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slytherinslut0 · 5 months

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enemies w/ tension. | slytherin boy headcanons

author's note: feralism inside. readers be advised. eighteen plus.

- your enemies reaction to you bending over in front of them.

Draco Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy, as your enemy, was an absolute arsehat.

He’d purposely go out of his way to make your life a living hell whenever he bloody could.

The teasing and pranking was relentless; from accidentally spilling a particular shimmering potion on your white uniform blouse, rendering it perfectly see-through and exposing your bra to everyone in potions class, to pulling out your seat when you weren’t looking; he’d done it all.

He was an absolute menace, but you also knew there was something more to it than that, something possessive, something obsessive.

And you thought this for a multitude of reasons, but the main one being that he admitted he was into you while drunk at a common room party. which of course he denied the next day, and every other day since, choosing instead to be as annoying as ever.

but on this particular late evening, assigned as partners for a class project, you found yourselves alone together; the tension high and the banter relentless.

“Draco, please stop acting like a bloody child for five seconds.”

He’d roll his eyes, fighting a smirk. “Pleading for mercy are you? How adorable.”

You’d huff, staring at him with your arms crossed out of frustration as he held your quill above his head, just out of your reach.

“No, I’m pleading for you to stop being so goddamn insufferable. Give me my quill.” You’d hiss, entirely irritated.

Of course he’d just laugh, wetting his lips as he analyzed your frustration, revelling in the fact he’s so clearly gotten you going.

“Here.” He’d sneer, all before tossing it half-way across the room. “Go fetch.”

by this point, your blood was boiling, but you wouldn’t miss the glint in his eyes, the one that told you he was enjoying this a little more than he should be.

With a frustrated sigh, you pivoted sharply, seizing the perfect opportunity. As you closed in on your quill, a deliberate hair flip cascaded over your shoulder. Slow and sensuous, you bent at the hips, hands trailing down your sides, tracing the subtle sway of your body reaching for the quill. Picking it up achingly slow, on the ascent, you locked eyes with Draco over your shoulder, a sly smirk playing on your lips.

Draco’s typically poised demeanor faltered as he watched, an involuntary pause freezing his features. His steely gaze, usually cloaked in arrogance, softened into a momentary bewilderment.

The realization hit him like a revelation, and before you could even process it, he was up and out of his seat, one hand gripping the back of your head as he loomed over you.

“What the fuck was that?” His voice was torn, shredded. “Quite the fucking tease, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You blinked, grinning. “I simply picked up my quill.”

His grip on the back of your head tightened, his pupils blown wide with lust. All his restraint was gone.

“You’re a fucking filthy little thing “ he leaned in closer, wetting his lips as he glimpsed yours. “Do that again and I’ll fuck you right here, right over this desk.”

Blaise Zabini.

Blaise fucking Zabini. Your enemy? You guessed you could call him that.

Mainly because all the guy ever did was sabotage your bloody love life. Every single damn chance he got.

And not even in a traditional asshole type of way, like by scaring dudes off or threatening their livelihoods--oh, no.

he scared them off by just being himself.

You’d known Blaise since first year, being that the two of you are from the same house and share the same friend group,

but, all the two of you have ever done, since day bloody one, was banter and bicker like a pair of fucking first years.

But as you matured, that friendly banter slowly transitioned into something more, something that neither of you seemed willing to acknowledge.

Something that you knew was about to boil over, at any given moment. and perhaps, that moment was today.

you sighed in frustration, watching as the guy you’d been talking to all night began to make his way through the crowd, finally taking the hint and excusing himself after Blaise had just ever-so-kindly invited himself into your conversation.

“Why do you have to ruin everything?” You took a sip of your drink, glancing at a smirking Zabini through narrowed lids. “Do you not want me to find love? Do you truly hate me that much?”

“I did you a favour, trust me,” he’d quip, flashing those perfect pearly teeth at you. “Dude would have bored you death.”

“The great Zabini, doing me a favour?” Your eyes widened, and you’d stifle an amused scoff. “Sure you’re feeling okay?”

As Blaise was poised to respond, you fumbled with your wand, inadvertently dropping it onto the wooden floor of the common room. Acting on instinct, you bent down to retrieve it, sensing Blaise's eyes lingering on your backside for an unnecessarily long moment as you slowly straightened up.

And when you finally looked over, you watched as he brought a hand up to his mouth, attempting to hide his grin as he shot you a knowing, wide-eyed glance, his body tensed as though he was fighting to restrain himself.

but after only a few seconds, he’d step closer, his hand grazing your arm as he leaned in.

“Excuse me miss, but I think you’ve made me drop something,” he’d pause, watching your eyes as you met his.

“I’m sorry?” You snorted. “what are you-“

he’d pull you closer, bringing his mouth toward your ear. “you made me drop my fucking jaw…”

you’d blink, caught off guard. “Blaise-“

“That ass is fucking perfect,” he murmured, wetting his lips. “cant hide it anymore, princess…i want you bad.”

Lorenzo Berkshire.

“Enzo-earth to bloody Enzo,” you emitted an audible groan, sinking back down into the chair beside him.. “can you please at least fucking attempt to help me?”

Enzo was uninterested in your pleas, truthfully, he was uninterested in anything you had to say. Paying no heed, he sat slouched, head nestled in his arms on the desk, seemingly oblivious to your presence.

you sighed. this was going to be a long damn class.

“Enzo, please? you can sleep after class-“

He grumbled softly under his breath, neglecting to raise his head from the desk. However, he pivoted it towards you, his bleary brown eyes meeting yours.

“can you knock it off?” his voice was a shredded rasp. it was clear he was exhausted. “don’t you ever get tired of hearing your own voice?”

You scoffed, irritation evident on your face. This was the typical Enzo conversational experience--a constant exchange of snark and jabs. It baffled you how a man so fucking attractive could also be so damn daft at times.

“i don’t, actually,” you huffed, trying to keep your composure. “but i certainly get tired of your ignorant attitude.”

that managed to get at least a chuckle out of him, even if it was a half-assed one.

“spicy today, i see.” his lids fluttered back closed as he muttered, “bite me, darling.”

“you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” you teased, your voice taking on an arrogant tone. “masochist.”

Enzo emitted a snort, a hearty chuckle escaping from his chest in response to your suggestive jab. Progress was evident, and you sensed the need to elevate things to the next level if you intended to secure his assistance.

Making sure his eyes remained closed, you slyly nudged your quill, sending it tumbling off the table and onto the floor. A mischievous smirk played on your lips as it hit the ground, and Enzo's eyes snapped open, fixing on you.

Maintaining the intense eye contact, you slowly leaned over in the chair, letting the seductive sway of your movements accompany your reach for the fallen quill.

you could feel Enzo's gaze following your every movement as you retrieved the quill with a lingering touch--all while a subtle, suggestive smile danced on your lips.

the second you straightened out, Enzo sat up straight, clearing his throat, tongue darting out to moisten his lips as he fought to collect himself.

“what’s the matter, Enz?” you quipped, unable to control yourself. “thought you were tired?”

“don’t play with me, angel.” he muttered, leaning closer. “please, Merlin, don’t fucking play with me.”

you’d snicker. “help me with this assignment and i’ll let you touch it.”

“deal.”

Mattheo Riddle.

you and Mattheo were enemies for one reason, and one reason only--his suffocating arrogance.

perhaps you were the only girl in the school who called him out on his bullshit, perhaps you were the only girl in the school who didn’t fall flat at his feet anytime he simply breathed.

and Mattheo, well, he wasn’t used to this type of treatment. and he certainly wasn’t keen on the fact he couldn’t get you in his bed with a mere second long glance.

of course, you were fully conscious of the fact he was hot as fuck, but your self-respect and dignity outweighed your sexual desires, which in turn, created fiery spats every-time the two of you were near each other.

And so, here you were, paired with him for a research assignment; the two of you alone in the library on a Sunday night, while he was totally hungover. And as insufferable as ever.

“Mattheo, give my fucking textbook back.”

He’d groan, rolling his eyes as he tucked the book under his arm, hugging it to his chest while seated sluggishly.

“Come and get it back, then.” He’d utter, smirking. “I promise I don’t bite…hard.”

You fought back a scoff. “You won’t be able to bite at all if you don’t cut it the fuck out…it’s almost ten o’clock we need to start this.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes, again, his tongue piercing the inside of his cheek as he pulled the book out from under his arm, and stood up, moving over to the bookshelf behind your chair.

With suffocating snark, he knelt down, shoving the book onto one of the shelves lowest to the ground, all before turning back around and smirking at you, crossing his arms over his chest and shrugging casually as he cocked an eyebrow.

“You told me to give it back.” The arrogance in his tone was nauseating. “You didn’t specify where.”

“First of all, that’s the wrong shelf,” you’d mutter, watching his eyes follow you as you pushed up from the chair, veering closer. “And second of all, you’re not funny.”

Mattheo poised for a sharp retort, ready to counter with his usual biting wit. However, his words stumbled into silence as he observed you drawing near.

With a swift, almost calculated movement, you bent at the hips to retrieve your book beside him. The fabric of your skirt dared to venture higher up your thighs than convention allowed, leaving Mattheo momentarily entranced and rendering his intended response obsolete.

But the second you straightened out, meeting his eyes, lips teasing a knowing smirk, he was on you.

Your back slammed against the shelf as he grappled your hips, shoving you back. he towered over you, his lips pressed directly against your ear as he growled;

“You shouldn’t be bending over like that in front of me,” his voice was torn, shredded, and he finished the sentence off with a sharp “ever.”

your heart was hammering. “Why not, Matty? Didn’t enjoy the show?”

“You have no idea what that ass of yours does to me,” he groaned, his grip on your hips tightening. “Every fucking day I imagine railing it--I imagine fucking the attitude right out of you…you should know better than to tempt me.”

Theodore Nott.

“Look at that,” Theodore quipped, his snarky grin practically evident in his tone of voice. “top of the class again. how does that L feel, huh?”

you grumbled, rolling your eyes so far into the back of your skull that you were seeing white.

“don’t get cocky, Nott.” you nearly snarled, the frustration seeping from your lips like breath. “it’s not a good look on you,”

theodore merely chuckled, knowing that was a complete fucking lie.

cockiness was an infuriatingly good look on him, and that was solely due to the fact that the objects of his arrogance were damn impressive achievements that could make anyone green with envy.

the man was unfathomably smart for an arrogant jock whose life was dedicated to being the best quidditch player to ever exist.

clucking his tongue, he’d shoot you a knowing glance. “you sound jealous, bella. what’s your grade?”

as he tried to lean over to glimpse your mark, you pulled your paper away from him, scowling. “how about mind your own business, hm?”

he’d chuckle. “never been known for that, have i?”

Before you could formulate a response, Theodore snatched the paper from your hands, leaning away to sneak a glance at your mark. Your groan of irritation resonated, signaling your exasperation with his antics.

Annoyed, you reached over to grab your paper back, your low-cut blouse exposing more of your chest than you’d intended.

As soon as Theodore’s eyes fixed on your chest, noting your breasts practically spilling out of your shirt, he paused; his fingers involuntarily releasing the paper without further fight, his lips parting and eyes darkening.

“merlin,” he’d breathe, his voice torn. “you trying to give a lad a fucking heart attack, wearing a shirt like that?”

your cheeks grew warm, his eyes not once breaking from your chest as you straightened back out in your chair, adjusting yourself.

“it’s rude to stare, Nott.” you’d say, fighting a grin. “didn’t your mommy ever teach you that?”

Theodore let out a low groan, edging his body closer to yours. His lips dangerously neared your ear, and he couldn't resist sneakily glancing down your shirt, unable to control his wandering gaze.

“it’s rude to tease, Bella,” he’d purr, his voice a dark murmur. “and truth be told, i can’t quite help myself…”

you huffed, unable to stifle your smirk. “sounds like you need a refresher in manners.”

“Oh, principessa,” he’d retort, his voice laced with need. “you can refresh me in anything you want as long as i can see more of those perfect tits of yours.”

Tom Riddle.

Tom Riddle was an absolute brilliant genius;

a good man. a private, by-the book type of student.

and if you were being completely honest with yourself, this was precisely why the two of you didn’t quite get along.

it seemed as though Tom had it out for you, as though he had some sort of personal vendetta to make your life a living hell.

At every opportunity, he wielded his prefect powers to land you in trouble for something. Perhaps, in all fairness, you should have known better than to sneak into the restricted section of the library or prowl around the castle late at night,

but, gods. couldn’t he just cut you some bloody slack for once?

Admittedly, you were afraid to cross Tom. You weren't eager to be on his bad side, but at the same time, you weren't prepared to entirely abandon breaking the rules and having fun just because you were aware he could catch you.

so instead, you learned his schedule, where he’d be and at what times, knowing how to effectively avoid him.

the man was a cunning genius, you knew he could effectively destroy you if he so pleased.

but, on this particular night, he was set to be patrolling the dungeons for at least another two hours, giving you plenty of time to sneak into the library and do a little research.

and everything was going extremely well, hidden in the restricted section, blanketed by the nights encompassing darkness, when you noticed your shoelace was untied.

Bending down to address the matter, a peculiar sensation tingled through your senses as you completed the task. A subtle shift in the atmosphere hinted at an approaching presence, and just as you straightened up, the hushed cadence of footsteps drew closer.

Before you could pivot to face the intruder, their looming silhouette materialized behind you.

A towering figure, their breath, warm and palpable, brushed over your ear as they leaned in, setting your nerves on edge.

“you shouldn’t be bending over like that in public,” the voice was a deep, dark rasp in your ear, the arrogance in the tone unmistakable. “some people might think you’re a little slut.”

heat rushed you, your thighs clenched. “and what if i want some people to think that?”

immediately understanding your suggestive remark, Tom wasted no time before grappling your hips and spinning you around to face him, one hand slithering around your lower back and grasping a palmful of your ass.

“filthy whore,” he’d growl, his voice shredded now, barely restrained. “breaking the rules and showing off that perfect ass for anyone to see…calls for punishment i’d say.”

his teeth found your neck and you whimpered, clutching onto him. “i’m-“

Tom pulled back, meeting your eyes. “bend over the desk, now.”

#sorry #i got extremely carried away #18+ au.

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pennyellee · 3 months

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𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐍𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈 | 𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐁 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐔 pairings: heartthrob!jk, yandere!jk x fashion employee f!reader genre: dark romance, smut, porn with plot, 90s word count: 14K beta read by @chaoticpuff17 (ily) masterlist

summary: You, a determined fashion designer, find yourself entangled in a collaboration with the irresistibly charming and egotistic heartthrob, Jeon Jungkook. Will this partnership remain strictly professional, or will he make the lines blur?

warnings: minors dni 18+ | sexual tension, emotional distress, teasing, fingering, unprotected sex, jk is selfish af, jk is delulu, oral (fem receiving), forced oral (m receiving) spanking, squirting, cum swallowing, creampie, yandere behaviour, obsessive behaviour, choking, rough sex, pussy pounding, bruises, manipulation, gaslighting, strong language, oppressiveness

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain strong language, explicit content, obsessive behaviour, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, oppressiveness, which we do not condone.

author's note: so as I said in the preview, this did not go as planned but I really enjoyed writing this to the point that I might do a part 2, perhaps 3, but we'll see about that. JK is delulu af here and the reader does not think through everything. For those who did not read preview and came upon this just now - originally what i wanted to build around was how Rachel Green from Friends was offered a job at Louis Vuitton but it was in Paris and Ross did not want her to go - that was supposed to be the whole plot (with slight changes ofc), well and somehow it went a bit darker than i intended so instead of rom-com, i'd rather listed it as dark romance and yandere. Hope you'll enjoy it! Love, always.

1996

“He said what now?!” The sentence burst out of you with a high-pitched tone, nearly causing your latte to spill all over your pristine white blouse and grey blazer. Not exactly the ideal way to kick off a new month, you mused as your friend dropped the bombshell about a certain someone.

“That you’re the future mother of his children,” said your friend, an amused smirk playing on her face. “I seriously don’t know how you can still resist him, girl.” But resist him, you did.

Jeon Jungkook was undoubtedly one of the most sought-after and sexiest heartthrobs of the decade, possessed the best face card in the industry and carried the biggest ego in all of New York City. You could vividly recall the day he strolled inside of your office with the head of your department. A cocky, playful grin plastered on his face the moment his eyes landed on you.

Right from the very beginning, you made it crystal clear to Jungkook that your relationship would be strictly professional during your collaboration on the Calvin Klein project. He was given his own collection of men’s wear, and the job to work with him fell upon you.

You knew that this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for you to elevate your standing within the fashion circle. Jeon Jungkook’s fame was immense, and your name would be signed on the collection too. It’s not like you are head over heels that your name would be associated specifically with Jeon Jungkook, but you understood right away that this could put you on the radar. Your boss had even hinted at the possibility of a higher position within the department.

He constantly teased you, flirted shamelessly, and crossed boundaries by touching you as if you were his girlfriend. It was wildly inappropriate, especially given that the two of you had never even gone out for a work dinner or lunch alone. There were always other people from the team, and yet he always managed to find a way to sit right next to you. But it seems Jungkook was still living in an illusion where you were his girlfriend.

Your gaze shifted to the majestic Twin Towers, standing proudly in the distance, as you let out an annoyed puff of air.

“He’s ridiculous,” you finally declared.

“Or cute,” countered your friend, opposing your viewpoint. She found this pseudo-relationship with Jungkook amusing, but a small part of her secretly wished you’d just give in and go out with him. It was quite some time since you were in a relationship, and Jeon Jungkook would definitely be a nice catch. You were not interested. Or you tried to persuade others that you aren’t.

“No, ridiculous,” you retorted again, lips pursed, and brows furrowed.

“Oh, come on, give him a chance finally!!” she exclaimed.

“Absolutely not! He’s egoistic, manipulative, a cocky little bastard with damn good hair,” you said, your tone rising as you reached your final proclamation, which had simply slipped out of your mind that way.

“See? One good thing — good hair. Marry him,” she laughed it off.

“Now you’re being ridiculous, and I’m going to be late for work.” You said while dusting your black skirt, grabbing your purse, and leaving a few bucks for the coffee. The song on the radio stopped your departure for a moment, listening to the familiar voice coming from it, you rolled your eyes.

“That’s a clear sign, Y/N. Give it a chance!” she called after you, and you couldn’t help but throw a side eye her way, though a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips nonetheless.

As the day passed, you found yourself increasingly entangled in the whirlwind of meetings, fittings, and photoshoots with an ever-present Jungkook. The photoshoots, in particular, became a source of both frustration and amusement. However today, a bigger problem surfaced.

“Why’s he half-naked, Lucy?!” You hissed at your assistant. Normally, you are very kind and respectful to everyone, but Jungkook had managed to irk you the moment you stepped into your office, finding him already seated in your chair with that smirk you despised. Bringing a coffee for you, which you never drink, or donuts that you always share with the department - not eating one yourself.

Jungkook, adorned in the latest Calvin Klein designs you two had meticulously crafted together, claimed a personal touch of his persona— at least, that’s how he described it. He looked effortlessly handsome, the camera adoring him, but what grated on your nerves was that his attention was solely focused on teasing you.

“We also have shirts, why is he not wearing one?!” You continued, expressing your disagreement to what was before you. What angered you even more was that you could not stop staring at his abs.

“We shot with shirts earlier. They said the underwear and jeans will appear more artistic if his V line and abs—”

“Alright! Alright!” You stopped her in mid-sentence. You didn’t want to look that way nor you didn’t want to admit that showcasing his V-line would enhance the aesthetics of the jeans. Therefore, you took a deep breath and walked towards the refreshments, you were in need of a second cup of coffee.

You heard the photographer call for a break, but you were focused on calming yourself with a steaming cup of coffee. Despite your irritation, you couldn’t deny that he looked breath-taking in the outfits you had designed, and it infuriated you.

Suddenly, two arms were laid flat on the table’s surface, caging you in between. You could imagine his devilish grin. He did this way too often, whether it was his fingers lightly tracing your arm or tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, looking intently into your eyes until you were fighting yourself to not get lost in his Bambi eyes.

“We’re almost done for today,” he whispered seductively into your right ear, his lips almost touching it. Your breath stammered.

“And yet you did not learn a single thing about professionalism or work ethic.” You bit sarcastically, turning slowly to face him.

Jungkook’s grin only widened at your remark, and you couldn’t decide whether you were infuriated or slightly flustered by his audacity. He leaned in even closer, his breath grazing your ear as he spoke in a low, husky tone.

“Tutor me then, in bedroom — preferably” he suggested, his lips still dangerously close to the shell of your ear.

“I don’t think so. You’re beyond help,” you shot back, trying to assert control over the situation. His proximity was distracting, and you couldn’t afford to let him undermine the fact that you were in charge.

Jungkook continued to hover over you, the photographer calling for everyone to regroup for the next set of shots. You seized the opportunity to escape his magnetic pull, smoothly slipping out from between the table and his arms, deciding to escape to your humble office, seeking solace in the calmness it provided.

It wasn’t long before the shoot officially ended, and you knew damn well, that the man wouldn’t leave you alone. The door creaked open, and you turned to find Jungkook leaning against the frame, that infernal smirk still etched onto his face.

“We did a good job, why don’t we celebrate it over at my place, baby?” he complimented, but there was an undertone of something else in his voice. You overlooked his physique and leaned back in your chair, narrowing your eyes, making a clicking sound with your tongue.

“Jungkook, again, this was a professional collaboration. Nothing more,” you asserted, emphasising each word. If you did not say this sentence at least a hundred times you don’t know. He never takes it seriously; it appears as he is still trying to hammer his way into your guarded heart.

He pushed himself off the doorframe and sauntered closer. “We’ll see about that,” he said, leaving you with a cryptic grin as he exited your office. The only thing you could do is sigh.

Before you went to continue working, you heard how Jungkook’s voice echoed from the hallway.

“I bet I can change your mind, sweetheart!”

You rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath.

“Not a chance.”

The denim collection with Jungkook was taking shape, and the buzz surrounding the collaboration grew with each passing day. A success, your boss was much more than pleased.

This success, however, meant even more for you. You were on cloud nine, basking in the glory of your hard work and the prospect of a ground-breaking partnership. Totally, forgetting to play unreachable when it came to the clinging boy who starred in this iconic collaboration. And that must have given him a false hope, perhaps a narrative in which you were his girl.

You were sitting in your office when you hung up the telephone after speaking with the vice president of Guess that contacted you earlier last week, offering you a part in a project for their brand, in Los Angeles. A dream come true for you. Leaving this place, after years of building your career from scratch, felt overwhelming. You loved working under Klein, yet it was time for you to take it higher. Your boss did not offer you a new position, and therefore, you did not hesitate to take the job opportunity and elevate yourself in fashion ranks.

It was an offer too tempting to resist, and you found yourself diving headfirst into the project, not even looking at the door when someone stepped in without knocking.

“You may leave the reception reports on the table, Lucy,” you said once feeling a presence in your office, not raising your eyesight from your computer, writing the prompts for the project Guess wants you to lead. Your twelve days’ notice already printed out, ready to be signed by your boss. You planned to stop by his office after you would finish writing the draft and sending it to the Guess team together with the copy of your portfolio that you needed to make before you leave.

When there were no reports left on your table after a good long minute, you looked up.

“You can’t just leave.” he said, standing tall in the frame of the door, stepping inside once you finally gave him your attention. You could sense a hint of desperation and anger in his voice.

You raised your brows at him. How does he know? The mere thought of you leaving for LA, leaving him behind, was enough to make him confess the depth of his feelings.

You leaned to the leather armchair and listened to him closely.

“What are you talking about Jungkook?” His eyes betrayed a mix of anxiety and vulnerability as he blurted out his fears.

“What about us? What about everything we’ve built together?” He stepped closer to your desk, looking directly to your eyes. You were taken aback by the raw emotion in his words. The air in the room thickened.

The once-confident man now stood vulnerable before you, stripped of the bravado that had defined him. And you were utterly confused and surprised how delusional this man is.

“What are you even saying, Jungkook?” you questioned, your tone a mix of confusion and frustration.

“You can’t leave me!” He raised his voice an octave higher.

“Calm your tits. I’m a grown-up woman. I can do what I want.” You sassed back at him, tired of this made up situation-ship in his head. He scoffed, a bitter smile playing on his lips.

“We’ve built something special, and I can’t watch it crumble because of some job offer!” He continued his rampage. You took a moment to breathe his words in, closing your eyes and counting to ten to calm yourself.

“Jungkook, I appreciate your honesty, but I can’t give you what you’re asking for.” This caught him by surprise. Instead of screaming at him, you chose to play the I’ll stay calm and professional card.

His eyes widened in disbelief, a mix of confusion and hurt clouding his features. “What do you mean?”

Choosing your words carefully, you said: “I genuinely value this project we worked on together, but it’s time for us to part our ways.” To fool him was your goal.

Jungkook’s shoulders slumped, the weight of your words settling upon him. “Who are you lying to, Y/N?” His words shocked you.

“I’m not lying Jungkook, I’m telling you the truth to your face, as you were too stubborn to hear it before.” You stood up from your chair, moving to lean on the front of your desk, to show him he cannot get to you.

The room fell into a heavy silence as Jungkook looked deep into your eyes, searching for the truth in your words.

“So, it’s all about the career for you? You’re willing to sacrifice everything else, including us?” Your jaw clenched, but you maintained your composed façade and with flaring nostrils and clenched teeth, you spoke.

“There is no us, Jungkook. Get it into your head already!” So much for being calm. The room crackled with tension as the argument reached an impasse. Jungkook shook his head, a mixture of disbelief and frustration.

“I can’t believe you’re throwing away what we have because of some job.” Your eyes widened even more and the fact he would not listen boiled your blood.

“Do I need to spell it out for you? I’m not your girlfriend! I was never your girlfriend, and I will never be your girlfriend!”

But Jungkook wasn’t ready to accept defeat. His frustration reached a boiling point too, and without warning, he grabbed you by the shoulders, pulling you into an intense, angry kiss. It was a clash of emotions, a tumultuous blend of passion and anger that fuelled the fiery exchange.

Your initial instinct was to resist, to push him away, but the intensity of the kiss ignited a different kind of fire within you. His lips moved fiercely against yours, gripping your ass in his hands, making you moan to his lips. Your hands found their way to his hair, fingers threading through the dishevelled locks as the kiss deepened, your frustration causing to tug them. He growled from pleasure at the sensation.

It was a collision of lips and tongues, a heated exchange that spoke volumes without a single word. Once his hands disappeared under your skirt and the heat intensified, a sudden surge of clarity washed over you, breaking the intoxicating spell.

With a forceful push, you broke away from the kiss, creating a space between you and Jungkook. You locked eyes with him, your chest heaving as you struggled to regain control of the situation.

“I need you to leave,” you stated, your voice cutting through the lingering tension, you leaned against the desk, your heart still racing from the intensity of the moment.

Jungkook, still caught in the haze of desire, tried to close the distance again, but you held up a hand, halting his advance.

“Leave!” You growled, turning your back to him. You didn’t want him to see your face anymore, because soon enough, tears would break from your eyes. You’re overwhelmed.

A loud bang of the door signalled that he finally understood and left. Breaking down with tears streaming down your cheeks you gasped for air. Tears blurred your vision as you struggled to regain composure.

You’ve counted to ten again, wiping your tears. You felt taken advantage of. He went too far this time. But this was only the beginning of his tremulous and wicked plan he had for you.

You packed your purse, ready to leave your office, you just needed to grab your work portfolio that you needed to send over to Guess. But the space it always inhabited, on the conference table, was empty. And you had one lucky guess who the thief was. “Fucking bastard.”

In the days that followed, the chaos in your personal and professional life escalated. The stolen portfolio, a representation of your work, became a haunting absence. As if the life source of your hard work was cut down.

Determined to salvage what remained of your career, you began the arduous task of recreating it. But time was not on your side, and as you delved into the meticulous process, news of your termination from Calvin Klein reached you like a punch to the gut.

The phone call was impersonal, a cold voice delivering the news of your dismissal as if reading from a script. Some Jack from the HR department spoke to you, someone you have never ever seen in the building whatsoever. Your boss did not even pick up the call when you wanted to ask what made them push the decision to let you go. You certainly did not deserve this after years of working for the brand. The reasons were vague and you knew this had to source from someone powerful. In simple terms, someone snitched that you’re planning to leave.

As the reality of unemployment settled in, you clung to the remnants of optimism that lingered, but even that proved elusive.

You were hundred percent sure that he is trying to sabotage your whole life when the call from Guess, a reason you did not fight for your position at Klein’s delivered another blow.

Their decision not to collaborate with you crushed the remnants of optimism that clung to your spirit. The dream that had seemed within reach now slipped through your fingers, leaving you in a free fall of uncertainty.

They hadn’t even granted you the courtesy of waiting for your portfolio, even though it wouldn’t be what they expected. Whatever oral agreement had been in place disintegrated. So here you are — jobless.

All this left you reeling with disbelief. The career you had meticulously built, the dreams that had taken years to nurture, all unravelling at the seams. The pain was visceral, a mix of frustration, anger, and a profound sense of betrayal.

You were certain that Jeon Jungkook himself was pulling the strings behind the scenes. And you hated him for it, needed to confront him and say that shit with your chest right to his face— he can go fuck himself. Set the record straight once you’re there.

Whatever he was thinking by ruining your career will force you to do, he better fix it before you’ll sing to the media about his bunny smile and kind heart being all fake. The line had been crossed, and he would face the consequences of pushing you to the brink. Or so you thought it would go how your brain delusional thought it through.

Hence, with a heavy heart and a determination to confront the chaos head-on, you stood before the front door of his infamous penthouse. Emotions swirling within you like a tempest.

With a deep breath, you knocked, the sound echoing through the quiet hallway. The door swung open, revealing Jungkook’s bunny smile reaching his eyes.

“Well, well well, are we ready to talk like adults, pretty?” He mocked this whole situation because he knew this would end up in his favour, nonetheless.

He moved back to let you in, and you stepped into his apartment, a mixture of anger and desperation in your gaze.

“I know you took it,” you said, crossing your arms on your breasts. The heels of your black leather boots echoed in the apartment when you turned to face him.

“Took your breath away by that heated kiss, sexy, certainly. Otherwise, I did not take anything.” Jungkook scoffed, crossing his arms defensively. The tension in the room was palpable as you square your shoulders, refusing to back down. You blinked twice at his cheesiness. The tip of your tongue moved to rest on the bottom of your upper teeth, your smile spreading on your face. The chuckle came out of you so naturally, laughing at his ridiculously ridiculous behaviour.

“Don’t play dumb, I know it was all you. You malicious sabotaging petty boy—” You retorted, articulation perfectly clear while the words laced with underlying frustration and anger.

He sighed, weariness settling over him. “You think I stole your portfolio to sabotage your career? You’re giving me too much credit, love.” Here he comes.

“I said nothing about my portfolio, Jungkook.” You said playing with his name on your tongue. A tense silence hung in the air as he considered your words, clicking his tongue, clearly annoyed and you were just getting started.

“I managed to figure that out. A drink? —” He offered, shrugging her statements of like snow in summer whilst he moved to the small bar that was a part of his spacious living room.

“I don’t want a drink, Jungkook. I want it back now,” you replied, your tone cutting through the casual offer. The anger in your gaze intensified, fuelled by the frustration of dealing with his nonchalant attitude.

“Let’s talk, baby.” He gestured towards the living room, as if trying to usher you into a more comfortable setting for the impending confrontation. He knew this was just a little shower, the real storm was still far away, giving him space to prepare.

As you moved, you could not help but notice the contrast between your demeanour and his. While your arms were still crossed defensively, his posture exuded a calm confidence that irked you further.

You took a seat on the edge of the sofa, not willing to fully settle into the illusion of camaraderie. Jungkook, on the other hand, sprawled onto a nearby chair, the picture of nonchalance.

“I need that portfolio to get a job because a certain someone has to be bitchy and sabotage my whole career because his big ass ego cannot take rejection. Give it to me,” you fired off, your words sharp and accusatory. He leaned back in the chair, smirking.

“Those are very bold words, Y/N. I would prefer to think of it as a wake-up call for you, not sabotage.” Your incredulous glare only intensified.

“Are you fucking serious Jungkook? A wake up call? You’ve just jeopardised everything I’ve worked for, and you’re calling this a wake up call?”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze locked onto yours.

“I can get you a better job.”

You scoffed. The audacity of his response fuelled the simmering anger within you.

“You can’t get a shit, so give it back to me, and I’ll be on my way,” you requested.

Jungkook’s smirk remained, an infuriating mix of arrogance and nonchalance.

“No,” he said, smiling. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, the frustration reaching a boiling point. He leaned back, seemingly unperturbed by your rising anger.

“What do you mean no?!” you shot back, your voice sharp.

“You were about to make a decision that would have consequences beyond your imagination. I had to intervene.”

“What the fuck are you on again?” Jungkook’s gaze remained fixed on you, the intensity of his stare almost unnerving while your voice went an octave higher. Your frustration reached its peak, and you stood up, pacing the room as you ranted. You were breathing heavily, trying to calm yourself.

You needed that portfolio, it was a collection of years of a work and your best work to be specific. The lousy new version won’t get you a job at no high-profile fashion brand and you cannot afford to go lower than your last position.

“Alright—” You said defeated, turning yourself to face him again, you put off your black leather jacket and fixed your low ponytail, slumping back to his sofa. Spreading your arms on the backrest and cross your legs.

Jungkook took a moment to breathe in the sight before him; he was throbbing for you.

“—what do you want?” you asked. He leaned back further into the chair, putting his masculine tattooed arms to rest on the back of his head, showing his abs from under the white tank top he is wearing.

“What do I want?” he mused, as if contemplating the question but he already knew.

“Spill it out.” You barked and he chuckled at your eagerness. He got up from his seat and dangerously slowly walked towards you.

When he reached you, both of his arms pressed to the leather of the sofa inches from you, caging your body. Your breath stammered as you looked at him towering over you, the golden chain around his neck hanging.

“Firstly, I want you to be my good girl, apologise for being a brat the other day and admit there is an “us”. Secondly—” he whispered seductively, closing the approximate distance while doing so. He was right in your face, looking over at your lips evidently, he was controlling himself to not attack them. He invaded your personal space. The sudden shift in atmosphere left you breathless, and you could feel the heat radiating between you.

You squared your shoulders, refusing to succumb to the intoxicating energy he exuded. “I won’t apologise for any shit, now secondly?” You said while trying to hold your horses. You hate to admit your pussy was clenching and leaking under his gaze. He was attractive, and no one could deny that.

His fingers grazed your cheek gently, a teasing touch that sent a jolt of electricity through your body. You swallowed hard, trying to maintain a semblance of composure.

“I want these feisty little plump lips wrapped around my thick cock—” you pushed him away from you once you heard his words. Grabbing your jacket and storming your way out to the door, angry with yourself that you let it go this far.

“You walk out that door, and you’re done in this city, fuck even the whole continent if I want,” Jungkook declared, his tone heavy with a sense of entitlement. The words hung in the air, a threat laced with possessiveness that sent a chill down your spine.

“You’re bluffing.” His eyes darkened, a storm brewing in their depths.

“You’re underestimating the consequences, Y/N. I’ll snap my fingers, and you won’t get a job. Anywhere.” A bitter laugh escaped your lips. You did not believe him one bit, determined to try harder at the job hunting.

“You’ve already done enough. You can’t do worse.” You scoffed, the absurdity of his demands pushing you further away. He stepped closer, the air thick with tension.

“You’re not leaving, Y/N. Either you’ll be my good girl and apologise, or all it will take is one phone call.” As you reached for the doorknob, he grabbed your arm with a force that bordered on aggression.

“I am my own woman, Jungkook.” Your eyes flashed with determination as you wrenched your arm free, emphasising every word of the sentence you just uttered.

With that, you swung the door open and stormed out, leaving Jungkook’s apartment and the tumultuous mess behind. The city lights greeted you outside, a stark contrast to the suffocating atmosphere within.

Your telephone remained eerily silent, devoid of the calls and opportunities that once filled it with promise. Jungkook’s vindictiveness had effectively severed the threads connecting you to your professional life, leaving you adrift in a sea of uncertainties.

A tear escaped your eye as you clutched the piece of paper you fetched out of your mailbox — an eviction notice. You had fallen behind on rent, pleading with your landlord for more time, promising to pay in full for two months once you secured a job. But that ended up not happening, and that’s how you find yourself sitting in a messy apartment full of half packed boxes, no job, little money left, and a bottle of cheap wine.

Moving in with friends or seeking refuge with your parents was not an option. They never supported your dreams enough to provide for you in such dire circumstances, especially at your age. Unmarried, jobless, and on the brink of homelessness, you felt trapped.

Despite your efforts to secure another job, including poorly recreating parts of your portfolio, rejections piled up, and the search for a new apartment proved equally futile. Not like you could afford it anyway.

The city that once held promise now felt like a maze of closed doors and dead ends. The mere thought of dialling his number sent a shiver down your spine, a conflicting mix of pride and necessity wrestling within you.

You drank the last of your wine, hiccupped, and cried. With only twenty-four hours to vacate your flat for the new tenant to come in. The friends you once thought you could rely on were facing their own struggles, unable to provide the sanctuary you so desperately needed. You had nowhere to go apart to his clutches if you of course did not want to freeze to death in the bustling city. It confused you how it came to having no other option.

Taking a deep breath, you dialled his number, each ring echoing the surrender of your independence. The telephone rang in your trembling hand. As the call connected, a heavy silence hung in the air and you desperately tried to calm your breathing.

“Jeon speaking,” his voice crackled through the phone. You were shaking in cold sweat, your eyes blood red from crying and alcohol clouded your mind enough to call him.

“Hello?” you heard his voice speak again, and another sob left your lips. The lump in your throat made it difficult to speak, but you pushed through the discomfort.

“I-I’m sorry.” The man on the other line smirked, seemingly thrilled to hear your voice. The next sentence you uttered, however, was even sweeter music to his ears.

“I need you.”

You heard his car park in front of your building the next morning. The boxes were long gone on their way to the heart of Manhattan where Jungkook’s penthouse awaited. It was only you and your suitcase with only necessities packed inside. The reality of the situation hit you as you looked around at the empty apartment. The purple walls, once full of pictures from trips with your friends, were now bare. The fridge stripped of silly magnets you liked to collect, stood empty. Nothing left.

Taking a deep breath, you gripped the handle of your suitcase with a sense of resignation. You glanced out of the window on your way out, finding Jungkook casually leaning against his shiny black Jaguar, smiling directly at you. Closing your eyes, you mentally said goodbye to your small apartment.

Your hair, lazily put into a hair clip when you woke up, had a few stray strands escaping, framing your face that still showed signs of swelling from crying all night.

As you stepped out into the hallway, the door closing behind you, the weight of the suitcase in your hand served as a physical reminder of the choice you had made. Is this really your only option?

The sound of Jungkook’s footsteps echoed in the corridor, approaching closer with each passing second. He ran up the stairs just as you were locking the door. His gummy smile met your gaze, a clear expression of his happiness. The heartthrob had finally gotten you where he wanted you all along.

He was dressed in a denim jacket and jeans from the collection you worked on. As if he was intent on reminding you of something. His long curly locks were gone, replaced by a short mullet.

You, on the other hand, did not feel to dress classy and elegant as you usually did. You swapped heels for a pair of white sneakers, a tight designer skirt for simple blue boyfriend jeans and your upper body was covered by a white shirt layered with a pink shirt you loosely tight on your waist, leaving the buttons half open.

“Baby?” he called out. You must’ve zoned out, as now he was holding your suitcase in his hand, ready to leave.

“M’sorry, I was in my head,” you apologised. You didn’t want to upset him by negatively reacting to the pet name even though you irked to tell him you’re not his baby.

He smiled softly, putting the suitcase down, walking over to you. He caressed your cheek, leaning in for a kiss. Turning your face, he landed his lips on your other cheek. The man chuckled and put the freed strands of your hair behind your ear. “Don’t worry. I got you now.”

The drive to Jungkook’s penthouse was filled with an uncomfortable silence as the city lights passed by in a dizzying display.

“Welcome home!” The words hung in the air, the irony not lost on you. This was far from a home; it was a gilded cage you succumbed to. You did not answer him. You couldn’t bring yourself to do so.

He was saying something about a closet, but your mind totally spaced out looking at the boxes that you packed hours prior, casually sitting in his living room.

“Baby?” You looked at him, eyes wide when you realised you were not listening to him again.

“Do you want to start unpacking or should we head out for brunch first?” He approached you. Jungkook did not stop smiling since he pulled his car in front of your building.

Unpacking felt like an acceptance of this new reality, while brunch felt like an attempt to hold onto some semblance of normalcy.

“I... I think we should talk,” you finally managed to say, your voice carrying the uncertainty that lingered within. Jungkook’s smile wavered for a moment, but he quickly masked it.

You couldn’t ignore the fact that your life had taken a sharp turn, and the unfamiliar surroundings only intensified the sense of displacement. Jungkook threw himself at his sofa just where you were sitting months prior. He motioned with his hand, silently ordering you to sit.

“I promise not to bother you long. I just need you to get me off the blacklist so I can get a job. I can’t be tied to you indefinitely.” You spoke softly, careful to not anger him just yet. You knew he wouldn’t appreciate the direction this conversation was heading, but you needed to set the record straight. This was temporary, at least in your mind.

Jungkook’s expression shifted, a subtle tension in his features. He sighed. Leaning forward, Jungkook grabbed the remote control of the HiFi that was standing proud, setting it on, and whence the soft tones of Isaak’s “Wicked Game” resonated the penthouse, you could not help but raise an eyebrow.

He petted his knee, a silent invitation. You were not stupid to not understand what he wants, yet you opted to sit next to him instead of where he wanted you.

“Maybe we got lost in translation, love.” He spoke leaning closer to you. The music seemed to underscore the unspoken tension in the room.

“You won’t leave me, baby. I’ll keep you so satisfied and happy; you won’t even want to go.” He whispered to your ear. The atmosphere became charged with a palpable desire. His proximity sent a shiver down your spine, a conflicting mix of temptation and resistance.

“You can’t keep me here against my will, Jungkook,” you asserted, maintaining a thin thread of defiance. Yet, the allure of his touch lingered in the air, clouding your better judgement.

“Try me, love. I’ve got ways to make you stay,” he countered, his tone dripping with confidence.

It took all you have in you to stand up and storm to the large windows that provided a magnificent view of Manhattan. This time, however, he was right behind you.

You heard him growl. He was angry, and he proved so once you found yourself pinned to the large window, your back facing him. He attacked your neck right away, bruising every single inch. His hand roamed over your breast, squeezing them to the point you had to moan. The situation escalated rather quickly, your resistance made him press you to his back even harder.

“I’m so tired of your running,” he groaned into your neck. You put your hands on the glass trying to push yourself away and give yourself space to free from his grasp, but he has put a majority of his weight on you. You can feel his growing pulsating bulge on your heart-shaped bottom.

“Maybe I should show you, who you belong to, princess.” He cupped your sex through your pants, and you whimpered from the sensation. You knew this was utterly wrong; you should not react to his touch this way, but you couldn’t help to notice the wetness pooling in between your legs once he continues to attack your neck with his soft plump lips.

“Jungkook-” You tried to resist, but his hand was already done with unbuttoning your jeans, sliding right down to your core. Your panties were sticky, your head was spinning, and the part of a window was getting foggy right next to your mouth from your hot breath.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good.” He pulled his hand out of your pants for a second to wet his fingers and put them right back on the little bud that was waiting to be touched. He pressed his fingertips on your clit, circling it painfully slow. The heartthrob rutted his hips into your ass, looking for a friction, making you move your hips towards his hand. He chuckled to your ear.

“If you want that job, baby, why don’t you deserve it first?” you could sense a little hint of mockery in his voice. The pulsating beats of the music seemed to echo the rhythm of his movements. Now slow and calculated.

As the song reached its crescendo, his finger entered your vibrating heat. “Hm?” He pried, his finger moving in and out in punishingly slow, drawing silent moans from you when he brushed up the right spot.

“W-what do you want?” You stammered out of yourself.

“You. All of you of course.” Jungkook replied in a heartbeat. Your heart raced and your head was clouded by the pleasure he was providing. Moving his finger slightly faster, you found yourself bowing forward, your body wanted him to reach deeper.

“Please—” you whimpered when he slowed down the tempo again.

“Give me an answer baby, will you be my good girl?” Now it was your mind that raced, grappling with the implications of his question while squeezing your walls around his finger.

“Maybe you need a little more convincing, hm?” He softly bit your earlobe whilst inserting his second finger into your heat, making you moan louder than before. You pressed your forehead onto the glass and looked down at his hand in between your legs. The sight made your pussy clench even harder. A small tear escaped your eye, you are overwhelmed, and the pleasure is clouding your sound judgement.

“What will it be, baby?” His fingers finally raised the tempo, and your eyesight was getting blurry, biting your lip from the sensation.

“Fuck—” you nibbed at your bottom lip a bit harder, trying to fight with yourself. But you couldn’t. He was playing a game, and he was winning this round.

