lils place

21 !

[randomwriter28]

Among The Blood

!!!!!IRON LUNG SPOILERS!!!! DO NOT READ UNLESS YOU'VE SEEN THE MOVIE!!! FURTHERMORE , I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE IF ANYTHING IS SPOILED!!!!!YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!!

Chapter Two

Simon (The Convict) x F!Reader AO3 Chapter One Word Count: 2,682 Content Warnings: lots of blood(obviously), detailed body horror, descriptions of pain, psychological trauma, mentions of trypanophobia, iatrophobia, tomophobia, aichmophobia, and nosocomephobia, mentioned night terrors, trust issues, physical trauma, detailed mentions of bodily fluids. READ WITH CAUTION

“Great, just need a couple of samples and we’ll be on our way.” You said to your team, walking the length of the ship towards the control panel to steer the ship through the deep red. One of your team was taking the pictures, another was analyzing them, and the last was studying the samples you’d already gotten from previous explorations. Your balance was thrown off when a sudden shift in the ocean moved the ship, your hands grabbing onto the control panel to keep yourself upright before you looked back to check on your team. 

“No worries, just some movement in the ocean. We’re fi-” the back half of the ship suddenly disappeared and you were surrounded by the blood that made it up. For the split second between the ship being torn apart and the blood ocean consuming you, your eyes landed on a scaly creature swimming past, the back half of the ship in its mouth. 

You gasped, a cold sweat covering your skin while your senses became attuned to your surroundings. The hard floor beneath you made you put your hands against it before you pushed yourself up into a sitting position. Your lungs begged for air, a hand reaching out and grabbing an oxygen mask to assist. Your skin felt like it was on fire, burning and peeling away when the blood had touched you. The voices that the creature had adopted were those of your team, taunting and screaming at you for your failure. Your eyes began to water from the mixture of the phantom pains and the voices echoing in your head. Your palms came up and blocked your ears, eyes closing tightly while shaking your head with the hope that it would end soon. Unknowingly, you began mumbling to yourself, though you couldn’t hear it over the lingering night terror that refused to release you from its grasp. 

“I didn’t do it!!” You screamed, jerking back when you felt a hand grab your shoulder. Your eyes met a pair of mismatched ones, eyes that you had become accustomed to. Patient 05. There were no words, just silence as he lowered himself to the floor and sat against the wall beside you. Your knees were pulled to your chest, hands fidgeting mindlessly with the cuffs of your sleeves while you stared at the floor past your hands. 

“I was converted to the C.O.I. when I was little and they taught me to be their best Doctor and research team leader.” You began, your voice barely above a whisper but in the silence, it was loud enough to hear. “My team and I were sent on an expedition into the depths of AT-5 to figure out what the creature is that lurks and lures.” You clenched your jaw, the memories flashing in your mind. A deep, shaky breath filled your lungs. “We had just collected more samples and pictures and were so close to being finished before we would be pulled back up. But we hit some unexpected turbulence.” Your voice dropped. “I brushed it off…” You felt your throat tighten when tears threatened your eyes. Your eyes closed tightly while you laid your head against your arms. Silence filled the air again and when you lifted your head, you were met with the patient’s gaze being completely on you.

“The SM-8. That was your ship, wasn’t it? That’s why you said five more had been sent down.” He explained, the lower tone of his voice becoming a soothing sound to you. You nodded wordlessly. He let out a huff of a laugh. “I found it and was able to download the information and findings you had come up with. It was my final mission before the creature attempted to end it for me.” He explained. It took you a moment to realize what he was saying. 

“You found the Black Box?” Your voice was breathless. He met your gaze and nodded again. 

“I was instructed to make sure that it survived because whatever you found was important to saving hundreds of lives and possibly being the answer to saving humanity.” He added, messing with the hem of the shirt he’d been provided with a few days ago. It was a little snug on him but fit otherwise. 

“Well, sucks for them.” You shook your head before resting your cheek in your palm. The patient looked at you with a curious expression. “Whatever you downloaded was not the real thing. Because I’ve had it this entire time. Why do you think we’ve been able to reverse the effects of the mutation and build a livable base on this otherwise uninhabitable moon?” You chuckled and looked at your hands again. “But they would’ve known that if they hadn’t given up on looking for us. We were here. The entire time, we’ve been here.” You met his gaze and let your legs stretch out. The silence stretched between you again.

“Simon.” He said. You raised a brow and looked at him. “That’s my name. Simon.” He clarified. A soft smile graced your features at the progression of trust.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Simon.” You said, holding a hand out to shake. The two of you shared a soft laugh at the awkwardness of the moment but the air was lighter now.

The Mid Hours arrived and you were walking around the base with Simon beside you, talking and sharing stories about your time with E.D.E.N. 

“Um, if you don’t mind me asking, why were you put in a burner ship?” You looked at Simon. Upon seeing the confusion on his face, you clarified what you meant. “The Iron Lung or SM-13. It was considered a burner sub for sending down captured convicts of EDEN for Conviction Realization.” You further explained. His face dropped while his gaze found the floor more interesting.

“I was blamed for Filament Station. They all blamed me for what happened, for the deaths.” He answered after a minute of silence. You frowned before anger replaced it.

“That’s ridiculous! You were a child!” You burst out. His eyes stared at you, wide with surprise. You fell silent and felt a bit sheepish now. “Sorry, it’s just… they knew exactly who did it, who sabotaged the station because if they couldn’t have it, then no one could.” You explained to him. He seemed more surprised at the information. “The C.O.I. have never been ones to take responsibility for their actions, and instead blame others for them. The death of my team was put on me.” You looked at him and felt even more shy under the intense gaze of Simon’s mismatched eyes.

“And Filament Station was put on me. But wait, you said they sabotaged their own station?” Simon questioned, shoving his hand in his pocket while the two of you reached the leisure room and took a seat on the couch. 

“Yeah. I think her name was Ava? I don’t remember clearly but I’m pretty sure that’s what her name was. Anyway, before I was taken to be converted, I was running from the chaos and saw this tall blonde woman and two men enter the room where the reactor was. Then everything went to shit.” You leaned back into the couch and sighed heavily.

“Well, karma’s a bitch.” Simon muttered. You looked at him curiously but didn’t push further, seeing the exhaustion beginning to creep onto his face. You patted his knee and stood up. 

“Come on, let’s get you back to your room to rest. I can tell you’ve been awake for a good while.” You offered your hand as he climbed to his feet, letting you take his hand and begin guiding him back to his room. “I will be back with some food when you wake up.” You told him, helping him into bed and watching him nod before relaxing into the bed while you left.

Just as you had told him, you returned just after he’d woken up, a small tray of food in hand as you walked over to the side of his bed. “You’re looking better every time I see you.” you commented. A soft flush warmed your cheeks when you realized how that sounded but you watched a similar pink dust Simon’s cheeks when you didn’t correct yourself. You set the tray down before taking a seat in one of the chairs beside the bed. “Hopefully your sleep was better than mine.” you looked at him while he grabbed the tray of food and began eating, giving you a small shrug in response. The familiar silence that tended to stretch between the two of you returned while you sat back in your chair and locked your hands together. You chewed at the inside of your cheek, a lingering question itching at the back of your head that you’d wanted to ask ever since Simon had become cohesive and functional.

“Did you see The Light?” you asked, voice just above a whisper but loud enough that Simon heard and paused mid-bite. 

“Hope was lost the moment I was welded into that death trap.” He said, assuming that you were saying ‘the light’ metaphorically. You realized that and shook your head a little, sitting up and resting your elbows on your knees.

“No, I’m meaning The Light. In the ocean. One of the P.O.I’s was The Light.” you corrected, your eyes remaining on him while he swallowed the bite of food and met your gaze followed by a slight nod.

“After I encountered it, things got worse than they were.” Simon said, setting the tray aside and putting his hand in his lap.

“The hallucinations and voices? Unexplainable sudden contact with people even though you were hundreds of clicks away and too far down to reach? The voices somehow knowing every single little detail about you whether you told them it or not?” you stared straight ahead as you recounted the time you encountered it and it changed everything. You glanced at Simon just when he nodded and stared at the bed. “The C.O.I thinks it has something to do with The Quiet Rapture and why these moons have oceans of blood on them. I think it’s also connected to that godforsaken beast down there that will use the voices of those you care about or the things most sensitive to you to make you fall to your knees and beg to join them.” your voice became firm and disgusted as you spoke, hands clenching together before you got a beep from the device on your hip. A communication device with a message on it that required your attention.

“Looks like they’ve finally finished the prosthetic I requested for you.” You stood up from the chair and glanced at Simon, seeing the shift in his expression that made you smile a little. “What? Things aren’t as scarce down here than they are in space.” you told him, watching him subtly nod before you left the room to retrieve the prosthetic and determine if it was truly ready for attachment. Meanwhile, Simon stared at where his arm was missing, the images of what happened replaying in his mind.

He finally dislodged the Black Box from the compartment under the floor of the ship. His skin was on fire but he pushed through, crawling back through the cramped space while it filled with blood. He emerged and yanked the container up, slamming it against the floor before hoisting himself out of the crawl space hole. The Creature hit the ship, throwing off his balance but he caught himself on one of the pipes. Big mistake. When he tried to pull back to continue his final mission, his hand wouldn’t leave the blood covered pipe. His eyes landed on his hand, watching the strange, dark veins form over and inside his hand that seemed to hold him in place without much effort. His eyes widened in horror at the realization that it wasn’t just The Creature that was alive. This entire ocean was alive and it was hungry. Simon tugged back, trying to break the veins that were holding him there but it took a lot more effort than he anticipated. 

When he stumbled back and hit the wall, sitting on the floor, he raised his head and felt his stomach turn at the sight of his arm still attached to the wall and further unable to be removed. His gaze slowly dropped to his shoulder, his throat tightening when bile threatened to rise at the reality that his arm was no longer attached to him. But that wasn’t going to stop him from completing this final task given to him, and neither were the voices that were being mimicked by The Creature who lingered just outside the walls of the sinking submersible. 

It took a lot more work to strap the life jacket to the Black Box now that he only had one hand to work with while fighting against the rising levels of blood filling up the interior of the SM-13. The Creature was not letting up on its attack using the voices of his past and present against him, to make him fail, to make him join the others sooner than he wanted. But he was going to succeed, even if it was the last thing he did.

Simon snapped out of it when you returned, holding an object that he could only assume was the prosthetic wrapped in some cloth as you came closer. 

“It’s definitely going to need some fine tuning but that will be addressed once we’ve got it attached and successfully functioning. But here it is.” You explained, stopping at his bedside and gently setting the arm on the empty space on the bed before unwrapping the cloth from around it, pulling it back and allowing Simon to see it. 

Simon was silent for a few minutes before he looked at you with an emotion in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place. “Why?” The question hit harder than anything the two of you had shared with each other since he arrived.

“Because you deserve the freedom and life that we can give you here. And that means making sure you can live it to the fullest.” you explained without hesitation, your eyes reflecting the sympathy and pain from the similar experiences you’d been through separately and somehow, it felt like you and Simon had survived your trials together. For the first since he had been brought in and began his recovery process, you spotted the tears in his eyes just before his gaze dropped to the prosthetic arm sitting beside his legs. 

“I…I don’t know what to say.” his voice cracked while he stared at the arm, clenching his jaw and chewing at the inside of his lip before lifting his gaze once again to meet yours.

“You don’t need to say anything. Just let me get this attached to you and begin the therapy that it’s going to take to get it functioning and connected with your nervous system.” you said softly, gingerly placing a hand on his back between his shoulder blades. A soft gasp fell from your lips when you were suddenly pulled closer by the waist, his arm wrapped around the small of your back and held you close in the best attempt of a hug that he could manage. You felt the soft sob shake his body and you took a deep breath to keep your own emotions under control while you wrapped your arms around him and provided the physical comfort that he seemed to need right now.

Once Simon finally composed himself and profusely thanked you over and over, you explained the plan of attack that would be required in order to attach the prosthetic, the possible outcomes of this surgery, and the confidence in the overall success it would have. “Will you be doing it?” The words that would unknowingly stick with you.

“Absolutely. You’re in the safest hands for the procedure, Simon.”

[madamechrissy]

mdni 18+ - doctor! Gojo (ob/gyn) x fem! reader

gyno! Gojo getting distracted by his patient's coochie (you) inappropriate workplace behavior, breaking oaths, they're awkward lol, fingering, orgasms, spitting, talking you through it, nerdjo, he's shy even knuckles deep inside you <3 (3k)

"Are you comfortable?" Doctor Gojo asks with a friendly smile, washing his hands and looking over his shoulder at you.

Are you comfortable when you're in nothing but an open hospital gown and your feet are in stirrups!? In front of the most gorgeous man you've ever seen!?

No, you're not. You're flustered and embarrassed despite his calm demeanor and how he does everything with ease. You bite down on your lower lip, clutching the little sheet thrown over your lap, nodding.

He dries his hands that you can't help but look at a little too long. Elegant fingers, thick ones that make you blush thinking of going inside you. It's got you swallowing nervously. Trying to remember it's a check up not a damn date.

He's just doing his job, slipping you a little smile, blue eyes glimmering in a myriad of shades. "Latex allergy sweetheart?"

"Huh?" How long are his fingers!?

"Do you have an allergy to latex?" You flush again, shaking your head. "Perfect."

Doctor Gojo sits in front of you, slipping on those gloves and then putting a comforting hand on your thigh. You fucking moan.

You moan.

This is so embarrassing!?

"Sorry," you whisper, shutting your eyes.

"Is it the cramps? I saw you were having some issues with that," he asks softly, white hair falling just a bit over his brow.

"Um. Yes." You have been cramping alot, but this was definitely not that. You try to remember why you're here, looking at him again, almost unable to handle the eye contact. "Really bad ones before my period."

"Scans were all good," he lifts your sheet up and pauses just a moment, eyeing your cunt in what he attempts to do professionally. Yet he can't help but almost spill out how pretty it is, that would not be okay to say, even if he is an expert. "Everything looks great actually."

Yiur thighs clamp shut. He raises a brow. "Sorry!"

"Relax," he gently helps you spread your thighs, blushing himself when he sees you're glistening already. He can't mention it of course but it's dripping between your lips. "Have you had an exam?"

"Of course, just... um... nervous." He hums a bit to himself, parting your folds with soft gloves, you almost moan again, biting down hard. He looks up at you, leaning down just a bit, far too close to your cunt.

You're suddenly so insecure! What if it looks weird to him!? What if he can freaking inhale it, does it smell good? You washed it before coming but what if-

"Take a breath," he murmurs, inspecting your insides and almost whimpering when he sees your hole fucking wink at him. "You're tense, and it'll hurt if you're this tight."

Fuck.

Dr. Gojo just called a patient tight.

"I mean... tight muscles," he's stammering for a moment, you're just too pretty and now you have him nervous. "That's good though, are you um... doing kegals."

You blink.

"Yes? Can you just... tell?" He sighs, trying to remember why the fuck you're here, slipping a finger inside to just the tip, and you clench him over the glove, soaking it.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Yes your muscle response is impeccable," he wants to feel it clenching his tongue, gather all those juices and suck them off his fingers. "Try to relax because for this exam I have to get two fingers inside you. "You're small down there."

"Oh of course," you want to fall off the face of the earth when he pulls his finger back. You feel slippery arousal pouring down your slit, his soft sigh tickling your thigh. "Did you already put that gel stuff on?"

"No," you blush again, so hot your cheeks are on fire, realizing that's all you. "I can but you seem to have a good amount of... natural lubricant."

You're gonna die.

"Want me to grab the cold gel?" He teases, plump lips curling up, you almost ask him to spit on it, but you manage some sense.

"No, it's okay, I trust you," you shouldn't, not when he leans down and spits right on his fingers and watches his own spit move on puffy lips.

He can't do that he's a fucking doctor. How many pussies has he seen!? But the thrill of knowing it's on you had his cock throbbing underneath those purple scrubs, he covers it with his labcoat, watching the bubbles dissolve on your glistening cunt.

"How do you usually loosen up? Don't want to hurt you." You shut your eyes, spreading your thighs more for him.

"Like how do I..."

"You can feel comfortable with me, we need to find out what's making you cramp up too."

"I tense really bad before sex too, it doesn't feel the best."

"Oh..." Satoru eases a finger inside again, curving it up and watching you jerk. "When is the last time you had sex?"

"Like a year or two, I just use my rose - Oh my god!" You cover your face again, eyes rolling back when he crooks those fingers. "Mmh!"

"Don't be shy, masturbation is normal and healthy even. Orgasms are good for you," Dr. Gojo pulls his finger out to watch you drop down onto the thin paper you're laying on, exhaling against the sight. "Clitoral stimulation helps you?"

You nod, gasping when he slips a finger and finds it, the sounds of your wet cunt echoing in the room. "Yes, it does."

"Is it all right if I stimulate it to loosen you up? If not tell me."

You arch your hips, lashes fluttering, it takes a lot for Gojo not to yank off his gloves and fuck into you. "Yes um if you think it'll help?"

"It might," he runs a circle and watches that clit twitch against his thumb, more slick pouring from you. "You do respond well to it. Did your partners do this?"

"No they sucked," Satoru chuckles a bit, and the mood lightens, he acts perfectly professional while he's pressing on your clit, pleasure rushing through you. "That is relaxing."

"I want my patient comfortable," he murmurs, he shouldn't be allowed to look like that and sound like that. Your cunt is spasming when he slips his finger back in, the messy sounds so loud you bury your face. "It's a good thing, when your natural lubricant flows. It means your hormones are doing a good job."

"Oh," Satoru crooks his finger up, eyeing you under snowy lashes then, your breasts rising and falling, thighs trembling. "I do feel um... more... relaxed."

"That's good. You're doing such a good job for me," you're done for, his finger hitting that spot in slick walls, thumb still massaging your jumping clit. "Orgasms can help cramps too, even during your period."

"I can't um touch it during that," You're arching for more, thighs spread so wide, hands damn near ripping the paper underneath you, it tears just a bit and echoes in his impeccably clean office.

"That's understandable but your partner could," you laugh a little.

"None of them would have fucked me on my period - I mean!? Um, stimulated me."

"Some people are squeamish," he starts to ease two inside, you're trembling at the stretch. "It's natural, periods. And it's normal to get cramps, we just have to find a good way to help them."

