathing and infuriating yearning. 

Sebastian didn’t know what this meant for him, let alone for her. For them.

Could a version of them even exist anymore? Sebastian wondered if he even wanted it to. As much as he wanted to pretend the past five years hadn't happened they had and like a self fulfilling prophecy she had gotten under his skin, clouded all rational thoughts and distracted him from his mission once more. 

He’d began his slow plod back to the Three Broomsticks, resigned to the fact that he must face her eventually. He hadn't quite decided whether he wanted to pretend it had never happened or make her scream his name a hundred more times when a figure stepped into his path.

Sebastian froze, his hand instinctively reached for his wand. He cursed himself for being so wrapped up in thoughts of her that he’d left it in his old clothes. He squared his shoulders and met the amused stare of the stocky man in front of him.

“No need for dramatics, Sallow. I’m not here to hurt you,” chuckled Harlow. Sebastian should be shocked a wanted man like Harlow would appear so brazenly in the streets of Hogsmead. Maybe his own actions had last night had tapped him out and nothing could suprise him more than himself.

Much like Sebastian, months on the outside had brought a fullness back to Harlow’s face. Although no longer hollow cheeked his fine clothes did little to hide the ancient letters branded across his neck. But perhaps Harlow wasn’t trying to hide them, didn’t feel them burn into his skin as Sebastian did.

“Some how I find that hard to believe,” Sebastian ground out through clenched teeth. If it wasn’t for the knowledge that the auror would probably have to scrape what was left of Sebastian off the cobbled streets he would have launched himself at Harlow and tried to rip him apart with his bare hands.

“Come on now mate, we’re friends, aren’t we? Besides - I owe you, Sallow. With all our little chats, you’re the one who gave me my grand idea,” Harlow said with palms to the sky. His open face and arms mimicked the posture of a pious man of the cloth so at odds with the man Sebastian knew him to be.  

Sebastian’s felt the bile rise in his throat. What idea had he given him?

“I was thinking too small. Blackmail, bribery - why do all of that when I could be Minister of Magic? Wielder of dark ancient powers. Get revenge on the girl who locked us both away. Who could stand in my way? You understand don’t you, what it’s like to have that kind of power at your fingertips. What it would feel like to make them pay. Clever I admit, earning her trust before stabbing her in the back,” Harlow cast a wry eye over the collection of bruises that had formed below Sebastian’s jaw, and he chuckled. “She is a pretty little thing I admit. Don’t blame you for wanting to fuck her first.”

“You can’t get to the repositories. The goblins tried, it’s pointless-” Sebastian began. 

“I don’t need those repositories; I already have enough from what the goblins took to fix this,” his yellowed teeth broke into a wide smile, as he presented the pieces of the broken relic from the catacomb. That’s what Bettie had been desperately clutching to her chest “Then I can take her power for myself.”

The relic.

The one that could control the dead, dark magic and grant you any impossible desire if you paid it in blood. A man like Harlow would not be far pressed to provide it with a dark sacrifice it demanded. 

Sebastian felt a blood grow cold in his veins. Sebastian had spilled his secrets to the man beyond the wall and now they were all going to pay for it.

“I’ll see you round mate. Give her one for me will you,” Harlow winked. He whistled as he strode off through the vacant streets leaving Sebastian alone.

***

Sebastian stumbled back to the pub in a daze. His mind raced so fast he felt like it couldn’t remember how to breath and choked the air out of his lungs. Sebastian pushed into the attic room, desperate to feel his wand between his fingers, find the safety in his own magic.

The witch lifted her head woken from her slumber by his heavy footsteps. She greeted him with a sleepy smile.

No soft smiles could shake the panic from Sebastian’s bones. His jaw was clenched, shoulders stiff and his knuckles white where the ligaments in his hand strained against the door handle.

How can he tell her he’s the reason Harlow was after her ancient power. That he, however unwillingly, had given the man who’d designed his sisters pain all the tools he needed to spread it like a unstoppable poison.

This was his fault. He wondered if the world had always been right and Sebastian Sallow truly was cursed.  

She looked wounded at the frown that twisted his face and she drew the sheets tighter around herself protectively. Sebastian knows what this must look like. Like he must regret their night together. That last night was just one moment of madness.

She’ll think last night was a mistake eventually so why not cut to the chase. Save himself the pain of thinking he could be anything but cursed.

#I actually want to bite him #he's so pretty and beefy #i subscribe to big Seb supremacy #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x f!mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow fanfiction #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #sebastian sallow smut #sebastian x mc #sebastian sallow fanfic #sebastian x reader #sebastian sallow fanart #sebastian sallow art #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy fanart #hogwarts legacy sebastian

[thesugarsoiree]

Of Winter’s Flame | CHAPTER THREE

The room stunk of incense and sickness, a detailed miniature carving of what Y/n assumed to be Old Valyria standing between her and the King. Alicent had already glided past the structure, smooth steps taking her to the shadowy bedside of her husband. Y/n followed slowly, watching Alicent whisper to the figure which was sitting up in bed.

“Come closer, child, so that I may see you.” The King’s voice was frail, weaker than Y/n had imagined. He sounded like no king at all, barely a whisper of a man. As Y/n got closer the details of the King’s state became more noticeable. He was skinny, with none of the fat on his bones that Y/n had been told would be there. His hair was in thin strings, barely holding onto his blemished scalp, while his face was creased into a look of pain. Age and whatever illness he held did not do him well, the cracks on his lips apparent as he licked them with a tongue white as milk. Alicent beckoned her forward, her hands looking like a child’s compared to the King’s knobbly digits.

“May I present Lady Y/n Targaryen, daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Morgana Stark.” Alicent formally introduced Y/n to the King, still keeping hold of her hand while the other was gently stroking her husband's shoulder. Viserys smiled, reaching out a shaky hand to take Y/n’s. His skin was scaly and wrinkled, blackened nails tightening around Y/n’s fingers.

“You have your fathers eyes.” He smiled, the wetness sitting within his chest making his breaths labored and small.

“So I have been told, your grace.” Y/n curtsied as best she could, eyes moving between the King and Queen.

“You are just as I hoped you would be from our writings,” Viserys swallowed, letting go of her hand gently, “I have awaited your arrival eagerly, my dear.”

“I too have been anxious to meet, your gra—” Viserys shook his head, pursing his lips.

“We are family, Y/n. In private you may refer to me as ‘uncle’. Such formalities are only needed at court.” He waved, Y/n nodding along to his words.

“Of course, Uncle. You seem to be doing better than when we last spoke, I see that the wound on your cheek has healed.” Y/n commented, although his right eye was still clouded by a greying spot. What made Y/n happiest about looking at the King was seeing the youthfulness in his good eye, the awareness it presented despite his body betraying him.

“Yes, let us hope it stays that way.” Viserys laughed, Alicent letting out a polite chuckle.

“You have come a very long way Y/n, I’m sure you desire to bathe and such. I am glad to be the first of your family you have met here in the Red Keep. We shall talk again, perhaps over dinner tonight.” The King hummed, squeezing the hand Alicent placed on his shoulder.

“I will show you to your chambers.” The Queen said, kissing her husband's forehead before escorting Y/n out of the room. They walked in silence to Y/n’s chambers, bidding each other good-day as Y/n closed her door. Her maids were still organizing her things, all quietly working to make Y/n’s stay a comfortable one.

“May I have a bath drawn, if possible?” Y/n asked the woman nearest to her, the young servant bowing before enlisting others to help. Before long Y/n had undressed and was guided into her tub, a few maids staying to help wash her. Y/n breathed in the sweet scented oils and goats milk swirling within the hot water, leaning back as an older southern maid unbraided her hair. Half of the women in the room were her maids from Winterfell, and the other half were attendants the Queen had so generously offered her.

“What is your name?” Y/n turned her head slightly to address the maid combing her hands through her hair, the tan-skinned woman raising her brows before she responded.

“Lysana, my lady.” She bowed her head briefly, continuing to search for knots within Y/n’s dark hair.

“Lysana, how long have you worked within the Red Keep?” Y/n questioned, the maids beginning to scrub gently along her body.

“Since the late Prince Baelon was born, my lady.” Lysana answered curtly, taking oils from beside her and patting them into Y/n’s hair.

“Then you must know of the Queen’s children, yes?” Y/n stared forward at the tapestry that hung in front of her, two dragons encircling each other in what she interpreted as a mating dance.

“Yes, I was the wet nurse to Prince Aegon when he was a babe, then his younger sister Princess Helaena.” Lysana sounded proud when she revealed what she’d done, a confident smile gracing her freckled cheeks.

“Would you tell me about them? My cousins?” Lysana hummed for a moment at the request, beginning to re-braid Y/n’s hair, only it didn't feel like she was repeating the same pattern.

“Your cousins are much like their mother, the only thing that sets them apart is the colour of their hair.” Lysana rolled her eyes, platting faster.

“I have only heard rumors about the way they act, would you tell me in truth who they are? I will not punish you for being honest.” Y/n needed to hear what she was going into from someone who wasn't the Queen or King or her biased uncle.

“I…I suppose, if it’s what my lady wishes. Your youngest cousin, Prince Daeron, is off in Old Town with the Queen’s family. The other three reside here within the Red Keep. All of them are…unique in their own ways. I would suggest spending your time around the Princess Helaena. She is a sweet girl, and she has not yet been burdened with the gift of motherhood.” Lysana chuckled at the thought.

“The Queen told me that she often resides by the Weirwood tree in the gardens, is this true?” Y/n asked, Lysana shrugging her shoulders.

“From what I know, it is the truth. Perhaps my Lady would like to be escorted to the gardens after her bath?” Lysana tucked the last piece of Y/n’s hair in, passing a mirror to her.

“You know the northern styles?” Y/n laughed, her hair in a familiar updo which she had not done in quite some time.

“I learned for your arrival, my Lady. Many servants of the crown come from all over Westeros, we teach each other the ways of each land.” Lysana helped Y/n get out of the bath, the maids toweling her dry.

“Lysana, I believe that visiting the gardens is a wonderful idea. Would you escort me once I am dressed?” Y/n allowed the ladies around her to begin the process of dressing her, soft linen undergarments being pulled on first.