“Yes!” you screamed louder than you intended when he hit the sweet spot, making you see stars. You did not necessarily want to agree. It was more of a reaction to how good his fingers feel inside of you. But Jungkook’s interpretation did not align with yours.

What you did not expect is the sudden feel of emptiness once his fingers abdicated its place. You protested with an unpleasant whine of frustration.

He spun you to face him, being quick enough to grab you below your ass, illocutionary forcing you to jump up. Jungkook leaned in to kiss you while he navigated the apartment blindly, right to the master bedroom.

Now you were feeling thrown. Literally. Your body bounced a little while Jungkook stood at the foot of his king sized bed adorned in black sheets. You could smell his expensive cologne on them. He was very eager to continue what you started.

His shirt was long gone and so were his pants when he was pulling down yours, alongside with your through-and-through wet panties. He very quickly inhabited his head in between your legs. Licking all the dirty juice your pussy was producing.

You could not help but to bury your fingers into his hair, slightly tugging on it once he decided to abuse your clit, sucking on it, his piercing cold against your skin. You were starting to feel the knot inside your lower belly, moaning and panting out loud.

“I’m gonna!—” you breathed out heavily. Squeezing your eyes shut, feeling the heat rushing your body.

“Not yet,” said the heartthrob, parting away from you. You shot your eyes open to look at him towering over you, his briefs thrown away somewhere in the room, and his pride leaning proudly against his abdomen, angry and red. The perfect opposite of soft. You gulped down. He was definitely not lying when he suggested he is thick.

The heartthrob helped you get rid of the rest of your clothes, bending down to lay a single kiss right above your clit, maintaining eye contact with you all the time. Sticking his tongue out yet again, making a straight wet line up your belly, ending at the valley between your breasts.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He groaned, squeezing your tits while pumping his dick, he could not take it anymore.

He spread your legs further, making space for him to fit right in. Your walls are trembling from excitement, especially when he presses the length of his cock to your lips, coating himself in your juices.

“Condo—” you went to say when his lips silenced you in a hard passionate kiss. He moaned to your mouth, pressing the tip of his cock to your entrance, stretching you open. You pressed your hands to his chest, parting away from him. He looked at you with confusion and you repeated yourself.

“Condom, Guk,” you said, using the nickname in an attempt to soften his hard features. Something told you that you might have just pissed him off. The heartthrob sighed and involuntarily got up, walking all the way to the bathroom, giving you a million-dollar view of his ass. Your gaze then shifted to his muscular shoulders, involuntarily admiring his impressive physique. You couldn’t deny he was hot as hell.

Your nipples were perky from the thrill that your body was going through. It was quite some time since the last you got laid. Maybe that’s why it took him minimum effort to turn you into a whiny, needy little bitch.

You heard the light switch going off in the bathroom, and the man himself appearing in the doorframe with the little shiny square in his hands. Tearing it open, he returned to sit on his knees on the bed while sliding the condom on.

He grabbed your legs under your knees with one swift movement, sliding you closer to him. One hand aiming his cock to your entrance the other finding its place on your throat, holding it with the right pressure to elevate your pleasure. Pushing all the way through, you whimpered loudly at the intrusion. He was big, and you felt like you’re going to explode. The heat rushed through you like a momentary fever.

The heartthrob could not wait for you to adjust to his size, and he started to snap his hips into you in a punishing tempo, making your body bounce up at every thrust and clench your eyes shut tightly. Loud moans coming out of you.

“You take me so well, baby.” He whispered into your ear seductively, panting and groaning from the pleasure. He was on cloud nine, finally having the woman he longed for quite some time.

“Got me waiting for this pussy almost the whole damn year.” You met his hungry gaze, your moaning synchronised with his. He crushed his lips to yours one more time before thrusting his cock in and out of your heat faster and deeper.

You bit down on his lip, him groaning at the sensation, slapping your ass in the heat of the moment.

“This pussy was fucking designed for me.” He claimed you.

He was hitting all the right places, making you squeeze your eyes shut again. He upheld his promise to fuck you good. You can regret this after, now it’s not the time.

“M’wanna pound this pretty ass too.” He pulled out of you, turning you to lay on your belly, slapping the already reddened skin before setting you on all fours, ass up. He did not hesitate to rut inside of you again, feeling him all the way in your stomach, you screamed his name.

“Jungkook!” his thrusts set a brutal pace that you were not sure if you’ll survive. Their moans continued to echo in the room.

“You belong to me.” He growled, pounding your pussy, the sound of skin slapping was audible ten times louder than usual. The knot in your lower belly appeared again, got you moaning uncontrollably.

Jungkook sensed that your climax was near and went to rub your clit with the desire to make you cum all over him while getting himself off with you.

“Guk—” you choked on your words, your legs and hands were trembling, tears springing out of your eyes. You desperately needed to cum.

“I know, baby.” He kissed the arch of your back, making his hand and hips move even faster, hitting your cervix. If this is heaven, you don’t want to leave.

“I-I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna cum!” You shouted, feeling the knot untying itself rather quickly. Jungkook growled right to your ear. He was close too, dangerously close.

“Baby!” He whimpered, feeling the tension rising.

Your juice splashed the sheets as you squirted all over his cock, crying, the orgasm hitting you way too hard. Jungkook’s hips did not stop while he chased his own release, complimenting you, your body, and how you are such a good girl while doing so. With a loud moan and one last deep thrust, he came in you, holding you still while he emptied himself. The warmth of his release felt too authentic, but you were too fucked out to notice.

As you were also too fucked out to notice the empty abandoned condom laying on the ground.

“I love you so much baby—”

It was getting dark outside when you woke up, your head pounding as you looked over your naked body and evident ache in between your legs. The sheer curtains that are covering the floor to ceiling windows, once airy and light, now filter the early evening light into a soft, diffused glow, creating a cosy atmosphere. You cuddled the soft sheets that were wrapped around your lower body, thinking that you could sleep some more.

But when you heard the muted notes of En Vogue’s Whatta Man blasting somewhere in the penthouse, any hopes of serenity were shattered. A curse slipped through your lips as the reality of your surroundings hit you.

“Fuck,” you muttered through your teeth, the small fists pounding against the bed. To muffle the scream of mixed emotions, you seized a leopard-patterned pillow, pressing it against your face.

You had willingly let this happen, all for the pursuit of a damn book and damn fucking job and your damn fucking career. But why was it so precious, you might ask? Your portfolio wasn’t just a collection of pages bound together; it was a culmination of dreams, aspirations, and relentless hard work. Each design you made over the years, a carefully curated piece of your artistic vision, held a piece of your soul.

The portfolio was your identity as a designer, a visual storyteller who poured emotions, creativity, and skill into each piece of clothing. It was something you presented yourself with, and you believed it held the power to open doors. It got you your first adult job after you spent two years in the big apple on your own, dreaming big while washing dishes behind the counter.

And it got you the second job of your early fashion career, a higher position than sales assistant, the head designer at the men’s wear division at Calvin Klein. You were aiming to become the head of the department when a better offer came your way, from Guess.

The project they offered you to be a part of was a kind of interview to get through and sit as the executive director of the women’s department. You were thrilled to accept as you always wanted to design for your gender.

And he fucked it up. So, you have to excuse yourself by letting your guard down, giving him a chance to sway you. You are doing this for you and your career.

You sat on the bed, eyeing the modern bedroom that screamed his name as did the smell of the room. Just like you remembered before you blacked out from all the pleasure he forced upon you.

Sighing, you moved your sore naked body to the edge of the bed. A black leather armchair caught your eye, a clean set of underwear laid out on it, burning under your gaze. You gulped down. This was your mess after all. You let him come too close—extremely close, judging by the recurring ache between your legs.

“Fuck it, it’s fine.” You’d manage somehow, or at least, that’s how you decided to play along with his nonsensical fantasy and possessive behaviour.

You tiptoed down the penthouse, searching for the devil. You knew you were going the right way when the music grew louder. Peeking from the narrow hallway into the living room, he was nowhere in sight. Only the RCA telly with MTV on indicated that he must’ve been there.

The sizzling sound of something cooking and a pleasant aroma hit your ears and nose. He was in the kitchen, cooking. Jeon Jungkook was in the kitchen, cooking. A certain degree of domesticity welcomed you as you stepped into the all-blue kitchen. His kitchen was way nicer than yours, you noted. Large cabinets, the island full of food ingredients he was preparing. Your gaze lingered as your eyes traced his masculine, naked back, tattoos shouting at you. Your knees felt weak at the sight, your body reacting to him as if he were the alpha wolf.

You couldn’t help but bite your lip. He was swaying his hips to the rhythm of the song. Even from this point of view, you could tell he is in a very good mood. It seemed like he was glowing.

You leaned against the arch, contemplating whether to make your presence known or observe from the shadows. Before you could decide, he turned around, planning to cut the vegetables, his eyes locking onto yours immediately. Bunny smile plastered on his face, reaching his ears — a juxtaposition to how anxious you looked in his big shirt.

Quickly circling the kitchen island, he reached you in a matter of seconds. The heartthrob was beaming with happiness seeing you in his kitchen, in his shirt, barefoot, face raw, and all his. At least, that was his perspective after he finally got you where he wanted you.

“Baby!” He squeaked happily, pulling you by your wrists. The movement causes your petite frame to collide with his naked torso. Jungkook did not let you speak even if you wanted to, instead he pulled you even closer, pressing his lips to yours. You yelped, surprised by the unexpected collision. The vulnerability you felt in his presence only heightened as he claimed you, his happiness seemingly derived from having you exactly where he wanted—vulnerable and dependent on him.

The kiss lingered for a moment, and as Jungkook pulled back, his eyes locked onto yours again, gleaming with an unspoken mischief you could not decipher. He seemed to revel in the flustered state he had induced, and a cocky grin played on his lips.

“Morning, beautiful,” he whispered, his warm breath grazing your ear as he finally released your wrists, pecking your lips softly again. The shirt you wore clung to your form.

“It’s almost five pm.” You muttered back after you gave the digital clock on the stove a glance. He laughed it off, not replying.

“How do you like your steak?” he asked, his tone casual as if the passionate kiss hadn’t just occurred.

“M-medium rare,” you stammered, still processing the sudden turn of events. He chuckled, the sound resonating in the cosy kitchen as he came back to the stove to resume cooking, what you assumed is your dinner. Your stomach growled loudly when the delicious smell hit your nostrils, loudly. Jungkook even looked your way, encouraging you to take whatever you wanted from the fridge that was next to him, until dinner was ready.

You looked at the silver double-door fridge, and suddenly, your hunger vanished. Those were your magnets that were on your fridge just hours prior. He went through your boxes and unpacked them. The world was spinning, and your stomach was dangerously twisting.

He noticed the change in your expression, the playfulness in his eyes fading as he followed your gaze to the fridge.

“Something wrong, baby?” he inquired. You swallowed hard, attempting to mask the unease that threatened to bubble to the surface.

“No, nothing,” you replied, forcing a tight smile. His attention returned to the stove, the sizzling sounds and savoury aroma filling the kitchen. The clock on the stove continued its indifferent march towards evening. But your mind stopped.

“I-I think—” you stammered, it was hard for you to speak when there was an evident lump in your throat that wanted to emerge to the surface.

“Baby?” he raised a brow at you, letting everything he was doing to approach you again. You gulped down, trying to breathe it out.

“I think... I need—,” you tried, the words escaping in a breathy whisper. Jungkook’s expression shifted from curiosity to concern as he stepped closer. That got you even more anxious and a quick escape was a way you opted.

Your legs carried you back to the room where you knew a bathroom would be near. You heard him calling your name, but he did not run to get you. He must have thought that you’re trying to run again, but when he saw you going the way the master bedroom is, he did not push it.

You slumped right to your knees, emptying your already empty stomach into the toilet. Tears stringed from your eyes. Before you could calm or clean yourself the door creaked open, and Jungkook’s concerned voice seeped into the bathroom.

“Oh my god! Are you okay baby?” He hovered in the doorway, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. You didn’t have the strength to respond, only offering a weak nod as you continued to empty the contents of your stomach.

His footsteps approached, and you could feel him kneeling beside you, one hand tentatively rubbing your back.

“Easy, baby. Easy,” he murmured softly.

After a moment, the nausea subsided, and you leaned back against the cool porcelain, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Jungkook remained by your side, a true concern readable in his eyes.

As you caught your breath, you couldn’t help but notice the familiar objects around the bathroom. Toothbrush, hairbrush, all your makeup and even your pyjamas, had found a place alongside Jungkook’s in the bathroom. He was blurring the lines between your lives.

Glancing at yourself in the mirror, you winced at the sight of prominent hickeys and bite marks adorning your neck. You caught Jungkook’s worrying gaze but did not pay attention to it longer than you needed to.

“When was the last time you ate properly, baby?” he asked, caressing the small of your back, kissing the top of your head. You touched the tender skin on your neck, a mix of shame and regret settling in the pit of your stomach.

You knew very well that this wasn’t a doing of the lack of nutrition within your body but it did stop you to think for a second. When was the last time you had a proper meal and not a cheap ramen noodles from a convenience store near your building? You did not recall, so you rather opted to shrug your shoulders and reach for your toothbrush that could have melted under your gaze at this point.

“Why don’t you freshen up, and I’m going to finish dinner.” He sighed and kissed your temple. You’ve let him. He has done worse. As he left the bathroom, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being exposed—physically, emotionally, and now even in your most private spaces. Your eyes lingered back on the assortment of makeup and personal items neatly arranged beside his.

Brushing your teeth never felt so foreign and unnatural. Your eyes darted around his room after you finished, and that’s when you noticed what you did not when you woke up —a closet, half-filled with your clothes. Neatly folded, hanged right beside his. Even your jewellery was sorted by the type of metal. Your shoes, your skirts, dresses, everything. He had seamlessly integrated your wardrobe into his, as if signalling an intention far beyond a temporary stay.

Then all your pictures scattered on the walls as you walked down the corridor back to the heartthrob who swayed you here. Feeling the unease building in your stomach again.

Jungkook stood by the table, a knowing smile playing on his lips as he watched you approach. His eyes flickered with a mixture of amusement and possession. This all seemed like a stage for a performance you hadn’t signed up for.

The steak, perfectly cooked to your liking, accompanied by a side of vegetables. The spread looked delectable, and your stomach rumbled again, reminding you that you hadn’t had a proper meal in days. The scent of the meal teased your senses.

As you picked at your food, a question lingered in the back of your mind—how had it come to this? Have you really had no choice but him? Was this worth the trouble? Perhaps.

Your parents would think of you as a failure if you returned home. and your pride did not allow you to pick up your old job and be a girl for everything. You worked in the fashion industry and you were willing to do anything to maintain it.

“Are you listening to me, baby?” Jungkook broke the stream of your consciousness, his voice soft yet insistent. You hummed in response but your ears could not pick precise words that left his mouth.

“There’s Grammys next week, do you have any design for the red carpet so we could match—”

“What about the job?” You interrupted him, setting your fork down, staring at him viciously.

“So the Grammys—” he tried to continue without replying to you but you were having none of it.

“So the job, Jungkook.” You said through clenched teeth one more time. You weren’t about to let him sidestep the conversation about your career.

He sighed, the corners of his mouth twitching with a momentary annoyance. The room crackled with tension, the unspoken power dynamics unravelling before you.

“You’ve been a very good girl so far—” he lifted the handkerchief he had on his lap and placed it on top of the table next to his glass of red wine.

“Why do you have to misbehave now.” His attempt to redirect the conversation towards your behaviour only fuelled your frustration.

“I’m not misbehaving, Jungkook,” you shot back, your voice sharp and unyielding. “I need to know about the job. I need to know that you’re actually doing something concrete to help me, not just playing puppeteer with my life.”

“There’s an opening at Givenchy, and Prada or Dior but—” your eyes were full of false hope.

“—until I can be sure you won’t leave me the second you get the new job. You won’t go to any interview.” He leaned back, a predatory gleam in his eyes, as if enjoying the power play.

Your mind raced, torn between ambition and self-respect. You had worked tirelessly to establish yourself, and the taste of success was within reach. Yet, the cost demanded by Jungkook was steep—an indefinite surrender of your autonomy.

“That’s not what we agreed upon—” You whined out, anxiety clutching your insights in tight grip.

“Oh but we did baby.” He answered swiftly, smiling sweetly.

“I—” you wanted to protest, but he was quick to dismiss any argument you wanted to come up with.

“I said I want you, and you agreed, baby. You can’t take it back.”

“What does that even mean?!” You whined out.

“That I won’t let you slip through my fingers again. You belong here with me, and you better learn your place or prepare for a farewell with the magnificent fashion world of yours.” The ultimatum echoed in your mind as his gaze was trying to make you submit. Jungkook’s possessiveness loomed over you, a suffocating force that sought to confine your wings.

“You can’t force me,” words slipped past your lips, a proclamation of your refusal to succumb to his dominance.

“You underestimate the lengths I’ll go to keep you, Y/N,” he retorted, his voice low and laced with a dangerous edge.

“You’re sick.” You spat out at him, standing up to leave when he grabbed you and held you tight. You were looking up at his face, seemingly angry with your words. His eyes darkened, a fleeting moment of anger crossing his features.

“Aren’t you a bit ungrateful, my love?” he seethed, his voice a low growl. The possessive tone sent shivers down your spine, but you refused to cower under his gaze.

“I’m providing you with shelter, food, money and most of all my love.”

“It’s sick, Jungkook. This isn’t love,” you shot back, your voice unwavering. He leaned in, his face inches from yours, his grip unyielding. He scoffed, a bitter smile playing on his lips.

“You’re testing my patience, Y/N. You’re mine,” he retorted quickly, not letting you go. You wanted to protest, to tell him to fuck off, and even worse things, but he was not finished.

“Think with your pretty little head, won’t you?—” you glared at him, defiance burning in your eyes.

“—you can live like a princess, you can have your dream position and on top of that a loving significant other — me.” The seconds felt like an eternity, the weight of his possessiveness pressing down on you.

“What is success for when you cannot share the joy with someone you love.” He whispered, a sinister undertone in his words. You had a feeling he’s not only talking about you. You had to think, and you had to think quickly.

“You’re asking me to give up my autonomy, Jungkook.” You shot back, your voice unwavering. He scoffed, the air heavy with tension.

“You’re too stubborn for your own good, Y/N. You need me—” He chuckled, a condescending tone lacing his voice.

“—what were you gonna do if you didn’t come to me? Hm? Your mami and papi who are disappointed in you or your fake friends who did not bat an eye to try and help you out?—” You turned your face away from him, not wanting to let his words affect you.

“—I helped you. I am here for you!” He shook you, still holding a tight grip on you.

“All I’m asking in return is you to give yourself to me.” With a defiant push, you broke free from his grasp, leaving him seething in frustration. Covering your face with your palms, you sobbed.

“Love and loyalty is not that big of a price when you think about it.”

“You promise?” you choked out through your tears. You were tired, exhausted to the bone, and this was taking a bigger toll on you than you would expect. You wanted to trick him and instead he tricked you. But you needed to play by his rules to win in the game he started. His eyes softened momentarily, a twisted form of concern flickering in his gaze.

“I promise, baby,” he murmured, his tone almost soothing. The fire has ceased for now. Or so you thought. Despite the fragile promise, you couldn’t shake off the feeling that you were dancing on the edge of a precipice, held by the strings he so skilfully pulled. But the stakes were high, and you couldn’t afford to falter. You had no shelter, almost no money and no one to turn to. For now. You promised yourself, this is temporary. You will find a way out of this arrangement.

You finished your dinner. He insisted. You stripped naked while he was drawing the bath. He again insisted. The penthouse, filled with music and the fragrance of expensive candles. You allowed yourself to be led, like a puppet, your exhaustion overshadowing your instincts. As you sat there in the hot water, vulnerable, he wiped away your tears.

The water lapping against your skin is like an ominous reminder of the depths you found yourself in. Jungkook’s hands traced patterns on your back.

Jungkook, seemingly attuned to your exhaustion, wiped away your tears, the gesture carrying a strange mixture of care and control.

“It’s all gonna feel better once you accept it.” Said he, right to your ear, sending shivers down your naked body. You pressed your legs to your chest to hide yourself, a futile attempt at preserving some semblance of privacy, even though he had seen it all.

“I cannot grasp why you would do this to me, Jungkook,” you sobbed, letting him hold you against his chest.

“I did it for us, baby.” His hands firmly gripped yours now, making them stop hugging your knees. The heartthrob wanted you to relax in his presence. A laughable request considering the circumstances that led you here.

“Stop being delusional. There is no us.” You finally let him move your hands only for you to grab the frame of the bathtub and attempt to pull yourself up and away from him. He did not fancy this attempt of yours, and he let you know that by grabbing a large portion of your hair, dragging you back.

Your body slammed to his naked torso with a loud slap caused by the wet skin on skin contact. It took your breath away for a good minute.

“You didn’t seem to argue about it earlier today when my cock was hitting all-the-right-places, making you squirt, hmm?” Said the raven haired man, still holding your hair in his fist. He did not intend to hurt you, no, it was not as painful as the whole humiliating scenery and the fact you could not break free of him. He’s putting an example of what will happen once you stop behaving again. Putting you in your place — that’s what he called it.

“Matter of fact, Imma show you again that there’s us baby, until you realise it yourself.”

Trying to wiggle out of his grasp, you whimpered every time you pulled your hair back to make you stay still. And as if he changed his mind, your body was pulled out of the warm water, letting your hair go, making you fall down to the bright rug on the floor of the bathroom. Soaking it wet you looked up to him towering over your shivering physique.

“It was about time for you to show me how you are grateful to be my good girl—” he stepped closer. You did not want to look at him, knowing well what he is talking about.

“Open up baby—” you shook your head, pulling away from him and his hard member that he was holding just inches away from your face. You felt it meet your cheek and immediately retrieved yourself again which made him even more frustrated. His cock was painfully hard, and you were not cooperating.

The tattooed hand in your hair pulled you right back, his eyes bore to yours with a hard stare, and you swear they got even darker. His other hand was clutching your jaw, harder and harder until you involuntarily opened your mouth wide enough.

Taking the chance right away, he slipped his thick and hard manhood into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. He hissed at how your teeth slightly scraped his dick. You choked on it, but he was unfazed by it, continuing to thrust into your throat, making tears fall down your cheeks.

“I knew you could be my good girl.” He groaned, praising you with each of his hard thrusts into your mouth. Your breathing was shallow, and you tried to get as much air as you could. He was moaning loudly, the wet sounds of his cock slipping in and out of your mouth, covered by your saliva made him even more aroused and hungry for you.

“You just need a bit of a re-education.” He was getting lost in the pleasure your mouth was providing him, and you were deprived of the air you needed. Your hand hit his pelvis when you thought you’re going to pass out soon.

“Just a moment more, baby. I know you can take it.” He said through gritted teeth. Jungkook was panting loudly, mixing it with loud moans of your name.

“Fuck, Y/N. You’re my heaven.” Your nails were scratching his abdomen, trying to break free, but his hold was too strong. You were drooling all over his cock, and your hand started to spin from the lack of oxygen and how quickly your head was bobbing.

He was getting dangerously close and his sloppy movements reflected that. He managed to pull one last thrust before he was cumming down your throat. He was letting his dick soften, pressed on your tongue while the hot semen was springing out of his tip.

“Swallow.”

The night wore on, shadows dancing on the walls as you lay there, pressed to his chest, his hand limply laying on your hip, contemplating the surreal turn you took.

If anything arose in you during the intercourse you wish you would wipe out of your mind, it was a determination to break free from the suffocating grasp of the penthouse.

Jungkook laid beside you, his breathing steady, a façade of tranquillity painted on his features. As he drifted into a seemingly serene slumber, you waited for the right moment to seize the opportunity.

When you were certain he was deeply asleep, you carefully extricated yourself from his embrace, a shiver running down your spine as you tiptoed through the room.

The moon cast a pale glow through the sheer curtains, guiding your movements as you tiptoed across the room. Your hand grasped the cold doorknob, the soft creaking of the door threatened to betray your escape. Your body frozen in time, your pupils shaking, fearing what happens if he wakes up. You wait a minute to make sure he is not coming to drag you back before you open the door in one swift movement.

You rethought the tasks you listed in your plan. Find the portfolio and get the fuck out as quick as possible. Everything else is replaceable for you. The mindset that the portfolio is the only key to all your problems, remained.

The adrenaline surged through your veins, the pulse of your heart echoing in the quiet hallway you walked through to get to the front of the penthouse.

He never took you upstairs, therefore you assumed that’s where he must’ve hidden it.

You approached the staircase, the carpet soft beneath your feet. The air seemed to grow heavier with every ascending step. The possibility of him waking up was not zero.

As you reached the upper level, you noticed the subtle shift in the ambiance. The hallway, adorned with pieces of art that whispered tales of luxury, and all his awards he won during his career, displayed to show his success. You passed several open doors, a home recording studio in one of them, be ridden of what you were looking for.

The hallway led you towards a set of double doors. That must be it. The doors creaked open, your gaze scanning for any sign of your portfolio. Your eyes flickering between the meticulously arranged accolades and the sprawling desk. He must be using this room as his office.

The seconds stretched into minutes, the urgency escalating with each passing heartbeat. You began with the drawers of the glass table, trying to be as quiet as possible. You cannot afford to cause commotion.

Anxiety wrapped around you, a vice tightening with every passing moment. You went through the library too, looked under every surface, you could not find it.

With a deep breath, you steadied yourself. There must be another place he could have hidden it. Your eyes fell upon the stack of papers, leaning your head to the side you examined the tabloid underneath with your face on it.

You fished it out in mere seconds, eyeing it unbelievably. If you were on the cover of a tabloid you would for sure know that. But you were not aware that your face appeared in Star magazine, right beside Jungkook. “Jungkook’s Mysterious Muse Revealed!” the headline screamed at you.

It was not only you after all. Society has convinced Jungkook that you two are sort of an item. A clandestine affair, a narrative spun by the society, linking your name with Jungkook’s in a tale of intrigue.

It was dated right when you started working on Klein’s campaign, back in April. It is almost the end of November now, and this is the first time you’re seeing this. You couldn’t fathom how deeply the web had been woven around you. The urgency of the situation intensified, and you combed through every conceivable hiding spot.

A sudden noise from downstairs snapped your attention. Fear gripped you, and your heart raced. Did he wake up? The urgency of the situation intensified, and you felt the weight of the clock ticking against you.

You sobbed and when you went to rub your eyes, they fell upon the other room diagonally from the one you were searching now. The doors were slightly ajar and you could see soft shades of colours within. In a last-ditch effort you marched towards it.

But ever stepping inside you regretted. The whole scenery that was revealed once you opened the door swiftly caught your breath in your throat.

The soft shades of colours painted a haunting picture—a baby room, unfinished and untouched by time. The sight startled you, sending a shiver down your spine. This can’t be.

“No..” You whispered to yourself, panicking. Your hands found their place in your hair. He is one delusional man. There is no other explanation, he is sick in the head if he thinks he is going to baby trap you.

A sense of dread overwhelmed you, and in your shock, you stumbled over something on the floor, hitting your head in the process. You groaned from the pain, forgetting that this commotion must have been loud enough for Jungkook to wake up.

As you rolled to the side, your eyes widened in disbelief. The portfolio was taped to the bottom of a cabinet. Without a second thought, you ripped it free, the sound echoing in the quiet room.

The rain outside intensified, a symphony of droplets against the windows. With the portfolio clutched in your hands, you ran down the stairs, right to the front door you prayed would not be locked. Would he be that careless? Yes. The degree of his mental instability was enough for him to believe that you are his and you would not think of running. He cut off every single option you had.

First, by making sure that your former employer would get to know you’re planning to leave the brand, enough for them to let you go. Second, he successfully obtained your portfolio that you were stupid enough to not make a copy of, which resulted in not meeting the deadline with Guess and losing that job opportunity too.

Third, he did not expect you to not stay the first you went to his penthouse but he was determined to go to extremes. So, every single fashion brand that had department stores in New York and in the rest of the world, backlisted you. No job application you sent, assistant buyer, a visibly lower position to what you had at Klein, would be turned down.

Fourth, make sure your landlord has already a tenant replacing you, ready to pay double for your apartment if they can move in as soon as possible.

That you’re alienated from your parents played his cards right and he never wished anything bad upon someone else, but how he thanked God that your friends have either too small apartments for another person to live in or they were struggling even more than you were. But lucky for you. He was right there, waiting for your call.

The handle felt too cold in your hand once you pushed the front door open merging the distance to the elevators, you were madly pushing the down button.

The seconds felt like an eternity as you waited for the elevator. Your breaths came in short, erratic bursts, mirroring the frenetic pace of your heart. Quickly stepping inside the metal box you heard it.

“Y/N?!” Your heart skipped a beat at the sound of his voice. His eyes momentarily locked with yours. You were clutching your portfolio to your chest, the other hand pressing the close button, praying it will close faster.

He must have heard you running down the stairs, or perhaps when you tripped and fell. You even forgot that you’ve hurt yourself. The adrenaline was overshadowing the pain.

“Come back right now!” He was mad, that much you could tell.

With the last determined push, you closed the door on him, severing the visual link between you. Letting out a relieving breath, you knew that this is far from being over. The elevator descended, carrying you away from the penthouse.

He cannot make it all the way down in time before you’ll disappear from the area. You prayed, he would not.

The lobby welcomed you as the doors opened, the room blurred as you stormed towards the exit, your heart pounding in rhythm with the rain. You burst into the rain-soaked night. Clutching the book tightly, a surge of triumph coursed through your veins.

The cold drops pelted against your skin. The relentless downpour soaking your clothes and hair. Running towards the street, you waved at the cars, hoping a taxi would stop.

It took a minute for some yellow car to appear at the curb, not wasting time, you ran towards it.

A smile appeared on your face after a long time. You did not know where you’re going, nor what you’re going to do next but Jungkook was never supposed to be your option and now you got the chance to choose differently or not? This is your second chance, and you’re willing to take it.

Your hand touched the handle of the yellow vehicle, opening the door and planning to leap inside as quickly as possible.

A strong tattooed hand closed abruptly. You gulped down an enormous lump in your throat, almost not breathing. How could this happen? It was mere minutes. Did he run the stairs? Did you take too long to catch a cab? Should you just run as far as possible?

Every single thing you could have done differently would not change the outcome it seems. And every single thing worked out in his favour, again.

His palm pressed on the taxi door firm, you could not open it anymore nor he would let you hop in the front seat. Your heart pounded in your chest, the tension and fear to face him was killing you. The portfolio now felt like a burden, if you make peace with losing it and your career, would you avoid this?

You could feel his eyes burning holes to the back of your head.

“I will not go back.” You said, voice resolute, but inside you were shaking. You could feel his hot breath on your cold skin, similarly you could feel his body pressing to your back. Once he reached your ear, you felt his lips mere inches from it, whispering.

“You will.”

I N T E R L O G U E

Jungkook settled into the plush leather chair after he finished carefully unpacking all your belongings, believing he is helping you to settle down. His fingers deftly dialled his mother’s number. As the phone rang, he gazed out over the city lights sprawling beneath him, a realm he had conquered with ruthless determination.

His new song, obviously written about you, was an enormous hit, granting him another Grammy nomination. But what was his success for when he did not have his love to share it with?

He smiled to himself, he got you. After long months of chasing you, then giving you the space you needed to realise he is your best shot in this world, you’re finally where you belong. Next to him.

The familiar voice of his mother greeted him, warm and comforting.

“Eomma—” Jungkook said, his tone affectionate.

“Jungkook, dear! How is my baby?” His mother’s voice held a blend of joy and concern.

“I’m doing well, Eomma. I have some news to share,” he said, his eyes glancing toward the bedroom where Y/N lay, unaware of the conversation taking place.

“Oh? Do tell,” his mother replied, anticipation evident in her voice. Jungkook leaned back, a subtle smile playing on his lips.

“Y/N moved in.” His mother’s delight was palpable through the phone. Jungkook let her know the very moment he stepped into your office that he is very much interested in you. That he met the special one he wants to grow old with.

As he spoke, he subtly weaved a narrative of love and destiny, carefully crafting the tale of their supposed connection. His mother listened attentively, hanging onto every word.

“Are you going to propose over Christmas like you wanted, Kookie?” His mother gasped with excitement. Jungkook glanced at the bedroom once more, satisfaction settling within him. The diamond ring well hidden deep inside of the closet. But that’s given and final in his mind, there’s something more he selfishly wants. Not only will it make sure you won’t be able to leave him any more, it will give you reason to grow to love him back. After all, he would be the only person who you can grow old with.

“We’re trying for a baby, Eomma.”

©pennyellee. please do not repost

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joelsgreys · 7 months

Text

fall into temptation | two

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Preacher’s Daughter! Reader

series masterlist l previous chapter l next chapter

summary: Of all the women to catch Joel Miller’s attention—it just had to be one of the goddamned preacher’s daughters.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. JACKSON ERA. SLIGHT PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION OF READER, mentions of her hair which she can put up into braids as well as her style of clothing. despite the nickname Joel gives her, it does not speak to her body type or size. mentions of hickies, but i try to be as vague as possible. AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is 56). several mentions of religion and religious symbols, mention of biblical verses, reader has several pet names (little dove, sweet girl, darlin’ girl, baby, babygirl), angst, jealousy, hints of possessive Joel, hints of soft dom Joel (if you squint), reader talks about leaving her faith/family, Esther makes an appearance, Seth also makes an appearance idk he’s nice to reader but we still hate him and will hate him even more in the next chapter. SMUT. mention of virginity (brief), reader is inexperienced but she’s not clueless, masturbation (female, minor mentions of male masturbation), public sex, oral sex (f receiving).

word count: 11.8k

Your soft, breathless moans fill the church just like a sweet, angelic hymn—a song of praise, devotion and adoration for the rugged older man whose lap you were currently straddling, your legs resting on either side of him as he sat in the wooden pew, his long, thick, calloused fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. Your pale blue blouse was unbuttoned and open for him, both cups of your plain, cotton white bra pulled down to give him access to more of you and your smooth, supple skin to ravage.

“Joel,” you gasped out his name, hands tangling in his unkempt salt and pepper curls as he flicked his warm tongue over a sensitive, hardened nipple—it only added fuel to the flames burning deep in your lower belly when he moved his mouth to the other, his lips wrapping around the peak to show it the same amount of attention. He lifted one of his hands and he cupped the breast that his mouth just abandoned, his fingertips brushing against the gold cross that was hanging from the long, delicate chain clasped around your neck. You still wore it every single day despite being the furthest you had ever been from your faith—there was something oddly fascinating about seeing the religious symbol next to all of the marks that Joel left on you, how it was surrounded by all of his sinful love bites. Your hands gripped at his hair even harder, breath catching in your throat as he rolled your nipple between his fingers, giving it a hard but pleasurable pinch. Arching your back, you found yourself grinding your hips into his in an attempt to relieve the intense pressure building between your thighs. “Joel, please—please, I need more.”

Groaning, Joel released your breast and trailed his mouth up north, his lips latching onto the delicate spot right under your jawline. He suckled gently at your pulse point, being careful so as not to leave a visible mark behind. The ones he left on your chest and shoulders were easier for you to hide, but your neck was out of the question seeing as your father made you wear your hair up in braids all the time—you wouldn’t be able to cover them up. The primal in him almost craved to send you back to him with your neck covered in his hickies. Joel wanted to make it known to your father that there was now a real man in your life, one who planned to break the chains and set you free from a life of control. You’d yet to fully express your desire to leave, however if and when the time came, Joel wouldn’t hesitate in taking you away from him.

He would take good care of you, protect you, keep you safe, and the only worship you would know from that point on would be Joel’s worship of your body every single night in his bed.

“Christ, darlin’ girl,” he groaned into your neck, his fingers digging harder into your hips. Surely, you’d have bruises there in the morning. “Keep it up and you’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me, babygirl.”

Desperately, you rubbed your soaked clothed cunt against his bulge. He was rock hard and throbbing for you, straining against the zipper of his jeans. It wasn’t enough to feel him through his clothes, not anymore. You needed more of him, so much more. You dropped your hands from his hair and reached down for his own, picking them up off of your hips and moving them to your thighs. You guided them underneath your skirt and slid them up higher and higher, closer and closer to where you needed him the most, where you were aching for him to finally touch you. As Joel’s fingertips brushed the crease in between your thigh and your hip, along the soft, thin cotton of your panties, he jerked back, pulling his hands out from underneath your long skirt.

“No, little dove,” Joel chastised, lightly shaking his head at you. “Not tonight, sweet girl.”

“Joel,” You whined out his name. “It’s been almost a month! Are you kidding me right now?” You kept your word to him—for over three and a half weeks, you had been patient, just like he’d asked you. You had been sneaking out and meeting him in the old church house every night, spent hours upon hours sitting with him in the pew, or at least, you started the night sitting with him but at some point, you’d end up sitting in his lap instead. Half naked, hands tangled in his hair, your lips swollen with his kisses that you’d become so addicted to. He would never let it go further than that, though, and it was really beginning to wear your patience thin. It really did seem as though he planned on making you wait an eternity for him. You let out a small, frustrated sigh. “Okay, so if not tonight, then when?”

He leaned back against the pew, mulling it over in his mind for a minute. “Don’t know yet.”

You stared at him in utter disbelief, gaze wide.

He didn’t know yet?

“Joel,” you said his name slowly. “Do you not—is it because you don’t want me? Is that what it is?”

Joel’s hands reached up and he cupped your face, cradling it gently in his palms. His eyes met yours.“Of course I fuckin’ want you,” he said, shaking his head again. “More than anythin’ I want you, baby.” He paused and bucked his hips upwards, brushing his hard on against you through your panties. “You feel that, darlin’ girl? You feel my cock?” When you didn’t respond, Joel gave your face a soft, but firm squeeze as he bucked again, eliciting a moan from you. “Just asked you a question, little dove.”

Breathless, you nodded and replied, “Yes, Joel. I feel it.”

“Then don’t ask somethin’ like that ever again,” he warned you, firmly. “That understood?”

You lifted your hands to his, fingers curling lightly around his wrists. “I’m sorry,” you apologized. “It’s just that I don’t understand it. If you want me, why haven’t you touched me?” You could hear the little tremble in your own voice—you hoped Joel hadn’t caught it, but the softening in his dark brown eyes made it clear he had. “I want you to touch me. You have my full consent, you know. I want this, Joel. I want you so badly. Please, just touch me already.”

“Baby, I told you. I don’t wanna rush it with you—”

“But why not?” you pressed, cutting him off. “Why wait when we both clearly want it?” Unable to help yourself, you exhaled a small, breathy laugh. “Why wait when I’m already sitting in your lap half naked with my breasts in your face?”

Joel sighed. He knew you were trying to lighten up the mood. “Baby—” he trailed off and softly grazed your cheeks with his thumbs. He tried to think of a response to give you but the truth was, Joel didn’t have an answer for you—he himself didn’t seem to fully understand why he was so hellbent on taking his time with you, waiting when he could have had you back on the first night and every night since.

He wasn’t just torturing you.

Hell, he was torturing himself too.

When he would go back home, Joel would fist his cock, his heart pounding almost violently inside of his chest, guttural grunts and groans spilling from his lips as he came to the mere thought of you. He almost found it amusing that you had the audacity to think he didn’t want you when every night, he’d shoot his load onto his stomach as he moaned out your name over and over again quietly underneath his breath.

He wanted you just as much as you wanted him, if not so much fucking more.

But there was something holding him back from it and he couldn’t put his finger on what it was.

For as much as Joel enjoyed spending your nights together with you straddling his lap, mouths fused with one another as he copped a feel of your body, making out like a couple of horny teenagers sitting in an old car on some hill that overlooked their tiny town—he vaguely remembered those nights in the cab of his dad’s old pickup—he found it wasn’t the only reason he looked forward to your company.

He liked being with you, liked being in your presence.

He actually liked talking to you.

There was something so endearing about you, the way you talked about working in the town’s schoolhouse and how you absolutely adored spending all day with a bunch of little ankle biters. He liked that you’d been comfortable enough to tell him of your life before the outbreak, about how, despite the religious, strict upbringing, you’d had a decent childhood. You spent your afternoons after parochial school at the river skipping rocks with your sisters. You were the rebel of the three, pulling your braids out in the car on the way to morning mass and spilling your juice on your dress on purpose—you told him about the way your parents would have to put you outside in timeout for being unable to sit still during services and Joel couldn’t help but laugh when he pictured a little girl with messed up hair and a dress stained with grape juice, feet dangling as she sat on some bench outside of a church with the other children who couldn’t behave themselves.

“It got so bad my mother had to start bribing me,” you’d told him with a sheepish little grin one night. For once, you weren’t in his lap. Instead, you sat in the pew while Joel laid back, stretching out on the bench with his head in your lap. His gaze had been fixed on you as you lightly scraped your fingernails against his scalp through his hair over and over. “It was the only way. The night before church, Mama, she would tuck me into bed and promise me she’d spoon extra strawberry ice cream into my bowl for dessert all week if I behaved during service.”

“Was strawberry your favorite?” he’d asked, curiously.

“It was. What about you, what was your favorite?”

“Was more of a chocolate kinda guy myself,” he’d answered, closing his eyes as you continued to toy with his curls.

Joel looked forward to spending his time with you. After his long, grueling patrol shifts, all that he had to go home to was a silent house, the air under his roof filled with unmistakable tension. Ellie had told him she was thinking of turning the garage behind the house into her own space—when he offered to put his past experience as a contractor to good use, she shut down his offer for help, mumbling something about having already asked Tommy. His brother confirmed it, informing him he’d be helping Ellie move into the garage that same week.

That night, seeing you had been the one thing, the one fucking thing that kept him from heading over to the bar to pitifully drown himself in bourbon.

“Joel?” Your soft voice snapped him from his train of thought, your fingers squeezing his wrists. “Are you okay?”

“M’fine, darlin’ girl.” He offered you a small smile, his thumb sweeping your bottom lip. “You’ve been a real good girl for me, sweetheart. And I promise, you’ll get what you’re askin’ for soon. But not tonight.”

You pouted against his finger.

“C’mon baby, put the lip away,” Joel chuckled and pushed it back in with his finger. He let both of his hands fall from your face and pulled at the cups of your bra, gently tugging them back into place. “All I need from you is a little more patience, alright?”

“Fine,” you huffed out in defeat, rolling your eyes.

“Y’know, you’re awful cute when you’re annoyed,” he remarked with a playful smirk. He placed a soft kiss on your forehead and with his lips still against your skin, he murmured, “S’real late, little dove. I need to get you home now.”

Reluctantly, you nodded and climbed off his lap.

You started buttoning your blouse, but Joel stood, reaching out to stop you. “Wait. Let me do that for you, baby.”

Dropping your hands to your sides, you swallowed harshly, arousal pooling between your legs all over again as you looked down, watching his hands. Oh God, how those large hands of his just did you in—how was it possible that watching those hands do something as sweet and innocent as buttoning up your blouse for you had your cunt aching, dripping down the insides of your thighs?

“Joel,” you managed to choke out his name.

He finished with the last button. “Yes, darlin’ girl?”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

He touched your cheek and smiled wistfully.

“Just wanna take care of you how I can, that’s all.”

Turning your face, you pressed a kiss into his palm with sweet affection he hadn’t known in well over two decades.

After switching off all the lights in the church, Joel locked the door and slipped the key under the mat where you kept it hidden. He took your hand in his and the two of you started the fifteen minute walk to the residential side of the commune. Your place was down the road from his, a two story white and yellow cottage you shared with your family. Joel walked you up the front porch steps to the door, dropping your hand. He kept his voice quiet as he turned to face you.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night, same time.”

“Tomorrow night, same time,” you parroted.

Joel leaned down, brushing your lips with his own, softly. “Go on and get some sleep, my little dove.”

Your eyes widened slightly—had Joel meant to say it like that? My little dove?

Had he meant to call you his little dove? His?

“Goodnight, Joel.” You bit back a smile and turned towards the door, opening it. Slipping inside of the house, you closed it behind you quietly before you carefully tiptoed your way up the stairs. The house was older and the hardwood floors creaked as you walked down the hallway. Slipping off your oxford shoes, you carried them in your hands as you tried to make it to your bedroom without waking one of your sisters—or worse, waking your father. He was a heavy sleeper, but you still took extra care not to make any noise as you padded past his door. Finally, you made it to your bedroom and slipped inside.

Breathing out in relief, you flipped on the light and turned around only to see one of your sisters there in your room, perched on the foot of your bed with a small smirk on her face. You dropped your shoes on the floor and let out a small, startled yelp.

“Leah!” you gasped, a hand flying to your chest. It surprised you that neither the sound of your shoes hitting the floor nor your scream woke Lydia—she was in the bedroom on the opposite side of your paper thin wall. “You just about gave me a heart attack! I thought you were an intruder!” you hissed. “What are you doing in here just sitting in the dark?”

Leah’s smirk widened.