"I see, ngh!" He pauses at your little moan, juices flowing down his fingers, tall body hunched just a bit over you. "Oh my god I'm so sorry."

"It’s too much for you, sweetheart? Two?"

You nod just a bit, and he sighs, pulling back his hand then.

"You're too tight, that could be why you don't find sex so enjoyable if you're not getting off first - I mean, having orgasms before intercourse."

"That could be um, I'll loosen up so you can do the exam," you hear his glove smack then.

"It may help if I don't wear a glove, are you okay with that? It may help your nerves."

Satoru needs to feel your gummy walls without a dumb fucking barrier. You're blinking at him, seeing him take one off, then the other.

"My hands are sterile," he tries to hide his feral grin, knowing he's fucking depraved for this, but his cock is just leaking too much. "I'll try and you tell me what you prefer."

"Yes, of course," Satoru's fingers brush down your slit into your hole, sinking in - slippery from you, buried to the knuckle suddenly. It feels so good you can't hold back your little whimper, hips bucking up. You feel every line and callous of his thick fingers, cunt gripping him like she's scared he'll leave. "Oh!"

Satoru's cock leaks at the sight of your pussy sucking his fingers in like that, the sight of it so greedy, stretched around his bare hand is too much. His fingers pull back and then insert again, and again, a messy squelch echoing in the room, gossamer swirls of your arousal coating his fingers.

Fuck he's going against every oath he took and looking for more to break.

Is eating out patients not a good method of exam? Surely your taste -

He can't do all that! He shouldn't even be fingering your messy cunt like this, pads of them curving up in that spot that makes you twitch and gush. Your cheeks are flush, eyes rolling back, hips just rolling when he runs a thumb over your clit once more.

"Eyes on me, sweetheart," you barely focus, stretched so full and stuffed more from him than you had been any man. Your lashes flutter at his command, he leans down just a bit as he works you. "There you go, you're loosening up for me. Does it feel good like this?"

Are you having a filthy daydream of the pretty blue eyed doctor, or is he talking you through an orgasm?

"I... um... y-yes," your whisper escapes your lips with a sigh, Doctor Gojo's expert fingers curling up with precision, feeling you spasm and tighten, slick and hot around his digits. You're pulsing already, making him have to palm himself to adjust, before darting his thumb back to your clit. "Mnh... Doctor Gojo, I..."

"Your muscles are responding so well," fuck is everything sexy from his mouth? You're trying not to cum, but failing spectacularly, a dripping wet mess soaking his bare hand, the sounds of his fingers and your needy cunt loud. "Your pussy- I mean, um!? Vagina/vulva ah it's very um... pretty - healthy!?"

Satoru Gojo's glasses fog up just a bit, sweat beading on his brow, he doesn't know what's come over him - but he knows he needs you to cum for him, and he's not stopping until you do. Do you squirt, do you drip, do you get creamy?

Fuck he must know - for scientific purposes, that's why he's a doctor, right? Love of science and medicine?

How many oaths would it break if he were to breed his patient?

"I'm... your fingers ngh they're thick and - I mean!? Thorough! They're so thorough," you're rolling your hips up for every filthy thrust, Satoru leans low and practically inhales you, you feel something wet slap your clit, his eyes feral and black then behind lenses. "F-fuck... I mean!?"

"S'okay, we're - hah - helping the cramps, r-right?" He's scissoring his long fucking fingers in and out of your now sloppy little cunt, your nails press into his forearms, just making him moan softly.

"Yes, helping them, mhm," your eyes roll back in your skull, nails digging in his pale skin and leaving cresenct marks, the sweet scent of your arousal filling his senses, overtaking the sterile alcohol in the room. God if he could bottle your pussy juice he would. "You're s-such an amazing um... d-doctor!"

"Thank you, I t-take my... career... so seriously," he's about to bust in his pants, damn near acting as if he's never seen a pussy before yours, but he's not ever been affected. You're pulsing and tightening down then, clamping his fingers and sucking them inside, teeth clenched. "Remember, eyes on me, sweetheart. For... medical reasons."

Your eyes focus on his, he crooks those fingers up one more time, a mess pouring as he does, and he watches his pretty patient cum on his fingers. You're so loud he has to pull up, slamming a big palm on your cute lips, muffling your desperate cries as he shoves them in fully, heel of his hand massaging your needy clit.

"Mmph!" You're blacking out nearly, hardly able to keep that eye contact, with the doctor whose glasses have slipped down the bridge of his nose, his lips spit slicked. You're gushing down his fingers, louder and louder as he eases them in and out slower, pushing you over the edge again.

"Fuck," he murmurs, cursing at his lack of professionality, leaning back to see just how you cum. "Creamy, fuck."

"H-huh?" Your voice is still muffled, he moans, looking and the milky ring formed at the bottom of his fingers, he almost sinks to his knees with you still in that fucking hospital gown, instead gently easing them out, watching your hole twitch as he spreads your lips.

"Your response to stimulation, it's scientific you see - creaming or squirting."

"Oh, it is?" He feels himself pressing hard against his boxers, leaking through and leaving a wet spot in his scrubs, blush furiously smattered on his cheeks. "Which is better?"

Anything you do.

"They're both healthy responses," he wants to suck his goddamn fingers so badly, but he has already crossed every fucking line known to man, so instead he hovers a moment, wanting to ask about you. who are you, are you single - it says yes on your chart sure, but still. What do you like? Do you play video games?

He's imagining a date right now - him, Doctor Gojo, a man who's all about his business can't stop getting flustered from your pretty little pussy that's leaking your cum still. He turns then, unsure of what to say, as your thighs tremble, your breath quickening.

You feel so embarrased! You're thinking he wanted you to cum, what if he was just... like helping? Examining? You've never even really been to a gyno before! You hastily put a sheet on, looking down nervously as he stands there, fingers still in your slick.

"I'm so sorry!"

"What!? Why? Did you um... enjoy the exam?" He asks, you nod shyly, he is so close to busting he has to do something. "I'll be right back with your uh... results, just hold on, okay?"

He rushes to the bathroom, leaning back and shutting the heavy door, sucking your juices off his fingers and moaning, using his other hand to free his aching cock. God it's hard, sticking to his boxers, he has to tug it free and slowly stroke it, moaning softly.

"Go ask her out," he whispers to himself, with every stroke of his hand, every glide around the thickness he almost stuffed inside you on that patient bed. He can't with himself, what is going on, he's never like this!?

God your taste.

"Maybe we could hah go to a movie?" He practices in the mirror, seeing his disheveled appearance, cock loud with every fwap as he jerks it quickly, trying to finish before he looks more suspicious. He whimpers your name and flutters his eyes shut, picturing your cunt grippin' his cock like a vice, moaning as he cums.

White spurts everywhere, all over his hands, all over the sink, he curses with a shaky breath, cleaning it frantically when he rushes back out, and you're all dressed, holding your purse. He falters, suddenly shy as you tuck your hair behind your ear, the taste of your cunt still coating his tongue.

"I ah... think your cramps could be a lot of tension," he manages to say softly. "And elevated hormones, just a bit too much estrogen, but not enough for concern."

"Thank you so much, um, what should I do for them?"

"Warm compress, a hot bath, ibuprofen," his dick, his mouth, his fingers, god use him. "All of that should help a long with..."

"Orgasms?"

"Y-yes, they can help," you rush off suddenly then, and Gojo curses, pacing back and forth in his office.

God why couldn't he ask you out!? After he sucked your cum off his fingers no less?

Suddenly, Satoru has quite an idea - his fucked out brain thinks so, at least. He sits at his little desk and pulls up his laptop, starting to type notes into your patient portal, smirking as he does. He's sure you're the type to check them, so he wonders if you'll get the code here.

***Patient comes in with an exceptionally tight set of muscles, and was having some trouble with cramping, as well as pain during sex. She was a good girl for me beautiful example of a patient, her responses were so good, she listened to all instructions from the doctor. Her cunt vagina was a pretty shape, color, and had a lovely taste consistency.***

Satoru grins, inserting his phone number throughout the message in little places, heart racing.

God he wonders if you like Digimon or Pokemon? He could handle either, if it meant being with you.

***The patient should come back for more visits to work on relaxing her stupidly tight vagina, she took well to treatment, she should cum come more often to make sure she's comfortable and resolves any cramps in the future. Patient should contact me with any questions are you free on friday? or concerns.***

He's sure you never saw the damn notes when a week goes by, when he gets a call, answering it in the middle of lunch. "Gojo speaking."

"Um... hi... it's..."

"Oh my god!? Hi!" He almost knocks his coffee over, so fucking excited he's grinning, he can't see your nervous blush on the other line, chewing your thumb and taking shaky breaths. "How are you?'

"I'm good, I am uh... maybe insane but, would you like to go out-"

"Yes."

You blink then. "Um, I didn't say where?"

"Anywhere." You giggle, and he throbs from that, sighing and shutting his eyes. "I'll take you anywhere."

"All right, Doctor Gojo I'll send you where to pick me up," you hang up shakily, and Gojo makes quite a loud shout that the entire office hears.

"Back to work, ahem." He says, stepping out, but he cannot keep the smile off his face.

Perverted and cute???? bahaha this was a Patreon idea actually those chats get a little insaneee

[godmadeaterribleerror]

I'll Crawl Home

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, memory loss, angst, pining (unrequited love but not really), smut (blowjob, fingering, p in v sex, creampie), love confessions, no use of y/n

Summary/Warnings: You don't know who these men are, but they seem to know you. Your body seems to like the Handsome one a lot. But the more you manage to remember, the more lost you feel.

Author's Note: This might be one of my favorites. Enjoy!!

Title from Work Song by Hozier

Word Count: 8.6k

You don’t know who these men are. 

There are three of them, all gathered around you with frowning faces and drawn brows, and they seem worried. The tall one in the middle keeps saying your name and asking the one in the tie and trench coat if he can figure out what’s wrong with you. Trench Coat keeps snapping variations of no, he can’t, because the object was guarded against outside interference. 

The third one is silent. He’s a little behind you and wearing flannel like Tall, but his hair is shorter, he’s less lanky, and he’s touching you. His hand is on your arm, his grip so tight it almost hurts, and you’d… barely even noticed. Not because he’s almost inhumanly handsome, or because when he does grumble something in his voice is deep and soothing to your mind, but because your body hadn’t seemed to really register it. And if it had, it hadn’t been worried at all.

But you’re worried. As your brain starts to kick into gear—dragging itself out of an odd, hazy sludge—you are very worried about why Trench Coat, Tall, and Handsome are so close to you. Why Trench Coat keeps saying you’re sick—you’re tired, but overall you feel fine—and why Tall knows your name. Why Handsome is still touching you, why he’s so quiet, why when he looks at you your skin heats and your heart does a little, happy hum.

Why when you yank your arm from Handsome’s grasp, he blinks at you in confusion. Why he says your name so slowly. Why when he reaches back out to you, your body leans forward of its own accord. 

“No!” You shout, and it’s more at yourself, but Handsome’s whole face falls, and he looks like he’s been shot, stabbed, and bled out.

“Shit, she’s talking- Hey,” Tall says your name, reaching to grab your shoulder, and you start to crawl away from him. “Can you- Wait, where are you going-“

“She seems to be experiencing panic.” Trench Coat tilts his head, glancing over your shoulder. “She is likely trying to get to Dean.”

You follow his gaze, and your body is moving to where Handsome—Dean?—had backed away.

“Fuck!” You try to scramble to your feet, ready to run for your life, but you barely make it to your knees before darkness clouds your vision and your head starts to spin.

All three men shout your name, but Dean’s deep voice is the loudest, and when the world grows clear again, he the one who’s holding you upright.

Your body is slumped into him. It’s the same way you’ve slumped into your bed. The same way you used to slump against you mom when you were a kid, because you never thought she could hurt you. Because she’d felt like the safest place to be in the world.

But you don’t know Dean. 

“Don’t- don’t touch me-“ You try to shake him off, but he doesn’t let go. He just lowers you carefully down and moves away, staring at you with an expression that makes your heart ache for reasons you don’t understand. “Who are you people?!”

Tall says your name again. How the fuck does he know your name. “It’s just us, it’s-“ Tall moves to touch you, and frowns when you flinch away.

At least you still know how to flinch away. 

“I don’t knowwho the fuck you are,” you hiss at him. “Or what the fuck is happening, but I want to go home.” You hug yourself, everything suddenly cold, your voice growing small. “Please let me go home.”

Trench Coat nods. “I am able to-“

“Cas.” Dean grunts from behind you, and Trench Coat—Cas—frowns at him. “Don’t.”

“She has requested something I can assist with-“

“She doesn’t fucking know who you are.” Dean snaps, stomping past you, never looking down. It makes the ache in your heart worse. “What the hell do you think is gonna happen when you zap her back to a home she doesn’t remember?”

Tall shakes his head. “We don’t know that she doesn’t remember the bunker-“

“Yeah? Hey,” Dean says your name, his glare and tone firm. Your body has a very confusing reaction to it, your thighs squeezing together as your stomach fills with heat. “You believe in angels?”

You blink. “Like, with wings?”

Dean gives Tall a pointed look, and Tall just shakes his head again.

“That doesn’t prove anything-“

“It proves enough, Sammy.” 

“No, it doesn’t!” Tall—Sammy—crosses his arms, glaring at Dean. “She remembers her own name, it’s not unreasonable to think she might remember her home!”

“That’s cause her name is her name! She doesn’t remember who we are! She’s not going to remember anything else-“

“It may be productive to find out what she does remember before we make assumptions.” Cas cuts Dean off with clipped words, and barely flinches as Dean glowers at him. You’re impressed. Dean seems scary.

Even if your body doesn’t seem to agree. 

“Good idea, Cas, let’s just-“ Sammy drops to the floor in front of you. “Hi, I’m-“

“Sammy?” 

“It’s actually Sam- wait.” Sam blinks at you. “You remember my name?“

“No.” You shake your head, nodding up to Dean. “He said it.”

“Oh.” Sam follows your gaze with a small frown. “Do you know his name?”

“It’s Dean.” You whisper, and another strange expression flashes over Dean’s face. “But I don’t remember it, I just heard it. I’m sorry.”

Dean’s jaw clenches, and Sam sighs.

“Don’t apologize, we’re just- It’s complicated.” Sam runs a hand through his hair, scanning carefully over your face. “Can I ask you a few questions?”

You nod—you don’t seem to have a choice, and you’re not nearly as panicked as you should be—and Sam swallows.

“Okay, you know your name, so how about- What year is it?”

You tell him, and he nods slowly. It goes like that as he asks you the date, the president, how old you are, and when your birthday is. It only flips when he asks you where home is, you answer, and all three men gape at you.

“What’s wrong?” You look between their identical expressions of worry. “That’s where I-“

Sam says your name carefully, his voice tense. “You haven’t lived there in almost six years.”

You blink at him. “No… I- I live there now.”

“No, you-“ Sam lets out a long breath. “How about this, do you know what your job is?”

“Yeah, I’m a librarian.”

That was clearly not the answer they wanted, but Sam pushes on. “Okay, what kind of car do you drive?”

“I don’t drive.” You glance up at Cas and Dean, and they’re exchanging a taut look. This is so fucking weird. “I, um, I take the bus.”

“Fuck!” Dean shouts suddenly, throwing his hands in the air. He sounds agitated. It’s making you agitated. “Goddamnit, she doesn’t remember anything-“

“Actually, she seems to remember selective things.” Cas lowers down as well, his gaze seeming to drive right into your soul. “Are you aware of how you arrived here, in this room?”

You aren’t. You try to remember, and it hurts. Your whole head lights up with pain and you double-over, but that seems to answer the men’s questions all by itself, and they exchange low, tense words as you lay on the floor.

Dean keeps looking at you. He’s not speaking to you, but he keeps staring at you, and your body always seems to respond to it. His jaw clenches as Cas helps you to your feet, and your legs want to walk right into him. Dean scowls as Sam explains that you do know them—that they’re your friends, and you’re cursed, and they’re taking you somewhere safe to help you—and your skin prickles under the feeling of it. As they move you into a sleek black muscle car and take off down the road, Dean keeps glaring at you in the rearview mirror and you want to reach out and touch him. You think it would be really good to touch him.

You really want to touch him. He’s beautiful, in the shadows and low lights of the highway, and right now it’s really just Dean in the whole universe. 

Just Dean. Here. With you.

The wind is cold in your hair and loud in your ears, but the Impala is warm, and the music is louder.

Dean is louder. Singing at the top of his lungs and drumming a little off beat on the wheel, his eyes alight and his smile wide. 

He’s warm, too. You giggle and roll your eyes when he makes a terrible joke, and he grabs your face with a strong, rough, warm hand to pulls you into a kiss, all as the road keeps rushing past you-

Cas says your name, and you blink at him. You’re not sure what the fuck just happened.

“Are you experiencing memory recall?”

“I, um, what?”

“Your eyes.” He says, and you notice Sam twisting around to watch from the passenger’s seat. “They began to move in a manner similar to human REM sleep, however you remained awake the whole time. Were you thinking of something you had previously forgotten?”

“I, uh,” you glance in the rearview mirror. Dean’s suddenly fixated on the road, his grip on the wheel white knuckled. “Have I been in this car before?”

“Yeah, you have.” Sam’s words are cautious, his eyes trained on you. “A lot. Cas, you don’t think-“

“I do. I believe it may be our best shot.”

And that’s how it begins. The moment you return to the bunker—a strange, underground building they claim you’ve lived in for years—you’re rushed through the grand tour in the hopes of triggering just a little more of your memory.

You’d consider it useless if it wasn’t working. If your hands didn’t already know how to sort through their strange classification of books. If you didn’t get flashes of laughter and visions of Sam and Dean around a table in what they call the War Room. If Sam doesn’t show you the kitchen, and suddenly your brain is washed over with a memory of sitting at the table, across from him and Dean.

Dean winks at you as Sam tries to show you something on his laptop. You’re going to kill him. He’s being obvious, and a little mean.

It doesn’t stop you from following him out of the kitchen only minutes later, even though it snaps your dignity in half.

“You’ve got something?” Sam’s almost jumping in front of you, and you give him a small smile. 

“You drink smoothies.”

“They’re healthy.” Sam shrugs, his voice raising to a shout. “Cas! It’s working!”

Dean shuffles into the kitchen, barely glancing at you. “Cas left. Said he’s going to look for a better fix.”

Sam frowns. “Why didn’t he tell me?”