“Whatever my Lady wishes.” Lysana bowed, cleaning up around the bath.

Y/n checked herself over in the mirror one last time, playing with the soft sleeves of her dress. It was lighter than the one she arrived with, more suited to the warm southern weather than her heaps of furs. She had made many like it, all of northern style but with southern fabrics like the ones she had seen the Queen wearing. A maid opened the door for her, Y/n’s guards standing at attention and following close behind with Tohrren as Lysana led her towards the gardens.

When Y/n stepped outside into the gardens it was like she was stepping onto a whole new continent. The trees were livelier, with multi-coloured flowers and flourishing bushes lining every pathway. Although she would die for the north, Y/n had to admit, northern greenery could not hold a candle to what the south possessed.

“Would you like me to show you to the Weirwood tree, my Lady?” Lysana asked. Y/n shook her head, unleashing Tohrren and beckoning him to go forth.

“No need, Tohrren and I will enjoy exploring on our own. Thank you, Lysana.” The woman curtsied, departing back into the Red Keep. Y/n turned to face her guards, dismissing them as well although they attempted to protest at first. What Y/n needed was to be alone with her thoughts; alone aside from Tohrren, of course.

Y/n strolled lazily through the tall hedges and blossoming trees, Tohrren running wildly up and down the pathways they traversed, chasing butterflies as if he had never seen one in his life. The scents of the garden were strong, floral and pine surrounding her like smoke. Tohrren stopped running abruptly, ears and tail piqued as he looked down a pathway. He let out a small bark, inquisitively tilting his head.

“What is it, Tohrren?” Y/n questioned, coming to his side. She looked down the pathway as well and it took a moment for her eyes to focus on what, or rather who, was before her. It was a young girl, a bit older than Y/n, with familiar waves of silver hair and a book nestled neatly in her lap. Behind her stood the Weirwood tree, its carved face bleeding the soothing red sap Y/n had grown used to. She approached slowly, Tohrren following suit, the young girl lifting her head at the approaching footsteps. The girl had periwinkle eyes, almost misty with the way they regarded Y/n.

“Hello.” Y/n curtsied, arriving in front of the girl. She nodded her head with a restrained smile, marking the page she was on in her book and closing it.

“Hello.” The girl repeated, eyes wandering but never looking into Y/n’s.

“My name is Y/n Targaryen, or Y/n, if it pleases her highness.” Y/n pet Tohrren to calm her nerves, the girl looking intensely at the hound.

“Please, call me Helaena.” Helaena gripped onto her book, still looking at Tohrren.

“Would you like to pet him?” That made Helaena look up, the princess nodding without uttering a word. Y/n released him, coaxing him forward to Helaena’s side. Y/n sat down on the bench beside her, Helaena laughing when Tohrren licked her palm.

“He seems quite taken with you.” Y/n noted, Helaena nodding with a grin.

“I’ve never seen a northern hound before, only spiders.” The Princess hummed, turning her head as Tohrren did.

“You keep northern spiders?” Y/n asked, beginning to understand why Helaena held the reputation that she did.

“Yes, northern, southern, western, and one from Asshai.” Helaena turned to face Y/n, tapping her book. Y/n looked at it, the title reading ‘Arachnid History’ by one of the many maesters of the Citadel.

“How does one become the keeper of an Asshai spider?” Y/n tried to ignore the crawling feeling she got at the mention of the small insects, instead playing with the hems of her sleeves.

“My mother got it for me, for my birthday last year. Merchants in Pentos collect them to sell for their poison, but not many sell them alive, not like mine.” Helaena frowned, the lilt in her voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh, well then it is a good thing that your mother was able to find one. Similarly, my uncle gave me Tohrren for my birthday when I was very young.” Y/n scratched behind his ear, his tail wagging behind him.

“He is a good gift.” Helaena praised, her hands now neatly within her lap.

“You are Prince Daemon’s daughter, correct? The one who came from the north?” Y/n nodded at that, copying Helaena and placing her hands in her lap.

“I believe that the south has a gift for you as well, yes, a marvelous gift made of lightning.” Helaena stood up, Y/n following her actions once more.

“Lightning? I’m not sure I follow,” Y/n shook her head, confused at her cousin's words.

“No need to follow, you will know. I am glad to have another girl in the Red Keep, I’ve always wanted a sister.” Helaena giggled, patting Tohrren’s head. She gave Y/n a tight hug before curtsying.

“I must go now, but I hope that we may talk in the future, good sister.” Y/n wanted to say something at the insinuation that she was Helaenas sister by marriage, but the girl turned and skipped down another path back into the garden, leaving Y/n standing beneath the Weirwood tree. Y/n chuckled, now realizing why the realms second princess was regarded as such a unique character.

Y/n returned back to the Red Keep, hoping that she would meet her other two cousins over supper later that evening. Perhaps their reputations also held some truth, maybe the eldest prince was a whore-drunk swine and the middle son was a heartless warrior. Although, Y/n did wonder what rumours surrounded her; the unwanted first child of the Rogue Prince.

Y/n rolled her shoulders, relaxing back into her chaise as she waited for her invitation to dinner. Whatever reputation she held the King seemed to have no qualms, his only opinion being that Y/n had loose-handed penmanship. Y/n closed her eyes, Tohrren resting like a heavy blanket within her lap. Whatever she was meant to be doing here, she was sure it would all be fine. She was certain.

She had to be.

#x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd x reader #x fem!reader #ofwintersflame #aemond targaryen smut #aemond one eye #asoif/got #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #house of the dragon #hotd #game of thrones

[fandomxpreferences]

Two Lines, Two Idiots Chapter Four: Way Down We Go

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Twin Brother JJ! x Maybank! Reader, rafe Cameron! x maybank!reader (all over 18)

TW:pregnancy, angst, mentions of throwing up, panic attack, mentions of abuse and trauma, fluff, I think thats it

Summary: You and Rafe are in for the shock of a lifetime, and tensions run high when Rafe discovers the two of you have more in common than he thought.

Word Count:4.4k

Nerves claw at your throat as you sit in the sterile chair, the stench of rubbing alcohol and bleach singeing your nose hairs. Just as promised, Rafe is right beside you, his hand clammy in yours as you both prepare to see your baby for the first time. 

The first available appointment was almost two weeks out, and sitting on this secret has not been an easy feat. Everybody has been fawning over you since they found out; Jj will barely let you go to the bathroom alone. 

Things have seemed to cool off, and despite everyone's initial chagrin, Rafe has practically been living at the chateau. Much to everybody's astonishment, he's been extremely attentive. 

He holds your hair back as morning sickness tears through your body, which had been laughable to Sarah. She remembers one time when they were kids that she had gotten a stomach bug, and Rafe had been equally miserable seeing as every time she threw up, it triggered him as well. 

She was expecting Rafe to at least gag, but for some unknown reason, he didn't even flinch. He just rubbed your back and brought you water before carrying you back to bed. 

Your thoughts are interrupted when the door opens, and a kind-looking older woman walks in. 

"Good afternoon, Ms. Maybank. I'm Dr. Wilson. How are you feeling today?"

Her voice is soothing, a practiced softness that reminds you of a lullaby. It washes over you in relaxing waves, and you feel your muscles unclench the slightest bit. 

"Nervous." 

You give her a shy smile and she returns the gesture while making her way over. 

"I assume this is your first?"

You give a short nod and her smile widens. 

"You're the father, correct?"

Her attention is on Rafe now, and his eyes widen slightly when he realizes she's talking to him. 

"Uh, yes ma'am. Rafe."

She turns to the monitor and you look at him with raised eyebrows. 

Ma'am?

You mouth it silently and he shrugs his shoulders with a bewildered look while mouthing back I don't fucking know! You shake your head and stifle a laugh, your attention being drawn back to the doctor when she speaks. 

"Okay, if you can lift your shirt we'll take a look. The gel may be a little cool, but it'll only last a second."

You comply silently, tensing up a bit when the gel hits your skin that's still sizzling from the scorching sun. Rafe's hand squeezes yours and you tighten your grip when the wand touches your exposed skin. 

It feels like your heart is going to beat out of your chest when the screen pops up, and the doctor takes a second to find what she's looking for. Before you know it, there's a white blob on the screen and your breath is sucked out from your lungs. 

Tears sting your waterline as you look at yours and Rafe's baby, and you catch the end of a sniffle from where he's sitting. 

"Looks like you're about 11 weeks, so almost into your second trimester." 

You stay silent, completely enamored with the little human that's bobbing around. They're tiny still but resemble a person more than you thought they would with little arms and legs flailing about.

The doctor freezes for a moment before regaining her composure, but you still noticed. Your head whips to look at her, and you frown when you see she looks perplexed. 

You're just about to ask if everything is okay when she beats you to it. 

"Do twins run in your family?"

If there were six words in the English language that could make your blood turn to ice, it would be that sentence. You look at the ground, half expecting to see your stomach sitting there. 

"Um, I'm a twin and so was my mom. Why?"

Rafe's grip has loosened significantly, and if you weren't so close to hyperventilating you would have paid more attention to it. 

"Well, it looks like your genes run strong. Congratulations!"

The world stops spinning as blood rushes in your ears, and you can feel the color drain from your face. You're not sure what about your reaction makes her think this is something to celebrate, but you can't find the strength to ask. 

You're broken out of your stupor when Rafe's hand slips from yours and you hear a thump. You turn to face him with wide eyes, only to find your support system passed out cold. 

"Oh for the love of God."

It comes out as a mutter, and you momentarily forget the cause of his reaction as you slip into girlfriend mode. You move to stand, but the doctor's hand stops you at the last second. 

"You're not looking too hot yourself, honey. Why don't you stay sitting? I've already paged a couple nurses, this happens more often than you might think."

You follow her instructions and watch as two nurses come in with Gatorade and an ice pack. They maneuver Rafe back into his chair, and after a couple of minutes, he comes around. 

His eyes blink open slowly, and he scowls when he sees the two women standing over him. 

"What's going on? Is everything okay?"

You bite the inside of your cheek to stop from laughing and reach for his hand again. 

"You fainted, Rafe." 

Another laughs bubbles up from your chest as his face and ears flush crimson, his expression nothing short of mortified. 