“I’ll tell you that when you tell me why Joel Miller’s walking you home at two thirty in the morning, my sweet baby sister.” She watched with a glimmer in her eyes as all the color drained from your face. “Is he the person you’ve been sneaking out to see?”

Heat prickled at the back of your neck. “Oh stop it right now, Leah. You and Lydia already know that I go to the church house at night to pray—”

“For hours?” Skeptical, she raised an eyebrow and stood up, walking over to you. “And where does he come into play in all this? Hmm?”

You quickly racked your brain. “He, um, he was—he was walking home from the bar. He saw me as I was leaving the church and he was nice enough to offer to walk me home so I didn’t walk alone.”

Leah snorted. “That’s bullshit. For one, the church and the bar are on opposite sides of the commune and two, Joel Miller isn’t a fucking gentleman who just offers to walk a lady home on a whim. You two were together all night, weren’t you?”

“Of course not, all he did was walk me home—”

She reached out, roughly tearing open the front of your blouse and sending buttons flying all over the room.

“Leah!” You pulled the fabric over your chest but it was too late—she had seen the marks that littered your chest and shoulders.

“Oh, he did more than just walk you home.” Leah’s eyes widened slightly. It was hard to tell if she was shocked—or if she was impressed. “Wow. I did not think you had it in you, baby sister.” She shook her head and sat back down. “And with Joel Miller? Of all the fucking men in the commune—you decided to go for the most feared man in Jackson? I mean, how the hell did that even fucking happen?”

You hung your head in defeat.

There was no way around it.

You’d been caught.

“It’s—it’s a long story.”

She patted the spot next to her. “Well, it’s the end of the world and we’ve got nothing but time.”

Sighing, you took a seat beside her. You started to tell her all about what happened the night you had decided to leave The Tipsy Bison alone—how Kent had assaulted you, how Joel had saved you before the unthinkable happened. You told her how you’d taken Joel to the church to clean up his hand, how you asked him to kiss you after patching him up.

“Wait a minute, Kent called me a slut?”

You glared at her. “Leah.”

“Right. Sorry.” She cleared her throat. “So you and Joel have been seeing each other ever since?”

“Almost every night,” you admitted. “Except when he gets stuck with evening patrol. Or has a double shift. He had to do a few of those as a punishment for what he did to Kent.”

Leah let out a small, nonchalant, “Hm.”

“You know, for somebody who just discovered I’m seeing a man who’s twice my age, you don’t seem to be the slightest bit surprised by it.”

“Oh, please. Don’t think I don’t remember the way that man was staring at you that day when walked by him at the stables,” she grinned at you. “I knew Joel had a thing for you when I caught him staring at you. I just didn’t think he’d act on it,” she added as she leaned back into her elbows. “You do know what people around here say about him, right? I’m sure you’ve heard about things that he’s done—he’s killed people. With his bare hands, too.”

She didn’t sound all too concerned.

She sounded like she was curious about it. Fascinated, even.

“I’m sure he did what he had to do to survive—the same way most people in this town have. Besides, Joel isn’t the monster people make him out to be.” You paused. “I see a different side of him, Leah.”

Leah chuckled. “Oh, I’m sure you do.”

“Leah!” You smacked her leg lightly, biting back a small laugh. It was a relief, having her to confide in without receiving any kind of judgment.

There was a brief, momentary silence, broken only when she asked, “So—the church house, huh?”

“Mhm.”

“That’s pretty fucking hot. Makes me wish I would have thought of that myself.” Leah’s smile faltered and she sat up. “Please tell me you wipe down the pew the that he fucks you in, though.”

You nearly choked on your own breath of air. “No! I mean, it’s not like that,” you sputtered out. “We do get together at the church but we don’t—we don’t do that. We haven’t done anything.”

“Your tits are covered in hickies. You can’t possibly tell me that you’re still a daisy fresh girl,” she said.

“Unfortunately, I still am,” you muttered, sourly.

“What do you mean?”

“I want him to—” You stopped, unable to say it.

Leah raised an eyebrow. “To fuck you?”

The blood rushed to your cheeks. “Yes.”

“You won’t burst into flames if you say it, you know.”

Ignoring the jab you continued on, “But he won’t. I keep asking him, but he won’t touch me. He keeps telling me he doesn’t want to rush it and he wants to wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“I don’t know, but I wish I knew. I want him so bad but he won’t budge. I’ve practically begged him to just take me already.”

“You little sinner,” Leah teased.

“Being with him doesn’t even feel like a sin. It feels so right, Leah.” Peering at her, you confessed, “It’s like the closer I get to Joel, the further I step away from God—from our faith.” Without thinking about it, you reached up and clasped your cross. You had expected it to trigger some kind of emotion in you but as your fingers curled around it, you found you felt absolutely nothing. “And the scariest part of it all is that I don’t even feel an ounce of guilt for it.”

“Well, I would say that’s a fucking good thing.”

“Papa would be so ashamed that I have strayed so far away from our faith.”

“Oh please.” Leah rolled her eyes and stood up. “It doesn’t matter. Papa doesn’t have to know.”

“But Leah—”

“We’re already living in fucking hell, baby sister, so you might as well start enjoying yourself.” Pausing at your door, she shot you a teasing little wink over her shoulder. “What better way to start than to get fucked by big, bad Joel Miller?”

Leah disappeared, quietly closing the door behind her before you could even think of how to respond to her.

Later on, in the earlier hours of the morning, you’d found yourself tossing and turning in your bed.

The ache between your legs made it impossible to fall asleep.

Rolling onto your back, you stared up into the dark of your bedroom, chewing nervously on your lip as you slipped a hand under your quilt and brushed a finger along the waistband of your pajama pants.

You’d never in your life touched yourself. Sure, you had been tempted once or twice before—but as of late, the urge was becoming too difficult to resist.

The throbbing between your legs wouldn’t stop.

You needed relief.

Release.

Hesitantly, you slipped your trembling hand under the elastic band of your bottoms, fingers anxiously skimming along the elastic band of your panties. It took a minute or two to work up the courage—but you finally slid your hand into your underwear. You closed your eyes, fingers brushing against the soft curls on your mound. Moving your hand lower and lower, you slowly dipped your index finger, sinking it in between your folds. You gasped out softly, the feeling of your own wetness igniting a fire that you knew you would only be able to put out by making yourself come.

You thought about Joel and imagined it’s his hand in between your thighs instead of yours. You softly grazed your clit with your index finger once, twice, and then started rubbing the sensitive bud in slow circles, jolts of pleasure shooting up your spine.

Suddenly, you withdrew your hand.

Less clothes—this would feel so much better with less clothes.

Kicking the quilt off your body, you peeled off your pajama bottoms and panties, sending them to the floor along with the blanket. Eagerly, you pulled at your oversized t-shirt, yanking it over your head. After discarding that too, you leaned back, resting comfortably against your pillows as you dove your hand between your legs. The other cupped one of your breasts, pinching and rolling a hard nipple as you rubbed your clit. Soft, quiet little moans begin to fall from your lips—remembering Lydia was just on the other side of the wall, you bit down on your bottom lip in an effort to keep the noise down.

You could feel Joel’s hands and mouth on you, still smell his scent on you from earlier.

Woodiness, spice, and musk.

It’s become all too familiar to you.

Just like his touch, just like the sound of his voice.

“You feel that, darlin’ girl? You feel my cock?”

Just the thought of that man had you on the edge and you moved your fingers faster, the wet sounds of your own slick filling the air around you. As your desperation mounted, you imagined Joel’s fingers plunging into you—long and thick, stretching your pussy out in an effort to warm up your tight, virgin walls to take his cock for the first time.

The coil that was wound up deep in your belly was close, so close to snapping. You thought about his goodnight to you at your front door, and it was the way Joel had called you his little dove that pushed you right over the edge. You clawed at your sheets as your cunt convulsed, your velvet walls fluttering around nothing. Biting down on your lip again, you tried your hardest not to moan out Joel’s name.

Just up the road, Joel was up in his bedroom lying in his bed, trying not to groan out your name as he came too.

You covered your mouth, stifling yet another yawn with the palm of your hand.

The late nights with Joel were starting to catch up with you and waking up early for Sunday morning services had been particularly difficult for you that week. You’d overslept, but still managed to get up, get dressed and make it to service on time—still it meant nothing when your father expected his girls to be present at the church house two hours prior. All three of you helped set up for mass and while it was often Leah whom he scolded for not showing, later that morning it was you who would be on the receiving end of his agonizingly long lecture about honoring obligations, especially those to God.

You weren’t looking forward to it.

Sighing, you leaned back against the pew. You and your sisters always sat in the front—the very same bench that you straddled Joel’s lap in every night.

You sagged slightly against Leah who chuckled as your father began delivering his sermon. The topic on the table that morning was lust of the flesh.

“How appropriate,” she whispered, nudging you in the ribcage with her elbow. “Better pay attention.”

“Shut up,” you giggled, elbowing her right back.

Lydia, who sat on the opposite side of you, leaned over, pressing her lips against your ear. “Um, since when does Joel Miller come to church?”

“What?” You shot her a strange look before taking a glance over your shoulder, following her gaze—it threw you for a complete loop to see him standing at the very back of the church near the doors with his rifle hanging over his shoulder. Throat bobbing harshly, you whipped back around in your seat.

What was he doing here?

“Jesus, he can’t bring a gun in here!” Lydia hissed, shaking her head. “Is he insane?”

Leah, who had caught onto the slight commotion, glimpsed over her shoulder. She put a hand on the pew between your bodies and lightly pinched your leg, fingers squeezing the flesh on the side of your thigh causing you to jump slightly in your seat.

“Ouch! What did you do that for?”

“He wants you to meet him outside.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Why else would he be here?” Leah rolled her eyes at you. “And besides, he’s gone.”

Perplexed, you looked over your shoulder again.

Your sister had been right about the latter.

Joel had seemingly vanished into thin air.

“Don’t make it so obvious,” she murmured. “Give it a minute or two and then go—pretend that you have to use the bathroom. And don’t take too long,” she added. “Or it’s going to seem suspicious. Okay?”

You nodded. “Okay.”

Smoothing your skirt, you waited two minutes just to be safe and then leaned over towards Lydia. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to go use the bathroom.”

“But I thought you hated using the outhouse.”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “A girl’s got to pee.”

Excusing yourself, you stood up and quickly made your way around to the side of the church, making your exit as inconspicuous as possible. Thankfully, everyone was too focused on your father to notice you making an exit.

Once you’d slipped through the first set of double, wooden doors, you exhaled the breath you hadn’t even realized you had been holding back. You then pushed through the second set of doors, stepping out onto the porch of the church house.

You looked around, but there was no sign of Joel.

“Where did you go?” you mumbled to yourself.

Maybe Leah had been wrong after all.

You walked down the steps and around the side of the church only to find him leaning against the old building, his hand wrapped around the strap of his rifle.

“What are you doing here?” you questioned as you approached him.

“Well good mornin’ to you too, my little dove.”

Your heart fluttered wildly inside of your chest.

There it was again.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized, sheepishly. ��I’m just—I didn’t expect to see you here, that’s all.”

Joel stepped towards you. “I know. I’m on my way to the stables to head out for mornin’ patrol,” he explained. He placed his hands on either side of your waist to pull you closer to him. “Wanted to see you, baby.”

“You did?”

He chuckled softly. “What? That strange?”

“We’ve never seen each other during the day.” You frowned at him. “Isn’t this kind of risky, Joel?”

“Ain’t no one around but us.” Joel leaned his head down, brushing his mouth softly against yours. He was warm and still tasted like his morning coffee. Pulling away slightly he stated, “There’s somethin’ I have to tell you, too. I ain’t gonna be able to meet up with you tonight, sweetheart.”

“Did you get stuck with double patrol again?” Your disappointment was evident in your tone. Tommy and Maria had already reprimanded him for Kent’s beating, were the double shifts still necessary?

Joel shook his head.

“No. Tommy’s birthday is today. They’re throwin’ a big party for him at The Tipsy Bison. M’real sorry—”

Flashing him a sincere smile, you lifted your hands and placed them on his chest, assuring him, “Joel, there’s no need to apologize for anything. It’s your brother’s birthday. I wouldn’t expect you to miss it just for little old me, you know.”

“I know you wouldn’t, sweet girl. S’just that—”

He paused, momentarily hesitating.

“What is it, Joel?”

“Wish I could take you with me. Y’know, as my—”

Joel stopped once again, his neck burning.

You raised an eyebrow, grinning. “As your date?”

“I was gonna say as my girl. But yeah, that works too.”

His girl.

Your heart fluttered again. “I would love that. More than anything.”

“Your old man, he wouldn’t like that, though.”

Your smile faltered. “Joel, please. Don’t—”

“I ain’t wrong, sweet girl. What would your dad say if he knew you were with someone like me? A man twice your age with more blood on his hands than the fuckin’ town butcher.”

“He wouldn’t approve—but I don’t care, Joel. I just don’t care. I like you,” you confessed, clutching his jacket. “I like being with you. And I know who I am, it makes things complicated, but—” Stopping, you chewed apprehensively on your bottom lip.

“But what, little dove?” he prompted. “Tell me.”

“Maybe—maybe things could change someday,” you said, softly.

Realizing what you meant, Joel’s brows shot up.

“You would leave?”

“I would,” you confessed. “For you Joel, I would.”

He couldn’t believe it. “Don’t go sayin’ somethin’ if you don’t really mean it. Might get my hopes up.”

“But I do mean it,” your voice was earnest. “Really, I would, Joel. I would do anything to be with you.”

Joel took one look into those sweet, innocent little doe eyes and groaned. “Fuck, darlin’ girl. C’mere.”

Crashing his lips to yours, he spun you around and pinned you up against the wall of the church. Next to you was an open window—you could hear parts of your father’s sermon coming from inside as you melted into Joel’s arms. His tongue brushed along the seam of your mouth, silently demanding more. Your lips parted, granting him the access that he’d been seeking. His tongue curled with yours and he swallowed every little moan and whimper, drinking them down just like water.

Joel reached down and lifted your long floral skirt, slipping a hand underneath the lace trimmed hem of it. His rough, calloused fingers dragged up your thigh and over your hip, lightly grazing the band of your panties.

“Joel,” you gasped, tearing your mouth from his, a look of complete shock crossing your features. He couldn’t be serious—in broad daylight? Outside of the church where your father was preaching to the congregation at this very moment?

But even the shock of it all did nothing, absolutely nothing, to stop the arousal from pooling between your thighs.

Joel skimmed your cheek with the tip of his nose.

“You wet for me, baby?” Before you could respond to the question, he cupped your cunt through your panties, eliciting another small gasp. “Oh fuck, my sweet little dove. You’re fuckin’ soakin’ for me.”

Heart pounding painfully against your sternum, all you could do was nod your head and fist the lapels of his jacket even tighter. Your knees trembled and you were grateful to be securely pinned between a wall and this big bulk of a man, otherwise you’d be a crumpled heap on the ground by now.

“What’s the matter, darlin’?” he cooed, though he knew exactly what he was doing to you. “Hm?”

“It’s just that I—oh Joel,” you mewled his name as he cupped you harder in his hand.

Smirking, Joel pulled the damp cotton fabric aside and slid his index finger along your slit, your sweet slick coating his digit. “What do you want, my little dove?” He asked quietly against your cheekbone.

You opened your mouth to respond, but it seemed as though you’d forgotten just about every word in the English language.

“Gotta tell me, sweetheart.” His finger grazed over your clit, sending shock waves through your whole body. “Use your words, babygirl,” he coaxed, nuzzling your cheek. “Gonna have to tell me what you want from me. Ain’t doin’ anythin’ unless you ask me for it.”

“I—I want you to touch me. Please, Joel, touch me more. I need you to touch me more.”

That’s all Joel had needed to hear.

He slowly pushed a finger into you, biting back his groan—you were wet, warm, and so fucking tight.

“Joel,” you moaned out his name.

Joel quickly covered your mouth with his opposite hand. “Shh,” he shushed you. “The window’s wide open. Someone could hear us if we’re too loud. M’gonna need you to be real quiet for me, alright? Think you can do that for me, sweetheart?”

You nodded, your reply muffled by the palm of his hand. “Mhm.”

“That’s a good girl.”

His hand dropped away from your mouth.

You sank your teeth into your bottom lip, holding a cry as he pushed his finger further inside of you. It didn’t hurt, but you felt the pressure between your hips intensifying—on several nights you’d plunged your own fingers into your throbbing cunt in effort to pleasure yourself, but his were just so long and so thick and he reached spots you simply couldn’t reach no matter how hard you tried.

“Christ, you’re so fuckin’ tight, baby. You think you can take another one? Hm?”

Your legs spread further apart for him in reply.

“Eager little thing,” Joel chuckled, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek before slipping a second finger into you. He bit back guttural groan—if your pussy felt this fucking good around his fingers, then how would it feel around his cock?

“Oh God,” you hissed, bucking down into his hand as his thumb swept your clit in a circular motion.

“He ain’t here, little dove,” he murmured. “S’just me.”

Releasing his jacket, you grasped at his shoulders. Your skin stretched taut over your knuckles as you held onto him, silently willing yourself to somehow stay tethered to this earth.

Joel dropped his head into the hollow of your neck and slowly began to pump his fingers in and out of you. “This sweet little pussy feels so fuckin’ good.” He licked a stripe up the column of your throat, his fingers curling inside of you and hitting a spot that made your knees tremble. “But y’know what, I bet it tastes even fuckin’ better.” He lightly nipped you on your chin and withdrew his hand from between your legs, sinking down onto one knee.

You watched with wide, shocked eyes as he took a hand and bunched your skirt in his fist to keep the fabric out of his way. With his other hand, he lifted one of your legs and draped it over his shoulder. It brushed lightly against his rifle.

He placed a gentle kiss on the inside of your knee.

Heart pounding with anticipation, excitement, and apprehension, you reached down, tangling both of your hands in his soft hair.

As Joel began trailing his lips further up the inside of your thigh, part of the sermon carried out of the open window, your father’s voice loud and clear as he preached to the congregation.

“For this is the will of God, your sanctification:

that you should abstain from sexual immorality…”

Joel glanced up at you. “Y’tell me if you want me to stop—”

“Don’t,” you choked out. “Please. Don’t stop.”

Planting one final kiss on the inside of your leg, he pulled your panties aside and brought his face into the apex of your thighs. His mouth met your warm core, his tongue slipping between your slick folds.

Your father’s voice continued on—he sounded too close. He often paced around as he preached, and he must have drawn closer to the window. “…that each of you know how to control his own body in holiness and honor…”

You bit back a helpless whimper as he dragged his flattened tongue up, down, and then up again, lips tasting every inch of you he possibly could.

“…not in the passion of lust…”

Joel pushed your skirt up even further, completely exposing you. His mouth wrapped around your clit and he swirled his tongue around the swollen little bundle of nerves, groaning into you as he lifted his other hand, thrusting two fingers into your pussy.

“…like the Gentiles who do not know God.”

Your fingers gripped his curls like a vice, your nails scraping against his scalp—with every lick, suckle, and kiss of his tongue and thrust of his digits, your release drew closer and closer.

“Joel,” you whispered his name, desperately. “Joel I’m so close, I’m so so close—”

He groaned into your cunt, the vibration of it along with the way his thrusts quickened and the way he devoured you like a man starved sending you right over the edge you’d been teetering on. Feeling you convulse around his fingers, Joel pulled his mouth away from you and quickly rose to his feet. He had made it just in time—sealing his mouth over yours, he muffled your loud cries of pleasure.

His lips, his tongue, they lingered with the taste of you.

Joel’s fingers slowed as he helped you ride out the crashing wave of pleasure. Letting go of your skirt, he slipped his arm around you, holding you steady against himself so that you wouldn’t keep digging your back into the wall. “I’ve got you, darlin’ girl. I’ve got you,” he murmured against your lips. His gaze met yours as he grazed your clit one last time, sending aftershocks throughout your body that made your knees buckle. Smirking, his arm tightened around you. “So fuckin’ sensitive, sweetheart.”

He withdrew his hand from between your legs and brought it up to show you—you felt the blood rush to your cheeks at the sight of his fingers. You’d left them dripping, coated completely with your slick.

“Open your mouth, baby.” His command was firm, but still soft, gentle. You did as Joel told you—your eyes fixed on his, you parted your lips slightly, just enough for him to slip his fingers into your mouth for you to lick clean. Wrapping your fingers around his wrist, you slowly sucked your release off his digits, a hint of shyness in your half lidded gaze. “You like how you taste, don’t you, my darlin’ girl? Hm? Like how fuckin’ sweet you are?”

Moaning around his fingers, you nodded, and then released them with a small, wet pop.

Joel groaned. He had half a mind to put you down your knees right then and there and have you take care of the straining in his jeans. Instead, he let go of you and checked to make sure your skirt looked okay. He then reached up and smoothed your hair, saying, “You gotta go back inside now, little dove.”

Before you could say anything, the sound of Lydia calling out your name caused you to jump slightly.

She must have come outside looking for you.

“Go,” he nudged you. “I’ll head around the back of the church so she don’t see me.”

Joel started to whirl around to take off in the other direction when you caught his arm, stopping him.

“Baby, what are you—?”

Standing on your toes, you kissed his cheek softly.

The innocence of it, and the smile you flashed him after the fact, knocked the fucking wind out of his lungs.

He watched, mouth agape, as you spun around on the heel of your shoe, hurrying back to the front of the church house to meet your sister.

It was late in the evening.

You were sitting cross legged on your bed—Lydia’s laying on the small, circular shag rug on your floor surrounded by several composition books and plastic, single subject folders. “Toss me some of those,” you said, waving your red marker in the air. “I can help you get through them quicker.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Um, don’t you have your own students’ homework assignments to grade?”

“Lyd, I teach three, four, and five year old children. I’m not exactly having them write papers trying to interpret Shakespearean sonnets,” you giggled. “It doesn’t take that long to grade alphabet worksheets or stick figure drawings.” You waved the marker once more. “So, do you want me to help you or not?”

Before she had the chance to respond, the door to your bedroom burst open and Leah waltzed inside donning a strapless, floral printed dress. Her locks were out of their braids, cascading down her back and a pair of strappy brown sandals, which she’d secretly traded a pair of earrings for in exchange, adorned her feet.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” Lydia asked, shaking her head as she sat up.

“We,” she emphasized, “Are going to a party.”

You frowned. “If you’re referring to the party down at The Tipsy Bison, that’s a party for Tommy Miller they’re throwing. It’s his birthday today, Leah. You can’t just show up to someone’s birthday party on a whim or uninvited. That’s just bad manners.”

“Actually, I bumped into Maria Miller at the bakery this afternoon when I went to buy rolls for dinner—she was picking up Tommy’s cake. She mentioned the party to me and extended the invitation.” Leah grinned. It’s almost like she’d forgotten about how she had tried getting into her husband’s pants just months ago while she was still pregnant with their son. Leah swore she didn’t remember that—which part of you honestly believed. She had been drunk out of her mind the night she tried making a move on Tommy Miller. “She said that we were welcome to join in on the festivities. So come on, ladies. Put on your best and let’s get going!”

“Sorry, I’m going to have to sit this one out,” Lydia said with a sigh. She gathered all of her things and stood up. “I have a dozen papers to grade. But you two go on and have fun.” She walked towards your door, elbowing Leah on the way out. “Behave.”

“Don’t I always, big sister?”

Scoffing, Lydia glanced back at you. “Please make sure she doesn’t get into too much trouble?”

“Wait a minute, why do I have to babysit her?”

“Because you’re the good one.”

“Not anymore she’s not,” Leah muttered.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing,” she piped innocently.

Rolling her eyes, Lydia bid a quick goodnight, then disappeared.

“Well come on then,” Leah walked over to you and grabbed your arm, dragging you off your bed. “We need to get you out of these drab clothes and into something cute!”

You huffed, “What I’m wearing is just fine—”

“Don’t you want to get all dolled up for Joel?” She teased, lowering her voice as she pulled you to her bedroom just across the hallway. She shoved you inside and then closed the door behind her. “Look all nice and pretty for him?”

“Leah, I can’t talk to him at the party,” you told her as she lifted her hands and started taking the pins out of your braids. “It would raise an eyebrow—the last thing I want is for people to talk and it getting back to Papa. Or to put Joel in a weird spot at his own brother’s birthday party.”

She raked her fingers through your hair, taking out your braids. “Well at the very least, you can be eye candy for him to enjoy,” she stated with a smirk as she fussed around with your locks, which were textured from your braids. Once she was satisfied with your hair, Leah made her way over to her closet and started to dig inside a cardboard box that she kept tucked at the very back of it. She plucked a garment from it and tossed it over her shoulder at you. “Here, wear this one. I think Joel would like it on you.”

The dress was beautiful—a vibrant daisy yellow with a detailed eyelet embroidery and thin straps. You held it against yourself and let out a small scoff as you said, “Leah, I can’t wear this.”

“Don’t be silly, of course you can.” She threw a worn, tan leather cowboy boot at you, followed by the other. “I don’t have another pair of sandals but these go with the dress a hell of a lot better than oxfords do.”

You shook your head furiously.

“I can’t wear this dress, much less out to the bar. It’s way too short—it’s inappropriate.”

Leah snorted. “Honey, Joel Miller made you come in his mouth outside the church house and a short dress is where you draw the line? Seriously?”

You opened your mouth to respond, then clamped it shut—she made a fair point. Without giving your sister anymore grief, you stripped out of your skirt and blouse and slipped the yellow dress on. You reached up take off your cross, but decided against it and left it alone.

Less than an hour later, the two of you walked arm in arm into The Tipsy Bison.

“Wow,” you breathed out, looking around in awe—the bar had been completely transformed and you almost didn’t recognize the place. The bar’s owner Seth liked to keep the place dim, but since it was a special occasion tonight, he’d strung lights across the room from ceiling to ceiling. He had also taken all the tables and chairs and moved them all aside, creating a makeshift dance floor. In a corner of the bar, a band had set up to play live music. Currently on the microphone was Pamela, a woman who ran the town’s general store, singing a lovely rendition of Landslide by Fleetwood Mac.

“Well, I’ve been afraid of changin’

‘cause I’ve built my life around you

but time makes you bolder…”

“Come on, let’s go grab a drink!” Leah tugged you over towards the counter. The both of you went up to Seth, who was helping his bartenders serve the dozens of party guests. She smiled sweetly at him and said, “Two glasses of whiskey, please. I’ll have mine neat and she’ll have hers on the rocks.”

You wrinkled your nose.

You didn’t even like whiskey.

You could never choke down more than a sip, two or three if the ice watered the liquor down enough.

“Of course, Leah.” Seth nodded. He looked over at you and did a double take in the middle of his pour that almost made him miss the glass. He let out a low whistle. “Well, look at you! Never seen you this dressed up before.”

“Doesn’t she look pretty?” Leah beamed proudly.

“Just about the prettiest thing in the whole room,” Seth remarked with a wink as he placed your drink in front of you. “You two girls have fun but be careful. There’s a lot more drinking going on than usual—any one of these heathens bother you, you come tell me and I will kick their behinds out of this party. Got it?”

“Thanks, Seth!” you both chirped in unison.

Taking Leah’s hand, you led her across the bar and over towards a small vacant booth to sit. You knew it was only a matter of time before someone came over to whisk your sister away from you for a dance. You could see, out of your peripheral vision, a group of drunk patrolmen crammed together like sardines in a tin in the booth adjacent to yours throwing glances at Leah already.

“They’re looking at you too, you know,” she said in a matter of fact tone, lightly clinking the rim of her glass to yours before taking a drink.

“Well, they’re wasting their time,” you mumbled as you lifted your glass to your lips and took a careful sip of the bold amber liquid. It burned, making you cough and sputter violently. “Nope, I can’t do this. Here,” you shook your head and shoved your glass towards her before standing up. “I’ll be right back, I’m going back to the bar to ask Seth for a glass of water or something.”

Cutting across the dance floor, you were quick but careful not to bump into anyone as you made your way back to the counter.

“Back for another already?” Seth asked, chuckling as he took the bar towel in his hands and draped it over his shoulder. “I really didn’t take you for much of a drinker.”

Smiling sheepishly, you admitted, “I’m not.”

“Ah, I see now.” He nodded in understanding. “I’ve got fresh squeezed lemonade?”

You grinned. “Lemonade sounds really good, actually.”

“Coming right up.”

As you stood there waiting, you leaned against the counter and glanced over your shoulder, your eyes subtly scanning the room for Joel. There were way too many people—more than half the town turned out for Tommy Miller’s birthday and the bar had to be well over its maximum capacity. Exhaling a tiny sigh of defeat, you grabbed the glass of lemonade Seth set in front of you, kindly thanking him for it. Whirling around on the heel of your boot, you froze for a second realizing someone had been standing behind you waiting for you to move, so close you’d nearly crashed right into his broad chest.

“Oh, m’sorry about th—”

The man you’d almost ran into began apologizing, but then abruptly stopped short, his familiar, dark brown eyes widening in complete and utter shock.

“Hi Joel,” you breathed, your heart skipping a beat at the sight of him.

Joel hadn’t necessarily dressed up for tonight, but he wore a much nicer shirt than his usual denim or plaid—instead, he’d gone with a long sleeve brown corduroy button up. The material fit snug over the broad planes of his chest and his shoulders. If that alone wasn’t enough to make your knees go weak, then the way he’d left the top two buttons undone would finish the job.

“What are you doin’ here?”

“Maria extended the invitation to us,” you said in a small, shy voice—you didn’t quite know how to act with Joel with so many people around. Part of you worried people would notice and start talking. The other part of you couldn’t care less if they did. You feared your father finding out, and yet at the same time, you were ready for him to know that you had a man in your life, a man that you were certain you were slowly but surely starting to fall for more and more with every passing moment. “She invited us all, but it’s just me and Leah here tonight.”

Joel’s gaze swept over you, his throat going dry as sandpaper. “You look real different,” he said, doing his best not to let it linger too long.

Nervously, you asked, “Good different or bad different?”

“Good different.” He’d murmured it so quietly, you almost didn’t catch it over the music. “You look so fuckin’ beautiful.”

A bashful little smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “Thank you.”

Before another word could be exchanged between you and Joel, a stunning woman with short brown hair, intense eyes, and slender, mile-long legs only further accentuated by her tight denim skirt came up beside him. She slipped her arm through Joel’s and shot him a perplexed look.

“Joel? What’s taking so long with those drinks?”

The color instantly drained from Joel’s face.

Simultaneously, your heart dropped, deep into the pit of your churning stomach.

The woman’s eyes flickered over to you.

“Wait, you’re one of John’s daughters, aren’t you? Wow, I almost didn’t recognize you,” she said with a kind smile. “I don’t think we’ve ever officially met each other since I got to Jackson, but I’m Esther. I work in the commune’s infirmary. You work over in the schoolhouse, don’t you?”

“I do.” You offered her a small smile in return, hoping that it didn’t look as forced as it felt.

Joel tried meeting your gaze, but you refused.

“You must teach Ellie’s class, then,” she stated, an unmistakable hint of relief in her tone.

Because what other reason could Joel Miller have to be talking to you of all people at this party?

“Yeah, that’s it. I teach Ellie’s class.” Gripping your glass so tightly in your hand you were worried that it would shatter, you cleared your throat and in the most polite voice you could possibly muster under the circumstances, you said, “I should probably be getting back to my sister. It was very nice meeting you, Esther.”

Without even bothering to wait for her to respond, you stepped around Joel and quickly hurried back to yours and Leah’s booth. You slid into it, fighting back the tears that were threatening to spill over.

Leah frowned. “Hey, what’s the matter?”

Afraid you would crumble if you spoke, all that you could do was nod over towards the bar where Joel and Esther were waiting for their drinks. She had a hand on his back, rubbing affectionate circles into it as she lightly rested her head on his shoulder.

“Fucking asshole!” She hissed, angrily. “I ought to go up there and give him a piece of my mind—”

You cut her off, sounding miserable.

“For what, Leah? For being with someone who is a lot closer to his age than I am? Someone who isn’t a strict preacher’s daughter?” Your voice broke off slightly and you paused to recollect yourself. “Why did I ever think someone like him could ever—God, I’m so stupid. I’m so, so stupid.”

You dropped your head into your hands. You knew you couldn’t completely blame yourself, after all, it wasn’t like you had made up all those nights you’d spent with Joel in his arms or just imagined all the things he had said to you.

Still. It didn’t make you feel any less foolish, like an incredibly naive, dumb little girl who hadn’t known any better.

“Good evening, ladies.”

Pulling your face out of your hands, you looked up, your gaze meeting that of a handsome young man with blond hair and deep blue eyes. Offering you a polite smile, he extended his hand.

“I hate to see such a pretty girl look so down. How about a dance or two to cheer you right up?”

Glancing over at the bar, you could see Joel’s eyes were now fixed intently on you as Esther chatted with one of the female bartenders behind the counter.

You didn’t even hesitate.

Turning back to him, you accepted his hand. “I would absolutely love to dance with you.”

He knew what you were doing.

Oh, he knew exactly what you were fucking doing.

And it was working like a goddamn charm.

Joel leaned back into his chair and kept a cool and calm, collected demeanor on the outside—despite feeling anything but on the inside.

Jealously bubbled in the veins underneath his skin as he watched Nathan, a young man who couldn’t be much older this his late twenties, reach for your hands, placing them on his shoulders. Joel inhaled a sharp breath at the sight of the patrolman taking your waist, pulling your body flush against his own as he led you in what had to be your third or fourth dance of the evening, this one slower than the rest of them as the band struck up a romantic ballad.

He wrapped his fingers around his glass, holding it in an iron grip as Nathan held you even closer, way too fucking close for his liking. Joel had half a mind to walk out onto the dance floor and rip you out of his arms. It would cause a scene though, and that was the last thing he wanted to do at his own brother’s birthday party.

And then there was you.

You weren’t making things any easier for him. Your arms wrapped around the man’s back, fingers lost in the tufts of hair at the nape of his neck—smiling up at him with a flirty little glimmer in your eyes. If Joel didn’t know any fucking better, he’d think you were actually enjoying yourself with Nathan. But it didn’t matter whether or not it was just an act, you being in the arms of another man bothered him.

It fucking bothered him.

“Don’t go rearrangin’ that kid’s face too.” Tommy’s voice came from beside him. Maria had gone back to the house to check up on Noah—Ellie offered to watch him for the night despite never having been around an infant before in her life. Being the worry wart mother that she was, Maria decided to swing by and see how the teenager was faring alone with a five and a half month old. Esther, who had finally grown sick and tired of being brushed off by Joel all evening, decided to go with her, leaving the two brothers alone.

Joel turned to look at him.

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout,” he replied with a shrug. He lifted his glass to his lips, draining the rest of his bourbon in one gulp.

“Spare me the bullshit, Joel. You’ve been watchin’ those two like a fuckin’ hawk all night long. Wanna tell me what’s goin’ on between you and the girl?”

“Nothin’s goin’ on between us.”

Tommy snorted. “Then why do you look like you’re just about ready to go over there and knock Nate’s fuckin’ head off his shoulders?”

“Just makin’ sure he don’t step outta line with her, that’s all. After what happened with Kent—”

“Whose nose you fuckin’ shattered with your fist,” Tommy interjected. “It ain’t ever gonna heal right. Hope y’know that.”

Joel narrowed his eyes. “He’s lucky I didn’t fuckin’ kill him after what he tried to do to her, Tommy.”

“Look, I ain’t sayin’ Kent didn’t deserve it, but that ain’t the way we handle things around here.”

Joel rolled his eyes.

“You and Maria gave me this lecture already.”

“I know, but a reminder don’t hurt.” Tommy traced a circle around the rim of his glass. “I ain’t stupid. I know that somethin’s been goin’ between you and that girl. And whatever it is—it needs to stop, Joel. It’s bad enough that she’s half your fuckin’ age but she’s also one of the preacher’s daughters. When I told you it was best to keep your distance from his girls, I said it for good fuckin’ reason, brother.” For the sake of not stirring up an argument at his own party, Tommy decided to leave it at that. He stood from the table and picked up his empty glass. “M’gonna go get a refill. Can I get you one too?”

“No thanks,” Joel mumbled, a slight bitter edge to his tone.

“Hey.” Tommy lightly clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m just tryin’ to look out for you, Joel. Alright?”

When Joel didn’t respond, Tommy shook his head, dropped his hand from his shoulder, and made his way across the bar over towards the counter.

Shoving his brother’s warning out of mind without giving so much as a second thought, Joel glanced over towards the dance floor once again. The song had just ended and the band announced that they were going to take a brief five before their next set started. Setting his glass down, Joel watched your every move, and more importantly, Nathan’s every move.

Standing on the tips of your toes, you’d whispered something into his ear with a small grin before you planted a kiss on his cheek. Then, you spun on the heel of your boot and started off towards the bathrooms located at the back of the bar.

Trying to be as subtle as possible, Joel stood from the table and followed suit. He caught up to you in the short, dimly lit hallway and once he saw that the coast was clear, he grabbed your arm with one hand and covered your mouth with the other hand to muffle the sound of your scream. “S’just me!” Joel hissed into your ear, pushing you through the nearest door—the bar’s supply closet. Once inside the tiny room, he locked the door, flipped the light switch, and turned to face you.

You stood there absolutely seething.

“Joel, what is the matter with you?” you spat angrily at him. “You almost gave me a heart attack just now! What’s your problem?”

“Could ask you the same fuckin’ question,” he shot back, though he kept his voice low, calm.

For as mad as he was, he didn’t want to raise his voice at you.

“Let me out.” You started towards the door, but he was quick to block it. “Joel, let me out right now.”

“Not ‘til you explain to me what you were doin’ out there dancin’ with that little prick all fuckin’ night long.”

Lifting your chin, you feigned innocence. “Oh, you saw us?”

Joel glared at you. “Don’t you play dumb with me, little dove.”

The sweet nickname that once put a smile on your face suddenly made you feel sick to your stomach.

“First of all, don’t call me that, okay?” There was a slight, trembling edge to your tone. “And second, I honestly could have sworn that you were too busy with your girlfriend to even notice me and Nathan—oh, and speaking of Nate, he’s out there waiting for me to come back from the bathroom right now, so if you wouldn’t mind stepping side so I can leave, I would greatly appreciate it.”

Joel didn’t budge. “Listen, you got the wrong idea about Esther, darlin’ girl. The wrong fuckin’ idea.”

“Do you honestly think I’m stupid or something?”

“Just wait a second, let me expl—”

You cut him off with a scoff.

“You know, you really had me fooled, Joel. I fell for it, I fell for all of it. Do you even realize I was willing to leave my family for you?” You curled your hands into tiny fists at your sides. “Everything that I have ever known and built my entire life around, I would have walked away from it all just to be with you.”

He let out a loud, frustrated sigh.

“Christ, can you just let me fuckin’ explain?”

Crossing your arms over your chest, your gaze fell, dropping to the floor as you gave him a chance to speak.

“Esther, she ain’t my girlfriend.” He paused briefly, then added, “but I ain’t gonna lie to you either, sweet girl. She’s someone that I used to—”

Joel paused once again, trying to think of the best way to phrase it, but you beat him to it.

“Sleep with?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, his shoulders sagging. “But it didn’t mean a goddamn thing. Tommy and Maria introduced us months ago. He wanted me to meet somebody I could settle down and build my new life with here in Jackson. Nothin’ came out of it except for a few months of meaningless sex.”

“Joel, I don’t want to hear about you screwing her. Please, just let me out,” you pleaded, trying for the door once more.

“Baby, stop.” Grabbing your shoulders firmly, Joel walked you backwards and pinned you against the wall. “Look at me.”

“No,” you mumbled, refusing to meet his gaze just like you had earlier that night back out in the bar.

“Look at me.”

Finally, you brought your eyes up to meet his.

“When I started seein’ you, I put an end to it. Told Esther I couldn’t keep on doin’ what we were doin’ and it had to stop,” Joel explained. “But she hasn’t been able to accept I want nothin’ to do with her. She’s fuckin’ been all over me tonight and I let her for the sake of not causin’ tension at the party. She’s my sister-in-law’s best friend and last thing I fuckin’ wanted was for Esther to go cryin’ to Maria about me again. But then I saw you here and—” He trailed off.

“And what?”

Joel dropped his hands from your shoulders. “And I stopped carin’ about anythin’ else but you, darlin’ girl. Nothin’ else fuckin’ mattered to me but you.”

“Why should I believe you?”

He stepped back, lightly shaking his head.

“‘Cause I think I’m fallin’ for you, little dove.”

Joel wasn’t just making the confession to you.

He was making it to himself.

Your breath hitched in your throat and you grasped at the wall behind you, your fingernails scraping at the old, chipped paint.

“It’s the reason why I haven’t—m’afraid if we take the next step, it’s gonna ruin things, y’know?I don’t wanna lose what I’ve got with you. I wouldn’t be able to handle losin’ you.”

Somehow, you managed to find your voice. “Joel, I can promise you, you’re not going to lose me.” You stepped forward, delicately placing both hands on his chest. Even through the thick fabric of his shirt you could still feel his heartbeat thumping against the palm of your hand. Hard. Fast, almost too fast. “You couldn’t lose me. It’s just not possible.”

His own voice was just above a whisper.

“Why’s that?”

“Because I’m falling for you too.”

Tilting your head up, you stood on the toes of your boots and brushed your lips against his softly. Joel slipped his arms around your waist and he whirled you around, pinning you between himself and the door. His tongue swept roughly along your lower lip before coaxing its way into your mouth without any kind of resistance on your part. He reached up and cupped the back of your neck in his palm.

“Joel,” you whimpered his name into his mouth as your back arched off the door, demanding more of his touch.

Breathless, Joel pulled his mouth away from yours eliciting a desperate, frustrated moan from you.

“No, please don’t stop,” you whined, pressing your chest into his. “Please.”

“That little stunt you pulled out there,” he said, his lips ghosting yours, “I ain’t all too happy ‘bout it. I hope y’know that.” Although he was teasing you, there was a seriousness to it. “Tried to make me jealous, didn’t you, babygirl? Well, it fuckin’ worked. Got me all riled up.”

“I’m sorry about that.” Accompanying the apology with a sweet, innocent bat of your eyes, you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and dragged a hand slowly down the length of his chest. “Let me make it up to you?”

“And how’re you gonna do that, little dove?” Joel’s voice grew hoarse as he felt your hand going lower and lower, over his stomach and down towards his belt buckle.

Fingers brushing over the brass, you smirked, “I’m sure I can think of something.”

Joel bit back a groan, feeling the blood rush to his cock. Before he could say anything, you pressed a feather-soft kiss into his neck, your hand cupping him through his jeans. “Fuck,” he hissed the curse through gritted teeth. He planted his hands on the door behind you on either side of your head as his knees buckled slightly.

“Let me show you how sorry I am,” you cooed into his warm, flushed skin. Just as you started sinking to your knees, he stopped you.

“Wait. Not here. Ain’t putting you on your knees in some dirty fuckin’ supply closet next to mops and brooms,” he gruffed. “M’gonna take you home to my place.”

You frowned. “But what about—”

“Kid’s at Tommy and Maria’s babysittin’ Noah. Ain’t comin’ back ‘til tomorrow. Besides, she’s livin’ in the garage now.” He unlocked the door and took your hand. “C’mon.”

You glanced up at him with wide eyes as he pulled you out of the closet. “People are going to see—”

“Exactly. Want everyone to see you’re mine.”

Swallowing harshly, you let Joel lead you back out to the bar where the party was still in full swing.

You felt the heat prickling at your face and neck as several people stopped in the middle of what they were doing and began to whisper. Even Leah, who had been dancing, stopped mid-shimmy, her eyes wide with shock at the sight of Joel Miller openly holding your hand in his.

“Joel,” you murmured nervously from behind him. “Joel, everyone’s staring at us.”

He held your hand even tighter.

Let them.

#fic: fall into temptation #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller series #joel miller self insert #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 9 months

Text

IV ║ Notch

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Part III: Edgestitch | Behind the Seams: Part IV | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E, but not that explicit

Summary: While Ellie works her first shift at the Outfitters, Joel drops by yours to return the blouse you left behind at the baby shower. Turns out, there's plenty around the house to keep him occupied until the teenager clocks off.

Warnings: Sexual tension, body insecurity, some language, inaccurate descriptions of gardening, gratuitous descriptions of the male body, undervest supremacy, flirting, dry humping, shy!reader, reader has a nickname related to her job, soft!domestic!Joel, no use of Y/N

Word count: 8.9k

Notes: Once I started writing this chapter in earnest, it came together a bit more quickly than I expected! It's extremely self-indulgent, with plenty of white undervest and belly action because you guys deserve all of that goodness for being the most patient, loving readers a writer could hope for 🥹 Thank you, I love you all! ❤️

Notch – diamond shaped marks that stick out beyond the edge of the pattern to line up all the pieces when sewing the garment. They come in pairs to be matched up.

Joel is sleeping - which is not something that could be said until a couple of months ago.

After the outbreak, sleep as a concept ceased to exist. What took its place is literal ‘shuteye’, either engineered by pills knocked back with moonshine, or a preventative shutdown by his body to avoid total failure, having pushed his physical form to the living limit.