“He told me. And you should bring her to her room.”

Your eyes widen as Sam nods, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Shit, yeah, good idea. C’mon,“ Sam says your name, walking to the hallway. “This should be good for you.”

When you see your room, it does seem like your room. It’s decorated how you’d decorate it, clothing scattered on the floor that you recognize, the walls painted how you’d paint them, but there’s also a shotgun on the dresser and a knife on your bedside stand.

“Shit, sweetheart, this is an awesome gun, where’d you find it?”

You look up at Dean from your bed, fidgeting with your blanket between your fingers. “It was in one of the storage rooms. I can show you later, I think there were a few more.”

“Hell yeah,” he aims it at the wall, his smile easy and boyish. It’s adorable.

You wish he’d stop.

“Dean?”

He hums, still turning the gun in his hands, and you take in a long breath.

“Are we going to talk about it?”

Dean freezes, his eyes wide and almost panicked on yours as he sets the gun back down.

“I don’t think there’s anything to talk about. I mean, it’s us. We can be cool.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah, cool. You have a problem, I take care of it. I have a problem,” he gestures between your bodies with raised brows, and you sigh.

“Okay.”

“Awesome.”

“Yeah.” You smile at him, and this might consume and destroy you. But fuck you, you’re going to let it. “Awesome.”

“You got anything?” Sam asks, and you nod. You might have too much. 

And none of it is making any make sense at all.

The week passes like this. More small memories come to you in visions, your head pounds and stabs with pain, Sam hangs over your shoulder and shows you countless places you can navigate but don’t recognize—their dungeon, their gun range, a place called the Dean Cave, a field, and a corner store down the street—all as Dean swirls around your head, but remains just out of sight. Barely crossing your path, looking like a deer in headlights when he does.

But you think you’ve sat with your legs over his lap in the Dean Cave. You’ve trailed after him—holding onto the sleeve of his jacket—in the corner store. You’ve had his body wrapped around yours in the gun range, his voice low and teasing in your ear as he guides your hands.

And the most memories come in your bedroom. Sitting on the mattress with him towering above you, lying on the floor with him under you, giggling as he pins you against the door.

He still won’t look at you. He doesn’t even acknowledge you anymore. He’s locking himself in his room, only coming out to get food, sort through the library, or take his car and leave for hours on end.

Sam is worried.

“This… isn’t like Dean.” He tells you, frowning at the door Dean had just disappeared through. “I don’t know what’s up with him, but you guys were really good friends before. Like, really good.” He gives you an odd look. You’ve been getting a lot of those lately. “There was a while where I was pretty sure that he was finally-“ He shakes his head, cutting himself off. “Never mind. I’ll talk to him later.”

You sleep in your room again. It’s felt strange, because your body doesn’t seem to like your mattress. It doesn’t relax into it like it should, if you’ve really been sleeping here for years. You keep waking up reaching for the other side of the bed. You keep being unable to fall asleep at all because something feels off. 

He’s still here when you wake up. His arm heavy over your stomach as he presses your back against his chest, his breath hot on your neck. 

You should’ve kicked him out last night. You try to never let him fall asleep next to you, let alone wake up in your bed. It’s cruel to you.

Because now you have to have this, and then let it go. You’ll never be able to wipe the feeling of Dean wrapped around you from your skin, and your muscles will never forget how easy it was to relax when he was holding you. 

When you roll over your hands will always know how to linger on his bare, warm chest. Your fingers will always know how to map his every freckle, even if you were blindfolded and submerged underwater. 

Your heart will always know to slow down when you look at him. Especially like this. He’s peaceful here. His eyelashes fluttering and his lips parted, his brow dropped to yours as he sleeps. 

As he has no way to know that he’s doing it.

He’s vulnerable. Dean’s body is letting him rest with you at his side. It’s letting him fall into a strong sleep with steady breaths and slack muscles, even though there’s something foreign pressed against him.

And that’s why this is cruel. It feeds your hope that this could be more. That Dean could ever see you as you see him, that he’d chose to rest with you because deep down, he loves you like you love him.

Deeply and powerfully. Irrevocably and brutally. Made of gnashing teeth and blood caking your nails, but also simple in loud music and wind, soft in golden streetlamps that cast halos around his head. Concrete. Dependable. You will always love Dean, even if you lose everything else you’ve ever had.

And he will not love you.

And this is cruel.

But you still let your face bury itself in his neck. You still let your nose memorize the evergreen and amber smell of him. You still let his skin leave burning marks on yours, as he stays asleep. 

And you just watch him. 

You have to drag yourself out of bed. You have to give Dean a close-lipped smile when he walks right past you in the kitchen, and not scream when his skin brushes yours.

It’s not foreign. 

It feels like you.

And you’re so lost. 

You don’t ask any questions. The few questions you have asked made Sam sad, like you should already know the answer, and he always does this puppy-dog face that breaks your heart. The only questions you’d really want to ask were questions about Dean. About if Sam talked to him, about why—if you’re as close as Sam claims, if these strange snapshots are true—he won’t even look at you. About how he’d looked at you before.

About how you’d looked at him.

But Sam’s too busy for you to even really consider it. He’s calling Cas and someone named Rowena all the time, he’s researching day and night to try and fix you, and he’s coming up with strange new ways to trigger your memory every day.

“Sit there.” He points to the driver’s seat of the Impala, moving around the hood of the car. “You’re driving.”

You shake your head. “I don’t know how to drive stick-“

“Yeah, you do, Dean- fuck.” Sam groans, rubbing his forehead. “Well, let’s try having you sit in it? Just to see if anything happens?”

You nod, and things do happen. When you put your hand on the gear shift, a phantom of a bigger, calloused one covers it, and suddenly you can drive stick. You don’t even have to think about it, you just can. 

It might be worse when you think about it. Sam makes you drive—telling you to go somewhere and refusing to specify any possible destinations—and whenever you try to actually dwell on what you’re doing, you make a mistake. 

So you let your body take over. You drive the Impala where your hands want you to go, and where they want you to go seems to be a dive bar parking lot.

“Huh.” Sam glances around as you both climb out of the car, a small frown on his face. “I’ve never been here before. I know it’s a stupid question, but do you know where you are?”

“No,” you sigh, letting your feet carry you to the edge of the pavement, letting your knees bend down as you sit on the curb. “Not at all.”

“Shit.” He mutters. “Well, you want a drink while we’re here?”

You nod, Sam goes into the bar, returns with two beers, and drops at your side.

“This is…” Sam glances at you, his voice soft. Apologetic. “I’m really sorry this is happening. I mean, Dean went through something similar a while ago, but at least we had an idea of how to handle that, you know? I’m- I don’t even know where to start here.” He says your name, rolling his bottle between his hands. “All we’ve got is Dean saying you touched a cursed object, but he’s being really weird and when Cas and I went back to the building there was nothing. We’re going to fix this, I promise, but...”

He sighs, trailing off, and you clear your throat. You haven’t just sat with Sam since this—whatever this is—started. This might be your only chance to try to get answers in a way that doesn’t make your skull cave in and your heart burn.

“Can I ask you some stuff?”

Sam nods, and you take a long, slow breath.

“How did I end up here? Doing,” you gesture vaguely to the air. “This.”

A small smile ghosts over Sam’s lips. “Dean and I were hunting a vamp nest, and you were one of the witnesses. You helped us out a little, we told you some stuff about how you deal with vamps, and then you got kidnapped. We- Well, we tried to save you, but by the time we got there you’d kind of saved yourself. You’d covered yourself in dead man’s blood from one of their discarded vics, and none of them would go near you. After it was done, you asked to come with us, and you haven’t left since.”

“And we’re… friends?”

“We are.” Sam says, rubbing his forehead with a sigh. “I mean, I know you and I are. You helped me organize the library when you moved to the bunker. I taught you most of the stuff about the lore, and we made up a game about it. Dean calls it dumb, but he just hates that he’s bad at it. Sometimes you go on runs with me, and then you say you’re never running again. You’re the one who convinced me to ask out my girlfriend-“

You blink at him. “You have a girlfriend?”

“Yeah, Eileen. You’re friends with her too. You’re friends with everybody.” Sam offers you another smile, and this one seems less painful. “Even Rowena likes you. We didn’t have to threaten her to help us out here.”

Even as you return Sam’s smile, a last question eats at your tongue, and you’re too tired, too confused to think better of asking it.

“What about Dean?” You whisper. “Am I friends with him?”

Sam sighs. He seems to do that a lot. 

“Yes. Kind of. I… I don’t know.” He mutters, frowning at the pavement. “It’s complicated. I’m not- This isn’t really my place, you know?”

You swallow. “Does he hate me?”

Sam laughs at that. A loud, full laugh that echoes around the parking lot. 

“No.” He shakes his head, clearly amused by something you don’t understand. “I don’t think either of you could hate each other if you-“

“I fucking hate you!” You scream, shoving his chest. He doesn’t flinch. He never flinches. 

Asshole.

“You’re drunk.” Dean grunts your name, catching your hand against his chest. “We need to go home.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you, Winchester-“

“Yeah, you are.”

Dean starts to tug you across the parking lot, back to the car, and you hate that you just let him. You always let him. He takes you somewhere and you just follow him like a fucking lapdog. Waiting for him whenever he leaves. Whining and whimpering at the door when he’s gone and lighting up from the inside when he returns. 

Barely getting a treat or a smile when he pays attention to you. Only really getting his attention in brief flashes that build your body to an explosion before leaving you to pick up the pieces yourself. Leaving you alone, wracked with a love he can’t return, mending your own heart until he asks to break it again, and you let him.

“You’re going to sleep it off.” Dean mutters from ahead of you, and there are little blond hairs at the nape of his neck that seem silver and gold in the low light. Just another piece of him that’s impossibly beautiful. Another piece you get to touch but never keep. 

“I don’t need to sleep it off!” You yank your hand from his grip as he tries to guide you into Baby, and drop on the curb with a dramatic sigh. “Just leave me alone, Dean.”

“I am not fucking abandoning you at some sketchy bar-“

“Why not?” You raise your chin at him, narrowing your eyes. “Afraid I’ll find someone else? That I’ll crawl into another bed, and they’ll actually like me, and you’ll lose your favorite pet?”

He scowls. “We’re not having this conversation right now-“

“Why not?! You know it’s the truth, Dean! I’m just, I’m your fucking toy and you hate sharing-“

He says your name in a low warning, but you can’t stop now. This pain has been building up and up in your chest and lungs for years, and now that it’s out it’s volcanic. You couldn’t keep it in if you tried.

“But you’ll never actually care about me! I’m easy for you! That was the fucking deal, right! We’re easy for each other and that’s it, just using each other until one of us fucking dies! You keep acting like I mean nothing and then you get all fucking possessive when I try to get over you-“

“You’re not trying to get over me.” He mutters, not fully meeting your eyes. “You don’t have anything to get over. You’re just fucking wasted-“

“Yeah, I am, because you won’t just say that I matter to you-“

“Of course you matter to me, you’re my friend-“

“You’re not my friend!” You scream, your voice echoing through the parking lot. Your head is starting to spin. “Friends don’t do this to each other!”

You’re dizzy. You feel a little faint. 

And you’d just spend an hour telling Dean you hate him. But he’s still grabbing you and keeping you steady.

You really wish he wouldn’t. It would make it easier to pretend you really did hate him. That just his touch didn’t make you feel safe and cared for, even when the dickhead didn’t really care. 

“You done?” He asks, and you hum, something hot and wet stinging at your eyes.

“I hate you, Dean.” You mumble, even as you slump into him. “I fucking hate you.”

He brushes some hair from your face, and your eyes flutter. “I know you do, babygirl.” He mutters, and you don’t think he knows you’re still awake. “Let’s go home.”

Sam’s frowning at you when the real world comes back into view. And when you whisper that you’d really like to leave, he doesn’t ask questions. He doesn’t even make you drive, or try to talk to you as you stare out the window. 

He doesn’t push for the rest of the day. He shows you a few more things that trigger smaller memories, and you don’t see Dean at all. 

But he’s everywhere. In every memory. You walk through the library as Sam explains a system you allegedly designed, and a memory of you explaining this exact system to Dean flashes through your brain. He’d made jokes, and you’d giggled, and his smile had numbed your brain. You try to make yourself dinner, and suddenly you’re laughing and throwing food at Dean, right before he presses you against the counter with a searing kiss. You wander through the halls and you can hear heavy, controlled steps behind you. You return to your room, and he’s at your side in bed, wearing the same flannel from the memory in the parking lot. Making you drink water and helping you change, muttering low apologies you can’t actually really hear. Tucking you in bed and tracing his hand over your face, grabbing you a trash can to vomit in when you shoot back up, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. 

His whole face is set in that memory, but it’s all hazy. You don’t know if you trust it, because all the other memories have been sharp and clear, but this one is dreamlike. Like even before you lost your memory, you weren’t sure if it was real. The you who all this happened to might have just made this up for herself. Made up Dean holding her hair back and pressing a soft kiss to her brow as she lay back down, even though you can still feel the warmth of his chapped lips in that exact spot. She might have made up Dean smiling at her when she mumbled that she didn’t actually hate him. She might have made up him staying when she begged him to in a soft voice. 

You don’t know. You don’t know anything. You’ve never felt more lost, never been in more pain. Your body is where it’s supposed to be, but your brain isn’t. It’s restless and worried and tearing itself apart, and when you fail to sleep your body knows how to walk through the halls, even as your whole mind spins and shreds itself to pieces.

Sam was sorry this was happening to you, but you don’t know why. You don’t know him. Every time you’ve seen Cas since you’ve returned, he’s asked you questions you don’t know the answers to. Every day your body remembers things, but you don’t. You want to, you want to so bad, but you’re adrift and drowning in a vast, cold ocean and you can’t even remember how you got there. You keep feeling like there’s a lifeline, just out of reach, but you can’t grab it. It’s not in your room, or the kitchen, or the library. It’s nowhere Sam takes you, nowhere you remember how to go.

You feel like something had been guiding you, anchoring you in the waves, and now it’s missing. Vanished from your hands. 

And now you’re lost, and in pain, and alone. Wandering aimlessly through the depths of the bunker in the dead of night, searching for a lighthouse you’re not sure exists.

You walk into the War Room, and Dean’s already there. Glass of whiskey in hand, head tipped back and eyes closed, the fancy headphones you’d gotten him for his birthday blasting music so loud you can hear it from across the room. You walk up behind him and run a gentle hand over his cheeks, and he doesn’t flinch. His eyes just open slowly and find yours in a second, his attention soft as he tugs his headphones down, grabs your hand, and kisses your knuckles. 

“Hi.” You whisper, and he grins.

“Hey.”

“It’s late.” You run a hand through his hair, and he lets you. He’s amazing and horrible, so he lets you have this. “It’s bad for your back to sleep in a chair.”

“Bad for my back?” He chuckles. “I’m not that old, sweetheart-“

“It’s bad for everyone’s back-“

“Sam sleeps in his chair all the time.” Dean raises his brows at you, and you swallow. “You’re not on his ass about it.”

You sigh. You don’t want to entertain this. You’re too tired for the fight that it will lead to. “Please just go sleep in your bed, Dean.”

He hums, and you let him guide you around the chair, until you’re standing between his legs.

“Maybe I will, if you’re there with me.”

“Don’t say that.” You whisper, unable to move away. He’s going to break your heart again. You’re going to let him, because your heart is traitorous and loves being broken by Dean. It just likes that Dean has to touch it to break it. “Please.”

He shakes his head with a long, deep exhale, and doesn’t say another word. 

But he doesn’t go to bed either. He stands up until you’re trapped between his body and the table, and places his whiskey down, his eyes never leaving yours. He’s scanning over your face with an expression like he’s lost, like he’s looking for something he’s desperate to find but terrified to see.

You don’t know if he finds it. 

All you know is that he’s touching you, and you’re molding into him, and whatever he does to you, you’ll allow. 

As long as it’s Dean doing it.

He unplugs his headphone until the music is filling the War Room, picks up his iPod, and changes the song. This one is soft, a gentle melody drowning you in honey and a daze of Dean. You didn’t think he’d own a song like this. It’s slow and romantic, and it flows so easily as he takes one hand in yours, places the other on your hip, and moves you away from the table.

He starts to sway, holding you steady in his arms, and soon you’re dancing. Really dancing, in measured, easy steps that Dean guides you through. You didn’t think he’d know how to do this. You didn’t think he’d ever do it with you.

But you’re lost in him, and you’ve never felt like you’ve belonged anywhere else. You’re drowning in the song, but Dean’s drowning with you, so you know exactly where you are. Trapped in this infinite and fleeting moment, trapped in Dean’s eyes, trapped in the warmth of his light, casting over your body and guiding you wherever you’ll need to be.

When he leans in to kiss you, you don’t push him away. You could never push him away. Your hands only know how to curl in his shirt and your lips only know how to crash into his. Your tongue always craves Dean’s taste of whiskey and pecan, and your body always knows how to catch the small sparks of lighting his touch creates, then throw them through your whole body.

And Dean always kisses you with everything he has, but this is different. It’s not desperate and needy, it’s long and deep and feels like home. When he sucks on your lower lip, it’s like he’s trying to leave a mark. When his steps still and he dips you down, you gasp, and he breathes it in like it’s more than oxygen. When your arms wrap around his neck, he pulls you closer, like you could be absorbed into his body forever. 

When he pulls away—the song long over, the only sounds in the world his ragged breath and your heartbeat in your ears—he still doesn’t speak. And you don’t move. You’ll be a statue until Dean’s command brings your back to life. You’ll be cold marble, sinking down, down, down until he takes your hand and reminds your body how to be.

And that’s pathetic.

But when he squeezes your hand in his, presses a soft kiss on the space between your eyes, and starts to guide you out of the War Room, you don’t even try not to follow him.

Because Dean would never let you stray from where you’re safe. Next to him.

Your legs are carrying you out of the war room, down a path that they remember but you don’t. To a door that your hand aches to push open, into a room where the air is warm but fresh, and an overwhelming smell of amber and evergreen tints against your nostrils. They don’t seem bothered by it. They seem to relax into it, like it’s an anesthetic. 

This must be Dean’s room. If your body couldn’t tell you that, your increasingly fragile brain would still piece it together. It’s obviously lived in—clothing on the floor, sheets messy on the bed, small bits of evidence scattered on the shelves and dresser—and there’s only one lived in room you haven’t entered before. Dean’s.