"Oh."

The nurses make the two of you stay for a bit, forcing both of you to drink the Gatorade and checking your vitals until they're sure you're both okay to leave. You walk to his truck with the sonogram safely tucked into your bag, your hands laced together as you cross the parking lot.

He opens the door and helps you up before rounding the front and climbing into the driver's seat. It's silent for a moment, both of you trying to process the new information before Rafe speaks up. 

"They're all gonna shit bricks when they find out." 

There's a beat, and the two of you burst into hysterics. You wipe the tears off your cheeks and take a deep breath to calm down before rolling your head to the side to look at him. 

"About that, I was thinking we don't tell them."

You almost lose it again as he gives you the most alarmed look you've ever seen before continuing. 

"I mean, not yet. Obviously, we have to tell them. I was just thinking we could keep it between us for a bit."

You can see him processing the idea before nodding slowly. 

"Okay, yeah sure. We're not gonna be able to hide it for long though. You're gonna be huge." 

Your mouth gapes open at his statement and you see the exact moment he wishes he could suck the words back into his mouth. 

"No, I don't mean- I just- shut up." 

He sighs dramatically and you chuckle as he starts driving, his right hand seated comfortably on your thigh.

"Are we still on for lunch with your dad and Rose?"

It's a question you're hoping to change the answer to, but you know you'll have no such luck. The air in the truck thickens and you feel Rafe's grip tighten on your leg. 

"Yeah. We're headed straight there." 

You purse your lips and nod, trying to fight back the tears threatening to fall. Stupid pregnancy and its stupid fucking hormones. 

"Does he know I'm coming?"

Rafe audibly swallows, and you can tell his answer makes him physically ill. 

"No."

You take a deep breath, willing your pulse to slow and Rafe gives you a sympathetic look. 

"I know, baby. I'm sorry."

You shake your head, glossing over the pet name, and kiss his cheek.

"It's okay, I get it."

The rest of the ride is dangerously quiet, save the quiet hum of the radio and salty air blowing in through the windows. You watch as the houses turn from worn down to mansions, and do your best to regulate your breathing as you creep further and further into Figure eight. 

Closer and closer to Tannyhill. 

A single tear escapes as he turns into the long driveway, and his heart drops when he parks and looks over at your terrified face. 

"Hey, it's gonna be okay. I'm right here." 

His voice is light like summer rain as his hand comes up to wipe your cheek. He climbs out and comes over to open your door, almost having to carry you when your knees wobble. He gives you a second to find your footing and wraps his arm around your waist protectively as he leads you to the door. 

He walks straight in and hesitates for a second before leading you into the dining room. Ward and Rose are already seated, their gazes turned downward as they talk. 

"Rafe, son, right on ti-"

The words die on Ward's tongue as he looks up and meets your gaze, a mixture of confusion and anger swirling in his eyes that you notice resemble Rafe's. You briefly wonder if your kids will inherit the same striking blue irises before shaking the thought out of your head.

His eyes dart to his son's arm around you before landing on Rafe, fury clear on his face. If he's already mad, you can't imagine how it's gonna go when he finds out why you're really here.

You consider just making a run for it; maybe fleeing the country and changing your name. You don't get the opportunity as Rafe pulls out a chair, and you hesitantly take a seat. Ward remains eerily still, and you can't help the tremors that violently wrack your body. 

You're suddenly reminded of your own father; the way he would stare you down as an intimidation tactic before lunging. It causes fear to crawl up your spine and you try your damdest to stave off the panic attack you can feel rearing its ugly head. 

Rafe doesn't know about your home life growing up, and you're not very keen on explaining it right now. He seems oddly at ease, leaning back in his chair with his legs spread as if it's any average day.

You think maybe for him it is; you've heard the whispers about how Ward is behind closed doors.

"Why is she here?" 

The disgust dripping from Ward's voice causes you to shrink back, memories of Luke ruthlessly flashing in your mind at the familiar tone. 

The Rafe sitting beside you is a completely different man than the one that you've seen every day for two weeks, and it makes your head spin. His normally ocean blue eyes are dark and stormy, the open demeanor he always has with you closed off and guarded with barbed wire.

To the untrained eye, he looks calm and collected; but you've spent enough time with him to know he's anything but. 

"For lunch."

His tone has a cruel bite to it, and your eyes widen slightly. What the hell is he doing? This is going to be bad enough without him trying to bait his father. 

Ward scoffs humorlessly before leaning forward, and you recognize the look before the fangs come out. 

"I know that you didn't bring a Maybank into my house with the intention of telling me you're dating her." 

Rafe appears unphased to his father, but you don't miss the way his jaw clenches at the implication that you're not worthy of being here. Being with him.

"So what if I did?"

It has a mocking inflection, and you want nothing more than for the ground to open you up and swallow you whole. 

"Rafe."

You recognize the dangerous warning tone, and close your eyes trying to imagine yourself anywhere but here.

"Don't worry, Dad. That's not the news. Not all of it at least."

Your eyes shoot open again at the statement, trying to figure out if your ears are playing tricks on you. Did Rafe just admit in a roundabout way that you're dating? That's news to you. 

Ward stays silent, and you can't help but notice the way his hands are clenched tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

You grab Rafe's hand with a death grip, a silent plea not to continue. You're not ready to do this, and the timing is wrong. Arguably lethal. 

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

Based on the venom dripping from his words, you have a feeling he's already started to catch on and you know the ship has already sailed. You wonder if pretending to pass out would stop it, but at this point, you're fairly certain they'd fist-fight over your limp body.

"Surprise, she's pregnant."

Turns out you might not have to pretend to faint because the way your breathing has shortened and darkness is rimming your sight tells you you're about to lose consciousness for real.

You send up a thank you to whoever stopped Rafe from tacking 'with twins' onto the end of his sentence and brace yourself to hit the floor. 

You vaguely register the sound of a chair scraping against the hardwood floor, when suddenly Rafe is directly in front of you with your face in his hands. It seems he finally noticed you swaying in your seat and snapped out of his rage-fueled daze. 

"Hey, hey. Y/N, baby, breathe for me. Can you do that?" 

His words are muffled as your hearing starts to go, and he places your hand on his chest to ground you. You try to focus on the steady thumping of his heart and the slow rhythmic breaths he's taking, attempting to pull yourself back from the edge. 

Your body seems to take over for you, matching your breathing to his as you slowly but surely come to your senses. The first thing you hear is Ward screaming profanities and insults, and your eyes shift to look at him behind Rafe. 

He shakes his head and squeezes your cheeks, forcing you to meet his gaze. 

"Hey, focus on me okay? I'm gonna get you out of here."

Before you can register what's happening, you're scooped into Rafe's arms as he carries you away from the sound of breaking glass and flipping tables. 

You zone out Ward's yelling, your arms wrapped tightly around Rafe's neck as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear. 

Time seems to move at warped speed as he practically runs to his truck, and he buckles you in before clambering to his side and speeding off. 

"Why would you do that? I know that's why we went there, but that could not have gone worse."

The quiver in your voice surprises you, and you try to pinpoint when you started crying. 

He runs his hand over his head as he drives to the chateau, the familiar feeling of regret consuming him. 

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I can't think clearly around him, and it brings out the worst in me." 

He sounds on the verge of tears, and for the life of you, you can't bring yourself to stay mad. You understand how that feels, far more intimately than he realizes.

"I forgive you."

It comes out as a whisper and Rafe breathes a sigh of relief as he parks in front of the chateau. 

"What was that about back there? I've seen you panic before, but never to the point of completely disassociating and almost passing out."

His voice is dripping with concern, and it causes a fresh round of tears to start. 

"It's nothing, don't worry about it."

Rafe tilts his head to the side and blinks slowly, honestly shocked that you would try to play it off. 

"Don't do that. Don't pretend like that was normal. I know trauma when I see it." 

Your eyes squeeze shut as you lean your head back, and you know you're gonna have to tell him. You're just deciding how much to divulge. 

"Y/N. You're the mother of my children and my girl. You just saw how my dad is, so honestly there's nothing you can say that will scare me off."

His heart breaks in its cage as you look over, and in that moment all he sees is a scared little girl. 

"I'm your girl?" 

He gives you a pointed look and pokes your nose to try and lighten the mood.

"Don't change the subject."

You take a deep breath and prepare to tell him everything. 

"It's a long story." 

He reaches out to brush a stray hair behind your ear, and the tenderness in his eyes is almost enough to send you into a full breakdown. 

"I have time."

You lean into his touch and whimper, truly not wanting to tell him your deepest darkest secret. It's locked away in a box, and if it was up to you, it'd stay there forever.

"My uh- my dad." 

It's all you can muster for a moment and you can see the gears turning in Rafe's head. He stays silent, rubbing his thumb along your cheek as an encouragement to continue.

"The shorter version is he became really abusive after my mom left. Always drinking and gambling. He made us give him all our money for drugs and debts. JJ got the worst of it, but when he was too far gone he would say I reminded him of her and take it out on me."

You wait with bated breath as he processes, and you can see his expression darken as your words settle in. 

"It's fine, though! I'm okay, now. It's just that Ward had the same look and tone, and it sent me into a spiral."

You try desperately to backpedal, already wishing you could take it back. You've never seen Rafe look so pained as he pulls you over the center console into his lap, his hand pressing your face into the crook of his neck. 

"Baby, that's not fine. Nothing about that is fine. I'm so sorry that happened to you, and you're safe now, but you're not okay."

You feel your resolve crumble at his last statement, and against your will, you shatter. The carefully constructed wall you built comes crashing down, and an entire lifetime of pain and repressed feelings come tumbling out. 

Rafe knows as soon as you gasp in a breath that it's coming, and his arms tighten to pull you impossibly closer as you fall apart. You cling to him like your life depends on it, and Rafe does his best to keep it in check for you. 

He can't stop the tears that flow freely upon seeing you so fragile and broken, and he's hit with the realization that maybe kooks and pogues aren't all that different. 

At least he had a stable roof over his head, and food on the table. Ward had his moments, but he never blatantly beat him. He had hobbies and shiny things to distract him, but what did you have? 