It’s the kind of sleep that is destitute and provides no relief. It keeps the cogs turning just enough that he doesn’t expire, standing in his boots - which, on most days, are not the only things held together by duct tape.

But after the hospital, even that turned out to be too much to ask for. Some nights, the itch for chemical-induced relief got so bad that Joel entertained the thought of asking Tommy for illicit pills, ready to crawl on all fours to his brother’s house two streets down because he was shaking so hard he couldn’t lock his knees. But he didn’t trust him not to tell Maria, and with Ellie in the picture, he wasn’t about to tempt fate.

So instead, he asked Maria to assign him to night patrols. She hmmm’d at his request like she knew something he didn’t, but she humoured him, letting him take the graveyard shift for a couple of weeks straight. She didn’t have to tell him that she could see the way he tripped over his own feet and hear the slur in his voice. She’s too sharp not to notice.

But she didn’t say anything.

What she did do though, was not so subtly wean him off the late-night patrols. It started with a couple of random, last-minute changes, and then the next thing he knew, he was working morning shifts exclusively. When he tried covertly swapping stints with another guy, he showed up at the guard tower at midnight to find his sister-in-law standing in the doorway, arms crossed over her pregnant belly.

As he trudged home begrudgingly with his head down and her stern reprimand in his ears, he couldn’t help a chuckle. Gotta hand it to her.

Banished back to his bed, Joel went back to staring owlishly at the ceiling, watching the moonlight slide across the plaster until he knew all the cracks in it with his eyes closed (metaphorically). He’d listen to Ellie snoring away two doors down and marvel at the fact that she somehow still slept like the dead, even after… all that.

And then, one night, it happened for him too.

Admittedly, he ate a bit too much at Tommy and Maria’s - on top of running the town like a well-oiled machine, she makes a mean chicken fried steak - and Ellie had not so subtly plonked a second helping on his plate without asking. He was lying in bed, steeling himself for another long night, when his eyes drooped. The motion was so alien that it jolted him wide awake, but he couldn’t shake the weight that clung to the seams of his lashes. The next time he opened his eyes, it was morning.

Turns out you can teach an old dog new tricks.

It’s nowhere near consistent, and more often than not he wakes up in a cold sweat in the small hours, but in between, he’s sleeping. For once, he’s feeling rested. And it’s a nice fucking break from the relentless exhaustion that he’s convinced is fused into his bones.

He always wakes up earlier than Ellie though. She never stomps down the stairs until he’s already had breakfast, and hers has gone cold.

So on the Saturday morning following the baby shower, with his face plastered into the mattress, body curled around a pillow - old habits die hard - Joel nearly falls out of bed at the banging on his door.

‘Joel! Get the fuck up!’

For one disconcerting moment between sleep and wake, he’s in his bedroom back in Texas. He half expects to look up to see the posters on the wall and the perpetually overflowing laundry basket at the foot of his bed.

Blinking through the urge to close his eyes, the colours fade and he stares blearily at the digital clock on his bedside table.

7:30.

What the fuck? More often than not he has to drag the teenager out of bed by the ankles, kicking and swearing, at 7:50 to get to school at 8:00.

His knees groan as he staggers onto his feet, grabbing yesterday’s jeans from the floor and pulling them on. He finds a passably clean shirt about five deep on a chair, which he shrugs on over his white undervest. With a grunt, he yanks open the door and heads downstairs on bare feet, frowning at unfamiliar sounds coming from the kitchen.

Joel pauses in the doorway, hands on hips. ‘What do you think you’re doin’?’

Deeming his question unworthy of a response, Ellie tosses him a roll of her eyes over her shoulder and resolutely ignores him.

Shuffling closer, he asks, ‘Are you - cookin’?’

Brandishing the spatula at him, she snarls, ‘What does it look like I’m doing?’

He goads her with a smirk. ‘To be honest, it looks like you threw up in the pan.’

Ellie elbows him hard in the stomach. ‘Fuck you, man!’

He grins. There’s nothing like winding her up first thing in the morning. Grabbing the pan, he bins the ruined eggs, scraping off the burnt bits stuck to the bottom. ‘Crack some more eggs, I’ll make ‘em.’

Ten minutes later, in their usual seats at the kitchen table, they tuck into scrambled eggs and buttered toast.

‘Slow down,’ warns Joel as Ellie wolfs down hers. ‘You’re gonna choke.’

‘You hurry up! Can’t be late for my first day,’ she garbles through a mouthful of food.

‘Why can’t you be like this about school?’ he grumbles, then he winces as his teeth catch something crunchy. Picking it out, he gives her a pointed look. ‘Eggshell.’

‘Calcium,’ she shoots back without even looking up, too busy shoving the rest of her breakfast into her mouth, stuffing her cheeks like a chipmunk.

That one word stops Joel in his tracks and hurls him twenty years back in time.

But then Ellie is jumping up and practically throwing her empty plate into the sink, sneakers squeaking on the tiled floor as she dashes out of the kitchen. ‘C’mon, old man!’

Joel smiles, the memory warm like sun on his face.

He shakes his head, slowly finishing his breakfast - like he wishes he did that day.

They turn out to be fifteen minutes early.

To his chagrin, Ellie admits freely that she lied about the time so they wouldn’t be late. He’s a punctual guy, thank you very much. He certainly doesn’t need to be schooled by the little brat.

Joel sits on the stairs, while Ellie has her face squished up against the door, unabashedly leaving smudges on the glass panels as she keeps up an uninterrupted running commentary on every last piece of clothing she can see.

He tunes her out easily, shifting in his seat so that his right ear is to the door. In his hands is the blouse that you left behind at Tommy and Maria’s at the baby shower. He’s been meaning to return it to you, but the week got away from him, and there’s no time like the present.

Considering the state of his knees, he impresses himself with the speed at which he stands at the sound of footsteps on the otherwise quiet main street. Squaring his shoulders, he discreetly pulls on his shirt, suddenly seeing wrinkles everywhere in the fabric, and runs his fingers through his hair, wishing he’d taken another look in the mirror before he left the house -

But it’s Lucy who appears at the bottom of the stairs with her unfailingly sunny smile.

‘Hi, you must be Ellie,’ she chirps.

She eyes Lucy cautiously, lips pinched to one side. ‘Where’s Pin?’

Joel growls. ‘Manners.’

Ellie puts her hands up in surrender. ‘Sorry. I meant - nice to meet you, where’s Pin?’

Lucy beams good-naturedly and fiddles with the lock. ‘She’s off today, and it’s all my fault because I made her work three weekends in a row. You’ll be helping me in the front anyway, so I’ll show you the ropes.’ Stepping aside and swinging the door open, she prompts, ‘In you go now, hon.’

Ellie doesn’t even look back at him, rushing into the shop like a thoroughbred fresh out of the starting gates.

Pocketing the keys, Lucy smiles. ‘Hi Joel.’

‘Hey,’ he nods back. ‘Sorry about Ellie.’

‘Don’t be, I was exactly like her when I was younger. Still am sometimes,’ she jokes. Then with a sly side eye, she remarks, ‘And honestly, you look more disappointed that I showed up than she does.’

He splutters, ‘Dunno what you’re talkin’ about.’

She smirks knowingly, gesturing at the blouse clutched tightly in his left fist. ‘I can pass that to Pin for ya.’

Joel hesitates for just a second, and Lucy bursts into laughter, elbowing him teasingly. ‘The way your face fell! I’m joking, Miller. Relax.’

He shakes his head. ‘It’s fine, guess I’ll give it to her next time she’s ‘round.’

Just then, from the depths of the shop, Ellie gasps dramatically and yells at the top of her lungs, ‘I want thissssssss one!’

Meeting Lucy’s eyes, Joel asks, ‘Sure you gonna be ok left alone with her?’

She shrugs. ‘There’s only one way to find out.’

He flashes her a thumbs up. ‘I’ll pick her up at three then.’

He’s about to walk away from the Outfitters when Lucy’s voice stops him. ‘Hey, Joel!’

Looking up at the wraparound porch, he raises an eyebrow in a silent question.

‘She lives in the yellow cottage on the same street as the shoe shop. Keep going north, you can’t miss it,’ she says with a two-finger salute and a parting line that he’s heard before. ‘Say hi to Pin for me!’

You’ve always had a soft spot for the turn of the season, when late spring blooms graciously give way to summer buds. The grass smells greener, and the air is pregnant with pollen and nectar. It’s not overly warm yet, but you can feel the intensity in the sunlight, muted only by the early hour. Good thing you’re starting early.

It’s unseasonably warm for June, and the vegetable patch on the far end of your garden has suddenly burst into life. The cauliflower has finally come through after two failed crops in a row, and both the tomato vines and pepper plants are thriving. Closer to the ground, the onion and garlic shoots are patiently waiting to be pulled, and asparagus shoots spear through the earth in tidy lines one after another.

Pulling on a hat and gloves, you get to work.

You’re halfway through the second row of onions when there’s a faint knock on the front door. Even though you’ve only been in the sun for a little while, the coolness inside the house feels like a balm to your skin as you pad inside, peeling off your gloves before reaching for the door.

Swinging it open, you’re stumped by the sight of Joel Miller on your doorstep.

You haven’t seen him since the party, where you’d agreed on a start date and time for Ellie’s first shift, and -

Since the kiss.

You’ve felt his absence keenly. You’ve caught yourself loitering on street corners, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, knowing you’ll be able to spot him just by the way his shoulders swing with his long strides. You’ve kept an ear out for the southern lilt that has chased goosebumps across your skin, or any mention of his name, but all in vain.

Jackson has a habit of growing in size, usually in direct proportion to one’s desperation.

Now that he’s somehow here, you’re aware you’re gaping at him, so broad that his shoulders are blocking out the daylight. Too many years out of practice to count, you have no idea what the protocol is when you next see the man who literally made your knees buckle with just his lips and nothing else.

‘Mornin’, he finally says with a small smile.

You stammer. ‘H-hello. What, um, I mean, how -’

‘I dropped off Ellie at the shop and Lucy told me where you live,’ he explains, shaking out the blouse in his hands. ‘Thought I’d come ‘round and return this.’

Your palm twitches with the urge to smack yourself on the forehead. Of course that’s why he’s here.

Taking the top from him, you smile back gratefully. ‘Thank you. And of course, it’s Ellie’s first day. I’m sorry I can’t be there, but I’ve been subbing for Lucy on the weekends for a month straight and I needed a break.’

He waves away your apology. ‘Count yourself lucky. She was just ‘bout bouncin’ off the walls.’

‘Bless her heart,’ you chuckle, breaking off when his eyes flicker over you, as if he’s just registered your very minimalist ensemble of a white cotton tank top and denim cut-offs. Your skin prickles under his scrutiny, flattery winning out against self-consciousness at the deliberate drag of his gaze over you, a thoughtful weight behind it.

That is until something catches his attention, and you flinch when he peers under the brim of your hat. ‘What -’

Before you can even articulate your question, he’s taken one step towards you, his work boots heavy on your creaky wooden porch. His voice is low but rough around the edges, just the way you like it.

‘You got some dirt -’ he swipes his index finger firmly on the end of your nose. ‘Right here.’

Your jaw hangs open, then clamps shut, in quick succession, the shell of your ears burning hot at his fleeting touch. Throat suddenly dry, you barely manage to squeak, ‘Thanks.’

One day, you will at least try and keep your cool around this man. But alas, it is not this day.

Rearranging himself, Joel leans on the doorframe with his arms crossed and remarks conversationally, ‘You look outdoorsy this mornin’.’

Flashing the soil-stained gloves at him, you try to keep your voice steady. ‘I’m just doing some gardening out back. The vegetable patch needs harvesting.’

He purses his lips at that. ‘Didn’t peg you as the gardenin’ type.’

You don’t know where the bravado comes from, but you swat him on the arm with the gloves and quip, ‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me.’

‘You got me there,’ he huffs a laugh and gestures towards the back of the house. ‘Anythin’ I can do to help?’

The refusal is on the tip of your tongue. You don’t say yes to a whole lot nowadays, other than when Lucy makes you. But then you hear yourself ask, a challenge in your voice that you didn’t know you had. ‘I don’t know. Are you any good with your hands, Joel Miller?’

At the boldness in your words, which you don’t take back, Joel’s eyebrows reach for his hairline. Biting your lip but standing your ground, you watch him grind his jaw as he considers his response.

‘Why don’t you try me, sweetheart?’

‘Like this?’

‘Wait - slow down.’

A shuffle of hands. ‘How about now?’

‘That’s it. Yes, that’s good. Keep going.’

A raspy grunt. ‘I think I’m almost there.’

‘Yeah, that’s right, don’t stop -’

‘Alright, you ready?’

‘Come on, Joel -’

With one last flick, the knife slices clean through the base of the stalk, and Joel plucks the cauliflower head out of its leafy cradle with a triumphant grin.

‘How’s that for good hands, huh?’ he crows.

‘I’ll get back to you in the fall when we see if the cauliflower grows back,’ you tease.

He huffs, squinting up at you through the sun. ‘You’re hard to please, sweetheart.’

You preen at the playful turn of the conversation. If you were a little braver, you’d give him a mischievous wink - but for now, you gesture at the patch. ‘Can you handle the rest? I’ll get started on the peppers.’

He nods. ‘Leave ‘em with me.’

The pepper plants are having a great season, standing at four feet tall and heaving with fruits. You’ve left them alone on the vine for the last three weeks to sweeten, and they have dutifully ripened into a beautiful red. Settling onto your knees, you methodologically comb through the peppers from top to bottom, cutting off each one by the stalks.

It’s a big harvest, half of which you plan on giving away to your neighbours in exchange for their berries and lemons. Some you will cook. Lucy is due to come over for dinner, and she loves your stuffed pepper recipe. The rest you’ll have to find time to roast, skin, deseed and preserve in oil, which will last the rest of the year -

A shadow falls over you, stilling your hands and drawing your eyes upwards.

The sight is familiar - feet planted shoulder-wide by your knees, chin tucked in as he stares down at you, your nose level with the front of the jeans that you picked out for him - you’ve seen it all before, except for one small detail.

Joel is sweating. A lot.

His thin plaid shirt - you’re not sure if you’ve seen him in anything else yet - is sticking to him like a second skin, clinging to the solid outline of his biceps as he holds onto the basket full of cauliflower heads. The sunlight glances off the perspiration dotting his hairline, and the wispy grays that normally curl away from his face have wilted in the humidity.

There’s a flush under his skin as he swipes at his forehead with his shirt sleeve, and your gaze follows a bead of sweat dripping down the prominent vein on the side of his neck, and into the deep V of his shirt - wait, is that the outline of an undervest that you can just make out underneath -

‘Should I take the cauliflower in?’

‘Um -’ you stammer to a halt, eyes still plastered to the front of his chest, just like his shirt.

He clearly mistakes your gawking for something else, flashing you an apologetic smile at his state. ‘Sorry, I work up a sweat real easy.’

Oh, come on. Now all you’re thinking about is how else he works up a sweat -

Seized by the sudden need to get out of the heat in more than one sense of the word, you rip the basket from his grasp and turn on your heels to sprint into the house with a choked, ‘I’ll be right back!’

You nearly trip over your own feet running into the kitchen, your heart thumping so loudly in its ribcage it feels like the whole house is shaking to the beat.

And all that man has done is sweat in front of you.

‘Pull yourself together, Pin,’ you mutter to yourself as you tip the cauliflower heads onto the kitchen table. Grabbing a jug from the cupboard, you put it in the sink and turn on the faucet. Watching the trickle of water, you make yourself take three deep breaths.

Joel’s kind enough to do you a favour, you could at least have the courtesy to not perv on him while he helps you out.

Nodding determinedly to yourself, you pluck two glasses from the drying rack, putting them inside the empty basket that you hook on your elbow, and march back outside -

Only to almost swallow your tongue and drop the full jug of water right at your feet.

Joel’s sweat-soaked shirt is now hanging on your washing line like a white flag, having surrendered to the heat. And just like that, the very image that has been inconveniently seared into the back of your eyes since the party is suddenly before you in all its glory, in the morning sun, out in the open air.

The white undervest stretches over the breadth of him, and if he didn’t look so good in it, you would’ve laughed at the comical way the flimsy straps are clinging onto his shoulders for dear life. Then he bends over to inspect the tomato vines, the bottom of his vest riding up with the movement, teasing a flash of skin above the waistline of the jeans pulled tight over his behind. One big hand reaches out, the outline of his arm flexing as he does, and he palms the bottom of one tomato, testing if it’s ripe for the picking.

Except in your head, it’s something else he’s cupping with such rapturous attention.

He doesn’t notice you until he stands up with a low grunt of effort. Pointing an apologetic finger at his shirt, he says, ‘I hope you don’t mind, I’m sweatin’ right through it like nobody’s business.’

You make a noise in your throat that you pass off as an answer, and with shaky hands, pour him a full glass of water which you shove in his direction.

‘Appreciate it, sweetheart.’ He salutes you and takes a long drag, tipping his head back. You watch, transfixed, as the sunlight bounces off the lines of sweat criss-crossing down the strong column of his neck, and the hard bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows.

Suddenly, you’re parched. But you don’t trust yourself to stay upright, let alone pour yourself a drink.

‘It’s hot today,’ Joel breaks the loaded silence, though it’s possible that it’s unilaterally so on your side.

‘Uh-huh,’ you croak, still holding onto the water jug like a shield.

He peers at you with a touch of mischief. ‘You ain’t gonna swoon or anythin’ are you?’

Probably. And definitely not for the reason he has in mind.

You attempt a weak smile that may have come off as a grimace. ‘I’ll try not to.’

Reassured, he nods towards the garlic patch. ‘C’mon. Let’s get our hands dirty, sweetheart.’

By the time the vegetable patch has been thoroughly picked and the baskets crammed full, the sun is high in the sky, the morning clouds burned off with the heat.

Joel isn’t the only one who’s sweating through his clothes - your light cotton top is now clinging uncomfortably to your skin, sweat dripping down your sternum and dampening the cups of your bra. You heave a sigh of relief when he helps you move the haul to a shaded corner near the porch where you have an outdoor sink and wheel hose installed.

Emptying the root vegetables into the sink, Joel steps back and casts a critical eye over the rain gutters that line the eaves of your house. Fingers spread over one jutting hip, he leans his weight on his right leg, the stance creating all kinds of angles that are completely unnecessary in this kind of heat.

He points at the leaves and branches that are clearly sticking out from the channels, but you’re only really interested in studying his large hands. The bumps and veins on the back of them, the watch with the broken face on his left wrist, the dirt coating his thick fingers, pushed under tidily trimmed nails. The logical thought that follows is how he would leave dark streaks on your white top when he pulls you in by the waist -

‘Looks like the gutters need cleanin’,’ Joel declares.

Well, the gutter your head is currently dunked in can certainly do with a good scrub.

‘Rainy season doesn’t start for another few months, they can wait.’

He uh-uh's sternly. ‘I’ve heard that before. Do you have a ladder?’

‘You really don’t have to -’ you protest, but he won’t hear it.

‘It’s no big deal, I’m sweaty anyway,’ he replies. ‘Besides, you’ll be doing me a favour keepin’ me occupied. I don’t pick Ellie up till three.’

You bite your lip. ‘But I feel bad working you so hard.’

Without skipping a beat, he winks. ‘Don’t worry your pretty head, sweetheart - I like workin’ for it.’

Jesus Christ. This man needs to be locked up and the key thrown to a colony of clickers.

The inner contractor in Joel comes out to play as he climbs deftly up the extension ladder propped up against the eaves, gloves on and a tarp bag tied to the top rung for collecting the debris. Discreetly, you shuffle around the freestanding sink so that you have a clear view of him as you turn on the water and start washing the dirt off the onions.

He’s starting close by, just a couple of feet away from you, patiently scooping out the dead leaves and twigs by the handful. Up on the ladder with his side to you, you’re eye level with the swell of his belly, which stretches the seams of the vest, and the underside of it peeks out every time he reaches up for the gutters. Your cheeks warm with the memory of how the soft folds felt against you, so warm and solid that you ache to reach out, push the flimsy vest up and nuzzle the tender skin with your nose -

It takes you a couple of minutes to realise that you’re not even pretending to be washing the onions anymore, the hose running in your idle grasp as you stare, head cocked to one side.

You don’t hear him when he turns to you. ‘Can pass me the hose?’

You stare dumbly back at him. ‘Huh?’

‘The hose, Pin,’ he repeats, a playful condescension in his smirk, like he knows exactly what you’ve been looking at. ‘That onion looks sparkly clean.’

You’re not sure what happened. One second you’re holding onto the hose with the intention of turning off the water before passing it to Joel, but your brain skips that crucial first step, and the next thing you know, you’re pointing it straight at him, spraying him in water from face to chest.

As he splutters, you shove the hose into the sink and screech, mortified. ‘Oh my god! I’m so sorry!’

You watch in horror as the water trickles from his hair, down his stubbled chin and onto his chest - okay, that’s a lie. It’s definitely not horror that’s twisting in your tummy and then much, much lower between your thighs.

And if you thought this man looked good sweaty, well - you’ve seen nothing yet.

He might as well put you out of your misery and take off his undervest right about now. It’s completely see-through, pebbled nipples and the firm ridges of his pecs showing through the wet fabric, rounded out by the endearing soft pouch of his belly.

He wears the early summer tan so well, and for the first time since the outbreak, you think about the swim club in your old neighbourhood. Watching the water drip off his skin, it’s not a stretch to imagine this man pulling himself out of the pool after a quick dip to cool down, before stretching out on a sunlounger to dry in the sun - all in slow motion, set to the track of a corny sax riff.

‘I’m sorry,’ you say on reflex, but the apology rings hollow with the way your gaze lingers over his chest, and he notices.

He chuckles, carding one hand through his wet hair to slick it back, standing taller under your eyes. ‘As I said - never a dull moment with you, sweetheart.’

Joel takes his time, clearing out all the blockages and hosing the gutters clean so that you don’t have to worry about them for another six months. He dumps the leaves and sticks in the compost post, rinses the soiled gloves and his hands clean, before taking his shirt off the washing line and heading into the blessed shade.

He finds you in the kitchen, back to the door, putting away clean plates and cutlery from the drying rack, porcelain knocking together and metal clanging.

This is the most he’s seen of you, in a tank top and shorts, bathed in light spilling in from the large windows that open out into the backyard. He sees touches of your workshop right here in the kitchen - dried herbs and seasoning in mismatched but tidy boxes on the shelves, knives organised by size on a magnetic knife block, plates and bowls arranged in neat stacks behind glass cabinets.

Not wanting to alarm you, he deliberately scrapes his shoe on the tiled floor to make his presence known.

Whipping around - and just a touch startled - you smile with a quiet hey, and Joel’s not sure if he’ll ever get over how the sweet shyness still clings to the curve of your lips despite the fact that he’s kissed you right there.

He stays by the door for now and says, ‘I put the ladder back, and the gutters are all done, but I spotted some shingles missing on the roof while I was up there. I’ll come back to fix ‘em some other time.’

‘Thank you so much Joel, but really, don’t worry about the roof. You’ve done enough.’

‘You basically got Ellie outta my hair every Saturday for the next few months, so I’ll have plenty of time to kill,’ he half-jokes.

A comfortable lull sets in, and he looks up at the ticking clock, surprised that it’s almost noon. Shifting his feet, he opens his mouth and is about to excuse himself when you blurt out, ‘I’m sorry I soaked you.’

The jury's out on who's more taken aback by your phrasing. Exasperated, you groan, ‘I did not mean to say that.’

Joel’s kept a respectful distance since he arrived at the house, the pliant weight of you in his arms and your taste on his tongue kept firmly at bay in the back of his mind, not wanting to bring up anything that would make you uncomfortable in the light of day. But now, he pushes himself off the threshold of the door and crosses the cosy kitchen, pleased that you stay put when he plants himself in front of you, toe to toe.

Brushing a finger under your chin so that you’re staring up at him, he deliberately pitches his voice low and gruff, the double entendre almost crude in its delivery. ‘Just so we’re clear, you can soak me any time, sweetheart, in any way you want.’

Your lips part and your gaze darkens, and he feels his body instinctively react, invisible threads reeling him bodily into you. When you speak, your voice quivers, his name at once a single-worded reprimand and a needy whine that takes him right back to his brother’s spare bedroom. ‘Joel -’

‘Yes, Pin?’ he baits you playfully, just like he did that night, taking one last step so that you’re crowded against the countertop, bookending you with his palms planted on the wooden surface.

Finally shedding that last bit of shyness holding you back, you retort with no real bite, ‘You’re such a tease, Miller.’

‘Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy it,’ he quips easily, his attention on your mouth. He hears your shaky intake of air, the whole moment suspended on tenterhooks as you skirt each other on the brink -

Just then, a breeze drifts in from the open window above the sink, providing instant relief from the humidity that hangs heavy in the air. All of a sudden, he’s acutely aware of the fact that he’s sweaty all over, so much so that he might actually smell.

Self-conscious, he clears his throat and murmurs ‘I should probably go, I need a shower and a change of clothes -’

‘You can shower here,’ you interrupt, stumbling over your words in your haste. ‘I have a spare shirt somewhere.’

You don’t need to ask him twice.

He smiles. ‘Sounds good, sweetheart.’

Your ensuite bathroom, like what he has seen of your house, is clean and organised. There’s a neat stockpile of soap bars in the cupboard, and he spots the familiar bottles of regulation shampoo and toothpaste that the town mass produces.

The water is plenty hot as he efficiently lathers himself top to bottom and front to back, but the pressure is a bit weak for his liking and can be easily fixed. Something else to add to the list.

The towel you left on the rack is soft and smells like the sun. Patting himself dry and rubbing it through his hair, he wipes away the condensation off the mirror above the sink. He peers at his reflection, ruminating that it’s time for a shave, and pushes back his wet hair so the strands don’t get in his eyes.

Out of his clothes, only his jeans are passably dry, so he forgoes his boxers and pulls them on, carefully doing up the zipper. Using his shirt as a sling, he bundles up all the dirty clothes and opens the bathroom door.

He catches you coming into the bedroom as he steps out, and your jaw drops at the sight of him in just his jeans before you slap your palms dramatically over your eyes, the tshirt you’re holding onto covering your whole face and muffling your voice. ‘I’m so sorry! I should’ve knocked!’

Joel chuckles at your reaction. ‘Sweetheart, it's your house. And I’m not exactly naked.’

Lowering your hands sheepishly, you still clutch the tshirt to your chest like a security blanket, admitting, ‘Sorry, I just - I just realised I’ve never had a man in here before.’

Something wraps itself around his stomach and pulls, and it takes him a beat to put a name to it because it’s been so long. It’s possessiveness that rushes through his veins and goes straight to his head, and he has to bite the inside of his mouth to keep his voice from wavering. He demands, ‘Never?’

‘Never.’

He lets the word wash over him, appeasing the beast in him for now. With a slow nod, he takes three measured steps towards you, stopping just an arm’s length away. Gently coaxing you to let go of the purple tshirt, he snorts at the huge Lakers logo blazoned across the front.

He quips, ‘I’m more of a Longhorns fan myself, actually.’

The tension cracks, and you grin back, ‘Well, not anymore.’

After your confession, it’s probably redundant, but he wants to hear you say it. Flashing the tshirt at you, he asks, ‘Old boyfriend’s?’

It’s the most personal question that’s been exchanged between you so far by a mile, and it’s probably none of his business, but you can’t explain why your pulse spikes at the way his normally warm gaze hardens with something unfamiliar.

‘No,’ you answer. ‘I keep some of the stock here when there’s not enough room at the shop, that’s all.’

Joel rasps, ‘Good.’

With that one syllable, his shoulders visibly relax, suddenly drawing your attention to his topless form, which you’ve been too mortified to actually look at. It’s a lot to take in, and even though you’ve seen most of him already, there is one conspicuous part that you haven’t yet -

But before your eyes can trail that low, Joel turns. ‘Thanks, I appreciate it. I’ll just -’

You’re slow to catch onto why he trails off in the middle of the sentence, still far too distracted by his general state of undress to notice until he’s already made his way to the top of your neatly made bed. And then you see it…

The flannel peeking out from underneath the duvet.

Oh. Fuck.

With an almost flippant flick of his wrist, Joel peels back the corner of the bedspread. Wordlessly, he stares down at the red plaid shirt he lent you at the baby shower, tucked snugly in your bed, buried half under your pillow.

He stares at it for so long that you interrupt the silence for once.

‘I’ve been meaning to return it,’ you squeak, hands flailing awkwardly, desperately wanting something to hold onto. ‘I just - forgot.’

Joel half-turns to you, arching an eyebrow. ‘You’ve been keepin’ it in your bed?’

Backed into a corner - and you’re not proud of it - you lie. Outrageously. ‘I don’t know how it got in there.'

He picks up the shirt by the collar. It’s wrinkled all over and obviously worn in. He smirks, ‘I’m not so sure about that.’

You’re this close to swivelling around and making a break for it, but as soon as your axis of balance tilts backwards, Joel grabs you by the wrist and pulls you in, hauling you firmly into his bare chest.

‘You’ve been wearin’ it to sleep, haven’t you?’ he asks in a tone that brooks no argument.

Your fingers curl into his chest, his skin blazing warm under your palms. There’s no point fibbing anymore, and you admit, ‘Yes.’

His voice is hoarse when he asks, ‘You wear anythin’ underneath it, sweetheart?’

You hold your breath for one long moment, the tension in the room swelling so quickly that your ears pop. Eventually, under his patient yet heated stare, you shake your head, lips sealed.

His pupils dilate and his nostrils flare, and you feel his grip on your hips tighten.

‘No bra?’ he prompts.

‘No bra,’ you parrot back.

His jaw clenches so tightly that you’re surprised he manages to articulate his next question. ‘No panties?’

‘No panties -’

You barely get the word out before Joel is kissing you, pushing the syllables right back into your mouth until you swallow them with a whimper.

And then he’s pulling back, growling against yours, ‘And what do you do naked in my shirt, hmm?’

You stutter, ‘I - I think about you -’

An undignified squeal escapes you when he suddenly spins you around, your back hitting the bed, denying you the chance to catch your breath. The ceiling fan turns directly above you, but it does nothing to quell the heat between your bodies as Joel clambers over you on his hands and knees, sliding his mouth over yours again in a hard kiss.

You always thought your bed was a decent size, but now, with the bulk of this man hovering over you, you’re not so sure anymore. His ridiculously wide shoulders fill your entire field of vision, and even though he’s holding himself up with his forearms by your ears, you can almost feel the full weight of him through sheer anticipation of his touch.

His heated words brush by your ear, making you shudder. ‘Tell me what you think about, sweetheart.’

‘Your arms, your shoulders -’ you hesitate, dropping your voice shyly. ‘Your belly.’

Joel looks taken aback. ‘My belly?’

You duck your head almost guiltily. ‘Yes.’

His brows draw together in an endearingly confused frown. ‘Why?’

‘That time in the workshop, when we met, you were sucking it in so hard you could hardly breathe - but you don’t anymore.’

The dots connect, and his lips part in an oh. ‘I didn’t even realise.’

‘I know. That’s why it’s sexy,’ you point out.

He looks at you incredulously, as if you’ve lost your mind. ‘My belly is sexy?’

You grin. ‘Yes, and your confidence. You walk differently now, you know.’

He makes a noise at the back of his throat, a self-satisfied smirk tilting his lips upwards. ‘You been watchin’ me?’

‘Maybe,’ you tease.

You exhale long and heavy through your nose when he sucks delicately on your bottom lip, opening you up so that he can dip inside, stealing a taste of your tongue with his.

‘Been thinkin’ about you all week, sweetheart,’ he whispers, trailing fire across your cheek and the hollow behind your ear.

‘I haven’t seen you around at all,’ you whine, tipping your head back as he nudges the tip of his proud nose down your throat.

‘I know, it took three fuckin’ days to clean up after the party,’ he complains, his disgruntled tone prompting a giggle from you. ‘Never again.’

‘I’m not so sure about that. There will be plenty of birthday parties to look forward to, Uncle Joel -’

An open-mouthed kiss on the side of your neck catches you off guard, the unfamiliar texture of the wet suction and scrape of his teeth jolts you clean off the mattress, sending you body slamming into his ribcage.

Joel hums, pleased at your reaction. ‘So sensitive. I’ve barely touched you yet, sweetheart.’

It’s immediate, the shame that burns under your skin at his remark despite knowing he doesn’t mean anything by it, and Joel frowns at the way you stiffen under him. Regret colours his words as he cups your cheek. ‘Pin, I’m sorry, that came out wrong -’

‘No, that’s the thing. You’re not wrong,’ you interrupt with a shake of your head. There’s no point denying it - you’re a grown woman, and there’s something fundamentally embarrassing about losing touch with that part of yourself over the years. ‘I - it’s been so long, I don’t even know my own body anymore.’

His eyes dip downwards and slowly, over the curve of your breasts and the arch of your back. With an encouraging smile, he argues, ‘I’m not sure about that. Looks like your body’s reactin’ perfectly to me.’

Your lips twitch despite yourself. ‘You’re just saying that to get into my pants.’

He takes the unexpected turn in the conversation in stride and runs with it. ‘Trust me, sweetheart, if I were tryin’, I’d already be in them.’

‘You’re such an ass, Joel Miller.’

His roguish grin has you squirming and fisting the sheets underneath you. ‘I dunno. Somethin’ tells me you like it.’

Wrapping one palm on the back of his neck, you drag him into you again, relishing in the weight of him as he pins you to the bed with the broad frame of his shoulders. He moans into your mouth, claiming it with deep strokes of his tongue, while his calloused palms sneak under the hem of your shirt and pull you into him by the small of your back.

Even as your hips buck, begging for friction, Joel holds back, propping himself up on his knees to keep a tenuous grip on his self-control. Pulling back from your lips with a wet pop, he assures you through heavy breaths, ‘We can stop any time, sweetheart. Just say the word.’

Your response comes fast and sure, but he can read the hesitance between the lines, ‘I - I don’t want to stop.’

He presses a patient kiss to your lips, but backs away before you can deepen it. ‘How about this - we’ll flip you over so that you’re on top, and you decide what you want to do. Is that ok?’

You pause to consider his proposal, sliding your tongue over your bottom lip - he’s this close to kissing you right there and then. You ask shyly, ‘And it’s ok if we - you know, just make out?’

He smiles. ‘I can do with some good old-fashioned neckin’.’

‘Ok then -’

You yelp when Joel turns you over without warning, the sudden movement making your head spin. Sitting up against the headboard, he drags you in his lap and asks, ‘Alright?’

You nod with a nervous smile. It’s intimidating, being so close to him that there’s nowhere else to look but into his thoughtful eyes that are watching you for any signs of discomfort. Catching your breath, you settle into the moment and realise that you’re straddling him, hands clinging onto his shoulders, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. His belly is warm and soft where he’s pressed up against you, but lower, nudging insistently between your legs -

Joel is hard.

The revelation robs you of air, want and need rushing like blood to your head, and you stiffen, not knowing what to do.

Joel catches on - you’re beginning to think that nothing ever escapes him - and he reminds you, ‘Just kissin’, ok, sweetheart?’

Snapping out of your freeze frame, you nod, ‘Yes. Ok.’

Giving you somewhere to start, he prompts, ‘Where do you want my hands?’

Tugging on his wrists, you watch his jaw go slack when you place his palms squarely on your ass, where your denim shorts hardly cover the top of your thighs. He lets out a lewd moan at the way your soft curves fill his hands, fingers squeezing and kneading greedily, and you push your hips back into his contact.

‘Not so shy after all, hmm?’ he rasps.

You preen at his praise, and riding the wave of boldness, you tip forward and press your lips to Joel’s before you could overthink it. Over the roar of blood in your ears, you hear him suck in a shaky breath, and you feel the deep groan in his throat taper into a whimper when you swipe your tongue into his mouth.

You’re completely unprepared for the power the sound unleashes in you.

Somewhere in your consciousness, a door is cracked open, and memory crackles at the edges of your mind. Each shuddered breath shared, every slide of skin on skin, brings to the surface what you thought you’d forgotten.

Your fingers burrow into the still wet locks at his nape, earning a loud moan from Joel when you pull on the grays that have distracted you on more than one occasion. He nips his way sloppily down your neck, trailing spit and beard burn as he goes, while your palms skate over his chest and down, down, down until your fingernails drag over the pliant folds of his tummy, hanging over the waistband of his jeans.

‘Sweetheart,’ he groans brokenly at the contact, forehead knocking into yours.

Spreading your fingers over soft flesh, you choke on an inhale when he bodily rocks into your palms. Your thumb catches the hollow of his belly button, fingers tenderly squeezing the creases and dimples of his belly. His eyes crack open under tightly knitted eyebrows, vulnerability etched in every line on his face.

Something shifts - something that neither of you can take back. And suddenly, it’s not just kissing anymore.

Caught somewhere between writhing instinctively under his touch and a deliberate pursuit of friction, your hips find a rhythm that has the seat of your panties quickly twisting and dampening as you grind on the erection straining against the zipper of his jeans.

Blunt nails bite into your thighs as Joel growls, ‘Shit, sweetheart. That’s it.’

You want to bury your face in his neck, feeling too wanton in the way you’re panting in needy whimpers, but he preempts that on no uncertain terms. ‘I want to see everythin’. Look at me.’

You do just that - you can’t deny this man even if you tried - watching him watch you with his pupils blown wide and wild, wetting his bottom lip the same time his eyes drop to your tits, as if he can see right through the thin fabric. He doesn’t touch you anywhere else though, his hands staying where you put them. You can feel his grip dig harder and harder into the swell of your ass, but he doesn’t try to change your rhythm, giving you free rein to ride him any way you need.

When your peripheral vision starts to go, you know it’s not a coincidence that your thoroughly soaked panties shift and strain against your clit, pinching it just so that you cry out, hips faltering.

Joel bares his teeth, and you feel his hips rut upwards into you, his restraint slipping. ‘There you go. You’re close, aren’t you?’

You can only nod, frantically grinding into him now, your whole mind narrowing until the only thought that remains is chasing that high that you can almost taste. Everything swells, electricity fills the air, his name a sacred chant on your tongue as you claw at his back, teetering precariously on the brink of something that promises to devastate you.

‘Joel, Joel, Joel -’

He catches you when you break - you fling yourself at him, knocking into him so hard that the back of his head hits the wall, but he doesn’t even flinch. Tucked safely into the crook of his neck, you whine and wail as you thrash in his hold, and his nostrils flare at your scent. He can smell you, he can smell the slick leaking from your pussy, humid and heady in the air between you, making his mouth water as he aches to taste you - all of you.

One day.

Right now, the hinge of his jaw almost cracks as you milk the last remnants of your orgasm with a needy swivel of your hips, rubbing against his cock at an angle that makes his vision swim, and he knows he’s too far gone. His control slips like shifting sands, and a primal instinct takes over as he bucks roughly into you, fingertips leaving imprints in your skin that you will feel for days after.

‘Oh fuck, sweetheart, wait, I’m - shit, I’m gonna -’

When it hits him, it’s fucking relentless - he cums and cums until his voice goes hoarse with your name, until it feels like his abdomen would cave in and collapse, spurting and spilling until it feels like he’s turned inside out. It goes everywhere, thick, milky strands filling the gaps in his jeans and sliding down his legs in a sticky mess, and he slumps bonelessly into the headboard, panting against your lips as he catches his breath.

Sweetly, gently, he tilts his chin up just enough to kiss you, his nose nudging your cheek intimately when he pulls away, his lungs too deprived of air to keep going. He winces when you shift above him, knowing that you can feel the wet spot pooling under your bare thighs.

Joel breaks the sluggish silence first, cracking a grin. ‘So much for just makin’ out.’

You clumsily climb off his lap and crash land sideways onto the mattress. ‘Is that a complaint, Joel Miller?’

He drapes a heavy arm over you and pulls back you flush into him. ‘Well, these jeans are fuckin’ ruined. I want a refund.’

‘I’m afraid we don’t accept cum-stained returns. Store policy.’

He pffts. ‘Damnit. Should’ve read the fine print.’

You grin. ‘Well, at least there's something deeply poetic about cumming in the jeans that I picked out for you.’

‘Touché, sweetheart,’ he grunts and presses a kiss to your forehead. Glancing down at the unmistakable wet patch on the denim, he asks hopefully, ‘Any chance you got some pants I can borrow?’

Ellie bounces her leg irritably, hunched over on the stairs exactly where Joel was sitting this morning. Where the fuck is he? He’s twenty minutes late, and he had the nerve to get all huffy when she lied about the start time today. Unbelievable.

Moodily looking left and right, there’s still no sign of him. She’s about to give up and wait for him at home when something conspicuously purple comes to a stop in front of her.

Her jaw hits the floor.

‘Oh. My. God.’

She’s never been high before, but she’s pretty sure this is the stuff hallucinations are made of.

This being Joel Miller in a purple tshirt with a tacky logo she doesn’t recognise printed on the front and khaki cargo shorts that cut off at the knees, holding a basket of vegetables that she’s pretty sure he doesn’t eat.

With a roll of his eyes, he snaps, ‘Shut your mouth, you’re trappin’ flies.’

Pasting on the most obnoxious grin she can muster, Ellie croons, ‘Man, don’t you look pretty.’

Turning on his heel, Joel starts walking without looking back. ‘Shut up.’

Jogging to keep up, she cackles, ‘Hey, did you fall into a wormhole and went shopping at a farmer’s market in 1999?’

‘Shut up.’

‘You really should wear shorts more often, y’know, show off those knees. And purple really is your colour, Barney!’

Joel frowns, shooting her a sidelong glare. ‘How the hell do you know who Barney is?’

Ellie shrugs. ‘What do you think they teach us at school?’

He’s the one who starts it. The quake in his shoulders would have been imperceptible to anyone else, but nowadays, there’s not much that he can hide from her. As usual, she giggles first, which trails into a squeal when Joel gives her a shove on the back, sending her stumbling over her shoes.

‘Fuck you, man!’ she snickers and basically rugby tackles him, but he barely budges, lips pulling back into a toothy grin.

Across the street, unbeknownst to the pair, Tommy smiles to himself as he watches his big brother laugh, really laugh - the kind that has him doubling over and gasping for air through watery eyes. For the first time since the world ended, he looks up at the sky with a reassuring nod, and he knows deep down - Joel will be just fine.

Notes: You guys continue to blow me away with your support - I cannot be more grateful for all the reblogs, asks and interaction with my silly Behind the Seams posts and random updates. Thank you so so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I can't wait to hear what you think ❤️

I will be having a think over the next few weeks about where Seams will go from here. This chapter wraps up the first mini story arc, and I'll be dedicating August to wrapping up my Palomino series, so it will give me some time and distance to mull over what's next for Joel and Pin. I'm also a few followers away from a big milestone, so I might have something fun planned! 🥰

#fuckyeahseams #seams iv #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine

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smutzslxt · 4 months

Text

I WANT YOU TO TOUCH ME THERE| S.Gojo x fem!reader

ꨄSynopsis:Everyone thought that Satoru Gojo was a good looking man with a flawless personality ,but you knew that wasn’t true.That man hates you and you don’t even know why, but you are about to find out.

ꨄpairing: Bully!Satoru x popular-fem!reader

ꨄWC: 2001

ꨄrated: mature ,18+,mdni

ꨄCW: Heavy smut, dom!fem!reader x sub!gojo, dick riding, characters are 18+,p in v,semi public sex (in a changing room),pet names (Angel,good boy,Whore), getting caught.

ꨄA/N :we all love submissive satoru, right?

Whenever people tell you how great Satoru Gojo is , you just roll your eyes. Nothing was great about this idiot maybe he looked good, but he was an ignorant, eogoistic asshole.

You didn’t like him, but don’t worry, the feeling is mutual. Whenever your eyes meet each other, they shine full of hatred that you had for each other.

Whenever he had the opportunity, he embarrassed you, he ‘accidentally’ spills his drink over your white blouse, he bumps into you whenever he had a chance and the worst…he spreads rumors about you.

These rumors endangered your popularity rank. Every time you enter school there are new rumors about you.” Have you heard it, people say she got fingered by someone in class”

What nonsense, you thought when you walked through the hallway. Every time you walked past people, they started whispering.” People say she has given someone a blowjob in the toilet a week ago”

Your eyes found those of the students who were 1-2 younger than you.So how dare these nobodies to talk about you this way.

“Do you have anything to tell me?” You said when you put yourself in front of the anxious girl. She looked at her friend who seemed just as intimidated as she was. How pathetic.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered and didn’t even dare to look at you. “Who do you think you are to spread rumours about me“Again and again you were in the same situation.

People talk about you ,behind your back, and then they don’t even dare to open their mouths in front you. Your hands clenched into fists as you felt all the looks of other students on you.

“Who told you this stupid rumor?” It was actually already clear who it was. You just wanted to hear it from her mouth. The other rumors were more harmless but to tell around that you were fingered in class or that you have given someone a blowjob in the school toilet simply crosses the line.