Sam hadn’t even shown you where it was.

Apparently he hadn’t needed to. Your whole body had pulled you here.

And that’s your shirt, on the bedside table-

Dean peels off your shirt without a word, discarding it to an unseen corner of the room. You fumble with his belt, your need growing and growing with every second his hands map over your body—he’s already explored it, found places you didn’t even know existed yourself, but he never seems to get sick of you—and Dean just chuckles, keeping his brow pressed to yours as he takes care of it himself. His jeans have barely fallen around his ankles when he grabs your face between his hands and kisses you until your knees are weak.

Neither of you are speaking. There’s nothing to say that hasn’t already been screamed or sobbed or snapped, hasn’t been moaned or mumbled or whispered. 

All that left to do is touch each other, like you have a million times before. Like you will a million times again, because you can lie to yourself that one day your patience will run out and you’ll leave, but you know you won’t. Dean’s changed your body on a level that feels deeper than skin. Your heart only knows how to beat for him. Your brain only knows how to think of him. Your hands only know how to palm at his dick, tenting through his boxers, and your lips only know how to part as he groans down your throats.

You fall to your knees, free him from his underwear, wrap your hand around his proud cock, and look up at him with a soft smile. His massive, rough hand has tangled in your hair, his eyes hooded and throat bobbing, and when you take him in your mouth you know exactly how to play him like an instrument. How to suck when he bumps the back of your throat, how to flick your tongue over the head of him, how to squeeze and jerk off the base of his cock where you can’t get him between your lips. You know to keep going as he starts to groan your name in a low warning, because if he wants to cum in your mouth, you’d never stop him.

That’s another taste you’ll always crave. Salty and bitter and so purely Dean, marking you in a way he can’t take back.

But he pulls you off with a firm tug of your hair, wiping a little drool from your lips with his thumb before tilting your head up and crashing his lips into yours. When Dean hauls you to your feet you crumple into him, and when he tosses you onto his bed you giggle, crawling backwards and spreading your legs in a silent offering you’ve given him a million times before, and will never stop giving him as long as he takes it.

And he always takes it. Dean’s eyes always darken, and he always prowls over you. But it’s never like you’re prey. Never like you’re just a body to be taken and notched on a bedpost. 

It’s like you’re something he’s trying to bathe himself in. Like an external piece of him he’s trying to protect and tend to by covering himself in it. It’s why he always dives down between your legs first, keeping you pinned to the bed with a hand on your stomach, shoving his tongue deep into your cunt and pressing his nose on your clit until you’re writhing and suffocating him between your thighs. When he moves to pull that bundle of nerves between his lips—pressing his tongue flat against you and sucking—a coil in your gut snaps, and you drown his face in your release.

Your body only ever does that for Dean.

You don’t think he knows that. And every time you think to tell him, he’s always already moved on. Risen above you and shoving two fingers into your still raw and sensitive pussy, finding the deepest part of you like it’s a magnet, and rubbing on it as he watches you come undone once more. 

He cleans his hands with his mouth, licking them and smirking at you as you reach for him, trying to grip his body and pull it down over yours. He usually takes his time—teasing and edging you until you’re a whining mess—but tonight really is different. His smile on your flushed, already wrecked face isn’t taunting or lustful, it’s relaxed. And he still doesn’t speak, but when he kisses his way over your navel, up your chest—stopping to suck on one nipple as his hand plays with your other breast, because he’s Dean and he can’t help himself—it’s louder than anything else in the world. He’s taking him time because he’s trying to keep you in his bed. He knows that once this is over, you’ll gather your things and leave, like you always do to protect yourself.

So he’s giving you a reason to stay.

He nips and sucks up your throat and over your jaw, plants kisses everywhere on your face but where you’re begging for him, and pins your squirming body to the bed with his full weight before his mouth finally makes its way to yours. 

He’s kissing you into the mattress, kissing you until your lips are swollen and your head is spinning from oxygen deprivation. He only pulls back to watch his hand stroke his cock, right before he guides himself into your dripping, fluttering pussy and bottoms out in one thrust. He lets out a low grunt as you adjust, and when he rolls his hips, you moan.

And he falls right back into you.

From there it’s only Dean. Fucking you until you’re scratching at his chest and putty in his arms, your mouth is slack as he groans and grunts above you. He hikes your thigh up to push his cock in at a deeper angle and marks your neck and shoulders with bites and hickeys that you hope never fade, building his speed until you’re just a squirming, whining mess and he’s slamming into you at a brutal pace. 

He doesn’t slow down when you cum, clenching around his cock and screaming a high whine of his name. He only swallows the sound with a bruising kiss, plunging his tongue down your throat and rutting harder and harder into your cunt. All you can do is take it. You’ll always take it. If this is how to you get to have Dean, you’ll never push him away.

He cums with a roar against your lips, trigging one last, small, shuddering orgasm through your body, and collapses on top of you.

Dean rolls you over until he’s beneath you, caging you against his chest with big, strong arms. He doesn’t pull out—letting his cum drip down and dry on your thighs—and when your look up at him he’s staring at you with a drunken, awestruck expression. 

His eyes are already drooping, his breathing slowing to an even, steady pace as he keeps you trapped against his body. You wish your hands could remember how to pry him away before he falls asleep, because now you’re going to be trapped here for a long, painful night where Dean’s sheathed inside you and you can smell and taste him everywhere, but he’s still not yours to have.

Yet, you can’t move.

And right as his eyes close, he mutters your name. You almost don’t hear it. You’re not sure you did hear it.

“Dean?”

He repeats your name, and it’s barely a breath. 

“Wha-“

“I love you.” He mumbles your name one last time, and you gape at him. He doesn’t even know he’s speaking. “‘m sorry. Love you. Don’t leave.” He buries his face in your hair, and he won’t remember this in the morning. “Please don’t leave me.”

“What are you doing in here.” 

You drag your gaze away from the bed and turn to see Dean, wearing flannel pants and a white sleep shirt. He’s not glaring at you, even though you’ve invaded his room without permission. He just looks weary. Tired.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, rooted to the spot. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

Something pained flashes over his face, and you feel small cracks form across your heart.

“Whatever.” He mutters, walking right past you without another glance. “Get out.”

“No.”

You don’t know why you said that. This isn’t your place to be, especially when Dean doesn’t want anything to do with you. When he doesn’t want you here. But you don’t feel adrift here. And you don’t want to go.

Dean stares at you. “What.”

“I’m not going.” You hug yourself, your eyes moving back to the shirt on the dresser. “That’s my shirt.”

He huffs, rolling his eyes as he mutters to himself. “So a fucking shirt you remember. Awesome.”

You swallow. “Why do you have my shirt, Dean.”

He goes rigid, but doesn’t speak, so you keep going.

“Why won’t you talk to me?” You don’t realize you’re walking forward he’s closer. It feels right. “Sam said-“

“Sam doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about.” Dean grunts, but he doesn’t move away. Even when you move closer. Even as you push on.

“Then you tell me.” You sound like you’re pleading. You kind of are. “Every time I remember something you’re there, but you won’t even look at me! I don’t know who I am, I don’t know what’s going on, and I keep thinking about you but you’re acting like you want nothing to do with me-“

Dean’s jaw clenches, his words pushed through his teeth. “That’s not true.”

“It is! You can’t even stand to be in the same room as me!” You feel like you’re going to cry. You haven’t even wanted to cry, not since this began, but something has crashed down inside of you, and this room feels like a safe place to fall apart.

Dean feels like a safe place to fall apart.

“I’m, I’m so lost, and I don’t know what’s going on, and everything keeps coming back to you but I don’t know who you are! You won’t tell me who you are, Sam won’t tell me who you are, and I feel like I’m supposed to know but I don’t! I know who I am but I feel like I’m missing something, and everything hurts, and I just- I need to know-“

Dean grunts your name, and you let out a choked sob.

You’re sick of being lost. You’re sick of not knowing. And when you meet Dean’s eyes they’re like a beacon, and you can’t help but float into them. 

“Who am I to you, Dean?”

“You’re the love of my life.” His voice is hoarse, and his eyes widen slightly at his own answer. You don’t think he expected it. 

“I’m-“

His hands grab your face—holding you so carefully, like he’s practiced this a million time—and you melt into his touch. 

“You’re everything to me, and I- I fucking failed you.” Dean’s thumb traces over your cheekbone, wiping away a tear. “I can’t fix it. I’ve been fucking trying, baby. I promised you I’d try, but I can’t. I- I can’t. I need your help but you’re-“ He makes a low, strangled sound, dropping his brow to yours. It fits perfectly there. “I can’t do this without you. I never tell you that, I never say that I need you, but I do, and I failed you, and now you’re-“

Dean’s whole body shudders, and your arms wrap around him on instinct alone. He falls over you, clinging to you like you’re going to vanish, and-

“You don’t have to do this.” Dean mutters in your ear, and his hug is going to suffocate you, but you don’t care. Maybe he’ll leave an indent on your body. “We can just fucking destroy it-“

“Because trying to destroy cursed objects has worked out so well for us, historically.” You give him a sad, dry smile, and he shakes his head. 

“There’s another way. There’s always another way-“

“We don’t have time for another way. And it won’t be permanent. All curses can be cured.”

“But we don’t even know what the hell this one does!” He shouts, and you don’t wince. He’s not mad at you. “‘Taking what you value most’ could mean anything, could fucking do anything-“

“I know. But it will kill you if I don’t-“

“We don’t know that-“

You do know that. So does Dean. This object latched onto Dean, and it will either leech his life slowly, involuntarily, or take something from you, along with a piece of your memory. And you’ll lose whatever you need to if it keeps Dean safe.

“Listen.” You hold Dean’s gaze, making your voice firm. “Don’t tell Sam and Cas. They’ll get caught on what happened, and you’ll all start fighting, and we can’t afford that. You just need to find what I value, bring it back to me, and I’ll be okay. Got it?”

Dean shakes his head. “How am I supposed to know what you value if you won’t tell me-“

“I don’t know.” You sigh. “I- I honestly can’t think of what I value most, but hopefully you’ll notice something is missing, and you can track it down.” You give him a soft smile. “I believe in you, Dean. And if I’m awake, I’ll try to help you.”

“You won’t remember-“

“It should only take my memories relating the thing. I probably won’t even know anything is wrong.”

“But I’ll know.” He mutters. “And what if I don’t get the thing back to you-“

“You will get it back to me.” You say simply. He’s Dean. You trust him with more than your life. “And I’ll be okay.”

You start to move away, but he doesn’t let you go. He’s pallid and bloodless from the object draining him, but he’s still strong. And you don’t really want to leave him at all. 

“Don’t. Please.” He mutters your name, and it sounds like a prayer. “I’m not worth this, baby.”

“Of course you are.” You smile at him, tears stinging your eyes as you manage to force yourself away. “I love you.”

His eyes widen, and he looks like he wants to say something, but anything he can say will only make you hesitate.

So you turn away.

Right before you touch the object you have a thought. An epiphany that—if your hand wasn’t already pressed on the object’s cool surface—would have made you break down and scream for Dean to make you stop, to drag you away.

But it’s too late. And everything goes dark.

“Dean.”

He leans back to look at you, and you know him. You know everything about him, and it’s destroying your brain and body, trying to break out but trapped down. This pain is horrible.

But Dean is good.

“You love me?”

He swallows, but nods. He seems afraid. Tense under your hands, like you’re going to push him away and he’ll have to just take it.

He won’t. Because you do the only thing you’re certain you know how to do.

You kiss him.

It’s like fireworks, but there’s no electrically you haven’t felt before, no colors you’ve never seen. You’re swept up in his waves and wide fire, but it could never drown or burn you. You’ve adapted to move with it, to breathe in his water and smoke and trust him to bring you exactly where you need to be.

Against his chest, dipping and holding you steady, pouring his all and then some into your body. And your memory doesn’t crash back into you, it just washes over you like rain. 

Dean pulls back, and you smile at him like you always have. Like you always will.

“Hi,” you whisper, and he grins. 

“Hey,” Dean says your name, and you’ve done this dance before.  “Are you-“

You kiss him again, and you know exactly who Dean is. What he is to you, how he loves you in strong, unspoken silence that kills you and cures you all at one, and how you might be built to love him. 

You are.

And he’s built the same way for you.

End Note: Obsessed with love as a thing that happens to you physically, if you can't tell. Thank you for reading!

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature @sthefferrete @lyarr24

@deansbbyx @bakugotypecrashout @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr

@youdontknowe @nyrtopia @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco @elle14-blog1

@impala67rollingthroughtown @dumb--blonde @itsdearapril @apobangpo-0613 @alwaystiredandconfused

@arcticwisteria @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @jackles010378 @godhelpthisbtch

@ilovedeanwinchester4 @sleepykittycx @immastealurkneecaps @star-yawnznn

[l4life]

Beautiful !!

[spitefulsatanfics]

°= AS FLESH LOVES FLESH =°

❝ I rebelled… because I was afraid. Because I was in love with humanity. ❞

— Castiel, Supernatural 6x20 “The Man Who Would Be King”

Pairing: Castiel x Fem!Reader (She/Her)

Fandom: Supernatural (Mid-to-Late Season 6)

Tone: Canon-Compliant, Romantic Slow Burn, Sweet & Sensual First-Time Sex, Angel x Hunter, Domestic Intimacy, Vulnerable Masculinity, Awkward!Castiel, Lovesick!Cas, Yearning, Safe Love, Low Light Motel Room Aesthetic

Rating: Mature / 18+

Warnings: Graphic depictions of sex, first-time intimacy, sensuality, emotional vulnerability, religious themes, canon-typical angst.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Synopsis:

He crashes through your door again—bloodied, frayed at the edges of grace and mortal exhaustion. But tonight, something shifts. His lips seek yours, urgent and trembling. What began as silent healing transforms into a quiet worship of flesh and soul. Tonight, the angel does not want to be saved. He wants to feel.

I. The Angel Falls (Into Her Lap)

The first time you patched Castiel up, you barely dared to breathe as you dabbed at the fresh gash across his cheek. The sharp scent of peroxide burned the sterile motel air, slicing through silence like a holy intrusion. He flinched—not from pain, but surprise, a flicker of fragile humanity. The small, quick intake of breath was like a whispered secret lost to the dark.

“Sorry,” you’d murmured then, voice barely above a prayer.

But tonight? Tonight he doesn’t flinch. He stumbles through the cracked motel door, coat shredded, one sleeve soaked in blood that glows faintly with leaking grace beneath his skin—like a dying star in his veins.

Your heart thunders as you rush to his side. “Cas,” you whisper, voice sharp with worry. “Again?”

His eyes, heavy and rimmed with exhaustion, find yours. “I’m sorry,” he rasps, voice roughened like gravel on parchment. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

You never doubt him.

You pull him toward the sagging bed, shedding layer after layer—his trench coat, jacket, shirt—until his skin blazes warm beneath your fingertips. Grace flickers and pulses beneath the surface like fire caught in ice.

“I’m fine,” he lies, voice cracked.

“You’re leaking angel-juice again, Cas,” you tease gently, fingers tracing a raw, angry welt just beneath his sternum. The skin there is bruised like a holy brand.

He shivers, blue eyes fixed on you—intense, vulnerable, like he’s waiting for you to see him not as a soldier, but as a man.

“You always touch me like that,” he admits, voice trembling.

“Like what?” you ask softly, hand lingering against the steady thrum of his heart.

“Like… I’m not a soldier.”

Silence stretches like a prayer. You don’t pull away. You don’t want to—not yet.

II. The Kiss That Unravels Everything

“You’re safe now,” you whisper, the words soft, sacred.

His breath slows, a deep exhale that seems to carry the weight of eternity. “Only when I’m here,” he says, voice thick with something fragile and real.

You realize your knees brush his, your palm pressed against the rapid beat of his heart, and that you’re dangerously close. The space between you dissolves—thick with longing, weighted with the quiet ache of years spent apart from this kind of touch.

Then, ever so slowly, Cas leans in.

His lips brush yours—a tentative, featherlight kiss like the first drop of rain after a drought. His nose bumps awkwardly against yours. You taste the faint metallic tang of his blood, the sweetness of worn leather and whispered prayers.

He doesn’t pull away.

His hands tremble as they settle at your waist, grounding himself in the mortal warmth beneath his skin. You feel his grace quiver, an electric pulse beneath his touch.

When he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his voice breaks. “I’ve wanted to.”

“Me too.”

You don’t wait. You climb into his lap, straddling him like a whispered promise. His hands map your curves with trembling reverence—hips, waist, small of your back—learning the language of skin.

His mouth trails kisses down your neck—slow, worshipful, aching. His groan when you tangle your fingers in his thick hair is raw, desperate, full of need and wonder.

“Cas,” you breathe, breathless. “We can stop if you want.”

His voice cracks open, rough with longing. “I want to feel it. I want to feel you.”

III. His First Time

Undressing is slow—a ritual. Each piece of clothing shed with reverence, a prayer to flesh and spirit. When your shirt slips over your head, his breath catches, rough and sudden. His eyes drink you in, not with hunger, but awe—the reverence of a soul seeing the divine in flesh for the first time.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, voice thick and trembling.

You guide his hands gently, placing them on your body. “Touch me, Cas. It’s okay.”

His hands are tentative at first—light as feathers—but when they press firmer, tracing your waist, cupping your breasts, sliding down your hips, it’s like watching an angel learn to worship.

His mouth follows, planting kisses low on your belly, shy, earnest, filled with wonder.

When he finally sinks into you, your breath hitches, sharp and deep. Thick and trembling, he fills you in a way that’s clumsy and perfect all at once. Your skin flushes as the slick sound of flesh sliding against flesh fills the quiet room—wet, warm, utterly intimate.

You move together slowly, deliberately. His hands grip your thighs like rosary beads, his eyes wide and glazed with awe and something raw.

“Is this…” he pants, voice broken, “…right?”

You cup his face, voice thick with affection and heat. “It’s perfect. You’re doing so good, Cas.”

He thrusts once, tentative, and you moan—a slow, breathy sound that unravels him.

Again, stronger. His rhythm builds—a sacred, slow crescendo. His hands roam with growing confidence, fingers digging into your hips as he buries himself deeper. His moans fill your ears—raw, ragged, soaked with need and reverence.

You respond by moving against him, riding him softly—each motion a silent prayer, a giving and receiving. Your breaths mingle, hot and trembling. Your skin slick with sweat glistens in the low motel light.