He thinks he understands now why the bond between pogues is so strong; you're truly all each other has. He hates the image of you so small and defenseless, and if he knows you, then he knows you probably tried to protect JJ with everything you had. 

The image makes him sick; two kids clinging to each other and just trying to make it out alive. You take a deep breath and try to speak despite your burning throat. 

"It wasn't that bad when we were kids. But once we were old enough to take it, it just never seemed to stop. How can you do that to your children?"

The words are strained as you continue sobbing and Rafe swears his heart is in a blender. He can't imagine what you must be feeling; especially now that you're about to have twins of your own. 

"Hey, I'm right here. You know we're gonna be better parents than them right? These kids are gonna have so many people to love and spoil them, they won't even know what to do. They'll never feel how we did." 

His quiet reassurances seem to do the trick as your breathing starts to calm down, and he does his best to convince himself of his own words.

He sees so much of his father in himself; would he even know if he's walking the same path before it's too late?

As if you read his mind, you sit back and stare into his eyes. 

"You know you're not your father, right?"

His heart flutters when you reach up and wipe his tears, so loving and attentive despite your own crisis. 

"How do you know?"

It's a sobering and painfully vulnerable question, and he's taken aback at the raw honesty and love in your eyes. Has that always been there?

"Because, Rafe, the fact you're even thinking about it means you're already a good dad. Shitty parents don't worry about how they're fucking up their kids. You're gonna take everything that was given to you and use it to be better. I know it."

He doesn't know how you can see so much good in him when the world has only ever seen evil. He can't understand how despite your upbringing, you still managed to stay so kind and never let it change your heart.

He just stares for a moment, really taking in just how breathtaking you are. Not just your appearance, but who you are. If it was anyone else, he would be scared shitless and would probably run in the other direction. 

He would throw money at the problem, and he certainly wouldn't be cramped into the cab of his truck baring his soul. But this is you, and he knows this is where he's meant to be. He would never want to do this with anyone else. 

In a span of two weeks, his life has been turned upside down; and yet he's the most content he's ever been. It's then that he's struck like a lightning bolt, and he crashes his lips against yours. 

"Be my girlfriend."

He murmurs the words in between kisses, and you freeze in place. He said it with such conviction that you don't even think to ask if he's serious.

"What?"

You think you must be hallucinating now, but that suspicion is erased when he repeats himself. 

"Be my girlfriend. I don't know about you, but I don't see myself moving on from you. So please, don't make me try."

You pull back and look at him like a deer caught in headlights, unsure how to respond. No way in hell is this your life. 

"Rafe.."

He shakes his head frantically and brings his hand up to cup your jaw.

"I know it's sudden. Well, not really because we've been sleeping together for six months but you know what I mean. I know a lot has happened today, and if you need time then I'll wait. But think about the four of us together, a happy family creating the life we never had."

You cut him off with a bruising kiss and nod slowly. 

"Yes, Rafe. Yes, I want that with you."

You laugh when he does a mini fist pump, and slap his arm playfully. Your eye catches movement and you turn to look toward the house with a frown. 

Your face contorts into amusement when you see your friends tripping over each other as they try to duck behind a tree and pretend like they weren't snooping.

"We have an audience." 

You can't help the laugh you let out, and you don't bother climbing back over the passenger seat. You swing the driver-side door open and tumble out, nearly face-planting, before Rafe catches your waist. 

You smile up at him sheepishly, and he tsks. 

"You have to be more careful, baby. You're carrying precious cargo."

You amble over to the group with a fake scolding glare, and they shrink back under your gaze.

"So?"

Sarah is the first to speak, and you almost cackle at the gleam in her eyes as she bounces on the balls of her feet. 

"We're together." 

You and Rafe say it at the same time and throw your head back with laughter as cheers erupt. 

JJ and John B yell out at the same time, and it almost causes you to double over. 

"I knew it!"

"Called it!"

John B turns to Kie with his hand out and she groans loudly. 

"You owe me twenty bucks."

Your mouth drops open as you lean back into Rafe's chest with mock offense. 

"You had a bet?!"

John B scoffs as he pockets the money and turns to face you. 

"Oh, like you wouldn't."

You all make your way into the house and plop on the couches, Rafe's arm snugly wrapped around your shoulder as you curl into him. 

"How's the little nugget?"

JJ knocks his knee into yours and you face him with a beaming smile. 

"Good. Everything is perfectly normal and I'm 11 weeks."

His hand comes out to stroke your barely bulging stomach and he gives it a fist bump. 

"That's what I like to hear. When do you find out what you're having? I need to know whether to buy a pink or blue dirt bike."

You roll your eyes at his antics and place your hand on your belly. 

"At the next appointment in a month."

Sarah squeals and you already know you're in for a painful amount of shopping. 

"If it's a boy you're naming him JJ, right?"

Rafe hums behind you, a teasing smile breaking out across his face. 

"Actually, we were thinking RJ for Rafe Junior."

You whip around to face him with horror and scrunch up your face. 

"Absolutely not."

He tickles your sides and you shriek, accidentally falling into JJ as you try to flee his attack. 

"I'm just kidding, princess. We haven't discussed names yet."

John B reaches over and ruffles your hair as you groan. 

"Just don't name them something stupid. The last thing I need is my niece or nephew being bullied." 

JJ snorts and leans back, a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

"If they're gonna get bullied, it's gonna be for having a loser as a mom." 

You gasp dramatically and swing a pillow into his face as he laughs loudly, and everyone joins. You settle back into Rafe when he presses a sweet kiss to your temple and lace your fingers with his. 

Despite the circumstances, you wouldn't change a thing. This is exactly where you want to be, wrapped up in Rafe arms and laughing with your found family.

@i-love-rafe @itsmytimetoodream@brynley-a-xoxo@whore4drew@houseofperfecttaste@everythingmarveltopgun@f4ll-for-you@athenabarnes@antagonize-me-motherfucker@writtenwordslover@madsnxo @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @starrystarkey93 @keylin1730 @fulla02 @loving-and-dreaming @evening-starlight @ibleedcalories @badasspizzalover

#rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron #outer banks angst #outer banks fic #outer banks #outer banks imagine

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Drawn Together 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, obsession, intimidation, and other dark elements.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: You get a tattoo on an impulse to break your routine, but you walk away with something else as permanent as the ink.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You wring your hands as you watch Steve drift along the other wall. The white tee shirt makes the ink on his arms seem starker as he has a thumb hook in his jean pocket, the other reaching to take an oval frame from the console table. 

You squeeze your fingers tight, until they might crack, then release the tension along with your breath. He sets the picture back down and stands straight, looking around emphatically.

“Nice place,” he remarks as he faces you, “lots of space for you… and your… boyfriend?”

You watch him dully, “it’s nice.”

He is unfazed by your blunt deflection, “these old century townhouses, there’s not many of those left. I remember my mother lived in one. A few streets away.” He nears you and you brace yourself. He angles his arm towards you and shows you a banner that reads, ‘Brooklyn strong’.

“Oh, that’s very nice,” you lean back on your heel and pivot. “We should probably get started, we’re already behind.”

“You’re from Brooklyn too?” He asks as he goes to the bench.

“Grandparents lived here. They left me the place.” You take out a folder, the typical package you have ready for beginners, “we’ll start by tracing your hands.”

“Alright,” he stands close as you open the folder on the back of the piano. You turn and pluck a pencil from the jar on the shelf.

“It’s just… an exercise,” you explain as you hand him the pencil, “trace left then right and label them left and right.”

“Oh, wow,” he accepts the pencil, “this feels like grade school.”

“Hmm, well, yeah, my students are typically younger… my older students have a little more experience.”

“No, no, I’m excited,” he says as he spreads out his hand on the paper. His hand is huge. 

You spin again and slip out another looseleaf and hand it over, “for your other hand.”

You set it down on the polished wood and he thanks you quietly as he focuses on following the outline of his long fingers. Looking at his hand makes you feel tiny. Your eyes scan the small stars on each knuckle, red, white, and blue. The ring finger is untouched.

He finishes the exercise and you go over the five-finger system with him. It feels so ridiculous. He’s not a child but you find it simple and easy. When you have that all done, you fold up the file and put it aside.

“Sit,” you gesture to the upholstery.

He obeys, looking down at the keys as he rests his hands on his jeans. You think about grabbing a stool as you consider the limited expanse left beside him. You can fit. You lower yourself and hit a key.

“We’ll go over the musical alphabet now, low to high.”

You sense his gaze, intent on you as you go through the usual introduction. You pause and have him repeat what you just did on the keys. He does it slowly as his arm presses to yours.

“Now from middle C,” you instruct and demonstrate. “You want your hands at middle C.” You raise your hands, “left: F-G-A-B-C, right: C-D-E-F-G. Thumbs together.”

“Right,” he does exactly as you say. He has good form as he keeps his hands on the keys but not heavy.

“Good,” you get up and take the metal TV tray from the small rack tucked beside the shelf. You unfold one and bring it around to his elbow. Your grandfather always had one open beside his leather chair. The paint shows the wear. “Now, we will go through a warm up and have you write it out.”

“Okay,” he watches you. His blue eyes are so brilliant and intense. You realise, he’s been looking at you for longer than you knew. You take the folder and open it up again. “I appreciate the patience.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry,” you spread out a blank sheet, “you’re much less fidgety than a six-year old.”

“I hope so,” he chuckles.

“So, our goal by the end is for you to play one song. Does that sound good?”

“A whole song?” He echoes, “uh, yeah, I can do that.”

“Nothing too complicated,” you turn the folder to him and put the pencil across it, “so as we learn, we’ll write down what we play and this will help you learn to read music.”

“Right, let’s do the spider song as our warm-up,” you stand beside the piano. You can’t bear to sit next to him, not as you feel the sweat still speckling on your neck and beading under your hairline. 

“Spider song?” He grins, “that’d be a good tat, huh? A spider?”

“Um, I guess, I…”

“You’re not spider girl, though,” he says, “flowers.” He glances over at the window sill then back to you. His eyes descend slowly and you struggle not to wilt. You feel like he’s looking right through you, “poppies.”

You nod and shift your feet closer together, “I appreciate the simplicity.”