“A boy from the upper class he has white hair and blue eyes”Satoru Gojo this stupid jerk. Anger spread in your body and a layer of goose bumps formed on your skin when you imagined what you are going to do with this blue-eyed motherfucker now.

“If I find out again that you’re telling rumors about me again, it gets very unpleasant between us, do you understand?” The hasty nod of the intimidated girl was like a start signal for you.

You sprint along the hallway in search of the boy who called himself the strongest. The anticipation of hurting his big ego caused the corners of your mouth to rise.

A loud ringing sounded through the corridors and then you finally saw something - or rather someone who could help you find your prey.

“Suguru” you shouted loudly through the brightly lit room. Like on command, he turned in your direction, just like other students who looked at you questionably but that didn’t interest you at all right now.

With a quick step, you walked towards your bully’s best friend and stood right in front of him.You skillfully ignored personal space at the moment you stood on your toes to be on an equal footing with him.

“Is there anyone else inside?” You asked and pointed your thumb at the changing room.” Only Satoru, but I had no more nerves to sit in there while he looks at himself in the mirror”

An insidious grin formed on your face. The success of finally standing up to him was so close you could feel it.” I’m going for a smoke and waiting for the idiot, do you want to keep me company for so long?”

In contrast to Gojo, Suguru was always nice to you, sometimes you even spent time together but you were disturbed by Satoru every time.

You don’t really know what happened, but you also got along well, but at some point he just started to hate you and you just couldn’t find out the reason why he did.

“I still have to do something”Geto nodded and said goodbye to you.” See you tomorrow,” he said and waved one last time before he made his way to the exit.

Your eyes searched through the hallway and when you didn’t see anyone, you opened the door to the changing rooms and huried in.

“What the hell” you heard a very well-known voice whispering behind you when you quietly closed the door behind you. “What are you doing here?” The white-haired egoist asked you as your eyes stared at each other.

To think about standing up to Satoru and then really putting it into action is a very big difference ,you just realised.

“You’re treating me like shit,” you finally said and looked at him bitterly. “I was still okay with you spilling your drink on me or bump into me whenever you had the chance but you crossed the border by spreading these horrible rumors about me” Without really thinking about your words, they flooded out of your mouth in the second you met his pissed look.

“How do you know that was me?” He spoke in a deep voice and drove through his hair with his hand while he rolled his eyes like he was annoyed.” It’s obvious, besides, I was told that you are the one who spread these rumours”

Cristal blue eyes looked down at you as he took a few steps towards you.” Well you are right it was me, what do you want to about it?” He stood right in front of you when he asked you this question.

“Why are you doing this” you felt intimidated by him at the moment and the many feelings that fought in your body did not exactly make it easier for you in this situation.

“Because I hate you” he put his hands on the door behind you right next to your head, which made it impossible to escape now.

“The feeling is mutual” you don’t know what exactly had happened but in the second when the last word rolled over your lips you felt a soft lips pressing hard on yours. You needed time to realize that Satoru Gojo was kissing you.

You don’t return the kiss - no, on the contrary, you push him away from you and you could feel how his ego was hurt, but this only strengthened yours.

Confidently, you took a step towards him and stood on your toes.” You say you hate me and the next moment you kiss me, that confuses me a little” your nose tip touched his and you could feel his deep breath on your lips.

Your hands laid on his shoulders when you pushed him back so that he sat on the bench behind him. You don’t waste a second and immediately sit on his lap.

“How much do you hate me, Satoru?” You whisper against his lips when your hips began to roll against his. The hardness that formed in his pants does not go unnoticed, just like the wetness in your thong.

“Every time I see you I want to embarrass you in front of everyone, I want everyone to hate you so that you don’t have anyone-“ a soft moan escaped his mouth before he could finish talking.

“Except-“ you could feel how he pressed his cock more and more against your clit, which made you lean your head back and moan hardly audibly.

“Me” when you heard that, you stopped moving your hip, which made your clit throb. Your shocked expression made him talk again.

“I don’t want you to need anyone else but me” it could have sounded like a love confession, but for you it didn’t. To you it sounded like he wanted to own you as if you were just an object.

“You are an idiot” you put your hand on his belt and removed it from his pants,you dropped it on the floor next to you and the same happened to his pants until he was only in shorts and a shirt.

When you got up from his lap, he was about to pull you back on it, but you slapped his hands away.” can’t you wait a second,” you said annoyed.

He didn’t know what you were doing until he saw from the corner of his eye how the skirt you had on fell on the floor. When his eyes lingered on your red thong, you began to grin wide.

“I can’t believe it” you laughed out loud as you took off your thong.”I’m about to fuck with you” it felt like you were just given a trophy when you saw Satoru’s needy expression.

Without really thinking about it, Satoru took off his shorts and let them rest with the rest of your clothes. Your eyes were wide when you saw how long his cock was. At least 9 inches and thick, you wondered if your hand would fit completely around it.

“Actually, I thought guy’s with a big ego had a small cock but Satoru you surprised me once again ” you sit on his lap and rub your wet pussy against his hard dick.

When you positioned yourself over his cock, you felt his hands stop you. “I should-“ you knew what he wanted, but you wouldn’t let him.

Your hand laid on Gojo’s cheek when you said your next words.” You tell everyone that I am a slut, then let me show you what kind of slut I am”

His hands stayed on your hip as his tip ,with pre cum over it,entered your pussy. You were on the pill so a condom was not necessary.” If I already had as many cocks in me as you tell everyone, then you don’t have to prepare me.” You let yourself sink more and more until he was half inside you.

The unpleasant burning feeling made you bite your lip hard. It would have been a better idea if he had prepared you beforehand, but you didn’t want to give him this triumph.

Satoru’s fingers kneaded your ass as you took more of his cock into you. His breath became faster and he closed his eyes as he enjoyed the feeling of your tight pussy.

“What a whore you are, you look like you are fighting the urge not to cum right now” Your fingers stroked his cheek which made him open his eyes and look at you.

Like a queen on her throne, you sat on him and after you had finally took all 9 inches of his cock into you, you began to move your hip.

Satoru’s hands helped you ride him.He starts hissing when he felt you get tighter the moment your brought down your hand to rub your thumb against your clit.

You start to move your hips slowly, finding the perfect rhythm and pace. The way your warm walls contract around him and suck him in made him lean his head against the wall behind him and moan out.You weren’t better whenever he reached your g-spot you were screaming- not even caring about the people that could hear you.

“Be a good boy and cum inside me”you said and the second he felt that he was about to cum he connected your mouth with his.Thrusting inside you from below in a fast pace.He’s totally ignoring your rhythm and starts fucking you like you are his right hand.

“Fuck Angel”he whispered in between the kiss and groaned loud.The moment you felt his hot cum covering your walls, it made you cum as well.You two were moaning messes.While Satoru was still thrusting his dick inside you from below ,your pussy milked him dry.

“That’s a shock”the both of you looked towards the door and saw Suguru standing there with a big smile on his face.

“Why didn’t you both ask me to join?”

#satoru x reader #suguru x reader #satosugu smut #gojo smut #satoru smut #suguru smut #suguru geto #satoru gojo #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu geto #jujutsu gojo #gojo x reader #geto x reader #jjk #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #bully satosugu #gojou satoru x reader

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honeybleed · 7 months

Text

— ★ LOST IN TRANSLATION // TAKUMA INO

content & warnings: female reader, she/her pronouns, black-coded reader, smut (oral, f.receiving), fluff i never know what to tag shit😭 mdni

author’s note: bestie told the ino gworlies to get on their zoom so here i am WOOP also dis been driving me nuts

word count: 1.1k

"I wanna marry her, Nanami." He said, firmly.

Nanami’s eyebrows furrowed.

Why was his twenty one year old associate talking about marriage at this age?

"What...right now?" Nanami questioned, voice still retaining his typical sternness but completely caught off guard by his statement.

"Yeah...I just, she feels right."

"What made you come to that conclusion?" Nanami asked, taking a sip from the glass in front of him.

"I...remember we went out together and went on the ferris wheel. She’s just so-"

"That's nice and all, but i hope you realise how big of a step marriage is." Nanami chided. "Don’t you think to propose out of nowhere would freak her out?"

"I know! That’s why I came to you." He whined. "I don't wanna lose her but damn it what if this jujutsu crap kills me one day? I want her! She’s my other, half Nanami."

Nanami let out a whistle.

"You're in deep, aren't you? You want my advice so bad? Even if it doesn't align with what you want?"

"Well, yeah!"

"Don't."

"Huh-?"

"Maybe it's the old-fashioned side of me but don’t get married until you have a real home, a real job and you're not blinded by lust."

"...I can't."

Your chest was heaving, your toes were curled and your hands were firmly gripping the sheets.

"Sure you can." he said a little muffled against you.

"Quit back talking during sex." You huffed.

"M'sorry." He mumbled, then continued suckling at your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your back arched and you squinted your eyes shut, feeling your high approach you.

He went lower to lick stripes downwards which caused your thighs to uncontrollably quiver. alternating between sucking and kissing, he increased his speed which sent you hurtling towards your climax.

"You taste so good..." he murmured. "Could stay between your thighs forever."

You saw white spots in your vision and cried out something you instantly regretted as soon as your body went limp.

Ino slowly pulled away from wet, swollen and sticky entrance and met your eyes with a bewildered look.

His unkempt brown locks looked even more dishevelled than usual and his mouth was sheeny from your essence.

You hand flew to your mouth when you gained clarity.

"Did you just say that you love me...?" He questioned, pupils dilated.

Your mouth went dry.

It was heat of the moment. How could you love a man you'd been seeing for a few weeks? There was dozens of explanations swirling around your head.

You didn't want to drive him away.

"Mhm...I got too into it. I’m sorry-"

"Why are you apologising?"

"...Are you gonna leave me?"

"Why would i leave you?"

"Cos guys hate clingy girls."

"It’s just a lot." He said, a little lowly. "I’m gonna go shower."

You were absolutely mortified. Confessing during an orgasm then getting the most awkward response ever? You wanted the ground to swallow you up whole.

As Ino stood outside the high rise building, two thoughts crossed his mind. Firstly, why'd his girlfriend have to work at the most boujee place in town?

He could see you approaching from the glass doors in the lobby. God damn it, how did you look even more sexier at work?

White blouse and black mid skirt hugging your ass. He hoped you didn't have a male boss.

You had a concerned look on your face as your arms were folded. As soon as you arrived, you shut down his jovial greeting as you grabbed his arm and yanked him towards an inconspicuous corner.

"Ino, what the hell are you doing here?!" You hissed through gritted teeth. "I had to stop my bitch supervisor from getting the security guards to rough up a suspicious looking vagrant."

"What?! You heard that and thought it was me?!"

"No dummy, I looked out the window." You retorted.

He twisted his lips to the side.

"I thought you'd be happy to see me.." He said a little sheepishly.

"Under normal circumstances, yes. But a) I have not heard from you in days and b) you can't just turn up in the middle of my work shift dressed like, this." You stated as you gestured to his trainers, beanie and sweatpants.

"I'm sorry, k? I just got caught up with stuff." He mumbled, as he nervously rubbed the nape of his neck at your scolding.

"That’s not good enough of an excuse. The least you could've done was text me saying you're busy." You said, haughtily. You averted your gaze for your next sentence.

"I thought you ghosted me."

"What?! No! I-”

"Well, it sure felt like that! I’m sorry for saying that, I got a little caught in the moment but I don't deserve to be treated like that."

"Wait, Y/N. I acted lame because that was the first time a girl ever confessed that to me. n I suppose it was a little unconventional since it was when I was going down on you-"

"Keep your voice, DOWN." You hissed.

"There's nobody here!" He pouted. "But I’m sorry, you're right. I'll never do something stupid like that again. and... I love you too Y/N. So much."

Your jaw went slack as you were beyond caught off guard at his confession.

"Hell, I even went to Nanami and told him I wanted to marry you."

"W-what did he say?"

"I think he knew we both are bein' a little impulsive right now."

"It's been a few weeks so... I guess we're in over our heads with this. Let's give it more time for things and maybe then we can think about it."

"Be more honest with me, Kuma." You said, returning to the nickname you fondly gave him. "You don't need to go to Nanami for advice about me, you know."

"It wasn't about you, I have my old man but Nanami is a good male figure to me. He told me he'd only get married if he could provide for his woman so...when I make a lotta money! And have a big ass house, I want you to be my wife."

"If you want to!" He said hurriedly. "Of course, cos if you say no that's cool, well not cool but I’d understa-"

He was cut off when you leaned in to crush your lips against his. His body was rigid but he immediately relaxed and settled his hands on your waist.

You pulled away, lips barely inches apart.

"I’d love to." You whispered beaming.

author’s note: not tew fond on the ending ☠️ like i gotta remind myself this is FAN FICTION. but yes i live in a world where a man wanna marry yew if the coochie dat good LMFAOOOOO MI BODY RIGHT PUNANI TIGHT also kuma is cute since it means bear kay bye

#jjk x reader #jjk x black reader #jjk x female reader #takuma ino #takuma ino x reader #jjk smut #jjk fanfic #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ nara scribbles

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lizzytheglizzydogtheglock9000 · 7 months

Note

Hi hi!! I love your writing so much!! I saw you had a prompt list and was wondering if you could do number 11 with the Tenth Doctor 👉👈 I feel like that’s something he would say. Thanks I’m advance! 🫶

Guys I am indeed actually alive, it's just been a hot minute since I've felt any motivation to really come back and write things. But I am back, and I have no idea if I'll be consistent with this or not, it just sparked my interest again. I really appreciate all the consistent support from you guys!! <3333

Tenth Doctor x FemReader

"Yes I have feelings for you, moving on."

"Y/N?! Can I come in???"

You heard a flurry of knocks at your bedroom door as an excited Doctor rushed in before waiting for an answer.

"Why yes Doctor you may enter my room," you laughed. "What if I was changing or something in here?"

"Well I uh.. It hasn't happened yet!" he fought back.

You giggled and rolled your eyes at how flustered he got, something that you noticed happening often. Although you just chalked it up to that being a part of his personality, especially when he has so many lovely women flirting with him on your trips together.

He flopped onto your bed and stared at you.

"So! What are we doing today hm? Go see the stars of Ntiri, or perhaps an alien market, or we could go back to the time of the Renaissance!" he ended with a flair.

"A ball sounds nice, like in France. Marie Antoinette times! But preferably without the Reign of Terror, running isn't exactly on my wishlist for things today," you pondered aloud.

He jumped up and twirled you around, making you go all the way up on your tippy toes.

"Well alrighty then Ms. Y/N! The Yew Ball awaits!"

You rush out to see him start slamming levers and pulling bits and bobs as your center of balance is thrown away like it wasn't even there in the first place. It always amazed you how the Doctor managed to stay up the way he did. He was by no means the most graceful man you had ever met, but the TARDIS didn't seem to throw him around the same way it did you.

As he pulled you up and brushed some stray hairs out of your eyes, a thought hit you.

"Doctor?"

"Yes love?" he replied.

"Where are we supposed to get the right attire for this? My blouse and blue jeans won't exactly fit in a 16th century setting."

"Ah, don't worry about that, I'll get it all sorted out for us," he grinned.

The two of you walked out of the TARDIS, finding yourselves in a storage closet of sorts. You walked out and around the corner, up so many stairs you thought you might pass out, and then finally a couple more turns before stopping at a large white door with gold details.

The Doctor rapped on the door gently before a small brown haired woman appeared in a plain corset and dress.

He whipped out his psychic paper and the woman's face lit up.

"Oh! Madame you must hurry the ball starts soon!!!" she chimed.

She yanked you into the room as you gave the Doctor a very confused look while he just simply grinned back at you.

You then spent the next few hours getting your makeup done and having a multitude of dresses shown for you to choose from. It took at least one of those hours to convince the women helping you to not make you wear a wig, even if it is a sign of wealth, you just can't stand the itchiness.

Eventually, you made your way to the main ball room, stopping at the top of the stairs. The Doctor stood with his hands in his pockets admiring the view around him opposite you.

As his gaze met yours his eyes lit up and a wide smile crossed his face. He was in a royal, no, TARDIS blue coat and pants, with a golden waistcoat, and creme colored tights that he looked very upset to be wearing.

The two of you met at the top of the largest staircase, where the other two converged.

"You look absolutely stunning Y/N," he whispered.

You were given a ball gown in the exact same shade of gold as the Doctor's waistcoat, with your corset and center piece of material a light shade of cornflower blue, complementing your complexion perfectly.

"You look rather dashing yourself Doctor," you cooed.

He bowed to you deeply, arose, then held out a delicate hand to lead you down the stairs.

You proceeded to wander around the room, talking to many couples, eventually getting to meet Marie Antoinette herself. She found you most exciting, and thought you were the most intelligent person in the room.

The night began to slow, and the Doctor was leading you in your final waltz for the night.

"Doctor, I wouldn't have traded this night for anything," you said softly. "Although we must go into the past more often, we don't go nearly enough."

"I agree, the nights are always wonderful with the one you love most..." he stated holding onto your hand even tighter.

"Wait.. Doctor say that again?"

You couldn't believe what he had just said, did he really just say that he loved you the most??

"Yes, I have feelings for you, moving on," he brushed off.

"Wait a minute you can't just move on from this Doctor! You really love me?"

"My dear Y/N, why in the multitude of universes, wouldn't I love you? You are the sweetest person I've ever met, you're strong, capable, and gorgeous to the moons and back."

You blushed and smiled fondly.

"Which moons Doctor?"

"Any of them love, as long as you come with me," he whispered, tipping your chin up and kissing you gently.

You felt a swirl of emotions that you never knew you could feel before, and even more as he swung you off your feet, and placing you down gently.

"Uh, Doctor.. I think we're being stared at," you pointed out.

The entire room turned to look at you both, A truly handsome couple, the queen thought.

He placed a hand around your waist and began leading you back to the TARDIS.

"Well then, they'll definitely be staring after they see us walking into broom closet together," he snickered.

Your mouth dropped but returned to a content smile, not believing the wonderful night that just occurred.

#doctor who #tenth doctor #doctor who imagine #doctor who x reader #10th doctor x reader #bbc doctor who #doctor who fanfiction #10th doctor #y/n #the doctor imagine #doctor who x y/n #doctor who x you #fluff #romance

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lovsalvatore · 1 year

Text

Your name on the list

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!reader

Summary: After missing a few notes during rehearsals, you have to prove once again to your Maestro that you still deserve a chance.

Warnings: +18, Minors DNI!, smut, nat has a penis, loss of virginity, groping, overstimulation, rough sex, pet names, a bit of manipulation, light choking, unprotected sex, praising, abuse of authority, infidelity, age gap.

Word count: 6.2k

a/n: here's part two for all you horny people. also; comment if you want to be tagged in the next part <3 ✰ series masterlist, main masterlist

"Okay, stop!" the Maestro's loud voice makes everyone stop playing their instruments immediately. Your hands that were previously on the piano keys just rest on your lap, playing with a loose thread of your blouse. "What's going on today huh? Just because it's Friday and you guys want to enjoy the weekend doesn't mean you have to play like a high school band."

When she says this your eyes go directly to your friend on the other side of the orchestra room, Kate. She widens her eyes, and makes a funny face like she's bored. Even though Natasha's words can be a little harsh at times, everyone here is used to it. Especially Kate. You remember one time Natasha just walked out of the auditorium after making you guys play the same song for hours and hours, saying it was still bad, and all that Bishop said was that at least she didn't say it was terrible, just bad, and that coming from Natasha is like a compliment.

You end up quietly laughing at your friend's action, but then Natasha's body get in the way, stopping a few meters away from you, right in the direction you were looking. All you see for a few seconds is her white shirt, but lifting your gaze you meet her green eyes, feeling her strong judgment in you. Fuck. Your smile disappears instantly. "If you keep playing like this, you don't even have to show up on the day of the big performance." she continues, looking away from you and crossing her arms in front of her body. "An empty stage is better than a whole audience listening to whatever this is that you're playing. Because as much as this symphony was composed by me, the way you guys are playing make it sound like shit, and I don't want people to think I compose shitty music."

She takes a step forward, getting out of the line of sight between you and your friend. You look at each other again, and Kate mouths an 'ouch.', exaggeratedly making an offended expression with her face. You again cannot contain a smile. Bishop always finds the fun in tragic moments, and you love her for it. And you know that if Natasha even saw these kinds of interactions that you two have during rehearsals she would be pissed, not out of jealousy, of course she's not jealous of you, but out of the fact that she hates not being taken seriously.

"In the next rehearsal I don't want any mistakes, especially in the violin part, you're not playing in sync." Natasha takes a deep breath through her nose, turning her face to look in your direction, but you’re more focused on staring blankly at the keys of the instrument in front of you. "But for now... you're dismissed." as soon as she says the words everyone starts to get up, walking towards the stairs to go down from the auditorium stage. You follow your colleagues, going to the first row of seats, which is where everyone usually leaves their belongings.

"Today she's in a bad mood." Kate says as soon as you reach her side. You take a quick look at the person she's referring to, she has her back to you, tying her hair up in her usual bun. You tried not to spend the entire night thinking about what happened between you two. But all you could imagine when you closed your eyes was how her cock felt inside your mouth, and how good it felt. You don't even remember when, but your hand was already inside your pajama pants, imagining it was her. You even tried using two of your fingers to mimic the feeling of what it might be like to have her inside you, but it hurt, all you were able to bear was half of just one finger of yours, so you stopped. You already know that she'll want to do something else today, and you think if it will hurt too. Or if she's going to let it hurt.

"I mean, it's impossible for her to be in a good mood."

You ignore Kate — so oblivious to your thoughts that you don't even know what to say to her — before picking up your backpack, slinging it over your shoulder. Every Friday you guys usually go to the bar at the end of the street after rehearsals, but you remember Natasha asking you to stay today again, and the way her mood is you sure don't want to give her another reason to stay even more grumpy. "I... I'm staying a little longer, the Maestro is helping me with some of my compositions." you lie, you don't even compose songs. "But you can go to the bar with the others, I'll meet you there."

"Oh... okay... I'll definitely want to listen to your piece later." she says in an excited tone, closing her violin case. "Just promise not to take too long, the bar is kinda boring without you."

"I promise."

"Okay perfect, and good luck with her." she pats your shoulder twice before walking past you, and you just stand there waiting for everyone to leave the orchestra room. When silence sets in, you realize that you are finally alone with Natasha again. She remains onstage as you grip the strap of your backpack so hard it looks like you want to tear the poor thing apart. You think if you look good, if the outfit you chose today caught her attention, if all the strands of your hair are in place. You’re nervous.

Natasha stares at you for a few seconds, actually, she couldn't take her eyes off you the entire time you were playing the piano, which isn't all that unusual, but this time she knew that at the end of the day she would have you, and that she wouldn't come home just to have to relieve herself alone thinking about you. But she didn't have a good day, you could tell from the way she was harsh with her words throughout rehearsal. Not that she isn't like that naturally, but today she put a lot of work into the insults. So all she wants now is to have something to make this day better. And you are the best option she has to solve this problem.

Her steps get louder as she steps down from the stage to approach you, who still has your back to her when you feel her presence so close to you. "Why don't you drop this, you're not leaving." she says referring to your backpack, and you immediately do as she asks, dropping it on the floor. Natasha smiles, seeing that she doesn't need to ask you twice for you to obey her. "Don't think you're an exception Y/N, you also disappointed me today."

You swallow hard, feeling her smooth the strands of your hair to the side to be able to kiss the curve of your neck. You close your eyes, her breath so close to your ear that you pay no attention to any other sounds in your surroundings. "You're gonna have to work really hard if you still want to be my first choice for the world tour, because with all the mistakes you made today..." she sucks your pulse point after saying this, making sure to leave a mark for everyone to see. "...maybe you don't really deserve this opportunity after all, hm?"

You haven't missed a single note, since you've been playing for her you've never made that mistake. You play the piano since you were six years old, so hitting the wrong key is something very unusual for you. But when you hear her saying that you made a mistake, you end up believing, it's her song, not yours. And Natasha knows it, she knows you played the song perfectly. But she needs a something to make you give her what she wants, even though deep down she knows you'd give in for no particular reason. "I-I... I know I deserve it." you say in a weak voice. "I can prove to you that I'm the best option, I know I can, Maestro."

"Yeah?" you gasp as her strong hands grope your breasts, pulling your body towards her and making you feel her hard bulge against your ass. You tremble in anticipation knowing that you're going to lose your virginity to her today, and you've kind of been preparing for it all day, so maybe that must have caused you to miss a few notes. Yeah, that would make sense. "I can put your name on the list today, you wouldn't have to wait another day to be part of the world tour... but only if you prove to me that you really are the best choice. Would you like that?" she asks close to your ear, and you nod frantically. "Good."

You feel a cool breeze hitting your body as she suddenly pulls away. As you turn to face her, you see her grabbing your backpack from the floor, slinging it over her shoulder before taking your hand. You look at her confused, but let her lead you to wherever she is leading. The two of you enter the hall of the building that you come to every day to stay hours playing the piano. It's dark, probably all the other employees working here are gone by now. You're known as the late-night musician crowd here, the ones that play for more hours straight too, five hours of class in total. So it wouldn't be surprising if in fact the only ones left here are you and Natasha. "Did your parents complain that you were late yesterday?" she lets go of your hand to get a key from her pocket, and unlocking a door she takes your arm to pull you into the room.

"No, I told 'em I was practicing, and they believed." you answer, hearing the door lock behind you. It's a relatively small room, it has a piano against one of the walls, but unlike the one in the orchestra room — which is a grand piano — this one is an upright one. There's a couch with red upholstery, a few other decorations, and then a desk. You walk towards it, running your finger across the wood material from one end to the other. "Is this your office?"

Natasha drops your backpack on the sofa along with her glasses before walking towards you. "No." she answers, and you again feel her warmth behind you. "I have my own office somewhere else, I just leave my stuff here from time to time." her hands go to your hips, sinking her nose into your neck to smell your perfume. "I spent the whole night thinking about you." you understand that she's not here to talk, she just wants something specific from you. You let her grip your body possessively, her hands squeezing every inch of you like she doesn't want you to leave. It's hot, you think that's even a little weird considering the fact that it's winter, but having her so close to you makes it feel like summer. And you can't deny that feeling her gaze on you throughout rehearsal has you completely needy for her, you already know that your underwear situation isn't the best, and you can't wait for her to finally do something about it.

But then something on the desk draws your attention. A ring. Natasha is a married woman, but she rarely wears her wedding ring. She just puts it on before leaving the house to prove her wife that she wears it, but whenever she gets here for rehearsals she leaves the little accessory in this room. There were times when she forgot, and kept the ring on all day, but rarely did anyone notice. Because as much as she loves her wife, Natasha still hates showing everyone that she belongs to someone, and that thought only started when you entered her life, what a coincidence. You bend your body to pick up the accessory, and when you look at it you can see a date engraved on the inside. It has a name too, but before you can read it Natasha snatches the object out of your hand.

"Sorry." you whisper, expecting her to call you names for taking something that isn't yours, but she doesn't. She doesn't have time for that. Natasha puts the ring on her finger, before turning her attention again to gripping your body. You feel bad for a few moments, knowing she has a wife who don't even imagine the things she does to you. But your mind is immersed in desire when Natasha's hand starts to go down between your breasts, to the button of your pants. She plays with your zipper while planting kisses all over your neck, with that, you find yourself thirsting for her with every passing second. "Nat..."

"Did you hear what I said? That you didn't get out of my head last night?" she unzips, and slowly pulls your pants down to your thighs. You feel your cheeks burn, feeling her play with the hem of your underwear. Are you really prepared for this? You think. But also think of the world tour, and the answer becomes clear. "I had to fuck my wife thinking about you to relieve myself." you bite the inside of your cheek, hearing her say such words makes you wet. You feel bad for her wife, yes, but turned on to know that Natasha thinks so highly of you. She thought about you all night, just like you thought about her. Maybe this could be more than just an exchange of favors, no?

With one hand, Natasha spreads your legs apart. You have both of your hands resting against the desk, as her hand starts to move up your inner thigh. "You're always so quiet." she chuckles when her hand reaches between your legs, your body squirms, pressing her fingertips against your underwear Natasha can feel how wet you are for her. This just makes her harder. "Is it because you've never done this before? Is that why you don't know what to say sweet girl?"

"Uhum." you hum, closing your eyes when she presses on your clit. "I just... I just need..."

"What?" in one swift motion she pulls your underwear down, and you end up moaning as her hand goes straight to your slit. You spread your legs a few more inches apart when she starts to move back and forth over your folds, looking down Natasha groans at the sight of your cheeks so close to her covered cock. "What do you need?" she continues to spread your wetness all over your pussy while her other hand grabs one of your breasts, making you close your eyes at the aggressiveness she does. "Do you wanna tell your Maestro what you need from her, hm?"

You want to talk to her, you really do. But it's the first time anyone's touched you like this, and you can do anything but form a complete sentence. You didn't think she'd be this quick, you really thought you'd at least talk before she had all of you, but feeling her fingers slip through your slits makes you not mind too much about that. You just need her, you're practically begging her to finally ruin you. "I really need you to say it so I can keep going." she murmurs, opening your folds with her fingers before teasing your entrance. "Do you want me to stretch your tight little pussy? Want me to be your first?" she ends up sliding just the tip of her finger inside you, and since you tried to do the same last night, the sensation is not so strange for you, but even so, because she’s the one doing it, it makes you feel different type of feelings.

You manage to nod your head at her question, gripping the edge of the table tightly as she switches from teasing your entrance to playing with your clit. You smile trapping your bottom lip between your teeth, trying to follow her movement into your sex with your hips. "I need words baby, please."

"Y-yes, fuck I need you, p-please."

The Maestro smiles, her heart beating wildly inside her chest. She pulls down her own pants and boxers, her hard cock as it springs out brushes lightly against your cheeks. Your hands that were once on the edge of the desk are now both pressed against your low back as Natasha takes your wrists, and with her other hand she forces your body into the desk, causing you to whine in pain when your cheek is pressed against the icy wood material, your breasts practically smashed against the table. You close your eyes for a few seconds at her subtle movement, and think about how easily she can position you however she wants. She's much stronger than you. And she wasn't really planning on ending up being this aggressive, but sometimes she can't help herself.

"Fuck... you're so wet." she says as she pulls back a little just to get a good view of your sex, her hand still holding yours against your lower back. "Who knew you got so turned on in the presence of your Maestro huh? What would your parents think of that? I don't think they would be so proud to hear that you lie to them by telling you're practicing when in reality you're letting yourself be fucked by your conductor."

You turn your head away to hide the embarrassment you feel, but pressing your forehead against the table is even more uncomfortable, so you end up turning your face away again, resting your cheek on the furniture. Natasha uses her free hand to rub her cock against your slits, groaning at the sight of your wetness mixing with her pre-cum. "Natasha... I..." you whisper, remembering that this can hurt. Even though you're so turned on, so wet that you might not feel a thing, you're still tinged with fear, and the red-haired woman can see it too. "I don't know if-."

"Shhh." she silences you, letting go of your wrists to brush the strands of hair that fall over your face. "It's okay, no need to be scared, it will feel good, I promise." you find comfort in her words, and that makes some of the fear go away, even though you know she's not that honest sometimes. The older woman even thinks of getting the lub she brought, but seeing how wet you are she thinks that won't be necessary. A gasp escapes her lips as she continues to rub her cock into your slit, and feeling the heat of your sex only make her more painfully aroused. “Stay still detka.”

You close your eyes tightly as you feel her tip slowly stretching your hole, and you realize it's very different from when you tried to use your fingers. She stays still for a while, and you think it's not that bad, at least not until she starts sliding even more inside you. You grunt in pain when half of her cock enters you, and even though you are wet, it still burns a little, trying to get used to this new sensation. "Fuck, you're so tight." Natasha breathes out the words, moving her hips back and making your pussy clenches around nothing. "Is this okay? Can I keep going?”

"U-uhm y-yes." you open your eyes again when she pulls your head by holding your hair, lifting it slightly but your body still pressed against the table.

"Good... This might hurt a little. Tap my thigh if you want me to stop."

You don't understand why you would have to tap her thigh when you can use your words, but feeling her hand pressing over your mouth you understand why. She uses her hand to stifle the scream that rips from your throat as she thrusts her cock all at once inside your pussy, and it hurts, it hurts like hell, but even so, your hand remains still, making no move to tap her thigh. Your entire body protests Natasha's gross invasion, but you remember she said this will feel good, and that's what you want to believe in. She pulls out, leaving only the tip inside you, before moving her hips forward in a blunt act, causing the table to swell slightly beneath you. "F-fuck." you mumble against her palm, every inch of her stretching your walls, feeling like at any moment she's going to destroy you from the inside by the thickness and length of her. She is indeed really big, you don't know what was on your mind when you thought this would be easy to take.

"Fuck baby, you're so tight, how am I supposed to move inside you hm?" Natasha's fingers continue to wrap around your hair as she presses your face back against the table, while her other hand grabs your hips to keep you still. She starts to fuck you slowly but hard at the same time. Her every thrust is aggressive, some things on the table even move with every move she makes against you. You palm your hands to the side of your body as that aching feeling inside you starts to turn into a feeling you didn't know would feel so good until now. "Do you think you can take more? Want me to fuck you hard?"

You clench around her dick at the thought of her fucking you harder than she already is, and the sensation this causes around Natasha's length makes her moan in pleasure. "Oh that's it... clench around my cock, fuck you're so hot." she sinks her nails into your hips, pulling you closer to her. "Do you want me to continue? Want me to fuck you mercilessly?"

"P-please." you beg, even deep down you want her to take it easy at first, moving your hips back when she stops suddenly with her movements. "Keep going, feels so good."

"Hm?" you feel her strong hand against your throat, pulling you up and making your body fully erect again. You feel the relief this caused on your cheek, but what holds your attention the most is the way Natasha's cock starts to fuck you from behind. "Like this? Want me to treat you like a slut?" your arms are pulled behind your body while her other hand is still around your throat. Natasha fucks you while preventing you from moving your arms, and at the same time making it difficult for oxygen to rise to your brain. You arch your back, your eyes rolling as you feel her hit against the deepest part of your pussy.

She's rougher with your cunt than she was with your mouth, sinking her thick cock into your tight walls and making you moan over it. It still hurts, you didn't have time to get used to its size completely, but you get wetter with each thrust that gets easier and easier for Natasha to fuck you hard. You feel your pants sliding down your legs with every pound of her, and it's not long before it falls to your ankles. "You wanted this didn't you?" she asks tightening her fingers around your neck even more. "I bet this isn't the first time you've wanted this from me, tell me, did you touch yourself thinking about me too? Did you use those talented hands of yours to imagine I was fucking you?” she wants to hear it from you, she wants to know that she wasn't the only one doing this all these months that you've been her apprentice.

"I-I, yes." you admit it, even though it's not true. Even if you had impure thoughts about your Maestro you've never really touched yourself thinking about her, but if that's what she wants to hear, that's what you'll say. And again, a big mistake you just made. "Fuck. it. hurts." you end up saying it out loud between labored sighs, feeling the tightness in your throat loosen.

"Want me to stop?" you shake your head from side to side quickly, feeling embarrassingly closer to the edge. Natasha slows down her thrusts inside you as she lowers the hand that was previously around your throat to massage your clit. She fucks you slowly, while making circular motions on your bundle of nerves at medium speed. With her light movements you can feel better the way she moves inside you, not just hard thrusts. You feel her cock sliding over your walls, and how her fingers work so well on your clit.

That's much better, slowly and carefully. You throw your head back, not understanding how you can still stand when the way she fucks you makes you feel boneless. "S-so good." you murmur, your arms move a little when you feel her ridge digging deep into the spongy part of you, but natasha holds them tighter, pulling you against her, almost making your back press against her covered breasts. She again feels your perfume invaded her senses, and thinks how she never wants to try anyone's scent but yours.

You didn't imagine that your first time would be in a random room, with a woman much older than you, and whom you admire so much. But now you don't think how it could just be better that already is. It's just wonderful the way her dick enters you carefully, as if this whole time it was meant to be. You wonder if it's normal to feel so ecstatic so quickly, you didn't think that anything other than your hand would be able to pull you over the edge so fast. And you want to hold on longer, trying to prolong her pleasure as well, but it gets hard when all you can feel is her thick cock sliding in and out of you, as your clit begins to grow sensitive to her touches. “You’re doing so good.” she whispers close to your ear, increasing the stimulation on your nerve just a little bit, only to pull you further towards the climax.

She hates that it took you so long to give yourself to her, and even though you're not completely hers yet, she already feels that way. She's wanted this for a long time, and now that she finally has what she wanted, it's going to be hard for her to let go. She rolls her hips over yours, and it's torturous but perfect at the same time.

Natasha has a hard time keeping her movements slow, all she wants is to abuse you until you can't walk the next day. But she also wants to make you feel good, she wants to make your first time worth it. And it's working. You feel the orgasm starting to build, and you know you won't be able to hold it back for long because of the way she makes you feel like you're out of gravity. "I... fuck... I'm so-." you don't even know what to say, you just try to control the moans that insist on coming out of your mouth. "Fuck I think I'm-."

"Come for me pretty girl, come on, I know you're close, come on, I got you."

It doesn't take long for you to reach your peak, and unlike when you're alone, this time feels totally different. You close your eyes tightly when the pleasure is all you can feel in every muscle in your body, Natasha rests her forehead on your back as she feels you squeezing her cock, feeling the wetness that spreads on her hand as she keeps stimulating you. "That's it..." she stops inside you, pressing her finger against your clit and feeling your sensitive area pulsating on her fingertips. Your breathing is uncontrolled when you finally break out of the trance, feeling your body sweating even though she did all the work.

It feels like you're drugged, and you're afraid you'll end up becoming addicted to her. And this was only the first time, you don't know if there will be others, but really hope so. With time she stops completely, waiting for you to get back together. And you thank her for it. It was so good, you want to go again, and again, until you can't take it anymore. You didn't know it would feel this good, you really were afraid that it would just hurt, but even though it did, in the end it was worth it.

You stay that way for a few moments before Natasha slowly pulls out of you, and you suddenly complain about the emptiness. Your legs are shaky as you turn your body to face her, her eyes showing nothing more than desire as they look directly into yours. "You okay?" she asks gently, cupping your face in her hands. You nod, staring at her parted lips. You try to bring your face even closer to kiss her, but the Maestro holds your jaw, preventing you from getting any closer. "No... no kissing."

"Why?"

"Oh detka, we're not trying to fall in love here, are we?" she speaks in a subtle way, even though she knew those weren't the words you wanted to hear. But you end up agreeing with her, it's really not what you're looking for, it's just an exchange of favors. You force that thought into your head, feeling the tip of her cock pressing against your bare sex. You look down, seeing the length of her glistening with your fluids, she imitates your act, this time getting a perfect view at your pussy. Is certainly one of the best views she's ever had. "Gonna keep fucking you okay?" she warns, running her fingers over your slits to make sure you stay wet, You shiver as she runs her finger over your clit before returning to your entrance. She pulls two fingers inside you, wetting them before leading them to her mouth. Natasha hums while feeling your taste on her tongue, and you think it wouldn't be possible for a scene to be this mesmerising, but ends up being anyway. Being completely aware of your arousal she quickly gets back to work.

Natasha groans, lifting one of your legs up to her hip to continue. She hasn't come yet. You weren't expecting it when she pushes her cock back inside you, and unlike how she was doing it a few minutes ago this time she just uses you like a fuck doll. And that's what you are to her, just someone to fuck, not someone to create emotional bonds with. At least that's what she's trying to get herself to believe in.

"You don't know how good it feels to have you squeezing my cock... my god how tight you are." you'll never get tired of hearing her tell you this, it just works the way you feel around her even more. The sounds you two make aren't low by any chance, and you're grateful that there's no one around to know what the two of you are up to behind closed doors. "You're so fucking beautiful, you're perfect."

Your legs feel like jelly, still trying to fully recover from your last orgasm, and noticing your difficulty standing up Natasha holds both your thighs, pulling you to sit on top of the desk, while thrusting her cock even deeper inside you.

She grips your jaw tightly, forcing you to look deep into her eyes as she fucks you. You see the darkness that consumes her, so lost in desire it makes your body convulse. "You're just a tiny little talented slut aren't ya? Look how good you take me all in." her breath hits against your lips, and you try to control yourself so you don't end up realising it again, feeling overstimulated by her every second. "So... so good for me, only for me.”

You rests both your hands on the table, wrapping your legs around Natasha's hips feeling her fuck you quickly and aggressively. Her hands grip tight on your thighs, and she tries to maintain eye contact with you, but she wants to see how she fucks you, she wants to see the scene of her destroying you from the inside. She lowers her sight to focus on the way her cock disappears inside you, how you take her so well even being your first time. "Gonna come so deep inside you." she whispers, feeling closer with her own words. "Gonna fill you up so good baby."

You feel the heat getting more unbearable, as it seems the walls of the room get smaller around you, one of your hands going towards her shoulder for better balance. You expect the table to break at any moment, just like Natasha is doing with your insides. And unlike her, you keep your eyes glued to the expressions on her face; how her eyebrows furrow up, how she tries to keep her moans from being audible. "Oh fuck... fuck... keep taking it... that's it..." you feel her nails digging deep into the skin of your thighs, and you know you're going to be bruised all over, but the thought of it makes your heart warm. "Is this making you feel good? Oh I bet so. Want to tell me how good I make you feel?"

"Y-yes... you make me feel so good." you say in uncontrolled breaths, squeezing her shoulder hard as you feel yet another orgasm slamming against your body like a brick. But still Natasha doesn't stop, even noticing the way your walls tighten around her cock, she still keeps pushing inside you harshly. "Fuuuck... fuck I don't think I can... Nat... p-please-."

"Shhhh, yes you can, I'm almost there, keep taking it." her hands lift your shirt up to your breasts, and she grunts at the sight of them covered by your bra. All she wanted right now was to get that stupid piece of clothing off your body, but being content with what she has she just squeezes them, your breasts fit perfectly into her palms, and she gropes them so hard it seems like your skin burns with her touch.

Your legs fall from her hips, feeling so overstimulated you don't have the strength to keep them wrapped around her. Natasha also finds it difficult to keep pushing inside you because you're so tight, and you try your best to keep taking her. That pain that had passed comes back, making you cry when you realize that you won't be able to hold on. "Please... please!" you beg, squeezing her shoulder and making Natasha hiss from the strength you do it. "Nat please I can't… it hurts.”

"Baby, begging isn't going to get you anywhere... you didn't ask me to stop, so keep quiet hm?" you nod your head realizing that what she says is true, you didn't actually ask her to stop, you just begged, but for nothing in particular. You feel so sensitive, her cock feels so big on you that it really hurts, but also a pain that feels really good. Fuck, it hurts so good you even feel ashamed to admit it. It feels like you're going to pass out, the room grows dark and your breath gets shorter. And the Maestro sees the tears running down your cheeks, and that's the last straw for her. With a few more thrusts you feel her warm fluid being released inside you, painting your inner walls all over. "Yeah... that's it... fuck… you feel so good."

Natasha practically collapses on top of you, resting her head in the crook of your neck as she continues to fill yourself with her cum. She moves her hips slowly to fuck the cum inside you, and you hate to admit that the wet noises of her action are so arousing. She closes her eyes for a few seconds feeling her dick throbbing inside you. "Nat..." you whine as she pulls away, and then taking her cock outside you you can feel the liquid seeping through your slits. You sigh with immediate relief, and only then do you realize your face is wet with your tears. Natasha grabs her shaft, rubbing it in your pussy and watching as her white juice spreads through your folds. She slides the tip back inside to keep every last drop that’s left in you, before going back to rubbing the end of it on your clit. Natasha is mesmerized, and even though she wants to continue she takes a step back.

"You did so good, I'm proud of you." she runs her knuckles over your cheeks, wiping the tears away. You close your eyes in her caress, feeling your pussy throbbing. "You were perfect."

And then the room is back to its normal size, the walls aren't suffocating you anymore, and the heat isn't so unbearable. Natasha picks up your underwear on the floor, and passes them by your feet to help you put them on, and you end up getting up from the table so she can pass the piece of clothing to your thighs. She doesn't say anything as she picks up your pants as well, holding them out to you before running her fingers over the strands of her hair. She's still hard when she tucks her cock into her pants, and as soon as you're fully dressed again you approach her. "I can help you with that..." you say directing your hand to the bulge in her pants, but Natasha shakes her head no.

"No, it's okay sweet girl." you smile when you hear her call you by the nickname, then just nod as she starts walking towards the door. She unlocks it, and holds it open for you to pass. As you move you can feel some of her cum that was still inside you wet your underwear, and then it hits you, you really did it, it doesn't even seem real, and the worst of it is that you liked it more than you should have. After you pick up your backpack on top of the sofa, you two begin a silent path through the corridors. You feel your legs weak, and you fear it will only get worse when you wake up the next day. But as has been said before, it was all worth it. When you're next to her, you see Natasha fiddling with her phone, talking to someone in messages. You also notice the way she squeezes her cock over her pants, the discomfort you left her in still isn't entirely gone. "Are you gonna get an uber or something?" she asks as soon as you step onto the sidewalk outside of the building.