His lips find your neck, biting gently, nipping between kisses. You whisper his name, soft, encouraging. His response is a broken groan vibrating through your chest.

When he finally unravels inside you—his voice cracking as he calls your name—it’s not just release. It’s salvation.

You collapse into his arms, breathless and trembling, his fingers threading through your hair as he holds you close—like he never wants to let go.

IV. Pillow talk and Perfect

The world falls away.

The motel room is quiet but for the soft hum of the fridge and the mingled sound of your ragged breathing. Your bodies are tangled, skin warm and sticky against each other.

His fingers trace lazy, gentle circles across your back—curious, tender.

Then, hesitant and unsure, he asks, voice soft as a prayer, “Did I… do it right?”

You laugh softly, love and heat threading through the sound. You press gentle kisses to his cheek, then the curve of his jaw, then the delicate shell of his ear.

“Cas… you were perfect.”

Relief floods his features. He sighs, the tension in his body unravelling like a whispered blessing.

Maybe it’s foolish. Maybe it’s terrifying. But lying here—naked, tangled with the angel of the Lord—you feel something dangerously close to peace.

Something like love.

°= THE END =°

[bonesofall]

☆ALL IN - THE SALESMAN☆

cw: dumbification, degradation, praise, bondage, manipulation, mean man, naive! reader, fem reader, use of girl, piv, knife play, blood, age gap, reader is in college, not proofread

Things for you had been painfully mundane since you came to South Korea.

The dream of studying abroad felt like a distant memory now, overshadowed by the crushing weight of student loans, the mounting rent for your tiny, damp apartment, and the gnawing guilt of having asked your parents for help more times than you cared to admit.

You'd been blinded by the shiny promise of a new life, a promise of mastering a language, soaking in vibrant culture, and making lifelong friends. The glossy brochures and campus videos hadn’t prepared you for the harsh reality of your endless part-time job that barely covered utilities, let alone anything fun or remotely exciting.

Instead, you're dodging calls from the bank, turning down invitations to go out from classmates because you can't afford a coffee, and rationing cup noodles and shitty canned food to try and make it to your next payday without starving.

Tonight was no different. A long shift at the convenience store had left your feet aching and your mind clouded with worry about how you’d manage next month’s tuition installment. You were on your way home, the subway platform dim and almost eerily quiet.

Then, like clockwork, your string of bad luck reared its head: the train you’d been sprinting for slid away with a hiss, the doors snapping shut in your face just as you reached the edge of the platform.

You curse, doubling over to catch your breath. Your voice echoed, but no one cared enough to glance your way. You slumped onto the nearest bench, the cold metal biting through the thin fabric of your tacky work pants. You bury your face in your hands, wondering where it all went wrong.

Raising your head, your reflection in the train station's grimy tile wall looked as defeated as you felt—messy tendrils of hair escaped your ponytail, your makeup patches in some areas, and there was a hole in the sleeve, one you kept telling yourself you’d fix but never did.

The cold silence of the station was broken by a soft, measured voice.

"Hello."

You blinked, startled, and looked up to see a man standing a few feet away. He was dressed impeccably, a dark suit fitting him perfectly, his posture relaxed but poised. His voice was calm, almost soothing, like he had all the time in the world to talk to someone as unremarkable as you.

You didn’t answer immediately, caught off guard by his presence. Who even approached people in subway stations like this? But there was something disarming about the way he smiled—not overly friendly, not threatening. Just calm.

Dangerous.

The man studied you for a moment, his head tilting slightly. In his mind, he noted how exhaustion clung to you, from the slouch of your shoulders to the defeated look in your eyes. Still, there was something quite captivating about you—maybe the soft, shiny hair framing your face, the long lashes shrouding sparkling, wide eyes, or the way defeat lit up your features just a moment ago when you cursed at the train. He tilts his head, still staring.

Pretty, he thought briefly, but he said nothing of it.

"You’re a foreigner, aren’t you?" he asked smoothly, his tone making it sound more like an observation than a question.

You stared back at him, swallowing thickly. He was the kind of handsome you didn't often see. It seemed untrustworthy, like his looks were meant to lure you into a false sense of intrigue. His dark hair is slicked back perfectly, and he's smiling lightly, though it doesn't seem to meet his eyes.

You hesitated but nodded, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. "Yes sir. I’m not from around here."

He let out a hum of understanding, and he can't deny the heat that spreads through his body at your breathy voice and the way you call him sir like he's superior to you. "Ah, that explains it. You have the look of someone far from home." He gestured to the empty bench beside you. "Mind if I sit?"

He didn’t even wait for an answer, lowering himself onto the edge of the bench with an easy grace, his briefcase resting neatly at his feet.

"What brings you here?" he asked, his tone still conversational, like he wasn’t prying but genuinely curious.

"School," you muttered, feeling oddly self-conscious under his calm gaze. "I’m studying here. Well, I was supposed to be studying here, mister. Things haven’t exactly gone as planned."

The man nodded slowly, as though he understood far more than you were saying. "It can be hard, being so far from home. I imagine it’s not easy. Are you on your own?"

You frowned, the vulnerability in his words hitting a little too close to home. You told him the truth before you realized how dumb it was to tell a stranger that you've got no one around who's looking out for your safety. "Yeah, b-but… I’m managing," you said, though even you didn’t sound convinced.

He nodded, still smiling. Somehow it felt both genuine and calculated. Your head was swimming. Was this a result of going so long without any real human interaction?

He leaned forward just slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. His fingers brushed against your sleeve—light, fleeting, casual. The kind of touch that could easily be dismissed, but still made you notice.

"So," he continued smoothly, sliding his fingers lightly through the hole in your sleeve, and he tuts softly. Mockingly. "What are you supposed to be studying?"

"Why does it matter?" you replied, feeling a little defensive, like you had to justify yourself. "Just... psychology. I wanted to study the mind."

“Psychology,” he repeated, his lips quirking up in an impressed smile. “Brains and beauty. Now that’s a combination.”

You stared at him, unsure whether to be flattered or suspicious. The way he looked at you made you feel oddly self-conscious, like he was dissecting every little detail—your messy hair, your tired eyes, even the nervous way you shifted in your seat.

Neither of you speak, and his hand brushed back and forth against your wrist, just long enough to feel deliberate. He notes how soft your skin is, and he looks into your eyes as he speaks again. "So tense. I’m not here to interrogate you. Just making conversation."

You flushed, unsure why your pulse suddenly felt faster. "What do you want?"

His smile widened, smooth as silk. "Maybe I just wanted to brighten your evening. You seemed like you could use some company."

Despite yourself, you let out a breathy laugh, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, well, company doesn’t pay my bills, sir.”

"True," he said, leaning closer now, his tone dropping into something almost conspiratorial.

He wasn't supposed to be doing this. As a recruiter, there were unspoken rules about boundaries. A certain level of professionalism was expected—stay detached, keep the interactions brief, and never get personally involved. But you had caught his attention in a way most didn’t.

Perhaps it was the way in which your soft, wide eyes looked pathetically exhausted, the way your lips pursed and looked chapped from the way you'd worry them between your teeth, or the mild distrust in your tone. He hadn't even asked you to play his game yet.

Whatever it was, he found himself intrigued.

“I don’t usually do this,” he said, his voice dipping into a low, almost intimate tone. His eyes stayed on you, his gaze steady but not overbearing. “But why don’t you come back to my place? It’s quieter, and I promise we can converse much better.”

You blinked, startled by the casual audacity of the offer. Your instincts screamed at you to say no, and despite the faint blush creeping into your cheeks, you managed to find your voice.

“I… don’t think that’s a good idea, sir.” you said lightly, trying to brush it off without making things awkward. “Thanks, though.”

He lets out a soft laugh, leaning back and sliding his hand out of your sleeve so he can take a lock of your hair around his finger, twirling it absentmindedly. He hummed softly, his lips curling into a sly smile.

“Smart girl,” he murmured, leaning close. You avoided his eyes, feeling a mix of embarrassment and unease at how easily he read you. His fingers grazed your thigh, light and fleeting, like it was the most natural thing in the world. The touch sent a shiver up your spine, and yet you didn’t pull away.

He leaned in closer, his presence wrapping around you, the faint scent of cologne mingling with the crisp chill of the subway air. “You’ve got that sharp mind of yours working overtime, don’t you?”

“You’ve been pushing yourself so hard,” he continued, his voice laced with a mix of admiration and something softer, almost indulgent. “You remind me of someone trying to outrun the tide. It’s admirable, really, but how long can you go, all on your own, sweetheart?”

You swallowed hard, his words hitting you in a way you hadn’t expected. He made it sound so effortless, like he saw through every wall you’d carefully constructed.

“And look at you,” he cooed, his fingers trailing down to your wrist, brushing against your skin with a touch so light it was almost maddening. “Still standing, still fighting, even when it feels like the whole world’s against you.”

There was a beat of silence, and then he leaned in just enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek. His tone dropped, intimate and conspiratorial. “But maybe it’s time someone took care of you for a change.”

Your breath hitched, your chest tightening as his words wrapped around you like a cocoon. You weren’t sure if it was the way he said it, or the way his eyes seemed to pierce right through you, but something inside you started to unravel as arousal builds.

He tutted softly, his hand trailing lazily between your legs, spreading them apart softly. You flush, your face warming even more as you start to feel the thin cotton of your panties dampen. It's been so long. You haven't had anyone touch you like this in months. “Such a pretty little thing, aren't you?” he asked, his fingers tracing an idle pattern along the clothed slit of your pussy. “Even like this—tired, worn out. There’s something about you.” He smiled, almost to himself, his tone turning ever so slightly condescending. “Bet no one tells you that enough, do they?”

Your breathing quickened, a shaky whimper leaving your lips. You're still unable to meet his eyes. “It’s a shame, really. A girl like you deserves to hear it. Deserves to feel it.”

You bit your lip, every rational thought in your mind warring against the way he made you feel. Warm. Seen. Desired. He continued to drag two fingers up and down the soft plump lips of your pussy, and you moan, toes curling in your worn sneakers

“You’ve been running yourself into the ground,” he said, his voice honeyed and soft, like he was speaking to a child in need of reassurance. “You don’t have to do that tonight. Let me be the distraction you didn’t know you needed.”

His free hand grazed your jaw, tilting your face slightly toward his. His eyes locked with yours, and his smile deepened, almost triumphant. “Just for a while. Let go of all that stress. Let someone else carry the weight.”

You exhaled shakily, your resistance crumbling as his words seeped into the cracks of your exhaustion. When you finally nodded, your agreement was barely more than a whisper.

“Good girl,” he said softly, his voice dripping with approval. He stood then, extending a hand to help you up, his touch lingering just long enough to make your pulse quicken.

"F-fuck..."

It'd happened more quickly than you'd expected. You didn't even get to have drinks before he'd had you up against the door of his clean, sterile apartment. It didn't look like anyone lived there, from the faint chemical scent it carried and the way the furniture looked unused. His lips were on your throat, one hand pulling your hair back to keep your neck exposed and the other undoing your pants. "You're swearing at me now, are you?" He tuts, leaving a sharp nip against the column of your neck. "That's far too crude for a little girl like you. Where did your manners go?"

You whine at his condescending tone, and he shoves your panties to your ankles along with your pants. He laughs as he palms your pussy. "So wet already, pet? How eager. You're making it too easy for me." He has a finger in you before you can even defend yourself, and he pumps in an almost bored, haphazard fashion, like he's doing a chore. He curls the digit, laughing softly when you scream as he digs the tip of his slender finger onto your sweet spot.

"Pathetic." He breathes. "Did it even occur to you that we haven't exchanged names? You're no better than the whores men pick up on the side of the street. Except that you're a great deal cuter than any prostitute." He pushes two more fingers in one go into your sopping hole, and you wail, your legs beginning to shake at the unfamiliar intrusion.

You hiccup, tears building at your waterline as he drags the pads of his fingers along your walls, his other hand tugging your hair back sharply. He smiles sweetly, pecking your forehead tenderly, before he undoes the buttons of your uniform top, tossing it to the ground, and your bra shortly after.

Your head swims, and you start to register what's happening, and he gives one of your tits a fondle, rubbing his thumb over your pebbling nipple before shoving his face back into your neck and inhaling. "Jasmine and vanilla." he sighs. "How intoxicating. Do you know what you do to me, you silly girl? It's as though my brain has shut off and all i feel is you. I'm not fond of it." He pumps his fingers more firmly inside you, and you moan, trying to grab him and tug him in for a kiss, but he tuts and pushes you back.

"No no. Sluts like you don't get privileges like kissing. They get used." And with that, right before the delightful release of your orgasm, he tears his fingers out from inside you. You let out a sob, before he laughs and mocks your pout, giving your cheek a light slap. He's still fully clothed in his suit. He picks you up swiftly, tossing you over his shoulder and putting you on his huge, cold bed in a room that looks more like an office than a living space, and he tears off his tie.

"Mmm, n-need you, hu-hurts." You beg weakly, feeling so stupid for babbling like a child. Again, he mocks your cries. "It hurts, sweetheart? You're being so greedy. Don't you know you're supposed to wait for your turn?"

You pout, hands reaching for him, which he pushes back and pins above your head, tying them quickly to his bedpost. You keen, writhing on the mattress with displeasure. "You know, I'm really tired of your groveling. You've been nothing but a brat since I brought you here. I miss the shy little thing who couldn't even look me in the eye at the subway. He gives your clit a light pinch, rubbing the heel of his hand against your cunt. Not enough.

"Pl-Please." You beg out, your voice high pitched and broken "I n-n- hic need y-your cock in me, mister, need it."

He hums softly, his thumb on your clit and palm on your dripping cunt as he stares into your pretty eyes, glassy with blown pupils.

"Aw. Is that supposed to convince me?" He shakes his head, dark hair falling beautifully into his eyes. "Why don't you try a little harder?"

"I... I'll... l-let you do anything to me. A-anything y-you w-want, if y-you p-put your cock in me."

His eyes light up as soon as you say it. "Anything, you say?" He pauses his movements, and you whimper at the lack of stimulation. He says no more, simply unbuttoning his shirt and shrugging off his suit jacket, tossing both to the floor. Then, he's unbuckling his trousers. His boxers are slightly damp, and a fat bulge causes the fabric to strain. Your mouth waters at the sight of his sleek abdomen, toned and pale, lacking any imperfections. You want to touch. He coos at the way your eyes sparkle.

"Where's the attitude now, sweet thing? Aren't you the cutest." He finally frees his cock, long, thick, and swollen. His balls are heavy, full, and sit pretty at the base of his veiny shaft. The tip is flushed, and he smirks at the way you marvel at it. You strain slightly, aching to touch, taste, feel. But he won't let you. Instead, he wraps a hand around your throat and smirks, grabbing something from a drawer by his bedside table. Sleek, clean, sharp.

Your blood runs cold.

"What? Scared?" He says, distracting you by sliding his tip up and down your dripping folds. "Shouldn't speak before you think then, pretty little whore. Now." He slides the bulbous tip of his cock inside you, and your back arches at the intrusion, a whiny moan leaving your throat. Beads of sweat drip down the valley of your breasts, and he marvels at the sight, but he doesn't move. In fact, as you buck your hips towards hip, trying to ease more of his cock inside you, he remains deathly still, instead, putting his blade flat against your throat.

You blink, your lips parted. He rocks his hips slightly, stretching you out further by pushing an inch of his cock in you, before he pulls out quickly, and re-enters, putting only his tip in you once more.

You're going crazy. He buries himself inside you to the hilt in one smooth thrust, a soft bulge forming in your tummy from how big he is inside you. You whine loudly, tongue lolling out of your mouth as drool gathers at the side of your mouth, tears spilling down your face. He laughs at how fucked out you already are, a soft grunt leaving his lips.

"Haa, s-so tight... fuck." He starts, unable to resist thrusting in and out a few times, your pussy too wet and too warm to resist the temptation. "You're mi-milking me dry... can barely move inside you."

It's like you were made for him, your gummy walls perfectly stretched out to cling to every last vein and ridge on his cock. Then, he gathers himself again and draws back, leaving just his tip inside you.

Again, you sob in frustration. The world around you spins, and you swallow dryly, pulling at the tie scraping softly against your wrists.

What a stupid little thing you are. He rocks a few inches of his cock inside you teasingly, his thumb pushing down on your clit again while his other hand holds the knife flat against your throat. You stare at him nervously, shaking as he starts to drag the cool metal down your body, and he frowns as you squirm. "Hold still." He commands, but you don't, and he pinches your nipple as punishment, pushing half of his cock in you. Distracted, you pant and moan, and he thrusts inside of you repeatedly, making your head swim. He's loud, groaning and moaning at the way you cling to him with your sloppy walls, your sticky juices coating his cock as he fills you to the hilt.

"Clinging to me so tight." He breathes. "Does the thrill of the pain excite you, princess? I'll show you how it can be." And with that, he cuts into your soft little tummy, right above where your stomach distends from the bloated head of his cock hitting every inch of you.

Moaning, the pleasure and pain makes your head swim, and the coil of an approaching orgasm builds in your stomach. you can't see what he's carving into you, but you feel too good to care. "S-so... g-good," You choke out, hooking your legs around his waist as he grabs your hip with one hand and angles your body up, causing the tip of his cock to kiss your cervix. You scream, letting go as you soak his cock with your cream, and he moans, pounding into you like an animal. He reaches between your legs and gathers your liquids, along with the blood on your stomach, and shoves his fingers into your mouth, so deep that your eyes roll back as the floaty feeling of your orgasm remains. He throws his head back and moans at the way your pussy clings to him when you continue cumming, and he considers pulling out for a moment to cum on your tummy, but with your legs wrapped around him, its clear there's only one place you want him to finish.

"Ahn, please... P-please, i-inside me, sir, want it s'bad" You slur around his fingers, and that's all he needs as he spills rope after rope of hot, thick seed deep inside you, right into your womb, with how deep he is. He takes his fingers out of your mouth and drags your hips to him so you're flush against him, and he fills you up, fingers digging into your sides.

He stays there for a moment before pulling out, letting his cum drip from your weeping, stretched hole, and he smiles and leans down, pressing his lips to your firmly, tasting your liquids on your tongue. His tongue enters your mouth, and he swirls his around yours, getting hard all over again from your taste, and he pulls back before it becomes too much. He smirks down at your fucked out expression, wiping sweat off his forehead as he admires the mark he'd cut onto you.