“Ha, I can never keep a plant alive,” he snorts, “you must just have that gentle touch that helps them thrive.”

“Well, um, I think we should get started,” you cross your arms and stride behind him, going to the other side of the piano. “Middle C.”

🎹

The lesson is as successful as any other. You stand at the corner of the piano as Steve keys out Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star. He hits the last note with the same pride shown by the bouncing seven-year olds that perch in that very spot daily. 

“Great. You got your first song,” you say, “there’s a print-out in the folder,” you point beyond him, “it shows the keys, I know it’s not the same but it’s a good way to practice position. You can use that if you want to practice between lessons.”

“Between lessons,” he pulls his hands into his lap, “does that mean I passed? I get to come back?”

“That’s up to you. If you really want to learn, you’re going to need to keep at it. Older students tend to take a little longer. Um, sorry, not to… I hope that isn’t insulting.”

“Nope,” he claps his legs and turns, standing from the bench. He pushes his head side to side and cracks his neck, “I’ve always needed a little extra love, you know? I can be a bit bullheaded. Sam says I got a thick skull.”

You know he’s trying to be friendly. There’s just something off. You still can’t believe he’s really there or that you let him in. To that point, you’ve been going through a routine, letting the steps guide you through. Now, you’re at a loss. There is no parent coming to usher him out of your home.

“I got the fee,” he reaches in his back pocket and pulls out his wallet, “I guess I should’ve paid at the start.”

“No, uh, that’s fine,” you eke out.

“So uh, same time next week? Do you think maybe I could come back sooner?”

“Um, I’d have to look at my schedule. I’ll call–”

He holds out several bills and you accept them quietly. You always find the payment is awkward, even if it’s the whole point. You are offering a service, you deserve everything you earn. 

“Great, I’ll keep my phone close.”

The silence rises to strangle you. You peer around, grasping the bills tightly. What do you say to make him go? It’ll be easier to tell him you’re at capacity over the phone but you can’t then. Not to his face.

“You know, I still didn’t get a good look at your piece. Do you mind?”

“What?” You look at him.

“Your ink,” he nods at your feet, “do you mind if–”

He doesn't finish his question as he bends to look at your legs. You sway uncertainly and turn, pointing your toe to present your ankle to him. You don’t know what else to do. He examines it and you wince as he reaches to touch the skin beside it.

“Sam’s a talented guy,” he drags his fingertips away and stands, “helps when you have a great canvas. It suits you, sweetheart.”

Your brows rise as you gape at him. You quickly snap your mouth shut and fold your hands together. Your heart is pulsing behind your ears. You need him gone. This is your space and he’s intruded for long enough. The lesson is over.

“Don’t forget your folder,” you flit away from him and fold up the file, “here.” You face him again and push it against his chest, “I have to clean up for my next lesson.”

“Clean– this place is immaculate,” he looks around as he clutches the folder by the edges, “I don’t think–”

“Please, I have a lesson to prepare. Don’t forget to practice.”

You take a step back as he gazes at you. Unmoving. You might be telling him to go but it’s entirely his decision. Your nerves ping at the thought that you could not make him go. That if he stays long enough, he’ll realise your lie. Your excuse. He is your only lesson that day.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he relents at last as he tucks the folder under his arm, “see ya next week.”

You’re paralysed as you watch him cross the room. He disappears down the stairs and you listen to the creak of each step. At the bottom, you hear him shuffling around and when you find the courage to go look down, the door closes behind him.

You hurry down the stairs and quickly twist the lock. You let out your breath and lean into the wind as you let out a shuddery breath. His scent lingers. You’ll have to open some windows and light some incense. Hopefully, you can forget all about him.

#drawn together #tattoo au #steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #drabble #dark drabble #dark!drabble #series #au #mcu #marvel #captain america #falcon #sam wilson

[laenordeservedbetter]

Hi! May I request a fluff fic featuring older Alicent in love with a female reader? I want to see her happy and gay ❤️

Her Savior — Alicent Hightower x Fem!Reader

Words: 2k

Pairings: Alicent Hightower x Fem!Reader, Implied/Referenced Alicent Hightower x Rhaenyra Targaryen

Warnings: Fluff, hero worship?, One curse word

Hi!! You and me both, anon. Alicent deserves happiness in her life.

not my gif. || masterlist || previous work

—

“Where is Queen Alicent?”

“The Queen is in her bedchambers, my lady. She sent Ser Criston to seek you out. Did he not get to you?”

You could assume he did not bother to look. There was likelihood that a part of it was an effect of your doing. Last time he located your locus, you were in the middle of an outburst, going as far as to threatening to dismiss him from the kingsguard if he doesn’t leave you alone.

Criston is not afraid of you, only of Alicent’s wrath if she finds you unhappy. You could give out an effortlessly implicit disapproval of Criston’s abilities and Alicent would ship him back to Dorne in a blink of an eye due to her rising power.

You had met Alicent after Rhaenyra’s wedding – a time where Alicent greatly needed someone. No one thought her and Rhaenyra would fall apart. They were two peas in a pod, sharing a relationship some could go as far to assume was more than just a friendship. Carefree girls who had it all before the expectations from their fathers came piling in. Due to the world not willing to witness women assuming power despite not having a man by their side, it decided to pull them apart; their relationship classified as collateral damage.

During the wedding, a servant stumbled on your dress, spilling three cups worth of wine onto it while you were giving your congratulations to the princess and her future king consort. Alicent, drawn by your presence, offered to aid you in restoring your dress to its former glory in the borders of her room.

You had been distrustful of her kindness, believing there was a secret ploy to gain your house’s support. When you found her motives to be sincere, you let yourself bring your guard down.

Your relationship evolved from there, Alicent understanding Rhaenyra’s wont for breaking the rules in favor of gaining freedom as it grew. Alicent would not apprise you of her consideration in the past of declaring war against Rhaenyra, planning to execute her actions to get Aegon on the throne when Viserys inevitably passes for the reason that you already unintentionally subdued her fear that Rhaenyra will put her children to the sword, averting her feelings of hatred and taking her time to convert it into devotion for you.

The rest is history.

You blow out the fire of the remaining candles in your chambers. Though you don’t give a response, you recognize your handmaiden’s query. Being familiar with your silence, she escorts you to the queen’s resting room.

Criston, who was guarding Alicent’s doors, bows his head. “My lady.”

“Ser Criston.” You answered.

He steps aside to let you in, blocking the pathway for your handmaiden. As insufferable as he could be sometimes, Criston would protect your secrets because he is loyal to Alicent, the woman who gave him a chance to begin again.

You could not comprehend the uncanny arrangement your queen and this knight have going on. However, you appreciated Alicent’s flair for securing allies. Criston is a great fighter. You would count on him to defend Alicent if it ever came down to it.

Whilst Criston closes the door to offer you privacy, you feel a pang of guilt hit your chest as you see Alicent curled up into a chair, asleep. She has not changed out of her dress. Your brows furrow together, eyes flitting to the small table beside her, where you’d hold your own makeshift feasts during the hour of ghosts.

Currently it is the hour of the eel, past dinnertime. A plate hangs near the edge, in danger of falling. It housed your favorite meal. Most of the plates on the table did, the rest of it were Alicent’s. Poor furniture was overflowing with dishes that were untouched! As if you thought you couldn’t feel any guiltier, it dawned on you that Alicent planned to have dinner together.

“Fuck.” You clenched your jaw, angered by your own stupidity for not checking in earlier.

It was too late to wake Alicent. You don’t want to disturb her sleep. She has barely gotten rest these past few days because of Viserys needing her assistance, growing weaker by the day. You make a mental note to arrive back here in the early morning to apologize to Alicent and make sure she eats well.

For the moment, you’ll grant her rest. Moving to Alicent’s bed that accommodated her blanket, you take the fabric in your hands, commending the smoothness of it – the finest silk for the finest queen in Westeros – before putting it on Alicent deliberately. You tuck the edges of the blanket congruously so she won’t get cold later on followed by placing a good night’s kiss on her temple.

Just as you attempt to turn away, Alicent wakes.

“Leaving already, lover?” She muses, voice groggy from sleep.

“Apologies for my tardiness, my love.” Knowing Alicent, she would not go back to sleep when disturbed. There was no point in convincing her. You’ve tried to persuade her during similar positions in the past. Needless to say, you will never try again.

Alicent blinks, folding the blanket serenely like she could care less about your apology. “You came. It’s all that matters.”

You grab the blanket from Alicent, putting it back to the bed where it belonged. Still feeling bad about the whole ordeal, you attempt to ask for forgiveness one more time. “Ali…”

“Y/n.” She says in that authoritative tone she utilizes with her subjects to focus their attention to her point. “We will speak no more of it.”

“I’m beginning to get distraught. You’re starting to sound like Viserys.”

“You could say that, yeah.” Alicent is quite chipper even with you jabbing her with a joke that she normally would have felt insulted by. “Since you’ve graced me with your presence, do you mind if we eat now? Though, I should tell you. Food’s slightly cold.”

You hummed, planting yourself on a stool facing Alicent.

“I don’t mind.”

“Good.”

You ate in quietude; Alicent’s chamber was noiseless, but not uncomfortable. This is what you two needed after a day overflowing with endless conversations befitting of your roles in society – a moment of peace.

From time to time, silence is good regardless of how long it lasts.

Alicent sets her fork downward, wiping her mouth with a clean white cloth, a sign that she plans to tell you something. “Aemond got along with his brother and Rhaenyra’s children today, can you believe it?”

You chuckle, “No, but that’s progress, right?!” Avowedly, you were elated for Aemond. It was not so long ago that Aegon put Jace and Luke up to getting Aemond a pig. The Pink Dread, they called it. You are aware because you were there per Aemond’s request, him having listened to Helaena in the early morning during one of her mumblings about something cryptic as usual.

Aegon, Jace, and Luke were reprimanded by you as you were the only person not of the Targaryen blood that could do such a thing without repercussions. Alicent considered you family, so you were an extension of the Targaryens in people’s eyes.

You were also there to stop Aemond from risking his life just so he could prove himself, reassuring him that he will have a dragon someday.

“I have you to thank for that.” Alicent reached for your hand on the table, caressing your knuckles softly.