"Uhm... no... I'm gonna go to a bar with my friends at the end of the street."

She just nods, not taking her eyes off her phone screen. You tighten your backpack straps, rocking your body back and forth not knowing if you should just walk away or wait for her to say goodbye first. She types quickly to whoever is talking to her, and you see the way her brows furrow, like she's worried about something. "I uhm... I should go." she says before finally looking up at you, giving you a weak smile. "Are you okay with what happened today?"

"Yes." you answer immediately. "It was... really good."

Indeed it was, you could do it for hours. You didn't know sex could feel this good. Or at least the sex with her definitely was.

"Okay good." she's relieved that she didn't make you do anything you didn't want to, even though she knows the real reason why you actually did it. "And... I'll talk to you next week about what I told you earlier."

"What?" you ask, not really knowing what she's talking about.

"The list... Your name on the list."

Oh, this.

For a moment you even forgot about it, you felt so good in her presence that you didn't even remember that in fact all of this was for other intentions. "Oh yes of course… okay." Natasha stares at you for a few more seconds before walking towards her car, leaving you alone. When she drives away you follow the vehicle with your eyes until it completely disappears from your view. And then you're back to reality. And what a shitty reality.

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The Widow's Horny Family cont

CHAPTER SIX

Peggy kept seeing, in her mind, Grace.

What she had seen when the robe parted the day before was so unlike the woman, she felt. Although Grace dressed well, her clothing was not designed to draw attention to her body.

What Peggy had seen was a body that should be showed off.

The woman certainly had lovely tits, a bit larger than most, but not grossly so. Her waist was still small and her hips rounded. Seeing her in the back yard, wearing that skimpiest of all bikinis, then seeing the robe fall apart, Peggy suspected there was more than met the eye with Grace.

She recalled the color of Grace’s nipples. The color was stark and vivid, and surely rouge or something had been applied to them. Peggy had seen enough naked tits in her life to know when a woman used makeup on them. And she knew that a woman lacking an erotic mind would never do such a thing.

That meant only one thing—Grace was erotic, yet concealed it. That didn’t make sense, not to Peggy. Peggy had not heard of people that went out of their way to hide the erotic nature they felt. At least she had never met anyone that way, not in the circle she and her late husband had associated with.

Perhaps, she thought, Grace had no choice but to conceal her desires... perhaps her husband, Paul, insisted on it. Perhaps he was the one that held a tight rein on his wife, being a man with a low sexual desire.

If that was true, then Grace must be in misery, she thought.

Peggy was finishing up the washing, standing next to the washing machine. Suddenly she stood up straight, staring at the wall. Was that it? she thought. Had Grace, in her way, made a pass at her? She certainly look her time pulling her robe close over her body, and then Peggy realized those dark eyes had been glowing at that moment.

She left the garage and went to the bedroom, thinking it over. There was no other answer. And the way Grace had gazed at her tits in the tight, sleeveless sweater. Of course, Grace was starved for sex, sex with a woman at that, Peggy thought. Was it possible Grace preferred women to men, a cunt to a cock? There were women who did, Peggy knew, even though married.

Well, Grace had made the overture, she thought as she climbed into the tub. With scented bubbles swirling about her body, Peggy grinned to herself. If she wants some of my hairy cunt, I’m going to give it to her.

After her bath, she dressed in a becoming white skirt and pastel pink blouse. Underneath she was naked. No sense in putting obstacles in the way. She giggled like a school girl anticipating a quick feel at the drive-in movie.

Without calling first, Peggy walked across the lawn of the two houses, knocking at the door.

“What a pleasant surprise,” Grace said when she saw Peggy standing there. “I was thinking about calling you, Peggy.”

Seated again on the couch, with unwanted coffee on the table before her, Peggy lifted her left knee to the cushions, but keeping her skirt down. Grace sat at the other end as they chatted. They spoke of Susy and Donny, of their growing attachment to one another, each agreeing not to interfere, each praising the other’s child.

After about half an hour, with Peggy watching closely for any sign of desire on Grace’s lovely face, she began to feel her judgement had been wrong. Then Grace picked up her coffee and spilled it. With a womanish squeal, she quickly leaned the cup over the couch as if to keep it from falling into her lap. But the motion parted Grace’s thighs, parted them wide. Peggy shot a quick glance between them, and, sure enough, all she saw was dark curly cunt hair—no panties at all.

She was not surprised when Grace left her thighs parted after sitting the cup on the table. Grace was pretending she was not exposed to Peggy. But Peggy made a point of letting Grace know where she was looking. Still talking away, avoiding sex talk, Grace suddenly leaned against the arm, of the couch, drawing one knee up. Peggy allowed a small smile to cross her face as she saw the satiny thigh of the woman, the pretended lack of knowledge about her pussy being revealed. Peggy knew that Grace was feeling her out, waiting to see what effect this would have on Peggy.

There was no garter belt, or nylons today, but Peggy felt that was because of her unexpected visit. Deliberately looking at Grace’s long thighs and dark pussy hair, she lifted her own leg. There was an immediate response from Grace.

The dark eyes of the woman seemed to flare with a bright gleam of hunger, and what she had been saying was caught in her throat. Peggy saw Grace’s tits rising and falling swiftly as Grace gazed with smoldering eyes at the flesh under her white-skirt.

Grace stopped speaking in mid-sentence and just stared under Peggy’s skirt.

“Lick me,” Peggy said, her voice very low and husky.

Grace made no reply.

She repeated it again. “Lick me, Grace.”

Grace lifted her eyes to Peggy’s, her tongue moving over her bottom lip. “I beg your pardon?” Grace said in a breathless voice.

“I want you to lick me,” Peggy said once more, pulling her skirt high and spreading her legs wide. “I want your tongue on me, Grace.”

Grace lowered her hot gaze again, staring with smoldering heat at the thick curls of Peggy’s cunt, seeing her pink wet pussy lips and the tip of her clit.

Both waited, bath breathing heavily, both exposed to the other.

Then, with a sob of desire, Grace scooted swiftly toward Peggy, her arms going around her tightly. Peggy felt the woman’s moist ups crush upon hers, and when Grace snaked her wet tongue past her lips, Peggy began to suck eagerly as she brought her hands up to close her fingers about Grace’s spongy tits. She heard the woman moan against her mouth, then Grace had her hands on Peggy’s tits. They broke apart and, with squeals of delight, began to undress each other with fumbling, eager fingers. When Peggy’s tits were exposed, Grace looked at them, then gurgled happily as she lowered her face and began sucking vigorously upon a rigid nipple. Peggy held the woman’s head tight against her tits, feeling that hungry tongue fluttering and darting, sending moist heat throughout her trembling body.

As Grace sucked on Peggy’s tit, her hand moved down and caressed a satiny thigh, working its way between the sensitive, smooth inner surfaces. Peggy parted her legs and then Grace had her hand cupping her pulsating cunt.

Grace whimpered hungrily as her lips pulled at Peggy’s firm nipple, her palm rubbing back and forth on Peggy’s swollen cunt lips. Peggy writhed on her ass, pressing her steaming cunt into Grace’s palm, urging the woman.

“What about the kids?” Peggy whispered.

“Fuck the Goddamn fucking kids!” Grace said, her voice hoarse with desperate desire. “Fuck them!”

Peggy was delighted, hearing this come from a woman she had seen as aloof and somewhat chilly. Her impression of Grace being an erotic woman was certainly correct.

“Okay, fuck them,” she said. “Stick your finger in my cunt, Grace! Fingerfuck my pussy!”

“Oh, yes!” Grace yelped, flicking a finger deep into Peggy’s slippery cunt.

Peggy leaned back, one leg thrown over the rear of the couch with the other hanging over the cushions. She placed her head on the arm, looking down at Grace’s hand, the finger fucking in and out of her cunt swiftly.

Grace, her eyes moist and filmed over with passion, stared at the curls surrounding her finger.

“Eat me, Grace!” Peggy sobbed, lifting her ass and twisting around with desire. “Oh, Grace... eat my cunt! I love a tongue up my pussy! Suck me, Grace!”

“Oh, yes!”

Peggy, through the haze of her bubbling desire, watched Grace dip down, sliding her body along the cushions of the couch as she swiftly buried her face into her cunt. The movement caused Grace’s dress to ride past her hips, bunch at her waist. Peggy looked at the creamy swells of that beautiful ass, arching her cunt to meet Grace’s mouth.

Then she closed her eyes as passion gripped her.

Grace began to suck and lick and kiss at her cunt with an animal-like hunger. Peggy found Grace very skilled at eating cunt.

She closed her thighs about Grace’s head as the woman sucked her puffy cunt lips between her hot lips, her tongue lapping greedily, fluttering over her clit. Then Grace delved her tongue up into Peggy’s cunt, fucking it back and forth, fucking wildly. Her hands clutched at Peggy’s tight flexing ass, her fingers digging into the hot flesh.

Peggy held Grace’s head in her hands as she arched her hairy, wet pussy up, grinding into the woman’s face. The muffled squeals coming from Grace was all that was required for Peggy to know she had hold of a woman with intense erotic drives and hungers.

Her cunt closed tightly about Grace’s fucking tongue as she churned her crotch up and down, smashing her pussy into the face of the licking, sucking woman. Opening her eyes again, she looked down at the swell of Grace’s lovely ass cheeks, watching them twist as she banged her own cunt against the cushions of the couch. The sounds Grace made were those of a woman desperate to suck this hairy cunt.

It had been some time since she had been tongue fucked by a woman, and Peggy’s emotions were racing with delight. The ecstasy bubbled within her like foaming waves bursting upon some sandy beach. She held Grace’s head tightly, twisting her cunt harshly into that devouring mouth. When Grace sucked her clit between those hot lips, sucking hard as her tongue lapped the tip, Peggy sobbed as a tremendous orgasm ripped through her body. She slammed her cunt hard into Grace’s face, twisting.

Grace’s nose was buried in the thick curls of Peggy’s cunt, her fingers digging into Peggy’s light ass cheeks. She was breathing with excitement as she sucked on Peggy’s rigid, fiery clit. Her lips clung tightly to Peggy’s cunt as she came, moaning with the ecstasy she herself felt.

Grace did not release Peggy until she lowered her naked ass to the couch, and then she looked up with gleaming, bright eyes. Her face was smeared with the juices from Peggy’s pussy. Her dark eyes seemed to be pleading, and Peggy understood the driving torment the woman felt. Her naked ass continued to writhe.

“I want... I need...” Grace mumbled, feeling about Peggy’s cunt gently. “Oh, Peggy, please!”

Peggy caressed her fingers through Grace’s hair, smiling at the woman. “I understand, Grace,” she said softly. “I’ll help you, of course.”

The torment, seemed to leave Grace’s face, and she sat up smiling happily.

“But what about Susy and Donny?” Peggy asked again. “We could easily get caught, you know.”

“Fuck Susy and Donny!” Grace said, again causing Peggy to be amused. “They can find their own fun!”

But, apparently changing her mind, Grace stood up. Peggy looked at the tall slender woman. It was a shame for Grace to hide that enticing body the way she did. Those goodies were just too sweet to conceal.

Grace held her hand out to Peggy. “We’ll go to Susy’s room. They won’t find us there.”

“Susy’s room? Why not your bedroom, Grace?”

“Because... you might not understand.”

“It’s your house,” Peggy said, standing up and taking the woman’s hand.

They walked quickly to Susy’s room. It was the typical teenage girl’s room, with a poster bed, canopy and all. The room was painted pink, and all the furniture was white. Lace and ruffles were everywhere. The room was neat and looked very clean.

Grace sat, on her daughter’s bed, spreading her legs wide. Leaning back on one hand, she caressed her dark-haired cunt with long fingers, smiling with anticipation at Peggy. Peggy dropped to her knees in front of Grace, sliding her hands along those satiny, slender thighs. She gazed into Grace’s crotch, seeing one of the prettiest cunts ever. The hair, dark and very thick formed a perfect triangle. The long strands framed puffy pink cunt lips, and the tip of Grace’s clit peeked invitingly from the moist folds.

Peggy pressed her mouth to Grace’s cunt, kissing moistly. When Grace lay back, Peggy shoved her long legs up and back until Grace held them tight against her arching tits. Peggy, on her knees, gazed with pleasure at the woman’s hairy cunt and puckered asshole. It had been some time since she had had her lips against a cunt, and she was eager for it now. Stroking her hands about the backs of Grace’s thighs and curves of her ass, she teased them both. She probed lightly at the lips of the woman’s pussy, tickled her sensitive clit, making Grace whimper with eagerness, her ass shaking.

“Ohhhh, Peggy! Eat my cunt, please! Lick my hot pussy and tonguefuck it and make me come! Oh, hurry and suck my cunt!”

Peggy moved her face close, her tongue licking about the woman’s puffy pussy lips. She traced Grace’s cunt with her tongue tip, holding the parted cheeks of her ass with both hands. Dipping down, she scraped her tongue around Grace’s asshole, felt her asshole tighten and heard a sob of ecstasy bubble from the woman’s mouth.

Peggy started licking her tongue up and down, going from the pucker of her asshole to the tip of her clit. Up and down her tongue went, her hot breath causing Grace to tremble and yelp with delight. When she slipped her tongue inside the slippery, steaming cunt, her upper lips smashed at Grace’s distended clit. Flicking her tongue in and out swiftly, she writhed her lip. Grace began to twist and churn her cunt furiously, making it difficult for Peggy to keep her mouth pressing upon her pussy. Sometimes her lips and tongue were on Grace’s asshole, sometimes simply in the thick cunt hair, but most of the time she managed to keep her tongue fucking into the heat of that boiling cunt.

She knew when Grace started coming before her wild screams began to fill the room. She knew it because Grace’s cunt closed about her tongue like a wet, slippery vise. She fucked her tongue in and out swiftly as Grace came, the orgasm drawn out until Peggy wondered if Grace would ever stop. And, the screams of Grace got louder. Peggy had to cling to the woman’s hips with tight hands because her ass was churning up and down and revolving powerfully.

When she thought the orgasm was over, Peggy started to pull her tongue free. But Grace had grabbed her head and pulled her mouth tightly into her cunt, her long legs draping over Peggy’s shoulders. The beat of those thighs against her cheeks sent a rumbling orgasm bursting within Peggy’s cunt, and she began to lick and suck furiously once more at the dripping pussy.

“More! Oh, more!” Grace yelled frantically. “I want more! Give me more, you hot fucking cunt! Ohhhh, you sweet fucking bitch! Give me more tongue!”

Peggy heard the words of Grace. Her tongue shot into the cunt once more, sucking in a frenzy.

It was wild and somewhat strange to Peggy. Grace seemed so desperate for this, but the words she yelled somehow failed to fit the image the woman had been showing. Being called those names did not bother her at all. She knew passion was holding Grace. It was the desperation of a woman with intense sexual feelings, nothing more. The words meant nothing except that Grace was almost out of her mind with steaming desire.

The woman’s dark-haired cunt was in spasms again, the lips sucking and clinging to Peggy’s tongue, flexing in wave after wave of orgasms.

It seemed hours before Grace finally let her ass slump, and Peggy pulled her thoroughly wet face out of the greedy cunt. She sat on her heels, watching as Grace breathed with sharp gasps, her naked body trembling and shivering with the after glow of satisfaction.

Later, after dressing, they sat in the dining room of the house, drinking coffee. Peggy could not get over this difference in Grace. No longer did she appear to be a woman of mindless desire. Once again she looked cool and aloof, but her dark eyes were friendly now, very friendly.

“I’ve got to be careful,” Grace said when Peggy asked about this seemingly double personality.

“I don’t understand that at all, Grace,” Peggy said. “You certainly aren’t a cold person—what we just did proves that very well. Is it your husband? Does he cause this... this coolness?”

Grace laughed, the sound low and sensual. “Oh, my goodness no! I think I’ve given you the wrong impression, Peggy.”

“I still don’t understand,” Peggy insisted. “We’ve lived next door to each other all this time, yet you’ve seldom spoke to me, or anyone else that I’m aware of. Why, be so stand-offish?”

“I told you the other day that once we got to know each other, you might understand it,” Grace said. “I’m not sure the time is right, even now.”

But Peggy began to think she understood. She looked at Grace for a long moment, then said, very deliberately. “Do you know that Donny is fucking Susy?”

Grace stared back at Peggy. Although her expression did not change, those dark eyes seemed to become mysterious. Slowly, Grace nodded her head.

“You don’t mind?” Peggy said.

Again there was slight change in Grace’s eyes, but then they became warm again. “There isn’t much I can do about it, Peggy, if I did mind.”

“Of course you can do something about it,” Peggy said. “You’re her mother.”

“Then why don’t you talk to Donny?” Grace said. “Do you care if he’s fucking my daughter?”

“Only if you do,” Peggy said. “Otherwise, I don’t mind at all.” She looked closely at Grace. “What do you mean, there’s nothing you can do about it?”

“Susy is... hot,” Grace said. “She’s so fucking hot, she’s almost insatiable.”

“Susy? Your daughter is...”

Grace nodded. “But it’s understandable, Peggy. After all, look what we just did. I’m that way myself.”

“And your husband?” Peggy pressed. “I suppose he can’t handle you... give you enough?”

“Of course he can,” Grace laughed. “It looks as if you’re going to find out things quicker than I thought.” She stood up.

“Come with me... I’ll show you.”

Curious, Peggy followed Grace down the hall. She watched the sway of Grace’s ass cheeks, seeing a much different walk than usual. She realized that, in her own home, Grace was natural, but strived to be cool in public.

As she stepped into the master bedroom, her eyes went wide.

Every wall, was solid mirror, ceiling and floor included. There was a huge waterbed in the center of the bedroom, and reflections were all over the place. The waterbed was round, and the only thing on it was a black satin sheet. There were white figures all over it, and on close inspection, Peggy saw the figures were all entwined in various sexual positions.

“I love it!” she breathed excitedly. “I just adore it, Grace.”

“Paul and I designed it,” Grace replied. “He’s just as horny as I am... and... Susy. Do you understand now, Peggy?”

“I’m not sure,” Peggy said. “I see a room designed for erotic fucking, of course, and I know you’re a hot one.”

Grace opened a concealed door. It was a closet, Peggy saw, filled with various articles of clothing. When Grace showed the clothing to her, she saw they were all designed with one thing in mind—to tantalize and arouse.

One garment caught her eye.

Taking it from the closet, she looked at it. It was a dress, but certainly too small for Grace. From the front it was complete, but there were two holes in the bodice, where tits could protrude. Turning it, she saw the dress ended at the waist, with the back missing. It had been designed to reveal the person’s ass who wore it.

She looked at Grace.

There was a faint flush on her beautiful flesh, and her dark eyes seemed shy suddenly.

“You and Paul are very erotic, aren’t you?” Peggy said.

“Now you know,” Grace replied, sounding oddly flustered. “Please, Peggy, you won’t say anything about this, will you?”

“Now, who would I tell?”

Grace hugged Peggy. “You don’t think I’m... wicked?” “Good God, no!” Peggy laughed. “I find this delightful!”

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melodygatesauthor · 8 months

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Always Yours, Never Mine

Yandere Miguel O'Hara X f!Reader

Universe Three - The Therapist

Series Masterlist - Beta Read by @campingwiththecharmings

Summary

Summary: I arrived in a different universe, and in this one you’re a therapist. I saw your name on one of the doors when the orderlies were dragging me down the hall to a cell. I guess luck was on my side, I wouldn’t have to search very far for you this time, not that I would’ve been given a chance anyway. When the orderlies saw me, I think I scared them and they thought I was delusional. They took my watch, I’ll have to get that back…but I have to find you first.

Tags/Warnings

NSFW, dub-con due to identity issues, non-con, rape, More tags on the masterlist.

Word Count: 3.8k

It was a morning like every other.

You pulled into the parking lot of the Lennox House for the Mentally Insane, coffee in hand, ready to start your day. You loved your job as a therapist, especially when you felt like everything was in order. You had a good handle on your patients, all of them making good progress on their goals; nothing felt more rewarding as a mental health provider.

But you weren’t prepared for the wrench the unsuspecting six foot nine man was about to throw your way.

You wondered if your success was the reason you were assigned the new and highly delusional patient. After getting into your office and pulling out his nearly empty file, you looked at him from across your desk, his eyes calm, but unsettlingly trained on you. He had a slight smirk curling at the corners of his lips, as though he were trying to appear less intimidating. His size alone was enough to make any sane person quiver. He didn’t even try to tug on his restraints though, and that put you a little more at ease.

“Miguel O’Hara…” you said, closing the thin manila folder in front of you. “It’s nice to meet you I’m–”

“I know your name.”

Miguel sat, strapped uselessly to the wheelchair the orderlies had brought him in. He knew he could rip the restraints off at any given moment, but when he’d heard he was being assigned to you as his therapist, he decided to behave. He needed to see you; he needed to talk to you.

This was a change of pace. In his universe, you were a graphic designer. It was something you’d always enjoyed. In the second one, despite working at a coffee shop, you still seemed to have a hobby of creating artwork for some side income. Now you were a therapist. It was unexpected, but in the multiverse, anything was possible. Miguel was just glad that it seemed like in this universe, you’d never met him before, making this a lot easier - he didn’t have to worry about eliminating his alternate -.

“The orderlies said that you were wandering the halls when they found you? They said that when you saw my name you specifically asked for me to treat you. Why?” You crossed your legs and narrowed your eyes at the man.

You were careful while talking to this one. He was massive in size, not only in his height, but this man wasn’t skipping arm day, that’s for sure. You trusted him, despite being told not to trust patients - they can be manipulative - but you knew he was strong enough to rip his arms from the restraints at any given moment, and yet he sat there. To say you were intrigued was an understatement. Who was this man? And how did he know you?

After wasting so much time in the last universe, he wanted to change his approach. He wanted to try being more direct and honest with you. With a deep sigh, he pressed his lips together and looked you in the eye. You looked good all dressed up in your little pencil skirt and white blouse. He’d never seen you in a lip color that shade of red, but he liked it. Even if you weren’t quite the same, he liked the way you looked in this universe.

“Because, I traveled a long way to find you mi vida,” he started, smirking at you rather pathetically, but he was desperate for you to understand, “and I’m going to tell you why you’re going to take these restraints off my wrists and say yes when I ask you to marry me.”

Your patients had said some crazy shit before. Being in an insane asylum, even a minimum security one, naturally you would expect to hear some outlandish things, but that had to be the most delusional thing you’d heard to date. You furrowed your brow, continuing to take notes. You hummed in amusement.

“You’re very bold, Mr. O’Hara–”

“Miguel.”

“Miguel.” You cleared your throat, smirking in an attempt to show that you weren’t fazed by his surprising statement, “you’ve piqued my curiosity, but I’m certainly not sure why you think I would do that.”

“Ask me.”

“Ask you what?” You asked, scribbling more notes on your legal pad.

“Ask me how I became so wracked with grief that I created a device to travel the multiverse just so I could find you again,” he said, eyes darting between yours to see if you believed a word coming out of his mouth.

You were stunned. You’d seen patients in a catatonic state, but this wasn’t like that, he was far too clear as he spoke. This also didn’t present as the usual schizophrenic case you would expect to see from the majority of your patients. He was completely calm, making eye contact, and very direct in his line of thinking. He was either so deep in his delusion that he genuinely believed everything coming out of his mouth…or he was telling the truth.

“Miguel, why don’t you tell me more about how you got here, let’s start with that.”

Redirection didn’t always work, but if you could find a crack in his story, you might be able to get him back to a basis in reality.

“I used my watch, the one that security took from me. Gonna need that back by the way, very dangerous if it gets into the wrong hands.” He leaned forward a little, eyes narrowing on you. “I used my watch to travel from a universe where you were a barista with a piss poor attitude, to this one where you’re a therapist apparently.”

You scoffed, “I was a barista?”

Miguel could tell you weren’t buying it, so he decided to be more direct now.

“Listen, I’m looking for the universe where you don’t die,” he watched your expression to see how you’d react.

Regardless of how delusional he sounded, something like that would make anyone feel a bit uneasy. You shifted in your chair, putting your pen down on the desk. Miguel’s expression softened, likely seeing that his words had an effect on you. After all the years of you being a therapist, you’d never let a patient make you uncomfortable like that.

“I think that’s enough for today,” you said, standing up and heading for the door.

“Wait!” Miguel yelled, wheelchair creaking forward a smidge when his body lurched to try and stop you. It worked. You turned and looked at him. “You have to believe me. I’m just trying to keep you alive. If you don’t listen to me…you’ll die.”

“Goodbye, Mr. O’Hara,” you said, opening your office door. “You’re going to be reassigned to a different therapist. I don’t think I’m a good fit for you.”

“No no no, wait!” He pulled his hands free from the restraints, something you both knew he was capable of.

He grabbed you by the shoulders, “Help!” You yelled, only resulting in his strong hand covering your mouth quickly.

“I’m not going to hurt you, I just want to talk,” he said, voice trembling in desperation.

You looked terrified, and rightfully so. This huge man that you’d never met before was towering over you, staring at you with such intensity, you thought you might faint in terror. He took his hand off your mouth and held a finger to his lips.

“Shh, mi vida, por favor,” he spoke softly, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“G-go sit down in your chair n-now,” you said, legs shaking wildly.

He put his hands up in surrender, showing you that he was willing to comply with your request. He walked over and sat down in his chair, the weight of his body forcing the equipment to sigh under his frame. There was a silence in the room, a silence that made it easy to hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. You took a deep breath.

Miguel recognized that face, you were going to run. He sighed, he’d tried a different approach this time, and it didn’t pay off. Instead, his attempt had you rushing out into the hall, shouting for an orderly or two to help you. He didn’t fight them when they ran in, sticking him with a couple of syringes, being too massive for only one to do the job.

You didn’t stop thinking about him for the entire night. His words rang through your mind like a broken record:

‘I’m looking for the universe where you don’t die’.

No matter how hard you tried to shake it from your mind, it was impossible. For a week you managed to avoid talking to him again, but your curiosity - or perhaps it was your anxiety -, got the better of you. Your co-worker, and the patient coordinator, Stacy, spoke to you exactly one week after you’d last spoken to Miguel.

“He’s still asking for you every day,” she said, handing you his chart, “Dr. Harrow doesn’t want to work with him anymore, says he’s not getting anywhere with Mr. O’Hara.”

You took his file from her hands, looking it over, “So you put him back in there with me, knowing how dangerous he is and that he’s targeting me? That doesn’t sound like the best idea.”

She followed you down the hall as you walked, “I said that, but the higher ups insisted that you should see him. They gave him more sedatives and stronger restraints than last time so–”

“So nothing, I can’t believe they’d do this,�� you said, tone laced in frustration.

You weren’t sure if you were upset because you were worried he was going to physically harm you, or if you were worried that there was validity to the words that had kept you up every night for the last several nights. You stopped in front of your office door, letting out a deep exhale. Stacy touched your back, patting it gently.

“Well, at least he’s hot.” She chuckled.

You rolled your eyes at her before opening the door and stepping into your office. There he was, sitting in the chair, eyes hooded from the sedatives when he looked up at you. His restraints were doubled, both his legs and wrists tied down with metal this time, rather than the flimsy leather from before. You felt a little better, but you were still afraid of what he might say. No patient of yours had ever been so direct when targeting you before.

“Hello again Mr. O’Har–”

“Miguel…or you can just call me ‘baby’, the way you used to,” he said, words coming out in a slow drawl due to his mentally inhibited state.

“Miguel…” you said with a sigh, “I’ll continue to treat you, but you need to be more appropriate when you speak to me or you’ll have to seek treatment elsewhere.”

“Did I scare you? I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He sounded genuine, eyes looking up at you from under his lashes. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of admitting your unease, so you nodded with a meek ‘thanks’, before sitting down behind your desk. He leaned over and wiped his drool slick lips on his shoulder, unsuccessful in cleaning the mess. Inappropriate as it may have been, you weren’t going to let the poor guy sit there in a mess like that.

You took a tissue and walked over to him. Miguel couldn’t believe you would touch him, not after the way he’d frightened you. He thought this version of you would be impossible to get through to after his first interaction with you, but perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps being blunt with you was going to work after all.

You held the tissue in your hand and wiped his lips. You damned yourself for mentally commenting on how soft they looked. With a shaky breath, you finished and sat back down at your desk. You crossed your arms over your chest.

“You didn’t want to talk to anyone else so…go ahead…talk,” you took out a notebook and a pen, waiting for him to start.

“Was that Stacy? Or maybe it was Mira?” He chuckled, watching your eyes flick up quickly to lock onto his.

“So you saw my co-worker’s name plate at some point, I presume? Who let you walk by the front desk of the asylum?” You asked, feeling a pit of unease forming in your stomach at his mention of your two closest friends and coworkers.

He shrugged, “I saw Stacy’s yes, is Mira not your co-worker in this universe?”

He could see you getting anxious. You always clicked your pen incessantly when you did, back in his universe. He wasn’t trying to make you feel crazy, but rather, he was trying to make you realize that he was sane. Finally, you looked at him again.

“M-Mira used to work here, but how do you know–”

“What about Emily? Your step sister…”

“No…no, no, no…” you got up quickly, heading for the door.

Miguel called your name, and you stopped, turning slowly to face him.

“I’m not trying to scare you, mi vida, I’m trying to save your life. If you would…please…entertain me for just a moment.” He rattled his wrists in his chair. “I couldn’t do anything to hurt you even if I wanted to. I’m fucking…I’m drooling on myself and I’m stuck to this damn chair.”

You stared at him for a while, considering your options. If he was insane, which was the most likely explanation, then helping him through this was your duty as a therapist. If he was telling the truth…you needed to try and figure out what he meant anyway. No matter which way you sliced it, the only way you could sleep at night would be to hear him out. You slowly walked back to your desk and sat down. When you picked your pen back up you realized that you were shaking.

“Have you been stalking me?” You asked bluntly.

“No,” he returned your tone. “I know you, I know you well, and if you’ll hear me out with an open mind for just a second, I can explain everything to you.”

You gestured with your arms to give him the floor. He nodded, thanking you in Spanish before letting out a deep sigh.

Miguel told you everything, from the day you first met in his universe to the day you died. He talked in depth about things in your life that he knew only you would know. He damned himself for crying while he explained how much he loved you. Then he went on to tell you about the second universe, where you worked at a quaint little coffee shop barista, but he didn’t express the same emotion toward that version of you as he had the first.

When he was done, you sat there in awe, doing your best to process. Not only did you believe his every word, you were trying not to fall into an existential crisis upon learning that the multiverse might actually exist. You gulped, reminding yourself quickly that if a patient is delusional enough, they can tell a lie and still pass a polygraph test. All it takes is for them to believe that lie to be true with all their heart. If he was a good enough stalker, he could easily be making all of this up, and combined with heavy delusions, you had a recipe for someone too crazy for your paygrade. He needed more care than you could provide.

“Miguel…” you looked him in the eye, unsure of how to respond.

A buzzer saved you, indicating that the time for your session was at an end. He didn’t fight, he’d learned the hard way that breaking the rules of the asylum would get him nowhere. Regardless, he couldn’t continue like this for long, he was wasting too much time. If this version of you wasn’t going to see things his way, he needed to move on.

One more session…

Both of you were thinking the same thing without realizing. You would give him one more session to sway you one way or another, and he would give you one more to make up your mind before he moved forward.

He was already waiting for you in your office when he heard you clicking down the hall toward the door. He heard you stop, and then Stacy started talking to you.

“I texted Mira and she’s down, you wanna come out for drinks with us?” Stacy asked.

Miguel’s heart nearly stopped. Was this it already? Was this the day you’d die if he didn’t stop you from going out with your damn friends? He thought about the last universe though. You still died, even before you were supposed to go out with your friends, as though it were a static event that happened in every universe you existed in.

“Yeah sure that sounds fun! I’ll meet you at your place around seven?”

Once you finished finalizing your plans, you made your way into the office and sat down behind your desk, trying not to make eye contact with the man whose words had kept you up at night over the last week. You averted his gaze until you couldn’t anymore, finally looking at him and sighing heavily.

“Hi Miguel, how was your week?”

You started the same way you started every session.

“If you go out with your friends tonight, you’ll die,” he said, speaking coldly, “I told you that’s how you died before, remember?”

“You really expect me to believe that? Come on. I’ve been wracking my brain all week trying to decide how I felt about what you said and I’m not buying it.” You spoke with little conviction, voice wavering slightly. “Plus in the second universe you said I died getting hit by a car, not from being in a car so–”

“I know, but the days started the same both times, your friends talking about meeting up for drinks and you agreeing to go,” he sighed, “What have you got to lose, hm?” He looked intense now. “If I’m wrong, then you can toss me in my cell for the rest of my days and label me insane, but if I’m right, then you’re going to come back here and realize that I’m telling the truth.”

“How…how will I know that you’re telling the truth versus making this up?”

You’d left out the fact that Stacy and Mira died in each universe as well, not wanting to complicate things by mentioning them. He looked up at you, brow furrowed and face full of frustration. He was hoping that after you finally believed him, that this alternate version of you would be worth all this time he’d put into you.

“You’ll just know.”

He was right.

The next day you came into work, despite having just lost your two closest friends, to confront the insane man who suddenly didn’t seem so insane. If you’d been in the car with them that night, you would’ve died alongside them. You stormed into your office after demanding Miguel be brought in to see you immediately. You’d grabbed his watch from storage, putting it on your desk.

Success had never looked so heartbreaking. Miguel hated seeing you so distraught. Your bottom lip was trembling and your eyes were glossed over with tears. He hated being right sometimes. You pointed to the watch with a shaking hand. Your face held a combination of anger and sorrow etched in every pore.

“You’re saying that this thing is…you can travel to other universes–”

“Si, honey but listen–”

“-going on but I believe you, I really fucking believe you–”

Your eyes were crazed, “mi vida, don’t touch that please, it’s not–”

“-through the multiverse and I mean, you’re insane and I’m insane for even thinking you might–”

You picked up the watch, holding it in your hand and putting it on your wrist while you continued to talk over Miguel’s desperate protests. He started wriggling in his chair, trying desperately to get free. You didn’t understand how that thing worked. It wasn’t made for you.

“-I thought to myself why the hell didn’t I just take this damn thing and prove once and for all that–!”

It wasn’t made for you…

When Miguel built it, he’d put in a failsafe to prevent anyone else from taking it and using it. If someone stole it from him, or he ended up in an insane asylum and had it confiscated, they wouldn’t be able to take it to another universe, leaving him behind and helpless. Since there was no telling where the watch would take him, he wanted to prevent the possibility of ending up in one that didn’t have modern technology, and getting stuck there…without you. So it was hardwired to work with only his DNA, and no one else’s.

It would appear that his failsafe ended up being what killed you in that universe. You pressed the button on the watch, waiting for something to happen with bated breath. Miguel hoped that his device would malfunction. He’d taken a liking to this version of you, but it didn’t. He watched as your body convulsed, flesh bubbling and tearing from the inside out as the energy that would normally transport him from one place to another coursed through you.

Your screams would be etched into his memories for the rest of his days. It didn’t matter that you weren’t the original, it was still your voice crying for help and ringing through his ears. He’d never seen anything so horrific, not even in horror films. You were gone again, and this time he felt despair again. He almost wished that if you were going to die, that you’d gone in the car with your friends instead, that way he wouldn’t have to go to the next universe covered in your blood and with the sound of your cries on repeat in his head.

He managed to shimmy himself over to the part of your blazer where he knew you kept your ring of keys. Tipping over onto the floor he could get to them, moving his wrist in a way that just barely reached the lock holding his hand in place. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, truly, but when three orderlies and a security guard tried to stop him from getting his bag containing his personal items, including that photo of the original you, he had no choice. He even warned them to stay out of his way, but when they didn’t listen, he was forced to make them.

Stepping over their bodies, bag in hand and watch on his wrist, he activated the device. He was still searching for the perfect you.

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Miguel O'Hara Masterlist

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#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o’hara smut #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara headcanons #miguel o'hara imagine #yandere miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 smut #spiderman 2099 #miguel ohara noncon #miguel o'hara noncon #miguel o'hara non-con #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara fan fiction

622 notes · View notes

thatfreshi · 8 months

Text

No Need To Be Shy Now (Astarion x Reader)

TW - smut, lots of bloodplay, masochism, dom/sub dynamics, also tav is afab

(I had a lot of fun writing this and this is actually my first time writing smut so please let me know what you think thank youu)

Recommended Song: Tilted Halo - Flo Milli

Temptation. You were Eve, him the apple. All that time ago, lost in the forest, long before you were in love, long before he knew he could love. You and Astarion, what an odd history, and yet fitting, like a geode, two sides cracked apart, still fitting perfectly.

"Come here darling, let me drink in that beauty of yours."

You concede, coming to the bed, lying down next to your star-crossed lover, one you managed to keep your eyes on in this lifetime.

"I'd let you drink far more than that."

You grin, leaving a trail of kisses down his neck, gliding towards his chest until he forces your chin back up, coming into a rough kiss, hungry, desperate. You pull away for a moment, giving him that sweet stare.

"What darling?"

Impatience.

"Being a tease, that's all."

You ghost his lips lightly, smirking, knowing what you're asking for. And then he bites down into your throat. You gasp, somehow still shocked, but he doesn't drink just yet, pulling you on top of him, letting it trail down your neck. You take your blouse off, some of the blood smearing on the white fabric. It continues down your chest, dripping onto your breast. He licks it off slowly

"Fuck..."

His nails dig into your back, as he continues to lap the blood off your skin, intentional with his movement.

"So beautiful, bleeding for me like this."

He means every word, appreciation caught in his throat, almost making him sentimental. But he'd leave that for after he was done with you.

"Bite me again, please."

The only person you'd be this vulnerable with, the only man you'd beg for.

"Your wish is my command darling."

He lies you back on the sheets, moving down to your legs, leaving two teeth marks in your thigh, leaving you trembling. He can see all the little dotted scars, sweet memories, lustful evenings. He kisses down the inside of your thigh, taking the blood as he goes, leaving some of it smeared as a reminder. You try to keep your moans to yourself, almost a little embarassed. He looks up at you, noticing you're holding back.

"No need to be shy now, I've already got you right where I want you.""

He digs his fingers into your hips, a sensitive spot that wins a cry of pleasure.

"That's better."

He begins softly grazing in between your thighs, ever so slightly touching you. Astarion hears you about to speak, but hushes you.

"Patience dear. Let's have our fun."

He had been teasing you all night while you were out, light touches when your friends weren't looking, whispers in your ear that made red cover your face. You claimed the blush was just from how hot it was in the tavern. While you try and wait on his antics, you're taken aback by the sudden entrance of his fingers, well received. He stops moving for a moment just to get a rise out of you.

"Gods, you're the worst."

"Would the worst make you feel this good?"

Every word of his drips in lust, knowing he has you, knowing you wouldn't want this from anyone else, knowing he matters. The next few thrusts of his fingers are calculated, slow, trying to extend this moment as long as he can. You make eyes at him, trying to use that sweet gaze to convince him.

"I'm sure you're tired too. Don't you want more?"

You're not wrong, but he tries to keep himself in check, edging you for as long as he can before biting down into the flesh right above your hip, making you both moan.

"When I want more, I know how to take it. Promise."

He mumbles against your skin, more blood on the sheets. You're a little light-headed, somewhere between the bed and the heavens. Astarion moves to undo his belt.

"I think you've earned it my sweet."

Soon enough, hips collide, getting your own blood on himself. He doesn't hold back this time, giving you everything you've begged him for, and yet you're still begging. You grab the sheets tightly, and he takes that hand, putting it up above your head, holding you down in between his fingers. He goes to drink from your neck once more, picking up speed, leaving you utterly helpless.

"Please, can I-"

"Yes."

You're first, and he follows shortly after, the two of you shaking. He kisses you deeply, but softly.

"Gods..."

He lies down beside you, feeling the blood that has pooled on the bed. You don't say anything, still stuck in that bliss, trying to get your bearings. He moves a piece of hair from your face, and you slowly turn to look at him, smiling like an idiot.

"What a syren you are my love. If you didn't like begging for me so much, perhaps it would be the other way around."

You simply wrap your arms around him, tired from what he just put your body through.

"I love you."

You mumble into his neck, nestling yourself by his side. He kisses the top of your head.

"I love you too."

It's silent for a moment, and then he shifts a little.

"We should run a bath, get you something to eat before you get nauseous."

You pout, pleading that he stays in bed with you.

"I don't want to get up yet..."

He stands by the bed, slowly putting his shirt back on.

"If you let me use you so much, I have to at least make sure you're well taken care of. That is, unless you don't like it rough like that. Because if so we could always go back to-"

"Noooooooo. I'll go to the bath."

"Good answer."

Demand still in his voice, but coated in sugar. He helps you stand, leading you to the bath, where a night of pampering and hand-fed cheese is in order.

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #comfort #smut

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jvngkook97 · 2 years

Text

Sucker for Love

synopsis; in which your best friend happens to be a vampire and the only time he’s able to be himself in the world is during Halloween night. OR you’ve been in love with your best friend for a long ass time and want him to bite you for a change and not a random person, which for some reason, he refuses to do. they say love hurts, and damn it all that you want it too.

pairing; vampire!jungkook x human!reader

genre; angst, fluff, humor, horror, smut, f2l, vampire au

warnings; cursing, jealousy, blood, violence (non explicit), death (non explicit), horror movie tropes, bad jokes, VAMPIRE KOO cause yes that’s a whole ass warning in itself CMON, a few familiar faces make an appearance, there’s no smut in this chapter but there will be in a future one so be sure to read the warnings carefully in order to avoid reading something you’re uncomfortable with pls and ty

rating; 21+ MINORS DNI

w/c; 7,101

a/n; y’all knew it was coming, it was only a matter of time. consider this both a ‘happy jungkook day’ and ‘Halloween’ story submission in one. SORRY IT’S LATE. decided to split this into two chapters cause I like the way this one left off. hopefully, that one will be out soon. like + reblog if you enjoyed. don’t be a silent reader! <3 feedback is always appreciated and helps keep this writer motivated.

networks; @ficscafe, @thebtswritersclub, @btshoneyhive, @kflixnet

01. 02. 03

“You are not going out dressed like that.”

“I—Excuse me? This is literally the only night I can go out like this!”

He tugs on the front of his white, nearly see-through, frilly long and loose blouse with a gusto. His face is morphed into one of disbelief as he stares into your dead panned expression.

“No. I see you in that outfit every single day. Are you not aware of the time difference?” Your arms are crossed, hip jutted out that makes the slit in the side of your costume widen even more. As much as he fights it, he can’t help but let his eyes flicker to the overly exposed skin as his tongue darts out for a split second to wet his lips and play nervously with his lip ring.

When his eyes meet yours he knows you’ve caught him in the act, if not for the elegant yet sultry way you walked towards his figure with a smirk adorning your red painted lips. The cape you were wearing framed you perfectly and only accentuated your beauty even more. As much as he hates to admit it, considering what your costume of choice pertains too. Them. His entire body cringes inwardly.

Your face rises to meet his, a feat that normally has you on your tip toes to complete the action, but not tonight. Tonight, your feet are clad in ruby red heels that give you the perfect amount of height and compliment your costume of choice for the evening — little red riding hood — knowing full well how much it would rile the centuries old vampire in front of you.

“And yet you have to choose a costume from a storybook that has to do with–,” his face scrunches, nose crinkling, and the corner of his lip rising into a small snarl that exposes one long, sharp, fang. “–wolves? I mean, really y/n?”

“What can I say? Hairy bodies are a turn on.”

A loud snort from him. Laughter bubbles in your throat. One coffin shaped, manicured hand lays over his chest. If he weren’t the undead, you have no doubt that it would be beating as erratically as yours currently is due to the close proximity, or maybe that’s just you and your ridiculous crush you’ve had on the vampire for a long time now.

Unbeknownst to you, the sound was like music to the vampire’s ears as he placed one massive tattooed covered hand over yours to squeeze it gently, it meant you had blood pumping through your veins, the vital organ still going strong.

You were still here.

You were still with him.

You were still alive.

Not like on the night where he first found your pale, nearly lifeless body all those years ago.

‿෴🦇෴‿

Then ~ Wednesday, October 31st, 2018 11:30PM

“Some friends they are.”

You crossed your arms tighter around your chest, attempting and failing to secure some semblance of body heat from the chilly, autumn night air. Leaves rustled in the biting wind, littering empty streets underneath the light of the full moon as you slowly and quite wobbly made your way back to your studio apartment. You regretted taking that extra shot before leaving the party, almost as much as you regretted entrusting your supposed friends with letting you know when they were leaving. Now here you were, all alone on Halloween night.