A pretty little heart for the girl who'd stolen his.

[angelseraphines]

listen i love hwang in-ho as much as the next girl but i am a grieving wife!! i miss cho sang-woo 🥲

[goldennhr-deactivated20251008]

"illusion" -- the salesman (squid game)

the salesman smut, mdni, characters are 18+ warnings: female reader, dom!salesman, drugging, somnophilia, dubcon / noncon, oral sex (female + male receiving), light swearing, rough sex, mild ddlg, mild orgasm denial, dead dove do not eat word count: 2.3k part three of the "round and round" series!

consciousness is a funny concept.

for example, you are conscious, but just barely. you are aware of your existence, but of little much beyond that. you're floating in a sea of darkness; peaceful, cool waves continuously washing over you. everything is dark and silent, and you suddenly become aware that you can't feel your own body. then, a small dot of brightness appears in front of you. it slowly grows bigger, and brighter, until it's all-encompassing. everything glows with a white aura; the waves pulsate rhythmically, heating up until they burn white hot, but nothing hurts. and then you're flying, swooping in and out of consciousness, an old but familiar state of being shoving itself forward to the dominant position of your mind.

you don't want to open your eyes, but you do.

your head is throbbing, your vision slightly blurry. you blink several times, letting out a small groan as you rub your temples. there's a warm feeling in your nether regions, and you instinctively snuggle into the softness surrounding you, frowning as you blink hard to clear the drowsiness from your head. where are you? you're not in your own bed. in fact, you don't even think you're in your own apartment.

dumbass. you got evicted, remember?

huh. that's right. you vaguely remember coming home from a long day of classes to see the eviction notice taped to your door and your stuff thrown outside. you remember packing up your belongings into your suitcase, and then you remember pulling out the business card that the salesm--

the salesman! you sit up. there's rumbling laughter somewhere, and you focus on what's in front of you to see him laying in front of you, hands pushing your legs apart. his face, originally buried in your cunt, breaks out into a smirk as he sees you're awake. "morning," he drawls, voice husky and slightly rough. "sleep well?"

you try to squirm, but there's a dull ache in your legs when you move. you wince, staying still as he gently squeezes your thigh. "what'd you do to me?" you ask.

he shrugs a little. "gave you a little something so you could sleep."

you open your mouth to protest, but it dies in your throat as he lowers his head again, tongue circling your clit a couple of times before he takes it into his mouth and sucks. you find feeling in your hands again and try to push his head away, but his hands easily grab your wrists and pin them down by your sides. you close your eyes, laying your head back on the pillow as he calmly laps at your pussy. your thighs shake a little; you're sensitive, and you have no idea how long he's been going at it.

"stop it," you plead. "I'm sensitive." he ignores you. "simon says stop," you grumble, remembering the last game you were playing.

he actually listens to you this time, lifting his head up and chuckling. he moves up so you're face to face and kisses you deeply, making you taste yourself on him. "you still remember the game. not bad, I'm impressed."

"I also remember I won," you remind him.

he waves you off. "I have your money, don't worry." he gestures to the hundred thousand won on his bedside table. "but I figured you'd be interested in playing another game for more."

you frowned, rubbing your eyes, still drowsy. "more money. . ." you struggle to sit up. "what time is it?"

"morning," he responds simply. "it's saturday."

"saturday. . ." that's right. you try to remember what you were supposed to do today. saturday was usually your day dedicated to studying and going outside to look for jobs.

well. it's not like the salesman wasn't offering a source of income.

"what game?" you ask warily, with only a bit of hesitation.

he smirks, his eyes darkening a little. "I knew you'd ask. wait here." he gets off the bed; he's completely naked, and you blush bright red and turn away at the sight of his erect manhood. he leaves the bedroom, and you're left laying spread open on his bed; you close your legs with some difficulty, as you're kind of numb. you vaguely remember that he ripped your underwear last night and curse him in your head.

he returns a couple minutes later holding a glass bowl filled with little papers. "I made this for you," he announces, plopping down onto the bed next to you and holding it out to you. "pick one."

you glare at him suspiciously, but reach into the bowl and select a piece of paper. unfolding it, you read out what it says: "'mother may I?'"

"ah! one of my favorites." he sets the bowl on the table--next to your hardearned money--and plucks the piece of paper from your fingers. "mother may I. you ask me every time you want to do something, and I can either grant your request or suggest you do something else."

you wait for more instructions, but he smiles at you patiently, and silence falls. "that's it?" you ask in disbelief. "I . . . I ask you if I can do something, and then I just have to do what you say?"

he clicks his tongue. "it sounds so much nicer the way I worded it," he chides. "but yes, that's the general idea."

you scowl. "is that not just another version of 'simon says'?"

he shrugs. "there's a few differences. first, only I get to be the leader. also, I'm not 'mother'. I'm something else." he raises an eyebrow at you, and you get the idea immediately.

"I--ew. no. I-I'm not doing that, that's weird." you flush pink and look away.

"hm. that's too bad. you won't make any money then."

goddamn it. if you weren't in desperate need for money, you would be hightailing it out of here. as it stands, you are in fact in desperate need for money. so you stay. "how do I make money from this game? it's not like there's a winner."

"you're right," he hums, "clever girl. I'll make it easy for you. as long as you can complete the game successfully, I'll give you a hundred thousand won. that means asking before you do anything, and taking my suggestions when I give them. oh, and don't forget to properly address me."

"you have issues," you mutter, turning away as your face flushes.

he chuckles, a low rumble in his chest. "you love it."

you rub your temples, shaking your head and sighing deeply. the things you do for money. it's ridiculous. "may I . . . I don't know, may I go take a shower?" you shift uncomfortably, feeling dried cum all over your pussy and inner thighs.

he raises his eyebrows, and you scowl. "daddy," you mutter grudgingly.

"hm?" he asks. "I didn't quite hear you."

infuriating. "daddy, may I go take a shower?" you bite out.

he pretends to consider it for a few seconds. "no. but you may lie back down and let me eat your pretty cunt. I wasn't done when you woke up."

all the hope drains out of you. of course, why had you hoped he would actually let you do anything? you bite your lip, seriously considering jumping and trying to make a run for it. but you have just a little funny feeling that that wouldn't really work. so you lay back down, although you're glaring at him the whole time. he notices how you're looking at him and snickers, lowering himself so he's face to face with your pussy. his wet tongue licks up your opening before swirling your clit and sucking harshly. then he repeats the motion, his tongue pressing harder against you, and you can't help the small whimper that falls from your lips. your hips involuntarily push against him, and you can feel him smile against you. the asshole's enjoying this.

"don't forget the game," he reminds you, voice slightly muffled as he continues lapping at your juices. his fingers gently squeeze your thighs, and he lets out a low growl as you squirm against him.

"daddy," you pant out. "daddy, may I. . ." you frown as you try to figure out what to say. you're unable to stop the moans that fall from your lips as his tongue works inside you. "may I touch your hair?" you finally gasp out.

he hums against your pussy. "you may," he responds, and you entangle your hands in his hair, tugging a little as he continues to eat you out. you moan as you feel your release building, pushing your pussy closer to his mouth.

"close," you squeak out, feeling a tingling sensation start to spread in your lower region.

"ah ah ah," he taunts. "don't forget the rules, dear."

that's right. you can't lose, you need this money. "daddy, may I come?" you gasp out.

"hm. you may not," he answers shortly, and you let out a pitiful whine as you clench yourself, trying to stop your high. but he, being as cruel as always, doesn't let up his pace, his tongue skillfully prodding at your entrance before slipping out to suck on your clit some more.

you can barely think straight, writhing around on the bed and twisting the sheets around in your hands. "please!" you cry, legs starting to tremble. "I-I can't hold it--"

"pathetic," he snorts. "go on then, come."

you practically yank his hair as you let the pleasure overwhelm you, arching your back off the bed and keening as he eagerly laps at your juices, not stopping until you've exhausted yourself and lay twitching on the bed. you wipe your forehead, which is moist with sweat, and realize you're trembling. he detaches himself from your pussy--there's a thin string of saliva and cum connecting his lips to your hole still--and licks his lips. "good girl," he praises.

you frown. you could have sworn--are you dreaming? is it just your imagination?--that his eyes softened a little just then. but before you can dwell on this illusion for much longer, he's climbing on top of you and practically sitting on your chest, pinning you to the bed. he taps his cock, heavy and erect, against your lips.

"I think it's time you repay the favor, hm?" he suggests. "daddy insists."

and you know this is code for "do it or you're not getting the money", but the size of him still intimidates you. nervously, you open your mouth a little bit to kitten lick his tip. he lets out a low groan at the contact, leaning over to grip the headboard of the bed. he pushes deeper into your mouth, forcing you to take him all the way in. you gag around him, feeling him in your throat as he pushes to the hilt. your nose is pressed up against his skin, your hands desperately pushing at his hips.

he must sense that you're struggling to breathe, because he looks down at you and at least has the decency to not start moving immediately. "breathe," he instructs. "through your nose. in, out. there you go."

you frown, grimacing as you try to adjust to having his cock in your mouth. when you can finally breathe without gagging around him, he starts to move, dragging his veiny cock in and out of your mouth. you let him use your mouth; low growls and grunts fall from his lips as he pushes in and out, in and out. at one point, you hollow out your cheeks and suck. he grunts sharply in response to this and grabs your hair, yanking harshly. "good girl," he praises breathlessly. "that's a good girl. do that again."

and you obey, trying to bring him the most amount of pleasure possible. soon he's fucking into your mouth like there's no tomorrow, jumbled praises that slur together falling out of his mouth. as his pace increases, you can tell he's close; his heavy balls slap against your chin every time he pushes into you, and you can tell your throat will be bruised tomorrow.

with a guttural roar, he pushes into you one last time and stays there. you feel his hot seed shoot into your mouth and down your throat, and you cough, gagging a little. he grabs your head and keeps himself stuffed inside your mouth, forcing you to swallow around him. then he pulls out, letting you roll onto your side as a coughing fit seizes you.

he collapses beside you, pulling you into his chest by your hips. "there's a good girl," he croons, stroking your hair. "that's another hundred thousand won you've won yourself. congratulations."

"thanks," you grumble, closing your eyes and sighing heavily. despite your hatred of him, you let yourself melt into his strong embrace. "are we still playing the game?"

he chuckles. "just tell me, what do you want?"

there's a lot of things you want. you decide to settle for the simplest one. "I think I want a shower first."

"a shower. sure."

you wait for it, eyes still closed.

"as long as I'm there with you."

that's it. there it is. "fine," you grumble. "but no funny business, okay? I'm sensitive after everything."

"yeah, yeah. I get it. hey, do you want to know a secret?" he hums lightly.

you crack an eye open suspiciously. "what?"

he looks down at you, an awful smirk on his face. "every slip of paper in that bowl had ‘mother, may I?' written on it."

motherfucker.

______________________________________________________________

people who requested tags: @tojisrealwifey @cupidzslvt @marihoneywk @strangerthingsfan969

[trans-ralsei]

[trans-ralsei]

[caughtthedarkness93]

I love my job, but reblogging employment jelly for someone else I love.

[muntitled]

Indebted

Pairings: The Salesman x Fem!reader

Summary: He wouldn't call it jealousy... He just wasn't very fond of sharing his toys.

Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Jealousy Language, Violence, Age gap, God Complex, Brainwashing, Psychopathy, Blood, Gore, Codependency, Yandere!Salesman, Stalking, Smut (+18) mdni, Caning, Forced Orgasm, Controlled Orgasm, Dumbification, Impact Play, Blood Play, Blood Kink, Sadomasocism, Dom!Salesman, Sub!Reader, Rough Sex, Blood Play, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Sadism, Punishments, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Overstimulation

A/n: I'm not responsible for the media you consume

4k words

"Seriously, if it weren't for your help, I'd probably fail this module-" you meet him at the door, your Salesman, who's come to play one of his games. He arrives just as you're ushering someone else out.

"It's honestly my pleasure," you say, "You've made me feel useful."

As you speak, you open your front door to reveal your Salesman standing on the opposite end of the threshold.

You hadn't been smiling, not until you saw him standing there in a crisp, well-fitted navy blue suit. He's not looking at you. Not immediately. His eyes are trained on the boy you're standing beside. The one who's slipping on his sneakers, still murmuring about how incredibly grateful he is for your tutoring.

'It's nothing,' you replied modestly, even though it was most definitely not nothing to dedicate your entire Wednesday afternoon to tutoring. The boy is a first year and budding with the need to get better in psychology. His essay would have been flawless, had it not been for the grammatical and spelling errors that plagued the page. You'd both sat for the majority of this Wednesday afternoon hacking through the issues and improving on his spelling. It was endearing. To be in university and still need a spelling tutor.

"Thanks so much for the help." The boy tries to maneuver his lanky frame past your Salesman who takes up the majority of the space by your little doorway.

"See you next week." He shoots you a small smile before giving an uneasy glance to your Salesman.

"Hello." Says the Salesman, so painfully formal it causes a wave of unease to swell. He peers down at the boy like a tiny little thing.

"H-Hey." Your student replies before thanking you once more.

When he leaves and it's just you and the man you're paid to please every Wednesday evening, an uneasy sort of silence settles between you both.

You're smiling up at him.

And he's smiling down at you but it's different somehow. Tighter. Not a genuine smile at all.

Although admittedly, none of his smiles were genuine. His entire face was a carefully orchestrated scam, to get any suspecting victim to trust him.

And yet somehow, this smile feels more phoney.

Like a tempest is brewing beneath.

Before you're able to dissect it further, he's already stepping closer, letting his large, elongated shadow fall on you. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"The last time you came to my house, you killed someone." You lean against the door, your hip leaning against the wood as you fold your arms over your chest. His eyes zero in on the movement and a rare occasion occurs: You feel powerful. That's the last thing you've ever been made to feel in his presence.

"It took a week to get the smell of blood and death out of my room." You continue.

He lifts his hands in front of you, showing the briefcase that hangs from his heavy fingers and the blisters coating his palms. Like a magician convincing you his hands were clean, "I come in peace." That deep and gravelly vibrato veneering his voice causes a tantalizing hum to run all the way down your spine, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. You step aside, staring blankly ahead of you as he steps into your house, bombarding everything with his presence.

From his brisk walk alone, trudging into your apartment like he owns the palace (which he regrettably does) you almost immediately realize that something is wrong. You are not under the impression that you've done anything to make him angry but unease still rolls in your stomach like a tempest that's brewing. When you make it into your adjoining living that bleeds into the kitchen, you find him standing in the kitchen. He lowers his briefcase onto the counter before resting both his heavy hands there.

You move to the other side of the counter, leaning down- giving him a more than perfect view of the cleavage spilling from your dress. You hope it might appease him as you try to wrack your mind for possibile slip-ups that would've caused this terrible silence.

This little-to-no-conversation between you both makes your dynamic feel like the transaction that it actually is: a girl, who needs her university fees paid and a sadist who wants his needs met. Feelings weren't in the equation and yet, your heart stops when he asks,

"How was school?"

"School was school." You reply, sounding pathetically excited to finally hear his voice since the moment he entered your little home.

"Although," you peer down at your jittery fingers on the counter. Your nerves are shot to hell as you admit, "I don't know how proactive I'm going to be tonight-”

He was a ruthless dominant, never failing to leave you absolutely spent by the end of the night. It left you with great discomfort to not be able to perform to the greatest of your abilities during these sessions. “I'm so tired... I've got this psychology quiz and-"

"Who was that?" His questions cut through yours like the tip of a hot knife.

“Who was who?” You ask.

He only smiles before turning his back to you, frantically pulling open cupboards as he says, “Rice. Where's the rice? Do you have rice?”

“The cupboard in the bottom row- Who are you referring to?”

He pulls out your tall container of rice and you watch him round the counter with it in his hands. “This place is so fucking small.” He says, popping the lid of the container, “Reminds me of my childhood home.” He stands right in the only open space in your apartment and all you do is watch as he tips the container over, watching millions of rice grains scatter to the bare floor.

“THAT'S MY FOOD, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU-”

His voice is like molten lava when he looks down at you and points toward the ground. “Kneel.”

You feel nothing but cold air slide across your exposed arms when he trudges back to your little kitchen. Your mind reels and your stomach sinks and sinks and sinks- burning a hole through the rest of your organs.

“Am I being punished for something?”

“Be a good girl and kneel on the rice.” He says and because you were nothing but a slave to the dominance in his voice, you slowly lower yourself to the ground. From behind the kitchen counter he watches your face contort into unmistakable pain as the rice grains dig into your knees. He takes a while but soon you're fully kneeling on the floor. He rounds the counter once again until he's standing before you.

“That… child that was just here,” his voice is eerily calm as he caresses your cheek, “Who was that?”

Had you been in any other situation, under vastly different circumstances, you might have looked for the urge to laugh. His blatant jealousy of some university first-year was nothing if not laughable.

“He's just a friend from class- ah.” It almost becomes unbearable but for the sake of your self preservation, you know not to get up.

He continues to caress you, loosening his tie as he asks. “Which class?”

“P-Pardon?”

“You mean to tell me you only go to one class?” He snaps and you fight off tears, “What the fuck am I paying for?”

“You're paying for me to get my psychology degree.” You reply with feeble words, trying to put away the thought of all the little stabbings plaguing your knees.

“And does that entail sleeping with your classmates?”

“What?!” You screech as he walks away. You're suddenly left without nothing to hold onto and you sway forward, your palms landing on more rice.

“Y-You know I don't do that.” You cry, feeling the sting more from the accusation than the pain of all this bloody rice, “Y-You know I don't sleep around- You know I don't talk to anyone-”

You hear his briefcase click open. From your vantage point on the lowly rice-filled floor, you cannot see what he's taking out. It fills you with more dread than you've ever experienced before. Which was utterly ridiculous.

With him, dread is a thing you ought to be accustomed to. Dread is where you live now. You ought to get comfortable with it.

“Such a shame.” He tsks as he finally rounds the corner to reveal whatever it is he's gone to go fetch. His dress shoes clack against your recently varnished floor and you breathe heavily. The pain had subsided- or perhaps you've gotten used to it- which scares you more than anything. He's messing with your pain threshold. Causing you to build a tolerance for certain things and that terrifies you.

Hidden under all that terror was unmistakable lust.

God help you.