“How did I partake in this, if I may ask?” You questioned.

“Jace told me that you said ‘Aemond is of your blood. You lot are Targaryens. If you cannot manage to look out for each other, the house of the dragon will tear itself apart. You all know that you are stronger when united. You must work through your differences. Sooner than late, you’ll have to fight against whoever dares to tear your family asunder. When the time comes, the realm will need four princes to keep everything together. That is your responsibility.’ That seemed to be enough to get their heads straight. Today, they all conspired to make Criston’s day miserable. It was bad for Criston, but good for the children.”

You grinned, glad to hear the news. You’d tell the boys you are proud of them in the morrow as well as to give your thanks for making Criston’s life worse. You don’t know why, but something about him leaves you feeling on edge. “There may be hope for them yet.” You teased.

“They listen to you.”

“Mhm.” You confirmed.

“And they value your counsel like you are also their mother.”

“Alicent, that is not what I had intended…” You trailed off, trying to retract your hand, thinking you overstepped your boundaries with her children. To your surprise, Alicent only held onto it tighter. She didn’t want to let you go.

Alicent’s eyes held no antipathy, seeming like her affection expanded upon observing how well you got along with her children. You’ve been a parental figure in their lives, stepping up in the shoes Viserys should have filled. Every milestone, you were there, not missing out on anything.

Your heart skipped a beat when Alicent pressed her lips against yours to hush your train of thought. Closing your eyes to relish in the warmth that was Alicent, your hands come up to place themselves on her cheeks. Even after all these years, Alicent still felt like coming home after a long journey. If she was a god, you would worship the ground she walks on because for you, Alicent is heaven. Your oasis.

At the end of the night, near the conclusion of reading Alicent a passage from your favorite tale, bodies pressed beside each other for warmth, your dark-haired lover sneaks a hand around your waist while your fingers brush over her back in a soothing manner.

You were close to falling asleep when Alicent murmurs, “You saved me.”

You studied Alicent’s expression but she did not give anything away, “How so?”

“You led me out of a path of hatred. If we didn’t meet, no doubt I’d be a disparate person.” Alicent smiles gently, “You would not like me.” She adds.

“Nonsense. I’d love you still. Whichever version that may be.” You dismiss.

“Even if I have gone mad?” She asks with her voice so small it made you want to put her in your pocket to cherish forever.

“Even if you’ve gone mad.” You certify.

“Will you still love me if you found out that I tried to wage war on Rhaenyra?”

“What kind of – yes, I would.”

“Good because I did try it.”

“Alicent!”

“It was a long time ago. I’ve gotten over it after I fell in love with you.” She exclaims defensively, surprising herself as well when she admitted her former plans to you when she vowed not to.

“How long ago?”

“During her wedding.”

“Okay, well, since you don’t hate her now, I suppose it’s alright.” You breathe out, seeking to imagine a life where Alicent and Rhaenyra did not reconnect but you couldn’t picture it in your mind. It was inconceivable.

“If I was a dragon, would you love me?”

“Of course. Dragons are marvelous.”

“How about if I stole ancient relics for a living?”

“Darling, let’s go to bed.”

“No. Answer my question first.”

“Sure.”

Alicent wriggles herself out of your hold. “That’s all you can say? ‘Sure’?” She asks incredulously.

You attempt to pull her back to you, “I love you, Ali. You know that.”’

“What if I was dirt in your foot? Would you love me then?” Her arms are crossed, pretending to sound upset.

Fortunately, you were familiar with her capers. She needs assurance, is all. Not giving Alicent a choice, you embrace her with a strong grip that she cannot get out of yet still allowing her space to breathe. The succeeding hours of conversation ensued all the way until the sun began to shine. You filled Alicent’s ears with sweet words that you candidly meant until she was content. Alicent values honesty as much as she values you. Your sayings were true at heart. Alicent could listen to your voice all day but she has a query directed to herself that appears regularly, looming in the back of her mind.

How did I get so lucky?

#alicent hightower x reader #alicent hightower #queen alicent #alicent x rhaenyra #rhaenicent

[notiddygxthgf]

6. 佐藤 (sato)

★ pairings: rindou haitani x f!reader

★ synopsis: rindou haitani is drawn to your purity, and he's determined to be the one who takes it from you.

★ c.w.: smut, slow burn, corruption kink, obsession, slightly toxic relationship, princess complex, rindou is a huge simp for reader lmao, but he would never admit it, reader is an innocent lil virgin child, ran is the supportive older brother we all need. tw: use of the name y/n (im sorry I had no other choice).

★ a/n: good afternoon people of whoville. I may or may not have downed a Buzzball my roommate got me as a gift on an empty stomach at 10 AM today because I thought my mom would be coming. Idk why I keep underestimating white girl liquor, that shit has me fucked up every time. ANYWAY!! that being said, this chap is obv beta, unedited, virgin. I hope u all enjoy!

★ w.c.; 4k-ish

chapter index

THE GIRL HAD SOMETHING CLUTCHED tightly in her small hand. It was a crinkled brown baggie. Rindou eyed it up rather dubiously.

“Good morning,” he said, though it sounded rather uncertain.

The two of you were standing beneath the tree where he had met you the last time, the one in front of your apartment. Rindou was wearing a baggy sweater and jeans. You were wearing a similar sweater over your uniform, oddly enough, but it looked a lot cuter on you.

She dropped the little baggie into the palm of his hand. 

“I made it for you,” She said.

He tilted his head. A quick scan down the side of the bag revealed that her statement was true. His name was written in girly lettering on the bottom of it.

The corner of his lip twitched. “What’s this?” He asked.

“Lunch for you!” She answered rather cutely, putting her hand over his and closing his fingers around the bag. 

Rindou paused, glancing down at the bag and then back up at her. Back down at the bag, and back up at her. He felt himself begin to smile.

I want her to fall in love with me .

“I got your text,” she fiddled with the strings of her bag. “Figured I’d make you one more sandwich to eat. It’s not the best, but–”

“Thanks, angel,” He grinned. “Wanna eat together today?”

It became something of a ritual. Every morning, Rindou would wake up an hour and a half earlier than one normally would for school. He would make the trek to her apartment – yes, trek, he had a bike but he didn’t want to use it. Not because he wanted to save gas or anything, he just wanted to stall. He would wait for her beneath the tree outside of her place – usually only for about a few minutes. You were very punctual.

And every morning while you walked down the sidewalk to him, he would make note of the accessories you wore with your uniform. Yesterday, a headband. Today, who knows. It seemed incredibly mundane, but he enjoyed doing it. 

She would hand him his lunch – usually a grilled cheese sandwich, sometimes something else, but always some sort of sandwich – and he would walk her to school. The little baggie almost always had a note of some sort inside of it. 

She didn’t know he had been collecting them at home, of course, but that wasn’t the point.

He liked to think he did a good job of making you feel safe. The people at school parted like the red sea when you strode through the halls. That was because he usually wasn’t too far behind you, but still.

Eventually, word of mouth spread. She began to be known as “Rindou’s Girl”.

Rindou, shockingly enough, did nothing to stop these rumors. He didn’t care if it made people steer clear of her. No, in fact, much of what he did spurred the rumors onward. It was almost too perfect.

He would meet up with her between classes, walking her here and there whenever it aligned with his own schedule. Even if he had gang duties to attend to, he would make sure to be back in time to see his ‘girl’. 

Rindou would have his arm thrown over her shoulder while the two of them bickered down the hall. Nine out of ten times, she would punch him in the side. He didn’t care. It was well worth the (nearly nonexistent) pain.

Again, it was almost too perfect.

Almost.

“I think you like her,” Ran noted. He stabbed the straw a little deeper into his milkshake, breaking up a few chunks somewhere near the bottom of it. He sucked harshly on the other end of the straw, and when nothing came up, he furrowed his brows.

“I think you might be fuckin’ stupid,” Rindou offered back. He hadn’t bothered to order a milkshake of his own, sticking to a plate of steamed veggies and beef. He had broken his diet for her, and now his stomach pudge was paying the price. “I told you what my intentions were with her.”

“Mmh,” Ran popped one of Rindou’s beef chunks into his mouth. “Your intentions can mean one thing. Don’t matter if what happens is unintentional.”

Rindou took a brief moment to ponder his older brother’s wise words, and very quickly came to the realization that they didn’t make a lick of sense. “Ran, what the fuck does that mean?”

“Means… you can say whatever you want, in theory. Don’t mean that’s what’s actually goin’ on,” Ran picked up his chopsticks and tapped them gently against the side of his ceramic plate. “I could believe I’m, fuckin’... Queen Elizabeth. Don’t mean I actually am. Don’t lie to yourself.”

Rindou leaned back against the leather covering on his booth seat, crossing his arms with a stubborn scowl. “I’m not lyin’ to no one, Ran, It really is not that deep.”

Ran quirked a brow at that, a mischievous glint flashing briefly through his eyes. “Really? So, you’re just casually leaving an hour early every day to walk her to school? Just Buddies? Just casually obsessing over her personal life? Just casually–”

“We are buddies,” Rindou cut his brother short. Technically, that wasn’t a lie. No label, no problem. 

Ran took another sip from his stubborn milkshake and actually succeeded this time. “Sure, yeah,” he teased. “Buddies that just casually make out from time to time, right?”

“Exactly,” Rindou accepted it. At least it was something. “Kinda like the 13 girls you keep on rotation in your phone. Just buddies.”

“Those are fuckbuddies,” Ran rolled his eyes. “Not the same. Unless you’re pipin’ her, in which case–”

Rindou’s frustration seemed to be growing by the second, as seemed to be the trend with Ran. “I’m surprised you’re so invested in my love life – or lack thereof.”

“Woah,” Ran whistled. “ Thereof . That’s a big word for you.”

“You should invest the energy you put towards that into getting a fuckin’ degree,” Rindou snapped back.  

“I’m just saying, for someone who claims to have no emotions attached to this chick, it seems uncharacteristically emotional to go threaten her bullies after school,” The older of the two noted with a pleased hum. “Or how you claim to only wanna use ‘er, but judgin’ by the way you described your little…” Here he paused to wave his hands around, like he was trying to find the words to express his thoughts. “Session… yesterday, I think you’re totally into her.”