Your horror loving mind drifted to the many movies that started out on a night just like this, one’s where you previously scolded the character for making such a foolish life choice. Even going so far as saying that they deserved to be murdered brutally for their careless act. Look at you now, doing the same exact thing you once admonished with a mocking laugh at the tv screen right before the killer strikes and–

A twig snapping had your head whipping to the side, yet you saw nothing. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, however, as if there was someone or something out there watching you, tucked just out of sight behind the line of trees that led to the woods at the edge of town.

“Oh no.” You raised your voice to the dark woods around you with sarcasm. “I sure hope there aren’t any sexy vampires looking for prey out here or heaven forbid a captive!” Shaking your head at your own sense of humor, you snickered, opening your mouth to spew some more dark comedic gold that gets silenced by yet another twig snapping but this time it was closer.

Much closer.

Fuck.

Picking up your once slow pace, your heels clicking on the paved, stone walkway in a frenzied haste do you hear a more fear inducing sound from right behind you. A voice.

“When I let go, run for your life.”

It’s only when the disembodied voice breathlessly caresses the shell of your ear, do you notice how badly you’re shaking. Let alone the fact that there’s a a very pale, lanky, hand on your shoulder. True to their word, they let you go.

And you run for your fucking life.

Now you understood why those many characters would run straight into dark woods, rather than continue down the lit up street. In the woods, you could hide. On the streets, you were open and vulnerable. Wasn’t much of a tough decision when you’re the one being pursued.

Another thing you now understood, how it was so easy to–

The heel of your shoe embedded itself into the soft, wet soil and latched itself in between two branches sticking out of the ground with perfect precision and you tripped. Your arms flung themselves out haphazardly in a desperate attempt to catch your unprecedented fall. Hands, arms, legs and knees becoming scraped by various rocks and branches that poked out from beneath the ground.

Your hands immediately went to the strap of your heel and with shaky hands you barely managed to unbuckle the impromptu foot restraint, freeing yourself and pushing your exhausted body back up into a standing position. Coming to the conclusion you were better completely barefoot now, you freed your other foot from the speed hindering heel and chucked it angrily to the side. A heavy mist now clung to the woods, halting what little moonlight remained from passing through the already thick foliage of the cluster of trees around you.

Straining your eyes through the mist, you saw a shadow stood in the distance, completely still except for the wave of a hand. A whimper escaped your mouth, lips trembling and eyes watering. They had found you, but you won’t be giving up that easily.

Wiping your eyes in order to see clearly, you postured yourself in a position to run and bolted out of there, dodging branches and bushes along the way that only cut you up even more until you stumbled into an open area in the woods that housed an abandoned building.

A very creepy, dark, decrepit, seemingly haunted abandoned building.

Well, shit.

Checking the woods behind you, you see a blur making its way towards you and you realize that once again, you have no choice but to make the absolute worst choice possible.

You needed to go into the building.

Steeling your resolve into not dying, you thrust open the rusty door that was almost falling off its hinges at the years of decay and not being used. The screeching it emanated rivaled that of a nail on a chalkboard and your entire body cringed. Pushing your way into the darkness, you blindly felt for a wall to help maneuver your way through.

During your slow ascent into the building, does the door suddenly slam behind you, causing you to jump and let out a shrill shriek. Along with the deafening slam do you hear what sounds like a lock clicking into place.

What the actual fuck was going on here? Was this all actually real or a really elaborate prank set up by your shitty friends? Whatever it was, you weren’t having it anymore. Time to do what you do best when you’re scared – use your sense of humor.

“This is very funny.” You announce to the supposedly empty room around you. The door had locked itself, and you found yourself even moreso alone with little applicable skill to get yourself out of there. “I’m not the protagonist type, I’m more of the comedic best friend character. Now can someone please bust in here and save me?”

Silence. Nothing but eerie silence.

It was worth a shot.

Unlike the blur you saw in the woods, this time you saw more of a wispy white fog begin to appear on the opposite side of the room. It cast a faint glow, more than enough for you to utilize it and sprint down the hallway that made itself visible due to your ghostly accomplice.

Bare feet padded quickly along, and you tried your best not to look behind you just knowing that you wouldn’t like what you saw. So, instead, you plowed through the various hallways that now felt like an endless maze with how alike they appeared. The doors that lined the hallways were the same as well, solid except for a thinly shaped window that was planted in the middle within eyesight of what’s deemed ‘normal height’ for a human. You wondered what this place was used for, but thought best not to investigate and trouble yourself further with details.

The only thing you should be concerned about is getting out of this place alive.

The heavy fall of boots echoed across the halls that made you pause in your step to listen closer and decipher which direction it was coming from. Not having an inkling of the layout of this building, you realized trying to figure it out was futile and instead continued on. It wasn’t until you heard the footfalls sound in the hallway you just exited from did you begin searching for a door that was unlocked in order to hide.

Jiggling several handles, you found they were all locked. You just about gave up hope when you saw a door at the end of the hallway that was cracked open. Quietly running towards the door, the boots crept closer. Just as you slid your body through the crack of the door and shut it all but a sliver so you could peek through, did the mystery predator reveal themselves.

Your breath caught in your throat, eyes collecting pools of liquid that trailed down your face as you tried your damndest not to make a sound as they inched closer and closer to your hideout.

They were wearing all black clothing, the only pop of color coming from the hideous stark white mask that was littered with specks of something you couldn’t quite make out due to the distance, the mask that covered their face successfully hiding their true identity. As they came within a yard away from the door, did you come to the grim conclusion that this person had what looked to be dark, red splatters of an unknown substance all over their clothes and mask.

Something that was scarily akin to blood.

Closing your eyes, your hands covered your mouth in a fruitless attempt to stifle the whimpering that wanted to come out from the sheer terror that coursed through your veins. Every passing moment felt eternal. And you couldn’t tell if closing your eyes made it better or worse.

You didn’t know if hiding would be the ultimate factor in you getting out alive or not, but it was the only idea you had left. As you pushed yourself further into the corner of the room, your back slid down the wall in relief once the footsteps faded.

Taking a deep breath, your head fell on your knees. With a shaky exhale you let out a minuscule puff of laughter. You were tired, your body was tired. It wasn’t till you felt you had a moment of safety did your body wind down from its adrenaline rush and now all you felt was the crash that comes after it. You allowed this feeling for only a fleeting second, then hoisted your body up and out the door, but not before cautiously poking your head out to be sure the mystery figure was truly gone.

They were. For now.

You stepped out from your safe haven and attempted to make your way back down the hallway from whence you came, hoping you’ll get dumb luck down another corridor and find the exit. Your heart pounded this time, but not from fear. This time, it was pumping with liquid courage through your veins.

Despite your earlier declaration of being the secondary comedic relief, you decided with renewed vigor that you would be the final girl.

Oh, how wrong you were.

There was a sharp pain in the back of your head, your mouth opened in a silent scream that would never come as your body collapsed on the cold, tile floor and you were down for the count. Your body no longer having the energy to fight back, that liquid courage seemingly sucked up in a matter of seconds you just lay there – still. Your eyes struggled to stay open as you blinked them, trying to focus on the white mask that was within your line of sight as the figure knelt down and stroked your forehead, gently pushing the clump of hair that fell in your face away and tucking it behind your ear. The very same ear where you could feel a trickle of liquid slither down the side of your face and off your nose. The last thing you see being red before you closed your eyes for what you thought would be the last time.

Jungkook’s POV ~ The Same Night

He sniffed the air, smelling the faint metallic odor of ‘crimson crack’ as he liked to call it. Tilting his head back, he closed his eyes and honed in on it, letting it take over every one of his senses in order to conclude where the source is coming from. Opening his eyes, they flashed a deep red, before returning back to their usual brown state.

In a flash, he was gone.

When he reappeared, he was standing in front of an abandoned building. His head tilted in confusion, ears perking when they hear the tall tale sign of a human heartbeat. Faint, but there. And it seemed to be getting closer, even a hint louder in its desperate attempt to keep pumping blood, oxygen, life to its human shell.

Interesting.

His hand reached for the door handle, which he promptly brought back to his side and took a step back when he realized the handle was turning on its own and the door began to open. He clasped his hands together in front of his abdomen and waited for the grand reveal of his next meal.

With his centuries of life, he would’ve thought that he saw it all. Apparently, that wasn’t the case. This night, he would have another first.

Seeing you. Smelling you.

Your blood alone caused the saliva in his mouth to pool, the scent making him feel dizzy in a state of euphoria. Body vibrating with the need to get closer to you, to taste you. He nearly pounced, if not for the minor inconvenient detail of your limp body being carried over the shoulder by an all black clothed human male. The mask this male chose was displeasing to the eyes in a sense of it was so gaudy and fake.

The male stiffened upon seeing Jungkook, the hand that clenched the knife that he used to both knock you out and engrave his alias initials into the length of your neck gripped the handle, his knuckles becoming more pronounce as they strained against the leather material of black gloves he was wearing.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Jungkook could tell that the male had anger issues. His voice was devoid of emotion, cold. It made Jungkook chuckle with a deep laugh that had the masked assailant stepping forward in hopes of scaring Jungkook. It only spurred on the laughter more, and made the male even more angry.

“Shut the fuck up, you freak! You wanna die?”

“Do you?” The laughter ceased as if by a flip of a switch. The wind blew between the two males where only one couldn’t suppress the shiver that went down their spine. The masked male thoughtlessly threw your unconscious body onto the ground next to him, a loud ‘thump’ followed shortly after your weighted body hit the solid dirt of the woods. He then poised himself with the bloodied knife raised in front of him, ready to strike with the intent to kill.

Jungkook tsked sardonically.

“Give me the girl and I’ll let you go.”

He thought the deal was good. The masked man did not.

“Fuck you. She’s mine. Get your own, the night’s young.”

“True, it is. But I’m not. And I’m easily annoyed. So, I’ll give you one more chance, human. Give me the girl.”

The masked male blamed his obscured sight from the small holes that the mask granted him, the material only making it harder for him to see Jungkook clearly. Though, he swears he sees his eyes flash red, but it’s gone within the next blink of his eyes. His gut tells him to run, but his pride prevents him from doing so.

The masked male makes his move, and his knife impales into Jungkook’s chest — directly where his beating heart should’ve been. Except, it wasn’t.

“My turn.”

Jungkook grips the male by his arm and yanks his body until it’s pressed tightly against his, using his other arm to encase the squirming male and prevent him from escaping. The mask falls off to reveal a young face, barely hitting his mid 20s. The amount of fear that is on his face gives Jungkook a sick sense of satisfaction.

“What are you?”

The male whispers fearfully. Jungkook doesn’t answer, and instead grins widely. Both fangs twinkled in the faint moonlight as the male’s eyes widened in horror, only to close moments later as Jungkook sinks his fangs into the male’s neck and begins to drain him of every drop of blood in his body.

Y/N’s POV ~ Moment’s Later

When you come to, you find yourself laying on the dirty earth floor as your nails dig into the soil and it gets stuck underneath. Inhaling a breath – it’s crisp, cool, autumn air. You let out a broken whimper when you realize that you’re alive, but it hurts to move. Your head is at an awkward angle, but you can make out two blurry figures out of your peripheral. One looks limp, and the other looks as if they’re embracing the other in order to keep them standing.

In a way, you were right. Your eyes then dart to the fallen off mask that’s settled a few yards in front of you, and you wonder what exactly happened to your perpetrator for them to let you go. You don’t have time to dwell on it for too long, as the next thing you see is the back of your eyelids as you pass back out. It seems like your mind was awake, but your body still needed some recovering.

The next time you open your eyes you’re laying in a huge bed, in a huge room that looks like you’ve been transported into Dracula’s castle, but you were still in a modern home. The decor and looked ancient and worn, yet surprisingly still in good condition. As you sat up, your body no longer felt drained of energy, and in fact, you felt refreshed and reinvigorated.

Your bare feet hit the cool flooring as you stand up straight. A knock on the closed bedroom door has you flinching back to your previously scared state and you hold your breath as the door slowly opens.

In the threshold of the door stands a very attractive male, who looks like along with this castle, he’s from the world of Dracula. His skin is almost sickly pale, yet his eyes held a natural warmth to them. He just stands there, and doesn’t attempt to step inside once he notices your scared expression.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

His voice is smooth and velvety. Despite not knowing this person and going through the ordeal you were just in, your gut tells you that you can trust them. So, either stupidly or —no, just stupidly — you do.

“I know.”

When he hears your voice for the first time, his stomach does flips. It was in that moment a kind of bond was formed, and you’ve been inseparable since.

‿෴🦇෴‿

Now ~ Monday, October 31st, 2022 7:50PM

His hand can’t help but trace the faint scarring of initials that still resides on your neck to this day. A constant reminder to him and you of the horrific, yet fateful, night you met.

Your eyes close reflexively upon contact and you let out a sigh of discontent, knowing where his mind just wandered to, as does yours.

“Koo, I’m still here. It’s okay.”

Your eyes open to meet his. There’s a pinch inbetween his brows that you just want to rub away with your finger, so you do. He chuckles, the vibration flowing through your own body in waves that has you giving him a warm smile.

“I was doing it again, wasn’t I?”

“You were.”

He clicks his tongue, shaking his head to rid of the intruding and unpleasant thoughts and regain focus on the mission for tonight – going out with you on Halloween night to a frat party you were invited to by a brainless jock that Jungkook already hates with a burning passion for catching your attention.

“Shall we go?”

Your eyes narrow into his and you pat his chest, before turning and walking away from him to reach into your bag and pull out an outfit you brought just for him. It wasn’t so much a costume as it was an outfit you just really wanted to see him in.

“Nice try, buddy. But I didn’t forget.” You make your way back over to him with the outfit held out in front of you. “Wear this. No objections.”

He groaned, but resigned to his fate and took the outfit from your outstretched hand. He waves his hand as a motion for you to turn around while he changes. You lift a lone brow at his sudden shyness.

“It’s not like I haven’t seen you nude before.”

He rolls his eyes, then narrows them at yours. You throw your hands up in defeat and make a show of slowly turning around until your back is to him. As you bring your hands back down, one subconsciously falls to the scarred initials on their own and just like Jungkook, some aspects of that night fog the forefront of your mind.

You let out a chortle that catches Jungkook’s attention, his eyes fall immediately to where your hand resides as he zips up the black pants you wanted him to wear, but he doesn’t say anything. He knows he doesn’t have too, you always tend to speak your mind.

“Remember when I thought for a second that you were actually going to hold me captive?”

He does. As does his body, even moreso as he flexes the muscles of his back to shrug on the crimson red bomber jacket that covers the plain, black shirt he’s wearing underneath. Tugging the cuffs of the sleeves down into a comfortable position.

“Yeah. I gave you the benefit of the doubt to just walk out the door, and as soon as I turn my back to you, you stab me.”

You throw your head back in laughter, and he can’t help the quirk of his lip that occurs at the sight and sound of it. There’s no blood pumping through his veins, no warmth to his skin, but still he felt a unique glow when it came to you that was within the depths of his soul. It was hard to describe, and he couldn’t say exactly how it was possible, but it happened. Only when it ever came to you. And for a moment, he felt a sliver of being human again.

“Can you blame me though?” He doesn’t. “Are you almost done?”

“Impatience will be the death of you.”

“I think knives will be the death of me, actually. Maybe some poison.”

He folds his arms across his chest.

“Funny.”

“I thought so.”

“You can turn around now.”

“I still don’t understand why you didn’t want me to wat–,” your words die in your throat as you turn around and take Jungkook in in all his glory. Jesus. You changed your mind. This outfit would be the death of you. Your thighs rub together without your knowing, it makes Jungkook’s nostrils flare for a second, and he stiffens, clearing his throat.

“That bad, huh?” He tries to break the tension that came out of nowhere as you continued to stare at him. It’s like your brain stopped computing he looked that good.

“Oh, shut up. Don’t pretend that you don’t know how sexy and amazing you are.”

The words flew out of your mouth unfiltered, unfaltering, and you weren’t even ashamed. It baffles him how a human could be so truthful. So unabashed.

“Let’s just go.” He’s still stiff as he brushes past you and you catch the whiff of the earthy and musky scent that is just naturally him, it only made the want for him that much more prominent and you trail behind him like a lost puppy.

‿෴🦇෴‿

Frat House ~ 8:24PM

Even though you two are early, the party is already in full swing. The music is loud, so damn loud, it makes Jungkook’s sensitivity to sound a hinderence in his opinion - but he does his best not to let it ruin the night. Before you even stepped inside, the porch was littered with bodies as a couple seemed to be making out not too far from the entrance of the house. Red solo cups, beer cans and bottles alike were thrown haphazardly in the bushes surrounding the porch.

How could humans be so careless? Jungkook thought with a grimace. Back in his day it was frowned upon, but now it was the new normal. How the times have changed.

His nose crinkled in disgust at the public display of affection that should be withheld for closed quarters, and you just walked by like it was second nature. The front door wasn’t even fully closed, so all you had to do was push it open to gain access. From what you heard, you thought it was going to be a ‘limited access’ party, apparently you heard wrong. It felt like the entirety of the school was present and upon the door shutting behind you two, the cluster of body heat was more than prominent, triggering your slight case of claustrophobia.

Jungkook could sense your distress, his open palm rested securely on your lower back as his thumb rubbed circles in hopes of easing your anxiety. He could feel you tense, then relax. Bending down so his head was next to yours he asked you a question.

“Want to head to the back?”

You nod your head in answer and he guides you both through the crowd. You do your best to smile and wave at those you know so as not to be rude, but in truth, you just wanted to get the hell out of there for now.

“Empty handed? Here!”

A random guy pops up next to you both as you almost make it to the back door from the kitchen, and shoved two red solo cups of an unknown liquid into your hands. He salutes with a dopey smile and saunters off. You presume he’s going to fill more cups for other random guests. He looked familiar now that you thought about it, and you think it has to do with his two different colored eyes, it always wowed you.

Before you know it, you’re both back outside in the night air and it’s easier to breathe. Jungkook swiftly grabs the cup from your hands and dumps it into a bush nearby. You give him a quizzical look as he dumps his as well.

When he focuses his attention back onto your puzzled one, does he explain his reasoning.

“Never drink from a cup that you didn’t pour yourself, you don’t know what could be in it.”

Your mouth forms an ‘O’ shape and you heart palpitates from the level of protectiveness he’s showing. It never fails to get your heart racing.

He smirks knowingly, and opens his mouth to make a flirtatious comment.

“I love how your heart races for–,”

He’s cut off by a letterman jacket and he wonders what the big deal with them are while the guy pulls you into a tight hug with a big grin.

“Y/N! You made it!” His enthusiasm seems genuine as he tightens his hold on you. Not seeming to care in the least bit that he has to bend over awkwardly to accommodate your obvious height difference. It causes a snarl to build within Jungkook’s chest that he fights to suppress so as not to bring unwanted attention to himself.

“Joonie! Thanks for the invite!” Your tone is light and airy, a soft puff a laughter escapes your lips at the death grip he has on you. You savor the hug, returning it in earnest before you mutually let each other go. His hands are on your shoulders as he takes in your costume of choice.

“Little red, hm?” His brow raises and he lets out a bellowing laugh that you can’t help but join in on. You forgot about the inside joke that was made back in your freshman year of college and he makes a playful jeer.

“Am I still the big bad wolf?” He waggles his eyebrows feigning being seductive, and you snort in embarrassment that causes the natural flush in your cheeks to make a show. It was a one time misjudgement when you decided to listen to the gossip of those around you, rather than form your own opinion. Everyone described Kim Namjoon as a heartless, hard headed, quick to temper and pessimistic jock. You would learn, in fact, he was very much the opposite and those who said otherwise just never had the courage to even try and befriend the tall, lovable, giant you now consider a good friend. Their loss.

Jungkook hates it. He hates all of it. What was this talk of being a wolf? He wasn’t one. He was normal. Jungkook would be able to tell otherwise. And why are you acting as if you completely erased his presence from your side like he wasn’t even there. Anger began to rise, and he closed his eyes in order to prevent the red from showing to the humans around him. He should’ve worn his contacts, but you encouraged him to just ‘be himself’ whatever that means.

Jealousy. A ridiculous human emotion that unfortunately can still occur with vampires.

He loathed it. Like he loathed this human boy.

He began to mimic the timing of breathing as a form of meditation, regaining his sanity and self back just in time for you to acknowledge him and introduce him to your male companion.

“Joon, I’d like you to meet my good friend Jungkook. Jungkook, this is Namjoon. He’s the host, and my science partner.”

Namjoon scoffs at your introduction of him.

“Just your science partner, huh? Is that all I am to you? A lab partner that makes sure you pass the class in order to graduate this year?”

You give a feigned moment of silence as if in thought, your finger resting on your bottom lip that slightly parts them in the process. Jungkook doesn’t miss the way Namjoon’s eyes flicker to them upon the innocent action, but you do. All you do is give an over exaggerated wink in reply. He places a hand over his heart and acts hurt.

Seems like this human boy has taken an interest in you. He wonders if you feel the same.

Again. He feels the jealousy build and stiffens, then relaxes though his fists stay clenched tightly behind him. He plasters a fake smile on and interrupts your little flirtatious banter.

“Pleasure.” His hand is outstretched, waiting.

Namjoon just sees it as a polite gesture and takes it with a soft, yet firm grip. He realizes that there’s even a slight height difference with the jock himself as he steps forward towards Jungkook, leaning into the handshake. It takes everything that Jungkook has not to crush every bone in his hand as he relays what is considered normal strength for a human during a handshake.

You watch the two with wary eyes, but inwardly sigh with relief when their hands part and nothing else happens. Maybe they could be friends after all, or so that’s what you hoped.

“Please, by all means. Feel free to take advantage of the beverages and food. Mi casa es su casa, and all that jazz!” Another female party goer slides into Namjoon’s side and places a hand on his chest. Jungkook is surprised when you greet the female with even more excitement. He assumed you would be upset, furious even.

“Natalie! I thought you said you weren’t going to be able to make it?” You gave the girl a mock glare, and she gave a twinkling laugh in return. Namjoon stared down at this ‘Natalie’ with love and adoration. Jungkook was confused.

“I was able to convince my family to postpone leaving until tomorrow so I could congratulate–,” Natalie pats his chest and looks up into Namjoon’s eyes with just as much love, if not more, before continuing. “this guy on his big scholarship!”

Namjoon’s face flushes from the admission. Your mouth drops open in bewilderment. You punch Namjoon hard in the shoulder and he winces.

“Geez! Ow!”

“You jerk! How could you not tell me?!”

“I was going to, tonight!”

You side-hug Namjoon and Natalie and make promises to catch up. Jungkook pretends not to hear when Natalie whispers in your ear about a ‘double date’ and instead acts like the sight of people gyrating against each other is more appealing. It’s not. But something does transcribe whilst he’s staring at the couples that actually know how to dance properly.

Nostalgia washes over Jungkook, like the gentle sway of a tide pulling his conscience to another time, another place. He felt the phantom stirrings of movement where his heart would’ve still been beating back then, the desire to grin and to dance, but could only place the grainiest of images to memory. He couldn’t quite remember what it was that brought him a feeling of such warmth and fondness, but he felt enchanted to stay within that feeling.

Natalie and Namjoon have long since departed, but Jungkook was still stuck in a time long passed. You cautiously place a hand on his cheek, caressing it while gently rubbing your thumb against his sharp jawbone.

“Jungkook? You still with me?”

The glaze in his eyes disperses upon your call of his name, and his eyes instantly lock with your concerned ones. He gives you a faint smile, sucking in a breath to release it and then answers you.

“I’m still here.”

This isn’t the first time this has happened. Jungkook getting lost in the past. He was never afraid to answer any questions you had for him back when he was human, or even when he was turned by a rogue vampire and left to learn the consequences and rewards of being a vampire and immortal all on his own. His life was hard, but it was still life. Something he didn’t treasure until he was no longer alive, and rather just living — existing.

He realizes that he never had a reason to feel alive, until now.

Until you.

He had tried to do what he could to keep you at arm’s length. Your smile was so disarming, you were so genuine, that he couldn’t help but get close to you. Even when knowing it was a bad idea. He didn’t want to fall in love with you. He kept ignoring the intruding bloom in his chest, telling himself that it would wither on its own.

It never did. It just grew.

It grew a forest of flowers within him, the colors so vibrant and the aroma so intoxicating that it was hard not to fall in love with you when it was you who consumed his entire being, his entire soul, or what was left of it.

And you didn’t even know.

‿෴🦇෴‿

You had been at the party for hours now. Talking, mingling, even dancing a little. Much to your amusement and Jungkook’s displeasure.

His hands rested politely on your waist, never once faltering into the danger zone. Your arms were wrapped loosely around his shoulders, hands dangling. A slow song was on, one you never listened to fully due to how slow it was, seeing as you usually only heard it when you were driving your car and as soon as it would come on you would change the station to a more upbeat option to keep you awake. But, you’ll admit, it was growing on you.

Much like the vampire in front of you has over the years of knowing him. His mannerisms, his personality, his way of talking, his way of dressing. You kept every minute detail locked away inside your head, and your unspoken feelings locked inside your heart. Though, as you both stared into each other’s eyes in a way that should’ve been saved for lover’s, you wonder briefly, albeit hopeless romantically – if he might, just might, feel the same way.

Your body is buzzing with all the alcohol you’ve consumed throughout the night, and as you sway to the song, do you realize how much it’s him who is actually holding you up discreetly and leading you. It’s only when he suddenly stops, does your wobbly figure collapse into his taught chest. Your ear lays against where his heart would be, yet you hear nothing. Another stark reminder of the difference between you two, as your heart raced at how close you two were.

He doesn’t say anything, standing still. When you look up from his chest, his gaze is no longer on you, but something in the distance behind you. Following his line of sight, your puzzled expression turns into one of forlorn.

It was another girl, dressed ironically as a female version of Dracula. You nearly scoffed at the coincidence, though you know it can’t be the costume that’s caught his attention, rather – it’s her blood.

“It’s that time of the night, hm?”

Your question lingers, his focus still caught. You can see the red tint begin to take hold, his grip on your waist tightening into a bruising one. Your heart jumps at the sudden sensation, and it’s only then that Jungkook regains his bearings and gives you a look of regret, his hands parting from your waist instantly as if being burned.

“I’m so sorry, y/n. I just need–,” his nostrils flare of their own accord, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He closes his eyes and when they reopen you know for sure the night is over.

They’re blood red. He needs to feed, or risk losing control and slaughtering literally everyone here, including you. And he won’t have that, he refuses to let that happen. He’d sooner throw himself into the sunlight’s blazing rays and turn into nothing but dust than be the reason you die.

For a split second, you almost gain enough courage to tell him to just use you, but you know he’ll say no. He’s never directly stated that you couldn’t be an option, moreso does he just announce when it’s time he needs to leave you to feed. He swears he never kills those he chooses to feed on, having enough control over his emotions and hunger enough to only drink what’s needed and then heal the bite wound with a solid lick of his tongue. After he’s done feeding, he makes sure to leave their body in a safe place until they come to, waking up from what they believe to be just a blacked out moment and they’re on their way back home.

He steps in the direction of the ‘lady of the night’, and your face twists into one of sadness as you say your parting words, doing your best not to slip up as you speak and let the lump in your throat win over.

“Be careful, okay? I guess I’ll—,”you awkwardly looked away and locked eyes with another classmate of yours — Jimin — giving him a tight smile and small wave, before turning back towards Jungkook to finish your statement and are meant with nothing but an empty space.

He was gone.

Surveying the area, do you catch a glimpse of his back, his hand that was once on the small of your back only a couple hours ago, are now on the mystery girl’s as he leads her around the corner and out the side gate, into the night.

“Y/N, hey! Are you by yourself? Want to hang out with me and Yoongi?”

Jimin’s smiling face appears in front of yours. If he notices the way your eyes are rimmed red with unshed tears, he doesn’t comment on it. Just throws a friendly arm around your shoulders to guide you towards his friends. His excited rambling tickles the shell of your ear as he tries to talk over the blaring music, it having changed to a catchy k-pop song that you love cause it reminded you of Jungkook.

The very person you currently wanted to forget, if only for the rest of the night. As you walk up, Yoongi gives you a silent nod in greeting and you reciprocate the action with a small smile.

They don’t leave your side for the rest of the party, and, dare you say, you actually had a good time. The next morning, you realize, maybe too much of a good time.

3K notes · View notes

blueberryarchive · 6 months

Text

RECORDING (+18)

Were you move in to Montenegro Hills. A peaceful neighborhood with caring neighbors and walking dogs at 6pm.

The night of the welcome party, you meet Park Jimin: the president of the neighborhood committee. After a few shots and a little bit of flirting, he makes a proposal you thought you'll never hear from anyone in your life.

▶pairing; stalker!jimin x fem!reader

▶word count; 13.4k

▶genre: 80's au, enemies and lovers, thriller

▶tw; grammar mistakes (english is not my first language), horny!jimin all the way, your boy Hoseok it's a freak too, gore scenes (blood, wounds, death, descriptions of pain and bodily fluids), toxic relationship, smut (dub-con/non-con, penetration, knife play, degrading names, manhandling, spanking, fingering, choking, mating position) everyone in here is a piece of shit ngl, misogyny, mentions of drugs and alcohol.

▶playlist; 📼

Record, the verb, comes from the word cor or cord in Latin, which means heart or remember, which in itself is beautiful. To repeat over and over again, to keep track of it, to save it in the memory. Save is one of his favorite words to describe what he does. Salvus as in to keep safe, in both senses.

There's nothing more precious to him than his collection of VHS tapes in the little room in the hall. All were put in alphabetical order and cleaned every Friday when he was free from work.

To watch every movie again and again, to remember the little details to heart, the dialogues, the gestures; he loved it. He loved taking care of it.

Now, it was Friday and, you see, as he was in the row from D to H, he heard one of the most precious pieces close the door abruptly of her Ford Cortina, just right outside of his house. He walked slowly through the hall of the rather dark place, the curtains were closed most of the time. His neighbors took it for privacy.

Jimin was a very quiet and sheltered man, but he was very polite and helpful. Always there in Montenegro's activity programs, charity funds, birthdays, and Christmas parties. He helped with the food, made the kids laugh, and the wives adored him. Jimin was the best neighbor, and he worked hard for it.

As he moved closer, his finger brushed the hem of the curtain in the living room, letting the sunlight paint a streak across his face. His eye settled on your feet, more like the heels. Who moved in with heels on?

You were wearing slingback pumps and a little pencil skirt, coming straight from work. Tired and all sweaty in the middle of the summer, when people remember why they don't like the heat in the first place. Jimin enjoyed it. It made people come out of their houses and forage for a little bit of shadow and conversation.

The white blouse you wore, had a little white bow that made you look like a dainty Victorian doll. The translucent blobs forming under your armpits were beginning to drip sweat down the sides of your ribs. You took a small carry-on suitcase from the co-pilot and closed the door putting on your dark, cat-shaped sunglasses. Chanel, so you also had money. The prices in Montenegro are not cheap by any means, but the people here are all so subtle in the ways they show it, with guilt and tight lips. But you weren't afraid to show that you could afford things, that maybe you loved the sound of pearls on your wrists and the sweet smell of Angel by Mugler on your clothes.

If he wasn't in his pajamas, Jimin would have opened his door to introduce himself just to let his nose feel the pleasure of your aroma in that heat.

Jimin knew that you were going fast and that you didn't want anyone to know about your arrival until you were in better condition. He looked at his wristwatch, it was barely five in the afternoon, and he didn't know if there was time.

One way or the other.

He grabbed the corded phone near his couch and plopped down crossing his legs. With one hand he dialed a number so quickly that his fingers seemed to move automatically.

With the other, he searched for a roll in his work suitcase. It took less than the ringing of the call to put the film into the camera, a '72 Olympus, a beauty that belonged to his mother.

"Mm." answered a scratchy voice, Hoseok wasn't in the mood and that wasn't a good start.

"Hoseok, I need you to convince Nancy to have a party tonight, well, maybe not tonight but-." he put the phone between his shoulder and his ear, walking to the window. You were still inside, but the Cortina door was still open.

"What do you want me to do? She won't do anything until she's six months in." Hoseok exhaled. "Why a party? Who is it this time?"

Jimin wrinkled his nose, focusing the camera just as you went out to close the door. A single suitcase of clothes, your Chanel glasses, and your blurred lipstick. You were a work of art, he had to convince Hoseok to create an excuse.

"Park," Hoseok mumbled as the bustle of his office sounded on the other end of the line.

"Let's meet the new neighbor."

"Neighbor? I haven't heard Nancy speak of a neighbor at any time."

Click, just as you close the door. Click, the strokes of your hands and your quick steps.

"I'm seeing her now."

"Now? Is she already with you?" Hoseok sounded hurt, offended. His annoyance changed to a muffled, nasal voice.

"No, I wouldn't meet anyone without you, Jung." Jimin chuckled, his cheekbones popping with the jeer in his voice. "She's in front, where the Jimenez used to live."

"Yeah, okay—You better not." Hoseok interrupted.

Jimin closed the curtain and looked at the door at the end of the hall, three locks keeping it secure.

"So will you talk to Nancy?"

"Let's see, the hormones have her in a frenzy and she still forbids me to even drink, smoke or fuck her. I'm going insane." Nancy was Hoseok's wife, she was a sweet and calm girl, she always smiled and her voice reminded Jimin a lot of Shelley Duvall. A sheep with deep black eyes, like two dark lakes. She was Hoseok's jewel. Park didn't believe how sweet Hoseok could be with her, knowing how he could be outside his bubble, he pampered her fervently and always saw her like searching for scrapes and bruises.

Jung Hoseok was the perfect husband. Handsome and caring, made everyone light up with his contagious laughs.

They were one of the most beloved couples in Montenegro. Nancy was in charge, not officially but popularly, as the person who organized the parties. They were always the best. The best-grilled meats, iced tea, and the best conversations after a mojito or two. It was in these places that Jimin caught the big fish. But since Nancy's pregnancy, things have been quiet in the Jung household.

Nancy had become paranoid, barely leaving the house, walking around the patio of her house barefoot and in nightgowns. The women of her family tended to lose pregnancies easily, and every time she had a pregnant friend, or anyone for that matter, she treated them like porcelain, hundreds of tips on how to take care came out of her heart-shaped lips.

Now that it's her turn to be the pregnant one, she doesn't wear tight clothes and doesn't go upstairs. She eats hot things if Hoseok cooks because she's afraid of the stove. She thinks that her body, due to an uncontrolled impulse, will throw itself into the flames.

Convincing her wouldn't be easy, but Jimin hadn't seen her neighbors in a while, and seeing you caused his chest to shrink with curiosity. You were attractive, even when you thought you weren't.

Hours passed without any sign of life, dead hours in which Jimin decided to work on developing the photos he had taken of you. The pungent smell of vinegar and chemicals in the small room bathed in red light. His hands covered in black latex immersed the piece of paper in the water until the image appeared like a cloud of grays: your face, your hands, your hair sweating. Such a recent memory and he had already missed it.

He held the photo closer to the hanging light bulb, it was perfect. Even though it had come out a little blurry, he told himself that it made him want to have it more, the two minutes it had taken you to get there, close the windows, take out your suitcase, and look around you were fleeting. So having a small detail, like a photograph of a bird that was believed to be extinct or that of a very distant planet. He began to be fond of your nebulous figure.

His first frame of you.

Two clamps held the material on the cord so it could finish drying. The ringing of the phone brought Jimin out of his hedonism, he didn't wait for it to ring twice. Now, the words Hoseok said as he picked up the phone made the man smile.

"Saturday, 6 p.m. At my house." God bless Hoseok's convincing tactics. He must have made up an article in the newspapers about how Boston University theorized that a lack of communication with the outside world could cause hormonal problems and even affect the psyche of the fetus.

Wait…Saturday?

"You say tomorrow? It's too early, I don't have anything prepared yet."

Hoseok laughed. "No, moron, next week."

Jimin took off his gloves, disappointed with how little effort his partner had put into his work.

"That's a whole week away."

"You should suck my dick for getting something in the next four months."

"If you weren't as useless and ate her out, you would have had it by this Sunday, at least."

Hoseok bit the inside of his cheek, twirling a pen in his fingers. His eyes were arranged in a corner of his office, and with a sigh, his legs spread out. "Describe her to me."

Jimin smiled searching for a cigarette in the kitchen, the phone in his hand, the cord jumping a little by his steps. He switched the phone to his other ear as he turned on the tip. "She's not a Maeve, she's not your typical Montenegro mom, maybe more like a workaholic like Charlie."

"Any children?" Hoseok interrupted excitedly.

"No, I don't think so. She has a very… disorganized style for being a mom."

"Divorcee?"

"I don't think this woman spent more than six months with the same man." Both men laughed, Jimin brought the cigarette to his mouth but stopped mid-action when he saw a shadow pass through the living room window. "Wait." Jimin put down the phone and walked into the hallway. The VHS were arranged, shiny and neat, on the right shelf.

They hadn't knocked on the door.

Knock, knock.

Jimin raised his shoulders tensely. It was you? Could it be true that Jimin was lucky enough to not have to poison you with chemicals until he dragged you into his bed? That he didn't need Hoseok's charms to convince you that what they were doing was sick, but he just needed a little alcohol, a little bit of will from you, too.

He walked quickly to the door and opened the handle with so much pressure that it made noise. The young girl on the other side of the door flinched, opening her eyes like a frightened bird before smiling at the man who was sweating at the front door.

This is Cosette, for the second time this week.

If Jimin didn't know how to control himself, Cosette would have been planted in the garden serving as fertilizer a long time ago. He fervently hated teenagers, of all types: athletic ones, Star Wars fans, those who went to his movie theater to make out with their boyfriends for the three hours of the Gone With the Wind special, those who drove in their parents' Chevelle speeding through the streets; all of them. Especially those from Montenegro.

Cosette wasn't part of any of the groups mentioned, but don't let her think that Jimin hated her any less. Cosette, who had a strange taste in everything, including her social circle, was at her door. Her hair was always in a high bun, her bangs covered her forehead, a jean jacket that hid her body, and bright pink lips that made Park's eyes water.

She always carried something new with her, something for Jimin to notice and talk about. This time, she had a kerchief tied around her head colored in a nauseating green. She smiled even more when she saw that Jimin was only wearing an unbuttoned t-shirt.

He looked in the direction of your house, the curtains still closed. Shit.

"Cosette," he greeted her, pressing his lips into a smile. He refused to look at her bow so she wouldn't mention it either.

"Mr. Park, today is Friday. I wanted to bring you the films you lent me so you can clean them up and keep them organized." Her voice was tremulous as she blatantly looked at Jimin's arms and chest.

"Thank you," his eyes narrowed as he held up the stack of rectangular drawers his neighbor handed him. "I'll definitely have something by Cronenberg or Kubrick for you next week."

Cosette blushed aggressively. "Dad says Kubrick is just an excuse to watch women being-"

Her words stuck in her throat as Jimin's dark pupils sat on her features, lips slightly parted.

"It's sex, Cosette." Jimin exhaled, leaving the VHS on a table. "Nothing is going to happen to you if you see it, much less if you say it." His hand went to the girl's shoulder, her fingers curling around themselves anxiously.

"Yes, obviously. I know that. " The girl looked down, letting silence cover time. "Do you think I can help you with cleaning your collection this week?"

Jimin smiled sweetly and denied. This was Cosette's way of wanting to interfere in his life or maybe she thought something would happen if she stood in the middle of his living room and closed the door. What a poor fool, she really made him feel sorry for her. That's why he tried to find a healthier and legal connection.

Jimin lent him five movies to watch from Monday to Friday. They all had a theme: Italian horror, neosurrealism, buddy films, western, romance…

She watched them all religiously. Sometimes she even took advantage and went to the cinema to watch it even when she had the same movie at her house. Just to see Jimin.

"Sorry, darling. I already finished doing that this morning."

"Oh, I understand." Cosette nodded stupidly quickly, taking a step back. "It's okay, Mr. Park."

"See you on Monday."

Colette did not respond, raising a hand as she turned her face away to get away as quickly as possible from the shame that consumed her. A small mocking laugh appeared on Jimin's lips and he took out his hidden arm from behind the door, revealing the disintegrating cigarette.

His heart dropped to his stomach when his eyes flicked to your porch and there you were, in the same position as him. Cigarette hanging from your lips, your damp hair combed back and eyeliner singed into your dark circles.

Not at all a mother from Montenegro, not a daughter, not even the whores that the divorced men brought in looked as broken and disoriented as you. Jimin’s heart pounded when your eyes never left his as you took a drag. Smoke billowing out of your nose. You didn't smile or extend your hand to say hello like a good neighbor, instead, you looked at Jimin suspiciously, closing the door seconds later.

Jimin raised his eyebrow. What had he done? Worried, he closed the door quickly, head resting on the wood. He cursed Cosette under his breath as he walked to the phone in the kitchen.

"Hoseok?"

"Don't tell me. Marcus' little girl."

"I get a headache every time I hear her babbling."

"Don't be so cruel, she admires you a lot."

Jimin closed his eyes, your gaze had hurt his fragile ego, and he had to know why you were so hostile between two and a half puffs of your cigarette.

That week was about to be lethargy, hell, Dante's tenth circle.

Day 1

Movie in theaters: Ghostbusters The curtains are still closed, I can see your silhouette at night, and the lights you use are dim. Halogen, you like calm environments, corners covered in soft shadows. You play music from the moment you get home from work, 5:15 without fail; you usually leave it on when you leave again. Every day, you come back with a paper bag, I assume with groceries. 5.45. You are wearing a leotard in one of those colors that Cosette likes so much. Perky titties bouncing while you take down the porch stairs;; couldn't help but take some pictures. You exercise until 6:40, then, ironically, smoke a cigarette or two in the yard. Smiling at people while pearls of sweat dribble down to your cleavage. Zuri is the first one of the committee to see you and waves her hand with curiosity. You two talk for a little. I'm here wishing I could read lips, but even with a thorough education, yours will need a whole degree only for me to concentrate on not kissing them. I go to sleep at 11:30, one glass of whiskey and half a joint I stole from Marcus months ago. I dream of eating you out through a small cut in your leotard, sweat dripping down your body to mine. You whimper, but I can't hear you.

Day 2

Movie in theaters: Friday The 13th: Part IV At 6:25 in the morning, I wake up to the sound of your heels going down the stairs to get to your car. I can't get up fast enough to see what you're wearing for me today. You accelerate quickly, you don't care if you wake up the neighbors. You don't come back all day. After work, I watch one of my films on TV until I fall asleep, Birdie's laughter drowns out my curiosity as I doze. 5:15, you're not home from work. Maybe you went out of state, considering how you dress, you seem like a busy woman. I thought about the clicking heels and imagined your foot stepping on my erection. I go outside to calm my thoughts. One thing led to another, and without knowing it I find myself in your backyard. You're not stupid, all the doors and windows are closed; curtains included. But you don't know who I am still, what I need about you.

Day 3

Movie in theaters: The Evil That Men Do 4:55. I'm at the Millers' house, they've invited me to check out their new screen and sound system. Watching a movie with them, but due to August Miller's silent decision, we ended up at the outside bar, drunk on mojitos and pina coladas that Lou Miller learned to make with a cassette he bought at the supermarket. The cocktails are very sugary, but they help clear my head. I find myself sitting steps away from Mr. Miller. I tell him I'm writing notes for a new review in the newspaper, but all I can think about is your absence all day. There is no news from you, and I am afraid that you have decided to leave the house. I don't understand, the house is adorable. Too big for one person, but the Jiménez filled it with pets and children in less than two years. It has off-white floors and large windows to let in the light. A huge patio and pool so you can indulge in leisure activities such as gardening and nudism. 00:13, you appear with your car lights off and your arms down. You carry the same paper bag in your hands, and I accidentally smile when I have your presence. I knew having a garden in your yard would convince you to come back.

Day 4

Movie in theaters: Footloose Something that my drunken brain from yesterday had forgotten to write down, that was overlooked, or that the mojitos simply erased from my memory. I managed to open a window in your backyard. Around 6, Lou Miller, in her forties, was no longer the same when drinking and it seemed she had forgotten because getting out of the pool she vomited every cocktail and every appetizer she had made for her husband and for me. Mr. Miller, due to his age and lack of exercise, had to leave the task of helping his wife up to the room to me. There, lying on the bed like some kind of rag doll passed out and with her vomit leaving a trace in her mouth, I thought of you. Maybe because this wasn't the first time a drunk and unconscious woman was in front of me or because she simply couldn't think of anything else. I went downstairs and said goodbye as decently as I could in my tipsy state. How strange it was to be drunk in the middle of a sunset. The days seem long and with you absent, God knows I need to at least get something that reminds me of you. You made things so difficult for me but I appreciated the detail, seriously. It's been a while since I enjoyed taking out my tools to open doors. People in Montenegro take security so lightly that I don't know how there hasn't been a massive burglary in every house. My arms wobbled and my cheeks burned. Half an hour later, I could hear the click that took me to your kitchen. I didn't do anything else, things had to go little by little between us, and I was willing to take it slowly for you. You're worth it.