“I thought we were making progress, you and I.” you see the cane first. Made of rattan, it hangs from his strong hand corded with tense veins. A gleaming watch is secured around his wrist and you're already shaking your head as you slowly look up at him. Now the tears are right by the doorway. No matter how much pain he forces you to get accustomed to you could never survive this. Your body still has limits.

“He just asked me to help him with his spelling- Please!”

He raises an eyebrow. “Spelling, you say?” he pats down on your head, eliciting a dizzying wave of subordination as he says, “I think you've just given us our game for tonight, Doll.” He bends down, knees bending until he's somewhat closer to your height. He's still far too big for you. Far too much. You try to crawl backwards, you try to crawl away but he grabs you by your face. You're quite literally being expertly manhandled as he turns you around until you're on your knees in the opposite direction.

“Please…” You're begging but you don't know what for. Once his games were set in motion, nothing could stop him.

Your movements still when you fill him lower his large hand onto your backside. It's so big and warm and you momentarily forget about the rice digging into your skin. He slowly lifts up the skirt of your dress, revealing your underwear beneath.

“Our little Spelling Bee,” he lowers your panties down your thighs, causing a shiver to wrack through your entire body. It's pointless to hide how affected you are by every little thing he does.

“For every word you spell right,” he lifts your leg for you, giving you momentary reprieve from the pain as he manoeuvres you out of the underwear, “You get to cum.”

You'd never felt more degraded: being forced onto doggy style onto a million grains of rice while this man lets his fingers graze over your exposed cunt. He parts your folds and a wave of embarrassment rolls over your face. It's all so normal to him though, just sticking his fingers inside your cunt. He does it with the professionalism of gynecology and all you're able to do is stare blankly ahead while he prods at you.

“We can't make things too easy, though, so you're gonna keep this little thing warm for me while we play,”

You're craning your neck back, trying to get a look. “What thi-”

You release one hoarse gasp when he inserts something round and bulbous and vibrating, straight into your cunt.

“Th-This isn't a game. It's a punishment.” You say through gritted teeth, trying to fight off a moan as the vibrator hums inside you, “I've only ever had sex with one person-”

You. That voice pipes up in the back of your head, feeble as you felt. You think back on the time you gave him your virginity. It had been a bloody affair.

The second his cock ruptured your hymen and the blood began to coat your thighs, it only made him ravage you more. You'd gone to bed crying that night, your tears soaking into your pillows. You were unable to get up and head to classes the next day. All that pain and yet you also felt so incredibly fulfilled. The pain was a godsend.

But this pain? It's angry.

He's angry and he's punishing you for it.

Silence follows your pleas.

“Are you done?” He asks and your shoulders slump as the tears begin to fall. The urge to grind down onto the vibrator coupled with the rice stabbing your knees puts you in an odd predicament. The inner workings of your body is being made a fool of and he's the root cause.

“I'm afraid you've gotten too comfortable with me-”

“Comfortable?” You scoff, whipping your head back to glare at the man watching you with calm eyes and raised eyebrows. “I could never feel comfortable around you.”

“And you've forgotten your place.” He smiles before standing to his full height, “Letting little boys over to your place-”

“We were studying-”

“I've gone soft on you as of late.” He lets his other hand drag across the length of the hard cane. “Shame on me. It's clearly deluded you into forgetting about our arrangement.”

He steps around you until he's once again standing in front of you. “You've forgotten your place as a thing.”

He grabs your face. “My thing.”

You do a very wrong thing then.

You moan.

It's soft and insecure and so dreadful but you moan

His eyes search yours. You can see the pleasure diluting them. Causing them to go as round as saucers.

He wants to lean into that sound you just made, but he's still furious with you and that sends you into a spiral.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry, okay-”

“So you admit you're a slut?” He asks, inches the buttons of his blaze as he readies his assault. “You whore yourself out to that little boyfriend of yours.”

"Boyfriend?” It's laughable. “Me?”

“Are you condescending me?” He asks darkly and you screech in frustration.

“You know I don't talk to anyone- Why are you so angry with me!?”

“You haven't seen angry, Little girl.” His face is calm. Dangerously so. “You haven't fucking seen angry.”

A shiver wracks through your body as you look up at his cold dead eyes.

“Fine.”

Whatever it takes.

“I am a slut-” you really weren't and the words barely register as truth but you're scrambling as he steps away from you. His hands folded in front of him and he appears oh so in control as he says, “Your first word is Gorgeous.”

You breathe out as you try to refocus enough to successfully spell the word.

“G-Oh.. fuck.” Your cunt spasms around the device and your eyes roll back. You're rocking backwards and forwards, frantically searching for friction that just isn't there. He loves the show you put on for him, writhing on the floor like a puppy in heat. He barely contains his glee as he raises his hand and says, “Wrong.”

“W-What!?” you blink, trying to shake away your pleasure-filled daze, “N-no that wasn't my final-”

“G-o-r-g-e-ou-s,” he says smugly as he moves until he's behind you. Your body tenses and the world shatters when he darkly repeats, “Wrong.”

The cane cracks through the air before it ever lands on your backside. The word ‘sting’ doesn't begin to cover the utter agony that blossoms across your asscheeks. All you know for all those seconds is white hot pain. Everything is at attention, and your body vitaly tries to urge you to take care of the inflicted wound but you can't.

“Sane.” He's breathing heavily as he walks over to stand in front of you. He's getting riled up, a strand of black hair falls in front of his almond eyes. His shoulders rise and fall and rise and fall. Seeing you get caned once does unspeakable things to his resolve. “Your next word is sane.”

Too easy.

"W-Which one?" You blink through the pain, trying to will the tears away. The second you slipped into self pity, it'd be over for you. "S-Sane is a homophone.” You say thickly. The pain. The pain. The pain. “There's Sane,” you glare up at him through wet lashes, “Which you very much aren't-" that amuses him greatly. You're regrettably far too happy to hear the dark chuckle. “Then there's Seine, like the fishing variety-”

He places his hand on your head. “Clever girl. I thought you didn't have a dad.”

“I don't,” you hiccup, “I just like fish. Men aren't the only fishers in the fucking world.”

“Smart mouth.” He pulls away again until he's standing at his full posture. “You use it like that with the boy from Psyche?”

Your shoulders slump and you don't care about the desperation in your voice as you reaffirm, “I'm telling you I haven't done anything-”

“Seine as in the fishing practice. Spell it.”

“S-E-I-N-E” your eyes are squeezed shut as you take a strike from a whip that never comes. Your eyes that had once been squeezed shut, slowly flit open and you're amazed to see his grinning face right in front of you. Every wrinkle running like tributaries around his eyes. The smile lines. He's so handsome it's devastating.

“Correct.” He says. “You're allowed to cum. Congratulations.” Just those few words have your eyes rolling into the back of your skull as you begin to rock back and forth. You lean into the pleasure like a warm and fluffy blanket during aftercare. It's a godsend and it has you moaning and whining into the air.

“Let me give you a hand,” he says, before stopping to deliver that signature, “My little winner.” He brings you in close, your hands cling onto his forearm while the other reaches behind you. He delivers a kiss to your forehead as his fingers find your puffy clit.

“I'm gonna-”

“Cum for me my Clever girl. Cum for me before I change my mind,” There is nothing but him. He consumes you as you fervently hump against his hand on all fours like the animal he reduced you to. Your hips move on their own accord and in his eyes, you can see his own pleasure mounting. Its in the gravel in his voice when he clears his throat and says, “Thank me for letting you cum.” your orgasm crashes down on you and it's ferocious. It's vicious. It's guttural. The rice underneath you still serves as a reminder of your punishment and that somehow has you coming harder.

“Thank you for letting me cum Sir,”

his eyes flutter shut and his chest expands as he basks in your servitude. He breathes it in, letting it settle in his bones, making him feel as important as he needs to.

“N-No more, please,” you whisper once the orgasm passes. He doesn't switch off the vibrator and soon the pleasure bleeds into a painful discomfort. the aftershocks rattle through your body as you drift into overstimulation, “Please-Done-” you became horribly useless with your words when he had you like this, and he watches you so intently as if not only turned on by your torture but so completely intrugued by it. You intrigued him.

“Stop-” You begin but he chuckles as he moves away from you. He straightens his suit and readies the cane, “Why? You’re not even bleeding yet.” He says, “Suck it up.”

“Oh my god, I need to come again,” it rolls through you quite literally out of nowhere and you gasp as you try to keep it at bay. Cumming without having won a round was a breach in the rules of the game and you didn't wanna do that.

“Well then, I guess you better spell the next word for me.” he says with a smile.

You swallow thickly. Your previous win elicits a tiny sliver of confidence and spelling is something you excel in so you steel your nerves. You breath in deeply and stare blankly ahead.

“Honorificabilitudinitatibus.”

You immediately look up at him.

“Latin words arent-” another aftershock rams through you. You're so close to cumming completely hands-free. “L-Latin words aren't allowed.”

Nothing but a dark chuckle escaped him at your expense. “I had no idea you were making the rules.” He says sarcastically. “Had no idea the cane's in your hand.” That draws your gaze to the cane, leaning in his palm.

Point made.

He could throw in whatever wild-card word he wanted because he held the cane.

“H-o-n-o-r-” you make the mistake of looking up at him then. He's gazing down at you with his head tilted slightly to the right. His cane behind his back as he leans down slightly.

“No cumming,” he tsks, shaking his head. “Disqualified.”

“B-But I didn't-” even as you say those words, you feel it. The lightning zipping through you like a phantom. A ditzy sort of smile flashes across your face as you succumb to the pleasure being forced out of you. “F-Fuck-” its so painful and so fucking good you're seeing stars. He runs a hand through his messy hair and the cane comes down on your backside. This time it draws blood.

“I'm a rusty old man, glad to see I've still got a firm grip,”

“P-Please-” You're still caught in the world of unicorns and rainbows. Your orgasm is center stage, in spite of all the pain. You didn't even know your body could cum for this long. You didn't think it was possible but here you are, riding wave after wave of pleasure induced by a vibrator in your cunt while he canes you almost mindlessly.

He transcended every realm of physical possibilities.

He's breathing heavily now as the cane falls to the floor. The end is bloody. You stare down at the floor while he moves behind you.

“Don't forget, this is a transaction,” Behind you he kneels behind you, his fingers graze your backside, “This is about you avoiding student debt for the rest of your miserable life. A life you'll probably spend married to some depressed drunk who beats you and doesn't even let you cum.” A hand pulls you back by your hair until you're seated on your haunches. Skin had broken.

Your blood drips down your backside like a marble statue in the rain. There were marks. Scars.

“You're indebted to me.” He says behind you. “Say it.”

“I'm indebted to you.”

“Thank me for hitting you, Doll.” His hands drift over your body. The softest touch after these moments of brutality.

Th-" You struggle to catch your breath as he digs his fingers in your cunt, finally freeing you of the vibrator that rattles to the floor, “Thank you… for hitting me.”

He hums into your hair, smelling you, feeling you. “You're welcome, my little winner,”

You hear the sound of his zipper, and frantic movements behind you. You're utterly spent. You'd let him do anything he wanted. Anything at all.

“You look so pretty, Baby. Look at you,” his fingers swipes down the arch of your back. He brings his hand around to show you the crimson dropping from his index. Almost automatically as if the two of you were in communication far beyond that of human understanding, he brings your finger forward the same time you dip your head lower and roll your tongue out. Until the taste of your own blood drawn from all his sadistic torture is wiped along your tongue.

He groans. “I wanna jerk off with your blood.” He admits, “Fuck-”

You gasp, beginning to rock on haunches as if you could still feel that vibrator inside you, “Please- don't say stuff like that-”

This was bad enough.

You were bad enough.

He's already corrupted you to a point where you didn't even recognize yourself.

Where is the quiet, shy girl you had been? She's drowning under all the blood he'd spilled to make himself cum. She's buried under all the pain, all the turmoil and all the damn torture.

You don't miss her

"Pl-lease fuck me, I need it." Your voice is hoarse and you realize you're making demands but still you peer at him over your shoulders. Your tired eyes plead with him.

“I never ever ask you for anything. I've let you control everything.”

While you speak, your voice deep and hoarse, his hand is already moving over his erection. He bends you forward, until you're in doggy style again. Fabric rustles. Your limbs are trembling.

“For once, just grant me th-” the words are barely out your mouth before he's shoving his cock all the way inside you.

“O-Oh God!” Your eyes squeeze shut as he fucks you on the floor like a rabid animal. You try to crane your head back, to watch him ravage you.

His hair is a mess, his tie completely undone. He's everything he tries to hide from the rest of the world. Nothing but an untamed beast.

“Your cunt is so fucking tight-” he says, resting his hands on bloody ass. He guides your movements, pulling you roughly down on his cock until you're screaming into the open air. You're both like animals. You've both regressed to the very basis of your instincts.

“I need to see your blood on my cock,” He's already pulling out of you. The sound reverberates with finality all around the apartment and you cry. It's all you're able to do as you crane your head back to watch him stroke his cock with a bloodied fist.

“Are you ready to cum for me again, baby?”

Your lips are quivering as you rock backwards urging his cock in, “L-Like you won't believe,”

“Then cum for me, Princess.” He says, sliding his cock back inside your overstimulated cunt. Your orgasm is instant and swift and it rocks through you, tightening your cunt around his cock like a vice. His movements grow more frantic as he fucks you through it, keeping a firm grip on your ass.

Your mouth falls open when you realize he's fucking his own cum and your blood back into you and its all too much. He throws his head back when he cums, letting his hips stutter against your ass and the world spins.

“You're s-such a fucking slut,” he laughs manically. You've quite literally given yourself to a sadistic monster and the post nut clarity is vicious.

“I want to take you out,” he says, way softer than he had been a minute ago.

Your body tenses. “Out? Where-”

“Dinner.” He says. “You deserve it… my little winner.”

If you knew anything about anything, you knew it wouldn't just be any ordinary dinner.

But who were you to refuse?

[muntitled]

Protecting His Investment

Pairings: The Salesman x Fem!Reader

Summary: No one gets to hurt you except him.

Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Language, Implied Violence, Age gap, God Complex, Brainwashing, Psychopathy, Murder, Blood, Gore, Codependency, Yandere!Salesman, Stalking, Smut (+18) mdni, Voyeurism, Blood Kink, Sadomasocism, Dom!Salesman, Sub!Reader, Choking, Rough Sex, Oral Sex, Blood Play, fingering, Massive Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Sadism, Punishments, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Squirting, Overstimulation

A/n: I'm not responsible for the media you consume.

This can be read as a continuation of this fic but not strictly

“Shouldn't I be blindfolded?"

If it weren't for the silence simmering between you both, in this monotonous taxi drive, he might’ve not heard you at all and perhaps you should have been more careful with your choice of wording but you were feeling a tiny bit reckless this Wednesday afternoon. He hadn't ever offered to personally fetch you from campus, and you felt incredibly juvenile when you spotted him standing there like a dad, in his grown-up suit while his briefcase hung in his hands in front of him. You'd almost convinced yourself that you were imagining things. That somehow your obsession with the man who kidnaps you every Wednesday to fulfill all his messed up fantasies was truly taking a toll on your mental health.

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, he was real. And he had come to pick you up and you were feeling awfully giddy as he ushered you both into a taxi while a few of your peers stood and stared.

By now he would've blindfolded you. Keeping you completely clueless to the location he brings you to every Wednesday. See, your Salesman had myriad deep rooted issues. Mania. Sociopathy. Sadism. But the issue that irked you the very most was his inability to trust. Before you know it, you're pouting up a storm as you ask him. "Why aren't we using the blindfold today?"

He slowly removes his gaze from the window, where he had been pondering like the old man he is. He quirks up an eyebrow, letting the intensity of his attention wash completely over you.

"Would you like to be blindfolded?" He asks playfully. His eyes are sparkling with amusement and his lips are quirked up like it usually is when he's being sardonic. Still, you remain cautious as you lean forward. You send one quick glance to the taxi driver, wondering if you were being led in some kind of hearse on the road to your death.

"A-Are you going to kill me?" For the first time, cold, white fear ices the warm blood rushing through your veins. Come to think of it, he did seem far chirpier than usual. Perhaps that should have been your first warning. The flags were blood red but you were wearing rose-tinted glasses.

He only snickers before placing a heavy hand on your head, patting it down.

He doesn't answer you for the duration of the taxi drive, causing you to slip more and more into your thoughts of morbidity and despair. Why else wouldn't he blindfold you if not to end your life once you got there? It seemed dreadfully logical and so on-brand for him. He'd get bored of you sooner or later and then he'd dispose of you. There'd be no need to blindfold you any longer while he took you to his place because you'd soon become a corpse and-

"Doll." The voice cuts through the chatter filling your brain. All at once, the car has stopped, and warm air rushes into the interior as he holds the door open for you. "Get out of the nice man's car." He jests politely, quickly prompting you to unbuckle your seatbelt and scramble out of the taxi.

The second you're out he walks ahead of you. The building that comes into focus before you have your brows crinkling.

You quickly catch up to him, gazing up at his monotonous face. "Why are we here? You never come to my house."

He doesn't respond as you both walk into the foyer. He walks briskly and powerfully, like a man on the move while you send a small wave to the security manning the front desk. You both enter an empty elevator and he presses a button without you ever having to tell him which floor.

"You're going to kill me, aren't you?"

He lowers his gaze to you, one eyebrow quirked up.

"You only die when you disappoint me and as of late," he stares directly ahead, "You haven't disappointed me."

The elevator dings and he steps out. You follow him like a puppy without a leash. "In fact I'd say your work ethic as of late has been-" he blows out a long sigh as he makes it your apartment door- recalling all the weeks you two have spent together in vivid kaleidoscopic images. All the pain you let him inflict on you and pleasure he'd offer as a reward.

"-nothing short of stellar. I'm proud of you." He punches in the code to your apartment and you both enter. The curtains are drawn shut because your roommate hates sunlight. You preferred it but there was no communicating with something like her.

He kicks off his shoes at the door.

"What are we doing here?" You ask nervously, "My roommate will be back soon and she isn't very nice."

"We won't be playing at my place today." He says finally meeting your wild and nervous eyes. He seems so lax and so in control. "We'll be playing here."

"B-But my roommate."

"Is that why you were crying?" His gaze keeps you rooted to the floors, unable to move even if you wanted to, "Because of your roommate?"