The booth the two brothers sat in was small, crammed into a corner in the back of the restaurant. It seemed even smaller now that Rindou was being faced with the daunting possibility of catching feelings for his prey.

“That’s literally not even true,” Rindou tried to defend himself.

Ran raised a brow. “You went through her diary.”

“I was curious,” Rindou replied.

“Why the hell would you be curious if you didn’t give a shit about her?” Ran offered in response, and Rindou hated that he was actually right about something for once. “I think it’s a little more than just a game.”

Rindou knitted his brows together, “I’m just ‘tryna get inside her head.”

“You can barely even get in ‘ya own head half the time, dumbass,” Ran leaned in conspiratorially, his tone dropping to a mock whisper. “You should ask her to the festival if you’re just buddies. I hear the whole town’s goin’.”

Rindou groaned, though his cheeks turned slightly pink. “I’m not goin’ to no fuckin’ fair, bro.”

“Girls love that shit,” Ran pulled his straw out of the shake to point it towards his brother – who tried in vain to ignore the droplet of shake that was flung into his face. “Wanna win her over? Make her feel special.”

Rindou’s chin jutted out defiantly. “I’m gonna win her over. ‘Jus… trying to figure it all out.”

Ran set his milkshake to the side. “Right,” He hummed, sucking the leftover shake off the straw and popping it into the glass. “Well, when you figure things out, extend your girl an invite. Give her a night to remember.”

Rindou sighed, feeling the resistance melt away from his shoulders. “How about I extend my foot up that ass?”

Ran grinned, ruffling his brother’s hair in what would have regularly been considered an affectionate gesture if Rindou weren’t already at his wit’s end with him. 

“Just lookin’ out for you, bro,” he remarked. “Careful playin’ with fire like that. Too close and you can get burnt.”

“Look out for AIDs,” Rindou huffed. “I hear that’s an epidemic these days. You might be in danger.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for you,” Ran’s grin didn’t even falter. “You should go to that fair anyway. ‘M havin’ my girl over that night.”

“Which one?” The blond rolled his eyes.

Ran sat back in his seat, folding his arms over his chest and releasing a content sigh. “Dunno,” he answered. “I’ll find out when she shows up.”

.

Rindou had decided that he was going to do it today. He was going to walk up to her and ask if she would attend the festival with him tonight. Inevitably, of course, she would say yes. She would say yes, and she would thank Rindou for offering to go with her in the first place.

“I can’t,” The girl lowered her eyes with a frown. “I’m sorry, Rindou.”

His smile dropped. He shook his head. “What?” He asked.

He didn’t think he heard that correctly.

“I already have a date to the festival,” She added, like he was supposed to know that.

He raised a brow at her as she shut her locker behind her. “Who?”

She looked him up and down, gaze climbing over his shirt that most definitely violated the dress code. “Um, a kid who sits behind me in history class… why?”

“You never told me about that,” Rindou pursed his lips, suddenly very angry at this faceless man. 

She shrugged. You know, like it was casual. “Never came up in conversation. I felt bad saying no… so I told him okay.”

On the outside, he was the image of composure. On the inside, he was clawing at the fucking floor. He looked down the now empty hallway, and then back at her. 

“Cancel on him,” He said.

“What?” Her eyes widened at the proposition. “No, why would I do that?”

“What’s his name?” Rindou asked her, leaning down to get a better look at her face. 

Rather than answering his question directly, the girl looked away, tugging on the sleeves of her sweater. “He wants to walk me home today… if that’s okay.”

His eyes shot wide open. In his gut, a deep, rancid feeling began to bubble. It felt as if a hole had opened up somewhere deep within, boiling his blood and making him squirm. 

Is this jealousy?

He thought about the kid walking her home instead of him. He didn’t like it. Not one bit. That was his thing. 

Still, attempting to keep his cool because that’s what Rindou Haitani did in the face of uncertainty, he licked his lips and nodded, “That’s fine, ‘jus figured I’d ask you. My date bailed.”

That was a lie, of course. There was never a date. He was only trying to soften the blow.

Her words were like a knife into his ego. He thought about her showing up with this… this kid, holding his hand. Would he try any funny business with her? Not like he cared, of course, he just didn’t like someone toying around with something he had very clearly called dibs on.

His comment must have missed its mark on her, as she looked at him with all the sorrow of a child that had just been caught stealing a cookie from the jar. 

“I’m really sorry, Rindou. I can’t just flake on him, that’s not right,” She sighed. “But the ladies love you. I’m sure you’ll figure something out!”

I don’t want them, briefly flashed through his mind. I want you.

“Yeah,” He replied, sucking his teeth. His eyes had already wandered down the hallway. “I’ll figure it out.”

.

The rush in the hallway had died down a bit after the dismissal bell had rung. There were faint echos of chatter and laughter somewhere down the hall, maybe even in a different wing. Rindou leaned casually against the wall, attempting to blend in with the flow. 

The wounds on his ego were still fresh, the sting of jealousy gnawing at him on the inside. So, when the coast was mostly clear, he seized his chance. He slipped through the classroom door that had been left slightly ajar, steps silent as he made his way to the teacher’s desk.

She was an older woman with grey hair and a colorful sweater on. He recognized her as his brother’s old history teacher… and also from the picture he had snapped of the girl from apartment 12A’s schedule.

That’s all she was. Just some chick from apartment 12A. It hurt a little less when he thought about it that way, though it made it a little difficult to justify his actions.

Her back was turned, but she spun around when Rindou knocked twice on the cool surface of her desk. Her eyes went wide as they locked onto his figure. 

“Boo,” Rindou grinned.

“Haitani, what are you doing here?” The woman’s hand fluttered to her chest. Her breath had already gone ragged. “I already told your brother that there was nothing I could have done about him failing– It was administrative, I swea–”

“I’m not here for him,” Rindou sighed, folding his arms and stepping forward. His eyes scanned the room. “You got a ‘[Y/N] [L/N]’ in here during final period, yeah?”

The teacher’s expression shifted from panic to confusion. Slowly, she nodded, still looking at him like a deer in headlights. 

He tried to play it cool. Like he didn’t already know that after practically memorizing her schedule.

“Where does she sit?” Rindou asked, tone hardly veiling his true intentions.

With a trembling hand, she pointed towards a seat by the window. It was empty, of course, but Rindou still nodded, making a mental location of the seat. He could almost picture her there, the sunlight playing in her hair while she absentmindedly twirled a strand around her finger.

His interest shifted, and he inquired further, “Who’s the kid who sits behind ‘er?”

The teacher seemed a little more at ease with this question, but she was still nervous. Poor thing.

“Behind her?” She trailed off. “That would be that quiet kid… what’s his name… Sato, I think. Black hair, big glasses.”

Her vague description painted a vivid image of Sato in Rindou’s mind, glasses perched on his nose, absorbed in his own little world behind her. He probably fantasized about her, little pervert…

He was the only one who was allowed to do that.

“Thanks,” Rindou nodded his gratitude to her. Before he turned to leave, he hesitated. Slowly, he pivoted back towards the teacher, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “Oh, by the by,” He hummed. “I start this class soon. Figured I should stop by and get to know my teacher-to-be.”

The old woman’s brows shot up in surprise. “Tomorrow?” She thought aloud. “But… you’re not on the roster.”

Rindou’s lips curled up at that. “You should have that fixed,” he replied.

Then he was out the door like nothing had happened.

.

Rindou’s patience had reached a breaking point. Standing behind the tree he knew far too well – the one he stood before every morning at the same time, his heart pounded. He gazed dutifully at the apartment complex where he knew his target would be around this time.

The school was a 20-30 minute walk. He had left the school around 15 minutes later than the other two had so that he might get there in time to catch the kid coming back.

And there he was, standing no higher than 5’3, exchanging goodbyes with the girl from 12A. His girl from 12A. 

Wait. No, that’s not what he meant.

The door closed. Sato smoothed his hands over the front of his uniform, then stepped away. As the boy returned from her doorstep, an unsuspecting prey. He treaded down the concrete path, turned onto the sidewalk where Rindou was hidden, and approached the tree unknowingly.

Rindou stuck his foot out.

Sato tripped over it, falling to the ground rather unceremoniously, undoubtedly scraping the pale, unblemished skin on his arms and palms. Kid probably never had to defend himself a day in his life.

Today would be a great day for him to start.

Sato’s head jerked to the side, visibly disoriented. Before he could comprehend what had happened to him, Rindou landed his second blow, a kick to his gut that left him gasping for air. 

He was glad he had decided to wear his Doc Martens today.

“The hell are you ‘doin with her, huh?” Rindou’s voice was a low growl, edged with danger. His eyes bored into Sato, aflame with an emotion that bordered on madness.

Once Sato recognized his attacker – and, really, Rindou could see the gears turning in his pretty little head – his eyes went wide. 

“Hait… Haitani?” Sato’s voice was shaky, breathless, words barely forming while he tried to catch his breath. Rindou’s boot struck again, silencing any further attempts at speech.

“How do you know her?” He demanded.

Sato’s glasses now lay a short distance away from him, and he fumbled blindly to retrieve them. Rindou sidestepped, placing his heel on Sato’s wrist and pinning it to the pavement below with a brutality that elicited a yelp from the boy.

“You gone deaf or somethin’?” Rindou tilted his head down at him. “How do you know her?”

He knew exactly how Sato knew her. He would never admit that aloud, though.

“Who?” Sato’s voice quivered with confusion, pain etched over his face.

“The girl whose door you just came from, dumbass,” Rindou’s impatience began to seep through his facade, punctuated by another kick to Sato’s side after he took it off of his wrist. “ How do you know her?”

Sato hurled, arm pressed protectively against the area Rindou had struck. 

“She’s… She’s in my class,” He finally admitted, trembling beneath Rindou in a way that made him feel a lot better about chasing him down. This was always his favorite part. “I thought she was cute, so I…”

Rindou stepped on his back, knocking him back down to earth after he had just gotten onto his hands and knees. “So you asked her out?”

Sato nodded hurriedly.

Rindou’s lips curled up in disbelief. “That was my date, asshole,” He seethed, putting a bit of pressure on his back to keep him down.