Day 5

The night passed me like a breeze, it hit me like a stone on my temples. The nauseating taste of alcohol and sugar on my palate. Surely my face was swollen and that wouldn't help my next plan. The mirror showed me dark circles and short red marks on my ribs and chest. Going over your fences left me like shit. I put on some sunglasses and walked to my garden, I had been negligent with my roses and grass since your arrival. I had to make a good impression, and that was the first thing you saw of me. And this is where my conversion to religion begins. The first thing I hear is those low heels, the red ones you wore the first day, then Poison by Dior collided on my sensitive, hungover nose. That aroma was so familiar, maybe Zuri or maybe on Marcus's ex's boudoir. The conversation was like out of nowhere passing through the thin fresh humidity of a cloud, I remember nothing but the white and the voice of a seraphic being speaking to me.

"Don't you think it's pretty cloudy?" It was the first thing you let out of your angelic lips. Jimin closed his eyes and let a small shy smile appear as he turned around.

You had your hair back, revealing your entire face while you squeezed your eyes shut looking at the sky. A steaming mug in hand, a floral dress that almost reached your knees.

"Good mor-"

"For sunglasses, I mean." You interrupted, bringing the cup to your mouth. Chocolate, he smelled. You weren't one to drink coffee in the morning, noted.

"I try not to let my neighbors understand how hungover I am this morning."

You weren't one of the shy ones, he knew it from the moment you looked at him talking to Cosette and he loved that. You weren't wearing a ring either, noted.

You laughed at your neighbor's confession, Park's chest widened as he inhaled the sweet melody of your laughter. What if he confessed more things to you and you ended up fucking your hungover neighbor in the garage?

"Park," he raised his hand, and you raised yours squeezing lazily while still looking at him. "Jimin Park, I'm the president of the neighborhood committee, I also write reviews for The Hours."

"Good representation of what awaits me on Saturday."

Jimin raised his eyebrow at him. He was supposed to be the one inviting you, he would come to your door with good wine and his expensive perfume on to ask you to crash a party a couple of doors down, something "impromptu."

"Ah yes, that." Park licked his lips turning off the sprinkler.

“Aren’t you going?” Was that disappointment in your voice? Oh, honey...

"It wouldn't be a party without me"

"I see that." You pointed to his glasses again. The third joke about his hangover, you were nervous.

You just looked for an excuse to see him closer, and he had to respect your courage, it would have taken him a few more weeks, and after that, he ended things quickly after convincing his... how to put it? Muse? To leave it as it is.

"Well, I have to go, Park, but it was a pleasure. See you Saturday night."

"At the Jung's house, at 8."

You smirked, your eyes taking one more scan of the boy's body before turning around and walking to your car. Your hips moved soft and firm with each step, you worked for it and he appreciated it.

Continuation of Jimin's diary. Day 5: Page crumpled and torn from the small notebook. Attached with adhesive tape.

Yes, yes, yes. I know I should have waited at least half an hour for you to leave the area to go to the back door, but seeing you up close, smelling you, and hearing your voice. They were simply the last stop on my patience. I was walking through the small forest behind your house, the path was muddy under my boots and the sky threatened to break into thick drops. I prayed that it was true so that it would cover up the evidence of yesterday and today. I opened the door again with ease and entered your kitchen, closing the door softly. You still had things in boxes and my hands were tingling to open them, but I'm smarter than that. I didn't waste time and went up to your room. I came for something, then when you invite me to dinner or watch a movie I can have the pleasure of admiring your home. I looked in the drawers, under the bed, and in the closet. Here is the list of things I took that I know you would only assume were lost in the move: a red lipstick from the Besame brand, some used black panties with a small bow in the center, a white photo of you and black, a key that I found under a chest full of rings. I have no reason to take a key without knowing what it is for, but the ribbon covered in river pearls from which it hung was so delicate that I smiled thinking of you decorating something so simple. Now, I write these pages because I have arrived safely at my desk, with all things in hand. But I must say that you gave me a tremendous scare when you arrived at the house without the vehicle. I heard banging downstairs, and the hissing of keys. Luckily I was able to escape out the window that looked right into the pine trees behind the neighborhood. I spent another hour walking around the steep path, admiring how the thick, century-old trunks swallowed me up. As I predicted, the sky turned black. The last rains of September cleaned everything I left behind. I put my hands inside my pocket and took out the panties that I had wrapped delicately. I opened them like a letter as the rain soaked my body and the fabric in my hands further. I brought its center to my face and inhaled deeply, letting my back fall onto a log. Pungent and strong was your taste, I gripped the material in my teeth as I desperately undid my pants. It's the first time I've tasted you and I couldn't contain myself for long, the rain drowning out my moans as whitish streams fell on the wet earth.

There is no collection from day 6, a simple crumpled sheet, previously wet with an unidentified liquid (among the possibilities tears, stolen perfume, human remains), marked with a lipstick that Jimin wrote with hearts in the 'i's.

If there was something that surprised Jimin every time, it was the way Nancy could prepare a party in such a short time. Her backyard became a show under incandescent light bulbs and freshly cut grass.

Jimin stepped on the silage with guilt because of how perfect it was. He looked at his white suede shoes, removing a leaf that settled on them. He wanted to be impeccable. He had cut his hair past his ears and was wearing jeans and a T-shirt tight on his arms and chest with the words: 'LOVE 1984' by Yves Saint Laurent. His biceps were something to talk about and Nancy didn't let it go unnoticed.

"Is there anyone special coming today, Park?" Her honeyed and soft voice approached Jimin, offering him the first cocktail of the night. Unlike Mrs. Miller's, Nancy's coconut mojitos were the best.

"I don't know, that's the wonderful thing about your parties. The last one the Bee Gees didn't come through that door because Jung wouldn't let you pay for it." They both laughed.

"Well, I wouldn't say the Bee Gees." She thought about it, maybe he would bring them next summer. "Cher, I love Cher. I know a friend from college who has her number."

"For God's sake, Nan."

Jimin smiled again, looking at Nancy's profile: her face was as delicate as her voice. Her hooked nose curved gently and her lips pursed, seeing what else he could arrange before the others arrived. Her hand unconsciously caresses her visibly bulging stomach.

"Do you know what it is?"

Nancy's eyes sparkled at the mention of her fetus. She denied it.

"Zuri is planning to hold a small celebration for me to tell me my gender in a few days."

"Ah, another party. This is where Sonny and Cher show up to say she's a girl."

Hoseok came out wearing an apron that blatantly said 'Kiss the Cook' and a pile of bloody, seasoned meats on a plate. The grill in front of him waved a nice heat as the first piece sizzled.

"You know I can't live without a good celebration." Nancy stepped back, gravitating away from the heat of the fire. "I'm going to see if I can help Lucy with the canapes."

Nancy turned around smiling an apology at Jimin who reciprocated. Without wasting time, he pulled a Marlboro out of his jeans and approached Hoseok, enjoying the warmth that covered his torso. Hoseok held a piece of bright red charcoal and brought it close to his partner's cigarette until he lit it.

"She did it again, the patio is beautiful."

"You know my Nana just needed a good excuse." Hoseok smiled, holding up the cigarette to take a drag. "Ever since I mentioned there was a new single woman in the neighborhood, they went crazy."

"Have you seen her yet?" He was somewhat suspicious that Hoseok had beaten him to invite her to his barbecue. Make no mistake, the party was the Jungs', but the purpose of the party was so that Jimin could meet you. The plan didn't work unless Jimin said it was going to happen, Hoseok was part of them but only as a proxy.

Luckily for Jimin, Hoseok shook his head in disappointment, looking at the grill.

"I heard she looked like a slut waiting to get paid for a blowjob on the sidewalk in a yellow leotard."

"Pink." Jimin interrupted, irritated by the words, sipping the mojito until he finished it. "Who told you that? Zuri?"

The day Jimin saw them talking, Zuri was wearing a friendly smile and you two had a small conversation.

"No, of course not. Zuri just said that she came home from the gym and the others-"

"Maeve," Jimin mumbled, setting the glass aside.

Hoseok smiled. "You know this happens to everyone who arrives, it happened to me and Nancy, to Marcus, to the Espositos for being Catholic in a place like Montenegro."

Christopher Esposito was a father at St. Eliam's Chapel, a small white building where few in the neighborhood went. It was California and people only believed in themselves. But, of course, Nancy had to invite them. Well, religion is not religion at the end of the day, but status.

Coming back to you.

"She is one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. But not beautiful in the aesthetic sense, there is something about her eyes."

Like you know something Jimin doesn't.

Hoseok raised his eyebrows at him flipping the cuts.

"Fuck, she has you in the palm of her hand."

Jimin denied listening to the commotion coming in and talking inside the house. "Tonight I will be the one who will have it in mine."

There you were, in a black high-necked dress and black boots. You smiled at everyone and shook your hand.

For a second, when Jimin brought his cigarette to his lips, you looked at him. He to you. Both smiled before each one went back to his work.

Let the show begin.

Glasses slowly piled up on the wooden table that Nancy had impeccably decorated about four hours ago, plates with bones and half-eaten vegetables.

The music was loud but the voices shouting stories from the past about alcoholism and deranged adolescence were even louder.

Jimin was sitting next to the unlit grill, the subtle smell of burning charcoal and meat had him nauseous. He brought his knuckles to his lower lip as he watched you talking to Hoseok and Nancy, an impeccable smile on your lips, you looked like a little angel; anyone would steal you from that place.

Several of the husbands had taken a glance or two at your legs and swallowed your flirtatious, drunken laughter. You only drank wine and the tinted mark of alcohol covered your lips. So kissable and unattainable.

Hoseok had already taken a look at your hands, they were one of his favorite features. Luckily for him, your hands were decorated with rings and varnish the color of the wine you drank.

Nancy laughed at a joke you said, you blinked slowly looking at the woman in front of you with the concentration that only being drunk gives you. Hoseok looked back and nodded at Jimin. It was time.

"Could you get our guest another glass of wine, love?" Hoseok took your glass and Nancy nodded still laughing at the story you told her about your childhood.

Hoseok placed a hand on your back guiding you through the people. You let him, who knew that a couple of drinks could give you so much fluidity?

Still, you felt this tickling in your neck since you arrived.

"Are you enjoying the party?" Hoseok was one of those men that you watched your friend marry and sometimes you wished you had that kind of stability. Nice, he made you laugh, he protected you.

You nodded to the question.

"I'll introduce you to a few committee members, they're excited to meet you."

They both made way for a blonde woman with eyes so blue that you couldn't stop looking at them throughout the conversation, the green shadow on her eyelids was so singed that it looked like a healing bruise.

"This is Maeve."

"Oh, dear, welcome." Her body felt tense in the hug she offered you.

When she let you go, she once again engineered that smile that seemed to hurt her to extend. You looked where her gaze was guided: two children dressed alike were running around near the pool.

"Come back here." She murmured, pointing to the area where the other children were.

"Maeve is in charge of children's events and birthdays. She is an artist."

"Oh, Hoseok, please." Maeve rolled her eyes at her enjoying the compliment. "Why didn't you bring your children, dear?"

"I don't have any, work won't let me." You smiled. Maeve raised her eyebrows.

"And your husband, he also works a lot? He should have at least stopped by to say hello-"

"There is no husband either."

Hoseok licked his lips enjoying the shock on Maeve's face.

"Oh okay." She laughed softly, fixing his pearl necklace. "I mean, things aren't like they used to be." Maeve sought support from Hoseok. You also looked at the man next to you who almost choked in his drink.

"America," Hoseok explained, taking a swig of brandy that made his nose wrinkle.

"God, yes. It's like it doesn't belong to the man anymore." You laughed hard, you didn't know where so much energy came from but you were static, you could feel every look and every touch.

Every look.

"California has become Sodom in just ten years."

"Oh, there's Zuri and Charlie!"

Hoseok grabbed your arm and dragged you away from Maeve's quips. Two women were sitting near the pool, the black woman fixed her glasses and continued the conversation. Her hands were intertwined with the brunette's in front of her. You didn't want to interrupt but Hoseok didn't give you time.

"This is Zuri and Charlie Munson."

The hairs on the back of your neck perked up as you heard another voice behind you. You couldn't tilt your head because the two women stopped to shake your hand. He was just who you wanted to see.

"You came," you mumbled to Jimin as you squeezed the taller girl's hand. She was beautiful.

"Charlie, this is our new neighbor." Jimin placed both hands on your shoulders, massaging discreetly. You were breathing hard as you tried to hide a smile. The pads of his fingers hit the tense spots.

Charlie was tall, the square glasses covering half of her face. Seeing Jimin, her calm expression soured. You gave her your hand and smiled at Zuri who stood behind her like a little girl.

"Charlie's a lawyer, in case you one day end up getting a DUI like me." Jimin laughed, you didn't know if it was a joke. If you saw Zuri's reaction, yes. If you saw Charlie's, well he had simply said that he ran over a child or something.

"Zuri is-"

"I already met Zuri on one of my outings to my patio."

"Oh perfect." You smelled divine and the brandy was starting to feel like the plan could go well without the help...no, in fact, without Jung's presence.

"I work for Martines & Sons," Charlie spoke again.

Your eyebrows raised in surprise still with Charlie's hand in yours.

"Martines & Sons, you're not just any lawyer then. I know one of the sons, David has told me a lot about you." You responded. Charlie smiled proudly, fixing her glasses. Was that blush Jimin saw on Charlotte Munson's cheekbones? Oh, you were a top whore, you flirted with Charlie in front of her own wife and poor Zuri didn't notice.

You and Charlie lasted a short silence smiling at each other.

"Zuri is a piano teacher." his wife stammered, letting the woman with the long, poorly dyed hair shake your hand. She wore necklaces of different colors and a ring that almost covered her index finger with a purple stone. "She graduated from Stanford."

Barely, Jimin told himself.

Before they can continue the conversation, Maeve calls out to the two women. Perfect.

The music was loud enough for Jimin to have the excuse of brushing your ear with his swollen lips from biting them so much.

"That's Marcus," he murmured, letting the warmth of his breath caress your lobe. You closed your hands into a fist, wetness pooling instantly inside your silk underwear.

Marcus was like a Jesus if he had become a writer. His hairy knuckles held a cigarette about to burn his skin, he didn't talk to anyone but instead admired the water of the pool in silence.

“That's his daughter, Cosette,” Jimin's palm guided your hip to the kitchen window. You were so drunk that Jimin didn't have to do much to make your physiognomy move, like wet clay between his calloused fingers.

"Victor Hugo fan?"

"Don't even try to do it, he'll spend hours talking to you about Les Misérables." They both laughed in a drunken stupor. Like two boys gossiping.

Cosette was wearing a plaid skirt and blue eyeshadow. To attract attention this time she had put on red lipstick.

Seeing Jimin, she raised her hand and smiled, revealing her silver braces.

No, she was too shy to greet Jimin like that.

You greeted her with both hands so he could see you better in the darkness on that side.

"Ah, you know her."

"Yes, I almost crashed into the poor thing at midnight when she was running away from her house." Monday the 17th, you arrived at 12:13 that night. Anyway, it wasn't logical for you to be out at midnight.

"I didn't consider her one of those who ran away at night."

"Sometimes it can get lonely, doesn't it?" You both looked at each other at the same time, your cold knuckles pinching your lips.

Hoseok was nowhere to be found and Jimin's cock was already starting to hurt under those tight jeans.

Fuck it.

"You don't need to go to be with little Cosette to feel accompanied." Jimin rolled his eyes, the iridescence of the water reflecting on his face and you felt the wine line your blood. The tickling behind your neck subsided and you could only think about those high, rosy cheekbones that you wanted to nibble on ever since you saw them.

"I don't feel alone now."

"And in your house?"

You squeezed your eyes shut.

"Surprisingly, at home, I feel like I have someone else. In the hallways behind me, behind the curtain when I shower, in the corner of my bed when I go to sleep."

A cheeky smile spread across your face, Jimin swallowed, pulling out a cigarette.

"Ghosts," he rolled his eyes playfully. "The worst plague."

You stole the cigarette from Jimin's hands and lit it with the lighter you had inside your left boot.

"What do you say, Park? Do you have ghosts in your hallways while you go to pour your coffee?"

If you only knew, love.

"Unlike you, no one loves me enough to haunt me even in my dreams."

Your eyes fell after two drags, on the third you stopped at your chest and held the cheeks of the boy next to you, your crimson nails squeezing gently letting Jimin's lips bulge allowing you to pass the cold smoke to his lips.

"Hmm," Jimin groaned, letting the air come out of his nose in frustration. He closed his eyes and opened them gently until he looked at your pupils dilated and determined for the next step.

This is the first time Jimin has asked the question instead of Hoseok, who from his mouth didn't sound so creepy. But the unfortunate man was busy playing a game of poker with the other parents. Now that little Jung came to the family, Jimin, and his hobbies were something that Hoseok apparently wanted to put behind him, he wanted to become a suburban father.

"Have you ever been recorded...um-" Jimin swallowed hard, moving closer to hide in the shadows of the night. "Doing it?"

You tilted your head back to look at Jimin again, he wasn't playing around. You lifted the corners of your lips, a husky laugh on your part.

“You fucking freak” You scoffed.

"I can show you my films if you want to."

"Yeah, sure-" you huffed, taking a step back.

"Pick one." Jimin took your arm, the look in his eyes was daring. "Pick someone here. Anyone."

Your gaze rolled around the party until it stopped at the sweet Maeve who was singing karaoke next to her husband, a martini in her hands. Surprisingly, Maeve was a crowd favorite.

Jimin smiled evilly. "Do you want to know if Mrs. Johnson enjoys being recorded?"

No, you wrinkled your nose.

Your eyes softened at the thought of Jimin arranging the camera to focus on Maeve's cobalt eyes, curiosity flowing faster than alcohol.

"I thought so." Jimin offered you his hand and surprisingly, yours landed on his before he could say no. "Be like the one she's had too much to drink, we need an excuse to get out of here."

In the end, Jimin was right. The only thing he needed to get you into his bed was a little alcohol and a little bit of you.

Jimin's house had so few lights that when you entered it took you a few seconds to adjust to the darkness. The lamps illuminated the corners, the pieces of newspapers with his reviews on the living room wall, his photo on several of them.

Leaving the party wasn't as difficult as they both thought because everyone was so drunk that they didn't even notice his absence, even Hoseok who was winning his useless poker game.

Now you were with your legs crossed on the leather furniture, your boot clattered on the floor waiting for Jimin who was in the hallway, he had put on reading glasses that made him look older than he was but you loved thinking about that little girl. fantasy that he was about to give you a class.

Jimin muttered the letter M over and over again until he found Maeve between Mad Max and The Magnificent Seven. Handwritten with a green marker it said: Maeve: June 3rd, After the Twins' Birthday.

"Here it is." A nostalgic smile appeared on Jimin's face. You followed his steps with your eyes until you reached the small VCR in front of the television.

"It bothers you?" You took a joint out of your purse, but Jimin denied it, crawling to the furniture and positioning himself between your legs, his glasses reflecting a certain emotion that you couldn't decipher. But he looked comfortable, happy to be able to present one of his works, his hand caressing your thigh while he lit the joint.

"On the contrary, I believe that substance use enriches the experience." Now it was Jimin's turn to take your breath into his, but his hand was rough and he clenched your jaw to get you off. You didn't complain, that's how you liked it. "Speaking of substances, brandy?"

“Please,” you coughed, your eyes stinging. You looked around the room as he stood.

Jimin went to the open kitchen that joined the living room, his gaze and body were already adapted to the blackness of the apartment. There was only the light from the television and a small lamp at the end of the hallway that led to his study.

"Are you going to explain to me how you got frigid Maeve Johnson to let you do this or..."

"Of course, I just let Hoseok do the hard work of casting and convincing."

"Hoseok? Your neighbor Hoseok?"

"Yeah, he's like my producer if you want to call it that." The coppery liquid settled in the glasses, leaving a pleasant woody smell in the air.

"And what do you gain from that?"

Jimin turned around and looked at you impatiently.

"Have a drink before you start, it will surely be strong for you."

"You don't know me, Park." You responded, sitting closer to him to take the glass he offered you, a small drink.

It was enough.

Your swollen and tinted lips closed with his in a tender and passive kiss, Jimin breathed deeply without closing his eyes. He placed both glasses on the table without taking off his eyes of the screen and put his hands on your waist. The tips of his fingers touched your curves above the silk of his dress, turning from a caress to a rapture.

"Mphmf" You took off laughing a little, the weed had you smiling and Jimin loved that. He loved it when his girls started laughing sheepishly at their own fantasies.

"Shall we begin?" Jimin held the controller in his hands and pressed the button.

Hoseok is the first image you make out on the screen, his lips pursed as he fixes the camera.

"You're sure?" Could be heard behind the sudden movements of the camera.

"Mhm, it's just something I like to keep in case I want to see your face moaning my name again."

Hoseok takes off just as Maeve blushes and rolls her eyes at him. His movements were light, and his shoulders didn't seem as tense as those of the woman at the party.

"Is she on drugs?" Asked.

"No, she only drank two glasses of wine before starting. The three of us were a little tipsy."

A pale figure approaches Maeve and removes the low tail she has, surprisingly, this makes the woman relax even more. Seeing the hands massaging her shoulders you realize it's Jimin.

"Is she ready yet?" she murmured.

"The only thing missing is the boom," Hoseok responded by teasing Maeve about her beauty.

"Quickly, I can't wait any longer." Jimin laughed flirtatiously, approaching Maeve's neck to leave a couple of chaste kisses. Johnson closed her eyes.

"Almost there," Hoseok complained before the sound changed from a crisp sound to a sleeker one. Now you could hear Jimin's lips smack.

"Action," Maeve laughed and the two boys laughed at her. Hoseok was no longer in front of the screen. But you could hear the dragging of a chair and a belt being removed. Voyeurism, interesting.

What happens next is just what you thought, but you still couldn't stop watching Maeve being completely devoured by a man who was, surely, her first experience fucking her and having her be the center of attention.

The camera focused on her and her alone. But you couldn't stop watching Jimin in the corners, he was a damn artist with his body. He was not the protagonist but without him, there was no dance.

Hoseok was breathing hard behind the camera throughout the entire movie.

When Maeve was sweating and panting on the furniture right where you were sitting, the screen went black.

You looked at Jimin, his mouth resting on his knuckles. The light from the static emitted a pale light on his body, you could see how seriously he had taken the film, he had only moved to take a couple of sips of brandy without taking his eyes off the screen.

"What do you think about it?"

There were no words that could describe the feeling Jimin had when he heard the three words that left your lips.

"I want one." You had a feline smile. Jimin knew you were sick, but you looked like you had fallen from the sky that summer afternoon.

Park's head shook, nodding quickly.

As he stood up from the furniture, he felt as if his body was going to lean forward, perhaps he had drunk too much brandy.

"Woah, are you okay?" You held his arm, but he nodded instantly.

"Yes, sorry is the excitement." He laughed walking down the hallway, each step echoing off the walls of his brain. Something was wrong, but he couldn't stop now. He had to look for his camera.

He searched for the keys in his pocket until he found the key to the study, turned on the lights, and looked for a tool in the corner of the room. Upon entering the studio, it surprised you how many plants, lamps, and furniture of different sizes and shapes there were.

Maeve had surely been something improvised, but now Jimin and Hoseok had vast resources to create something first-class.

"You can take a seat wherever you like, I'll take care of the rest." The man stammered, putting the batteries in the camera.

"What camera is it?"

"It's a Sony BetaMovie, I love how the colors look in the image." He swallowed hard because when he got up, the room seemed to spin. "Shit."

"Come, I'll help you. Take a seat." Your voice guided Jimin to a white piece of furniture near a window. Your hands brushed the hair from his forehead and he smiled. You really were everything he needed.

"I'll put the cassette on while you rest. You hit the joint too fast." You laughed before placing a sweet kiss on his lips, Jimin's cock throbbed as he felt the softness and heat emanating from your body.

“Quick,” he whispered, watching you put the device on the tripod.

His eyebrows rose at how quickly you set up the camera and sound. Even better than Hoseok, he dared to say.

Where was Hoseok?

Jimin's heart started to beat fast as you let your ass fall into his lap, a hiss coming from him as he put both of his hands behind his head. Your hips began to move back and forth, and the fabric of his jeans rubbed roughly against his cock.

"Fuck." He mumbled, looking up, lips parted into an oval. The room stopped moving when you started playing with his hair. "You're s-so fucking cute. I like you so much, I-I don't want to share you w-with that bastard Hoseok."

You laughed at his babbling. He was so excited that if you touched his cock he was sure to cum in seconds. You flattened your tongue against his jugular and felt the growl he made.

"You're so fucking cruel. C'mon, take my fucking cock out."

"Do it yourself, you lazy fuck." You whispered, leaving a hickey on his collarbone.

Jimin obeyed as fast as his clumsy hands could, he didn't know what was happening to him but he didn't care. Maybe what he smoked wasn't weed but if you were in the same state, things were fine.

Everything was perfect.

"Take that fucking dress off. God, I wish you had that pink leotard on."

With both hands on the edges of the dress, you lifted it until your naked body was visible.

"You're breathtaking, baby."

"I know." You kissed him with so much hunger that the taste of blood began appearing between your tongues, but none of you knew whose. You raised your legs to remove the wet panty, you held Jimin's cock in your entrance, and your fingers felt the veins that were pulsing frantically. "Don't you dare cum without me"

"Just ride me, baby, please. I feel like I will die if you don't." He sounded desperate, on the verge of crying. "Nice and slow, let the camera see how good you can take it." Jimin gasped with every inch you let into your tight pussy. Both hands went to his mouth muffling his moans when you sat straight up on his cock, leaving nothing out.

You bit your lower lip in a smile, you pulled him closer to your body and he buried his face in your neck. Right where you wanted it.

"I know you have my key." You whispered.

Jimin pressed his fingers on your hip to make you stop. Fuck.

"What are you-?" The air was forced from Jimin's lungs as his rib bent in pain. The warmth of his blood damaged the new T-shirt.

You had stabbed him, he didn't know what it was but he could feel the thin edge moving menacingly inside him. A guttural sound came from him as you rotated the handle of the knife.

"You were the one who entered my house."

Jimin laughed, the lightness that losing blood caused him ecstasy.

"I didn't tell you to stop moving, you slut," he growled in your ear, your pussy clenched around him, he noticed and smiled even more. You were so done with him. You grabbed a fistful of hair from his head to get a better look at him.

He was a fucking liar, you told yourself as you held his head, his eyelids fluttering with the errant movement of your hips. If you had drunk the brandy that he offered you, you would be in that state, the same one that Maeve was in, the same one that everyone on every cassette in the hallway was surely in.

"Where is the key?"

Jimin couldn't stop smiling, he grabbed your chin and pulled you closer to leave wet kisses on your lips. His tongue playing with yours. A fight of teeth and saliva.

"What do you need it for"

"It's not your damn problem."

"Then I don't have the key."

You were sick of his games, you bit his bottom lip so hard it bled. That along with a sit on his cock made him so sensitive.

"Fuck, fuck, FUCK." He hissed on your chest, he did not know if it was for pleasure or because you were taking out the blade from his body. Thick, white cum pouring down your legs.

"Okay, then. I'll just do it myself."

The last thing Jimin remembers is your head smashing his to unconsciousness. Bliss, pure heaven after the torture of having to love and deal with you.

He was fucked.

And here was Jimin, his eyes were like two black bullets pointing in your direction.

And there you were, helping Nancy arrange the gifts on the Baby Shower table. You dressed so casually and sweetly. You smiled as if nothing had happened.

Jimin inhaled sharply and felt his rib sting under the gauze protecting the wound. By luck, or rather experience, you didn't hit a vital organ. Which to him is surprising.

"This is what you get for not telling me to go with you," Hoseok served Jimin the punch filled with cubes of fruit, it was too sweet but since it was Maeve's party it had to be kid-friendly.

Hoseok didn't know about your act, he only knows that there is a tape of what happened, and what hurts Jimin the most is that he doesn't even have it. You took him away, you left his house in a mess looking for the key, and all the tapes scattered on the floor. It took full days to fix them.

"Now you're dedicated to being a full-time dad."

"Sorry, I have to do my job."

Jimin looked up at his partner, he wanted to tell him to go to hell, to him and to everyone else. But Park Jimin was always a sweet, calm, and helpful neighbor. Today he gave the excuse of having a migraine so he could sit and be quiet, so he could see you through his sunglasses.

"Did you at least fuck her?"

Jimin looked at his empty glass, a small smile threatening to tug at his corners.

"It's the best work I've done so far." He responded after a long silence.

"Fuck, man," Hoseok complained, thinking of all the possibilities.

"I can't take this anymore, I'm going outside for a cigarette."

"Don't stay too long, we almost announce the gender."

What a weird fucking sentence, Jimin thought taking, his pack out of his pockets.

"Care to share one?" You said and Jimin's body hair rose like static.

You wore sunglasses just like him, and you carried two glasses of rum and soda.

"You can take that fucking drink and choke with it."

“Mm,” you smiled. "Someone is not in a good mood."

"Do you know I can sue you for what you did?"

You laughed heartily covering your lips, Park's stomach altered. Of course, he couldn't, you already knew about his deepest secret, and you had the evidence. God knows Jimin was in your hands and you didn't need much to close it and crush him.

"Where's the tape?"

"Where's my key?"

"I don't have your fucking key."

"Then you can forget about your tape, sweetheart." You mumbled under your breath before stealing the cigarette from him. Jimin's hand turned into a fist.

You walked languidly down the sidewalk, Jimin following slowly behind you. You knew.

When they arrived at the house they both stayed at the entrance door. Your hands are arranged behind your back.

"Open the door."

"I thought you were going to come in through the window like you did before."

"ENOUGH!" Park shouted, scaring you, luckily there was no one around. "This is not a game."

"It is."

"No, it's not. You came to ruin my life."

"And you don't help solve it."

"The only way this problem will be solved is if you get out of Montenegro."

"Or if one of us ends up dead."

Jimin frowned, and you smiled. You were playing again. What a fucking tease.

Before the staring game continued, a noise inside the house caught both of your attention. To Jimin's surprise, it seemed like you didn't know what the noise was either.

No, quite the opposite.

"What's that?"

“Fuck,” you muttered before pulling out your keys and opening the door as quickly as possible. "Do not enter." You were frantic, scared. Jimin did the complete opposite.

"I told you not to come in,"

"Please help."

"Jimin Park, if you want to stay alive I swear-"

The man pushed you aside to follow the trail of blood that ran from the basement door to the living room and kitchen. When he got to the door, there was a woman tied up trying to open the door with a knife. Her hands were tied with gray tape, she was wearing dirty work clothes and she smelled horrible.

When the girl saw Jimin she became alert and she went to him on her knees, hands above her so that he could help.

"JI-" you swallowed hard, entering the kitchen. "No."

"Shh. I'll take care of it."

In the blink of an eye, Jimin's gaze changed to that of a monster. The woman noticed, got up on her weak legs, and ran through the kitchen to the stairs where she stumbled so hard that her knees couldn't take it anymore.

"No Please!" the woman screamed into Jimin's hand muffling her cries, Jimin's free arm chaining itself to her weak neck squeezing tightly. She moved like a fish out of water for a few seconds until only small spasms remained.

"Shh, I have a migraine. God."

You watched from the start of the stairs, your body trembling and your heart beating in your esophagus about to vomit it up. When he turned to see you there was a smile on his face, red with effort.

This was the card Jimin needed to match.

"The time I came into your house, you weren't the one making all that noise." He gasped, releasing the lifeless body from his arm.

"I do not know what are you talking about." You stuttered, taking a couple of steps back.

Knock, knock.

If you could, your racing heart would have already been on the ground.

"Hello, are you there? Nancy wants you to be there for the reveal."

Zuri's voice chilled your blood. You looked at Jimin and then at the body on the stairs.

Jimin trapped you between the door and his body, you looked up into his eyes.

"Let me guess, my little girl doesn't know how to hide a body."

It hurt you to say it but: "Help me, please." You whispered into Jimin’s lips and didn’t have to say more.

"Be like the one who was leaving the kitchen in ten seconds, wait for the second ring."

You nodded, watching Jimin lift your victim's body until he disappeared through the basement door. You fixed your hair and your dress, and you walked around the bloody kitchen.

"Are you there?" Said Zuri again.

"Yes, one second." You walked quickly trying not to slip on the red liquid on your heels. You opened and closed the door as quickly and subtly as possible. "Sorry, work."

"Oh, no. I understand, sorry." Zuri said with the sweetest smile on her lips.

"I'll be there in about ten minutes."

"Ten, of course. I'll inform the boss." She winked before walking down the sidewalk to the other row of houses.

You sighed before walking back into the mess, Jimin was standing with his shoulder covered in someone else's blood, hair fluttering, and cheeks flushed from the effort.

Your angel.

"There's blood on you... everywhere," your voice trembled.

"What an insightful observation, darling." He laughed, cleaning his hands with his jeans.

When you both saw each other, there was something undeniable between, and as if pulled by threads, both were attracted to each other until they collided in a kiss with arms intertwined in your bodies. Jimin knew in your arms that heaven was in the middle of chaos.

Jimin's hands traced the lines of your body until he reached the back of your thighs and lifted you so that you were chained to his waist. His rib burned with pain and he was sure the wound was opening again, but it did not matter now.

You two were even.

You gasped as you felt his hands squeeze your ass with anger.

"Shut the fuck up, I'm done with your bullshit."

Your eyelids drooped as you felt his soft lips leave kiss after kiss until your lips did not come away, the undeniable taste of weed and rum. Sweet and dangerous. His tongue entered your mouth, playing with yours, circling until he sucked it, a docile bite that made you moan.

Why did he still want you even after you stabbed him and made him ejaculate, intoxicated?

"Look at you doubting yourself." You said right in time when the silence became evident.

Jimin's blood boiled at your mockery and he led you to the furniture in your small living room. The sofa was still wrapped in plastic and the crisp sound of your body falling into the cushions excited you. A hand on your neck squeezing enough for you to open your mouth for air, the blood of your victim staining your pretty dress and skin.

Out of nowhere, Jimin took out a knife from his pocket and your hair stood on end, your pussy getting wet when he slowly ran it over your chest until he broke your bust and left your nipples exposed.

"Where's the tape?" He asked bringing the sharp tip to one of your nipples, the cold of the metal making your toes curl.

"There's no tape." You smiled biting your lip. Jimin let go of your neck to slap you so hard that he took away your smile.

"Say that again." He was fuming, his wide nose searching for air to calm himself, teeth biting the inside of his cheek.

"There. Is. No. Tape. Park. I just prepped the camera and left it off."

He didn't understand why you felt so proud when it was clear that he could push the blade through your chest, but your nipples were getting hard and saliva was pooling in his mouth.

"Why is there no tape, you fucking cunt?" His fingers squeezed your chin so you would stop watching him play with your tits.

"Because I want to be the one who has it."

Jimin frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Open that box." You pointed at the table next to the couch. It was the only box that looked used and worn. With the same knife, Jimin opened the box and felt a rush throughout his body, almost like vomiting.

A Sony BetaMovie, new in the box. His dazed and disoriented gaze went to yours.

"It arrived this morning."

"Oh, you didn't."

"I want my own film. No Hoseok, no drugs, just you. I saw you in the other ones while you were drugged and God," Your pupils shone with such grace and prayer that Jimin didn't understand.

"N-no, this is not how it works." The only thing he could do was laugh.

"But it can."

You began to kiss his fingers, one by one, giving him the necessary attention. "You just need to let me put the VHS inside and we can start."

Jimin denied it as he let his guard down. You got up and improvised a tripod out of boxes until the camera was right in the center where you could see the couch and Jimin sitting, without understanding what the hell was happening.

Having the VHS and pressing 'Rec', you turned back to Jimin. You kissed his cheeks and his neck, he moaned a few times, closing his eyes.

"In this one, you're my main star." You whispered in his ear and his cock hardened until it hurt. "Use me, please."

A growl from him.

He snatched your body from his side until he had you in his lap, your chest pressed against his knees. With the edge of the knife, he spread your legs and spat on his fingers.

"I wish I could kill you right now." He murmured entering two slender fingers inside your sopping cunt.

"I wish you would just shut up and fuck me like you hate me." You whimpered as his fingers collided with your entrance with pure blows. Your juices were making noise throughout the room, you grabbed a cushion, pressing your face into it.

Jimin didn't like that. "No, no, lift your face. Let me hear you cry." His fingers fisted into your hair as he thrust two more fingers in, the knife threatening to cut the inside of your thigh at any moment.

Your body trembled as his index and ring fingers curled into the gummy walls of your pussy.

"That's it, cum you fucking slut. Flirting with all the husbands at the party, smiling at Charlie Munson in front of her stupid fucking wife, all that with your perky tits bouncing. Showing Zuri your pretty body in that leotard."

His pinky started to play with your throbbing nub until your pee came out, making a mess out of the plastic-covered furniture. Jimin laughed without stopping until he saw you trying to crawl away from him. He took his wet hand and smeared it in your mouth, you spit out the excess watching him with drooping eyelids.

"Look at the mess you made, how dare you ruin my jeans."

A rough hand collided with your right ass cheek.

"Say you're sorry." Another one, this time the left one.

"S-sorry, sir."

The name caught his fancy. You were really hanging on his hands, you were the dirtiest whore for him, and he could play with you no matter how. You were so fucking sick and he loved it.

"Sir?" He laughed, caressing the reddened skin. "That's so cute, keep doing it." He spanked you again and again.

"Please, sir, it hurts."

"Good, now come here and make me cum until it comes out of your nose," he smirked putting you between his legs.

Your trembling and useless hands took a moment to remove Jimin's pants, revealing his defined legs that made your mouth water.

You felt the tip of the knife on your chin and you raised your head. "Take off the underwear, too."

You hurried until you found Jimin's thick cock throbbing on top of his stomach. You licked your lips unconsciously and got to work right away.

Jimin's moans were drawn out like he was going to curse and drowned it out in a grunt at the end, you loved every second of it as your tongue circled until you reached the base. The air cutting from your throat.

"Kiss it until you can taste the saltiness down your throat, angel"

"Yes, sir." You whispered, letting Jimin fuck your face, covering your ears with his hands so that you could only hear the saliva lubricating the exit and entry of Jimin's cock into your abused throat.

You closed your eyes when you felt just what he promised you. His cum enters directly into your esophagus.

His hands lifted you up in a rush, your lungs flaring for oxygen for the first time in what felt like hours.

"Open your mouth." He have demanded and you obeyed. He spit into your mouth and then closed it with his fingers. "You belong to me, slut."

"Yes, sir." Your words seemed like blurs of what you wanted to say.

Your body was arranged on the furniture with your legs on your chest and Jimin squatting on top of you. He was going to hurt you but it was going to feel so good.

Your juices lubricated your entrance and your asshole, shining with the afternoon light that was scattered through the curtains. Jimin wanted to break you so bad that he grabbed the back of your ankles and spread you even wider until your pussy revealed your dark, hot insides.

Aiming the tip of his cock he rammed you hard until you screamed, biting Jimin's arm. The blood of others staining your bodies, Jimin's wound hurt so deliciously that the stain on his tissues became bigger and bigger.

You couldn't hold it in and you dug your finger into the gauze making Jimin's eyes widen, a roar came out of him and he held your neck squeezing so hard that your face started to turn red. However, you smiled, going dumb with his dick.

Jimin's eyes threatened to go black with pleasure and pain. Your pussy felt like wet silk. It was warm and cozy. He could die fucking that tight hole until the last spurt of semen was also his last breath.

Damn succubus, that's what you were. You smiled like a demon and fucked like an angel.

The angle ended up making you cum a second time, making your walls throb.

"Oh my God, keep doing that." Jimin grabbed your body in a ball until he covered you completely with his body and fucked you with short, desperate strokes, like an animal in heat.

As he came he felt like his soul was ripped out.

"Fucking love you, love your-...I hope you get pregnant with my warm cum deep inside your stomach."

You rolled your eyes.

"Oh, honey. If this ain't the one, we can try again." You promised.

"This is the last time you'll see me," Jimin promised back.

And there it was, oh the gods must have blessed you with such a perfect smile because even though he knew he was screwed, he was still in love.

In a quick and agile movement, you were now the one holding the knife and pointing it directly at the bleeding wound.

"I have a game." You smiled slowly positioning yourself to ride him.

The cum bursting out, warm and viscous to his pelvis. Jimin kept looking at you with a tense stomach.

"Let's play Guess who accidentally gave Cosette one of his movies instead of giving her A Clockwork Orange."

No no no. No.

"No." Jimin tried to get up but you raised the knife to his throat with menacing eyes.

"Knowing Cosette, it will be the last one she watches because of the explicit themes. But you must be on time."

They both looked at the clock on the wall. It was 4:55. Cosette always started the movies after coming home from chess club.

Five minutes or it was going to be a total disaster. Chaos. Jimin had shown Cosette porn, his porn.

"Here's the solution: I give you my car key and you either leave to stop her or let the whole neighborhood know that you traumatized Marcus's poor little daughter with your sick hobby."

Park's eyes stung as two tears fell to his temples.

"If you say the first, that means you will take the key on my conditions."

And this was where Jimin knew that he had made the wrong move.

He was trapped everywhere. Checkmate.

"Fuck you," his voice trembled.

You lowered the knife disappointed, and you sighed.

"Well, if you wish."

The handle of the knife collided with Jimin's forehead letting the pain dissipate with a deep sleep.

The first thing Jimin could smell was artificial pine, then the selage of your perfume. His eyes struggled to open as the blood from his forehead had dried onto his eyelids. It was dark, it was night around him and he could only see the road along until it plunged into darkness. He doesn't remember going out anywhere, much less somewhere so barren. His neck moved little by little until he reached a small market illuminated by white and purple lights.

Jim's Stop Sign, read an old, disused sign.

A bell rang as a woman was let out, it was you.

Shit.

Jimin tried to lift his sleepy body but he was tied to the seat. His body shook with every step you took towards the car. Now that Jimin realized, it was your car.

As you got closer he realized that you were wearing Jimin's t-shirt and the bright green leotard underneath, despite the night you were wearing sunglasses.

When you opened the door, his body was twisted with tension, waiting for you to do something.

"Oh, you woke up." You turned on the dome light, the pungent smell of blood and rotting flesh suddenly filling the car until it completely drowned out the smell of pine. Park tried to vomit but stopped himself. "I see your stomach is still sensitive, you should eat something." You pointed to the paper bag full of snacks and odds and ends like glasses and hair dye.

There was a tingle on Jimin's back but he was afraid to look at the back seat. You put the keys in and sped through the quiet night. The putrid smell subsided as you opened the window for Jimin.

"We had to leave without saying goodbye to Hoseok, I know you probably wanted to see him one last time but the body was starting to decompose and there was no remedy."

That was it, Jimin guided his eyes to the back where a long black sheath tied up who he assumed was the girl you kidnapped.

"She was the girl who had bought the house." You explained when you saw that Park didn't take his eyes off the cover that was shaking with the car. "I convinced her to have a cup of coffee when I met her at the gym and hit her in the face with a bottle of wine. I didn't know how to get rid of her, she just didn't want to die, and spent days feeding her and trying to find a solution." You bit your perfect nails with your other hand on the steering wheel.

Jimin was trying to breathe slowly.

"The solution was you all along." You smiled caressing his thigh. That made Jimin strangely relax.

"We need to find a place to bury them."

Them?

"When we get to the outskirts of Las Vegas we will be more suitable."

"Them?" Jimin’s raspy, tremulous voice touched you.

You looked at him worried, he doesn't remember.

"Cosette's body is in the back." You explained sweetly.

The vomit that his stomach held back came out when he heard those words, the viscous liquid falling on his sweater and his seat.

"Oh, Minnie, this is the second time you've done this on the trip."

"I want to go home." He cried while you stopped to clean his mess.

"We're getting there, don't worry."

"No, I want to go back to Montenegro."

"But you can't. You killed Cosette in her room, don't you remember?"

"You're a fucking liar, I'll never do that to her," he yelled so loud spit came out of his mouth. You just stayed there taking paper towels to clean his chest.

"She said very offensive stuff to you when we went to get the tape. She didn't like that a man was with her dad." You tensed your mouth in a strange smile.

"I didn't do it." He repeated it again and again.

But then again, He hated her guts. The only thing he needed was for her to snap at him once. But he couldn't, he wouldn't.

The night fell again into the silence of the car mechanics accelerating down the deserted highway toward Las Vegas. Jimin looked to the side of him: your hand was resting on the open window while your hair was fluttering in the wind, you looked tired but still murmured the lyrics the song in the radio.

Feeling Jimin's gaze, you looked out of the corner of your eye and smiled tenderly.

You got him out of a huge mess, he was grateful for that. Your hand went to the back and you removed the knot from Jimin's wrists. Looking back at Jimin you kissed the back of his hand and continued looking at the road.

The sweet act confused Jimin so much that he could only stand there looking at your profile, it reminded him of Nancy's. Appeased, away, and scheming things. His stomach was burning with love and he didn't understand it, but thinking about your furrowed eyebrows while you helped him lift Cosette's body made Jimin take you more than just appreciation.

"Did you bring a shovel?" He asked.

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