He was a squirmy one.

“I’m sorryyyy ,” The kid whined, voice cracking with desperation. “I had no idea, I swear! If I knew I never would have–”

Rindou rolled his eyes at Sato’s excuses. He hated whiners. So much, in fact, that he decided to kick him again. Reaching down, he tugged the boy’s arm up harshly, pressing it against the back of his leg.

One wrong move, and his arm would be broken.

“ Ah –” The nerd grunted, teeth gritted. 

“You’re not going to that festival with her,” Rindou warned him. “You know that, right?”

Sato nodded, peering back at Rindou through pained, teary eyes. “I was stupid, I’m sorry,” he pleaded. “I didn’t know she was your girl– girlfriend.”

Rindou pulled on his arm like a warning. “It’s complicated,” he bit out, control slipping a bit while he gave way to the emotions he felt at the prospect of being claimed as someone’s… boyfriend.

Sato’s breath came in ragged bursts. “I’ll never talk to her again, I swear,” He said.

Rindou’s grip on his arm relented, but only slightly. “You’re gonna stay away from her too. Let me hear you got even three feet close to her–”

“We’re in the same… history class,” Sato noted with a grunt.

Rindou stepped harder on his back in response. 

“Switch classes,” he hissed.

“Okay, Okay!” He cried. “I will! I’ll switch, I swear, please don’t hurt me.”

Finally he dropped Sato’s  shaking arm. “Not a word about this to anyone, got it?” he warned him. “I’ll put you on the side of a milk carton.”

Sato’s head bobbed in frantic compliance. 

The younger Haitani stepped back, and the Sato boy immediately scrambled to his feet. Then, without another word, he fled the scene. Ran as fast as his short legs would take him.

In his absence, Rindou sighed, dusting imaginary residue off of his hands and onto his black zip-up hoodie before going the other way.

.

Rindou watched the water turn pink as it ran over his battered knuckles. They were a little sore, but it was nothing he wasn’t used to.

Must have hit his glasses, he thought.

He rubbed some soap into the reddened skin and over his palms, rinsing the grime of his sins away beneath the faucet. He turned the current off, shaking his hands dry. Then, after a brief struggle, reached blindly for his glasses and cologne – popping the cap off and spraying a bit on each of his pulse points.

And on his navel. You know, just for good luck.

The sound of Beyonce’s ‘Naughty Girl’ got louder as he walked towards Ran’s bedroom, carelessly leaving the bathroom door open behind him.

He smoothed his hands over his traditional garb – which he had a particular distaste for, although he knew a traditional festival would require traditional attire. It clashed with his usual style, but he was willing to endure it for the sake of his commitment to a cause. 

It flattered the waist he had been working so hard to thin out, though, so that was nice. 

Flexing his arms downward, Rindou hit a pose in the mirror-desk-thing. 

Ran was sprawled out on his stomach behind Rindou, flipping through a glossy magazine from the comfort of his bed. His hair was done up into a messy bun, a few stragglers cascading down the back of his neck and over his plush Walmart robe. He glanced up at the sight of his younger brother’s choice in attire for the evening.

“Is that my Yukata?” He inquired, sucking his teeth and then turning another page.

“Yeah,” Rindou answered. “You said you weren’t going to the festival. Figured you wouldn’t need it.”

Rindou saw his brother’s brow quirk, though he made no effort to tear his eyes away from the page. “You said you weren’t going either,” Ran remarked.

Rather than glorifying him with a response, Rindou pulled out the chair beneath Ran’s… beauty desk? He didn’t really know what those things were called. Anyway, he made himself comfortable on the seat.

“You’re goin’ all out tonight, huh?” Ran teased, rolling onto his back.

Rindou shook his head. Reaching for Ran’s signature eyeshadow pan – the one that he would never, ever admit to using, but for the sake of this story it should be known that he uses a Covergirl single in the shade Onyx  – he popped the case open. He dabbed the little sponge-brush thing into the pan, applying the deep shade to the outer corners of his eyes. He shaped it into a subtle, smokey point, one that added depth to his gaze.

“Don’t get used to it,” he offered, clicking the single shut and setting it off to the side. 

His attention then turned to his damp hair. He reached for a hair tie he had found on the desk and carefully gathered his blond locks into a fistful. With practiced ease, he tied it up and away from the back of his neck. With the side of his pinky finger, he pulled a few strands out to frame his face. 

The Haitani Slut-Strands were making a comeback.

“She say yes to you when you asked ‘er?” Ran asked somewhere behind him.

Rindou smoothed his hands over the semi-slickback ponytail he’d done. “Nah. Some kid beat me to it.”

He could hear Ran turning the page slowly. “You beat his ass?”

“Maybe,” Rindou grinned.

“I feel, like… so proud,” Ran continued anyway. “Like, this is a proud big brother moment for me. ‘Lil bro, going on his first date with his crush… at 17 years old.”

“Not my first date,” Rindou said, even if it technically was. He wasn’t so sure that the random hookups he’d taken on walks to the park counted. 

“Let me have this,” Ran sighed. “What are you waiting on?”

“Her text,” He answered. He knew it was coming. The festival had started an hour and a half ago. It was only a matter of time before she came crying to him about how this kid she had given a chance decided to stand her up and embarrass her in front of the whole town. Only a matter of time before Rindou would swoop in like Superman and save her night.

On cue, his phone buzzed. He took it out of his pocket, turning it on to read the message he had received.

Just now

Pretty Thing: he stood me up :( can u come get me pls

He glanced at it a second time, his smirk deepening. “Looks like I’m needed,” he said, lifting his phone to show his brother the message.

Ran whistled. “This plan seems awfully well-thought for someone who don’t care about this girl.”

Rindou couldn’t help but reply with a hint of amusement, thumbs already working up a text back, “Worry about the girls in your phone first.”

ME: b there in 15 angel

a/n: Trying not to think about the fact that bc Rindou wants to be a dj he probably listens to like, dubstep or some shit....... also I used the word Yukata here which is Japanese traditional attire to wear to festivals, I looked into it, but like I said im off a Buzzball so if I misused it or was culturally insensitive in any way shape or form it is purely accidental, please let me know and I'll correct! AS always, comment, inbox, let me know how yall feel! I love u bunches &lt;3

I obviously do not own tokyo revengers or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

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wanna join the 'haitani brothers' taglist? | pretty thing; chapter index

#notiddygxthgf ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ #rindou haitani #haitani rindou #ran haitani #haitani ran #rindou haitani x reader #rindou haitani x y/n #rindou haitani x you #haitani brothers #rindou x reader #rindou #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers #just read it #trust me

[aziraphales-library]

ello ello ello!

i am looking for fics where, human or not, crowley and azi grow up being together being friends and turns to lovers ! thank you for your blessed job <3

Hi! We have #childhood friends and #friends to lovers tags, so check those out. Here are some to add to the collections...

Stronger Than Hurt by TawnyOwl95 (E)

Everything changed the summer that Crowley fell off the Eastgate's garage roof and broke his arm. Fourteen years later he stood outside a tattoo shop with a picture of the drawing Aziraphale Eastgate had done on his cast, and hoped for a second chance.

Christmas light by Tigerphoenix (T)

After years of neither hearing form his father nor sibling Crowley is convinced to return to his childhood home. He knew from the start it wasn’t a good idea, but he did it anyway. Maybe something good comes out of it. Aziraphale returns home to his family home every year for Christmas. But Christmas with nine people is exhausting. Nothing wrong with some time alone, right?

I scorn to change my state with kings by bearwonder (T)

They’d seem an unlikely pair, if anyone saw them from the outside — Crowley in black skinny jeans and Aziraphale in beige corduroys — but no one does, and that’s just how they want it. Crowley and Aziraphale meet in kindergarten. This is the story of their lives.

What About Hope? by AppleSeeds (M)

Crowley met Aziraphale in the spring of 1989 while he was on his lunchbreak from the factory, his attention immediately drawn to the posh boy sitting by the canal writing poetry. It was immediately obvious that they came from entirely different worlds, but the time they spent together was the happiest Crowley had ever known. With Aziraphale, Crowley experienced many firsts - his first kiss, his first love... his first heartbreak. Twenty years later, they are reunited when Crowley, now a successful writer and vlogger, comes to work as an Associate Lecturer in the university department where Aziraphale is an academic. Seeing Crowley brings back Aziraphale's intense regret for allowing himself to be persuaded to leave him behind all those years ago. Aziraphale desperately wishes to renew their acquaintance, but Crowley seems determined to keep his distance. Aziraphale can't blame him for not forgiving him, since he has never been able to forgive himself, but when Crowley begins to spend more time with him, Aziraphale is left with the hope that maybe they could at least be friends again - no matter how much it might hurt.

And a Silver Sixpence in His Shoe by smolalienbee (T)

If there is one thing to be said about Aziraphale Z. Fell is that he leads an ordinary, quiet life. He lives in Soho, London, above an old bookshop that he’s been fortunate enough to inherit in his late twenties. He likes sushi and good wine. He has a few friends - like Nina, who works at the coffee shop across the street; or Maggie, who runs the record store that he takes an absolute pleasure in frequently purchasing from. (He’s lonely. Terribly so. He’s been lonely for about ten years now, since - he does not want to think about that.) Today is his 35th birthday. At age 15, Aziraphale made a Promise. At age 25, he had an Earth-shattering fight with his childhood - and closest - friend. At age 35, that same friend shows up at his doorstep and suddenly, Aziraphale’s entire world is thrown upside down. A story of something unexpected, something old, something yellow, something stolen, something new and something promised. (It’s going to be a long week.)

Dancing in the Dark by Demonicputto (T)

In search of inspiration for his next album, rock musician Tony Jay is headed to London. It's not the atmosphere he's after, but a reunion with Ezra Fell, his dearest friend from childhood. A one sided, adolescent crush fueled Tony's first songs and, now that they're both older, he's hoping those feelings might finally be requited. But, Ezra may not be ready for that. In his eyes, their relationship is far more complicated. Unlike Tony, he remembers who they truly are: the demon Crowley and the angel Aziraphale.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #childhood friends #friends to lovers #mod d