"Crying? I wasn't crying-"

"Back at the university," he says, casually removing a microscopic piece of lint from his grey blazer, "Your head was beant and you looked up at me with bloodshot eyes." His eyes shine with amusement as he says, "Usually with our sessions, the crying only comes later on." Then he quirks his head and asks, "What happened?" There's a bang somewhere in the apartment and your head snaps forward. Your eyes scan over the adjoining living room and kitchen but he seems unfazed.

"It's stupid-" you shake your head, "Like who even still gets bullied in uni?"

You laugh pitifully, leaning against the nearest wall. He stands tall before you. A brick wall.

"Your roommate's threatening to kick you out of this apartment to move her boyfriend in?" He asks before adding, "Again."

Your head snaps up to him, "H-How-"

In that moment, he turns rather robotically, making his way deeper into your home. It's clean. Thank God.

"You don't realize how chatty you get when you're about to orgasm." He says before stopping right outside your closed bedroom door.

"My roommate- she... decided last night that- well- she would really like her boyfriend to live here instead-"

"Without consulting you first?" He clarifies, staring blankly ahead at the door, listening very attentively.

"Y-Yes without consulting me." You bring your hand to the doorknob, on your way to open it but he stops you with an iron grip around your wrist. You wince.

“Continue talking.” He says and you do.

"This morning they both kinda sprung on me that they'd like to be living here now. She went behind my back and already placed the deposit down our landlord, well," you clear your throat. "I might be homeless soon." You laugh but then swallow very thickly as the gravity of the situation falls onto your shoulders.

"And still you decided to have our sessions today?"

"If you'll have me," you nod.

"Remarkable." He replies. "Well I've never been very fond of my things or my toys getting dirty." He begins mysteriously as he places his hand directly over yours on the doorknob.

"Pardon?"

"I can't have my favorite toy living out on the street. Who knows what kind of animals would try to rape you or drug you or fucking stick their slimey dicks inside you-" he turns the doorknob, clicking your room open.

You're not even sure when this started happening. These 'private sessions' with your Salesman that quickly bled into something much more concerning. Before you knew it, he was seeping into your brain, polluting you with obsession. There had never ever been anyone else involved.

"What the hell did you do?" You ask, slowly entering your room to find two chairs placed directly in front of your bed. As soon as you enter, you hear the blood curdling, muffled screams being ripped from the throat of the two people strapped to those chairs.

"I'm protecting my investment," Says your Salesman as he pushes the door closed behind you.

Your feet feel like lead as you watch them and their panic-stricken eyes. There in front of you, they sit opposite one another, both with a haggard countenance and tears streaming down their cheeks.

At the sight of you, your roommate screams something horrid but it's muffled by the gag placed in her mouth, a gag the shape of a dog bone.

He's there too. The boyfriend. He's not as loud or as frantic as she is but he's significantly startled. His eyes are wild and vacant. The same gag.

"Oh my god-" you begin but he cuts in front of you, making his way to the couple seated across from each other.

"We're all gonna play a game- a quick one," He says, "Can't play for too long because I've been dying to get inside you since I saw those pretty little bloodshot eyes."

"Sir- I"

If you knew his name you might've screamed it in this moment. 'Sir' is your only point of reference to address the manic man in front of you.

This isn't right.

Right?

You're so confused, you barely register than you've thought out loud. It hits you as he slowly shrugs his blazer off.

"What isn't right is them thinking they can rape this apartment from underneath you." He says, folding it and placing it meticulously over your desk.

"I- have neighbors!?" You begin but he has a plan for that too.

"I had your room soundproofed since our first session." You're pushed into even more confusion.

"WHAT!? When did you even-"

"While you were at school-" he says before uncovering a handgun from his briefcase. A handgun and a silencer.

"Point is, Doll, I'm going to need you to play a game for me, ok?"

"DOLL!?" Comes your roommates' mortified and muffled cries.

"I need you to make one tiny decision for me." He says, screwing on the silencer onto the barrel of the revolver. It strikes you then that even when the mask is off, and the worst workings of his personality are on display for all to gaze upon, you still find him breathtakingly attractive.

"If-" tears burn the back of your throat, "If this room is soundproof why-why do you need a silencer?"

"I'm nothing if not a cautious man, you know this." Then his expression turns very grave and very dark as he says. "Don't you?"

“Yes, Sir,” you reply almost automatically. Like your need to respond to him- to please him, greatly overpowered your moral compass. “You're extremely cautious.”

Your roommate releases a shrill noise from the very back of her throat, her eyes pleading with the humanity she desperately tries to find in yours.

“Out of these two, he's my least favourite,” Your Salesman says, standing beside you. Eyes wild as he points his gun to the boyfriend's head.

“But this isn't about me,” he turns to face you, slowly dragging you gaze away from the victims that had once been your tormentors. You look up at him with a broken sob slipping through your lips. “I need you to choose.”

There it is.

His words seem to detonate what little fate you had in his humanity. There is nothing in his eyes except hedonism and violence.

"I'm going to have you to choose very quickly, baby-”

You're already shaking your head as frazzled braids tickle your shoulders. Your eyes find theirs and you immediately say, “I'm not going to do it.”

When you look at him again, you're almost horrified to find the smile that had once been on his face, completely wiped away. His face is a shadow and it strikes you way more than anything ever has. Something in you scolds you. It gnaws at you to make things right.

“Don't do that.” He says darkly. “Don't disappoint me.”

His hands -one still holding a gun- moves to cup both your cheeks. He cranes your neck further back, gazing deeply. “I can't have you living on the street.”

“You don't have to kill anyone-”

His jaw ticks, “Pick.”

“Sir…”

“You're disappointing me.”

All it takes is those three words to have your world crashing to the floor. Tears blur your vision as you raise a trembling finger.

“Him. I pick him.”

It's the first time you realized that you were brimming with codependency

Or stupidity.

Or maybe both

“That's a good girl.” He coos, pressing a kiss to your forehead. The father you never had.

He lets his eyes meet that of the boyfriend who is shaking and writhing in seat.

“What a good fucking girl I have, wouldn't you agree?” He asks the boyfriend yet he only cries and cries and cries. Meanwhile, you're bathing in the warm, milky words of praise.

"I suppose you wouldn't be able to agree to much in a second-"

He raises the gun.

Wait-" but the trigger is already pulled, and the bullet slices through the air and the deed is done.

It's remarkable how fast it travels. The speed of the bullet. Like it's competing with light itself. One moment his head is there and his brain is inside it, functioning like usual and the next moment, it's splattered all across my bedroom wall, coating your stuffed animals and drenching your pink bedding.

“You killed someone…”

“We killed someone, and you did such a good job. Now we're real rich people-”

You shake your head.

“Oh my fucking god we killed someone-”

It's stupid, but the first thought that comes to mind is-

“How- How am I gonna get the stain out!?”

“I'll get you new sheets, Doll, I promise…”

Meanwhile the roommate is crying and screaming her throat hoarse. You watch gravely as vomit soaks her gag.

“That's fucking disgusting.” He says before turning back to you. A spray of blood scatters across the side of his handsome face. He'd just committed murder and yet you still describe him as handsome.

“You're not disgusting at all.” He says, “You're so clean and beautiful.” His large hands rub over your face. “And now this apartment's yours. Ours. Maybe.”

Ours.

That word somehow affects you more than the murder you'd just lay witness to. It has you staring up at him with grateful, love-filled eyes. You're still scared but, you were his. And that was a powerful feeling. You'd never belonged to anyone before. Certainly not any man as handsome or smart as this. This isn't rose-tinted glasses anymore, it's rose-tinted vision.

“We killed someone.” You say. Solidifying the fact that you were a couple.

Your heart rages in its cage when his eyes nearly roll to the back of his head.

“Fuck yes we did,” he moans before smashing his lips down onto yours. Confusion and discomfort wage a terrific and bloody war inside you as he kisses you absolutely dizzy. Your insides are swirling and your stomach is turning at the sight of the blood drenching your walls.

he tips your head up, forcing his tongue in and he moans when you let him. Your tongues touch and coax and he pulls you in close.

“You know how good you looked when I picked you up earlier, Doll? I loved seeing those bloodshot eyes of yours.” He mumbles, “I just hated not being the one to make you cry.”

You sob something awful. The sound escapes you while your lips are still plastered to his.

“But this is all me,” he says proudly, gazing down at your watery eyes as he pins you up against the wall. “This is all me.”

Your roommate sits in a daze. Over his wide shoulder, her eyes stare blankly into yours and you almost find yourself mouthing the words 'I'm sorry'.

Almost. But you never do.

Your brain is too clouded by feelings of fear, regret, pleasure and… satisfaction. In your defense her boyfriend really fucking sucked.

"Take this off." He groans, lowering his large build to the floor to shove your shorts and underwear down. Undressing you almost formally as he lifts your one leg out followed by the other.

Your eyes are still on her.

Every vile word she's said to you. Every occasion she'd bring her equally cruel friends over and they'd gossip about you loud enough for their words to carry through the walls.

You realize very gravely that your care is waning.

That humanity that was still left inside you is thinning.

And he's pressing wet kisses against your legs, worshipping the soft cellulite at your thighs.

A man in a suit at his knees for you and she's forced to watch.

It makes you feel so-

"Fucking beautiful, fuck." He groans.

The more riled up he is, the less care he gives to how crass his language becomes. As if trapped in a daze, with your eyes still on your tormentor -your bully- you hook your fingers into his hair. Parting your legs you lead his mouth to your exposed cunt and he slurps you up for all your worth.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he eats you out with vigor. He flattens his tongue and suctions his mouth against your clit, causing a deep and guttural moan to spill from your lips.

He pulls back, breathing raggedly, "Fuck my face," he commands, before placing both hands on your ass, enough to have your cunt riding his open mouth. It feels so fucking good your eyes are stinging with tears. You let them fall because you'd know he'd appreciate it. He appreciates every tear in your confidence. Every waver in your air-tight judgement. It undoes him completely to see you so fucking pathetic.

He looks up at you while you're riding him. Those morally black eyes are urging you to hump his face and you do.

At the sight of your tears falling his nails dig into your ass and you moan more. All the sounds you're able to make are in intelligible sounds of pleasure. But you force yourself to come to your senses. Just long enough to whisper

"Th-Thank you, Sir,"

He stills. Completely stunned.

You come. It crashes down on you all while your roommate tries to squeeze her crying eyes shut, shaking her head as if trying to delude herself into believing none of this is real.

"You are fucking fire, you know that?" He croaks, slowly rising. You're breathing oh so quickly and it only speeds up at the sight of your arousal casting his jaw.

“I wanna fucking hurt you so bad. I wanna eat you. I wanna fuck you. I wanna do so many unspeakable things to you- you're so perfect.”

He throws one more gaze over his shoulder. His almond eyes scan over the body, then the girl and he groans, furiously undoing his belt.

"How the fuck did I get so lucky?” he says, almost to himself.

"Answer me." He presses his body firmly against yours, until your spine is straight against the wall. "Fucking answer me when I talk to you."

He growls before bringing a hand up to your chin. It's painful the way he grabs you, but you're so used to pain. It lives here now. Between you both.

"I-I- don't know-" you really don't know and he melts at that.

"I'll tell you how, Princess. " he wraps your leg around his waist, "People like me- people we call crazy and evil-” His eyes are so wide, his smile too. -we get nice things. And people like that-" he quirks his head backwards, “The weak? Those people on the streets, they die.” He says, grinding his cock agaisnt your cunt, “And we don't die, yeah?"

"Oh fuck." You're seeing stars when his cock sinks into your cunt. It's hard and raging and he's already doing multiple shallow thrusts to force it deeper. "S-So big-" you can't talk, you hardly ever can when he's like this. Fucking you into an absolute frenzy.

"You gonna squirt for me, Doll?” he grits his teeth, hips stuttering as he ravages you against the wall. "F-Fuck." Some

“She's a really good squirter-” he turns his head to watch your roommate over his shoulder. Her head is slumped forward, she's fainted perhaps.

After weeks of trying to impress him, to show him that you were not the weak little thing he had first kidnapped- you realize it's paid off. He caveman grunts as he fucks you deeper and harder and a cry rips itself from your throat.

“Y-You want me?” You ask with trembling lips.

“Baby,” he breathes directly into your mouth. “I need you.”

"F-Fuck-" your orgasm sneaks up on you and he watches with immense gratification as you come undone on his cock.

“You're making a mess on my cock-” clear liquid streams out of hou, threatinging tk lush his cock out but he fucks you through it.

“Gonna fucking cum inside you, baby. You're gonna take it, aren't you? My good girl's gonna fucking take it,” he throws his head back as his eyes flutter closed and soon he's fucking spurts of warm cum into you.

It fills you completely until the mess is coating your thighs. Through your wave of endless euphoria you see stars, the planets and him in the very centre of it all, guiding you and coaxing you through the bountiful high.

Even when he's done, his cock is still nestled deep inside you, pushing you over the brink of stimulation.

"You're very promising.” He admits, “Always have been.”

[aquagustd]

not around - MYG | M

↣ Min Yoongi, one of your closest friends, the popular guy, funny and charming, captain of the basketball team, aspiring rapper and producer, incredibly handsome and your crush for a long time, ALSO your best friend’s (head cheerleader) new boyfriend. Trouble begins.

pairing: basketball player!yoongi x cheerleader!reader

based on this request.

genre: angst, fluff, smut, f2l

word count: 19.8K (when I write Yoongi I can’t stop)

play: not around by nova

warnings/tags: college au, heavy angst, Yoongi is so sweet, kind and oblivious, strong language, insecurities about body image, Y/N overthinks, Y/N’s best friend is mean but Y/N turns into a ~savage~, mentions of infidelity, mentions of bullying, Y/N and her mum lowkey gossip, Y/N has big 🍒, Yoongi has a breast kink, 171229 Yoongi oof, slight Hobi action, explicit smut- slight public action, dirty talk, heavy petting, fingering, oral (f & m), titty fuck, brief handjob, spitting, riding, hickeys, protected sex

a/n: pleaseee listen to that song when they’re playing basketball together (if you remember). I cry each time I listen to it, it reminds me of Yoongi somehow.

∞

“BANGTAN! BANGTAN! BANGTAN!”

Waving your pom poms in the air, you watch Yoongi dash along the side of the court, with a flick of his wrist, the crowd goes wild.

Suhee begins to chant Yoongi’s name, you and the squad join in. Yoongi waves at the crowd then winks in your direction, maybe you could pretend, that it was directed at you but Suhee’s squeal pierces straight through that thought.

Keep reading

[yourfavwritersfavoritewriter-de]

[turntechcosplayer]

Seeking Comfort: Rafael Solano x Reader

꩜✦18+ MINORS DNI✦꩜ (Anon Request)

Pairing: Rafael Solano x Fem!Reader

Summary: When Rafael’s suspicions of his wife cheating are proven to be true, he needs some comfort. And what better comfort than comfort that doubles as revenge? 

Content Warnings: Use of (Y/n), Swearing, Drinking, Scratching, Biting, Stripping, Extreme Power Dynamics, Strangers to Accomplices, Strangers to Lovers, Sex, Penetrative Sex, Cheating, Revenge, Revenge Cheating, Fingering, Oral (Giving and Receiving), Praise, Riding, Dirty Talking, Choking, Mirror Sex.

Word Count: 8.7k

✦✦✦

Rafael turned down the hallway to his suite. His day had been headache inducing. The Marbella was hosting a party in the coming weeks, and the permits seemed to be taking longer than they ever had before. His day had seemed impossibly long and all he wanted was to be in the embrace of his wife, Petra Solano. He pulled the keycard from his pocket and slipped it into the locking mechanism on the door. There was a click and he pushed the door open.

“I’m home!” He called out, entering the suite and closing the door behind him. He shed his suit jacket, waiting for an answer from his wife, but it didn’t come.

“I’m sorry, sir, but Mrs. Solano isn’t here.” Came a voice from deeper in the suite.

~~~

(Y/n)’s P.O.V

I knocked on the door of my boss’s suite. His and his wife’s dry cleaning was slung over my shoulder, and it seemed to be getting heavier by the minute. No one answered my knock. I shifted the laundry to my other shoulder and raised my tired arm, knocking on the door again. I had been running back and forth all day.

“Laundry!” I called out, knocking again. There was still no answer. Exasperatedly, I reached into my pocket, slipping out my all access key card and slipping it into the door-lock, pushing my way inside and letting the door close behind me. “I’m dropping off laundry!” I called into the suite. No answer, no one was home. I was accustomed to this. I headed into the suite, making my way to the Solano’s bedroom. I laid the dry cleaning over a chair sitting in the corner of the room. I looked around and noticed the bed was horribly unmade. Housekeeping mustn't have gotten to it. I glanced at the clock on the wall. Mr. Solano would be in any minute I decided to make the bed for them. I pulled the pillows off the bed, stacking them in the chair. Mrs. Solano had an obscene amount of throw pillows. I moved back to the bed, straightening the blankets. I got on my knees beside the bed, tucking the fitted sheet more tightly under the mattress at the bottom of the bed. I heard the noise of the suite door opening.

“I’m home!” The voice of Rafael Solano echoed around the suite.

“I’m sorry, sir, but Mrs. Solano isn’t here!” I called back.  I heard his footsteps approaching as I continued on to tuck the sheet under the end of the mattress before moving onto the duvet, tucking it beneath the mattress with the sheets.

“Oh, hello… (Y/n)?” Mr. Solano questioned.

“Yes sir.” I answered with a small chuckle, casting my eyes down from him to the floor.

“Oh- please- call me Rafael.” He said, flashing his award winnable smile. I felt a blush coat my cheeks and I tucked my hair behind my ear. “Was Petra here when you got here with the- uhm-” He pointed to the laundry that I had draped over the chair, “dry cleaning?”

“No, she wasn’t.” I said, finishing tucking the duvet under the mattress. Mr. Solano, seeing that I was finished, extended a hand to me. I took it and he helped me up out of the floor. I brushed off the Marbella’s uniform dress and looked up at Mr. Solano. “Thank you.” I said quietly.

“You’re welcome.” He answered. We stared at each other for a moment, seemingly frozen in time, “Ahem-” He cleared his throat and took a step back, “Have you seen Petra at all today? I’ve been stuck in my office making phone calls all day.”

“No sir, I don’t don’t think I have.” I answered, skirting around him to leave the suite. He followed after me to see me out as I thought back through my day. I paused at the door, suddenly remembering something, “Actually, I think I did see her on a lower floor today.” I said, looking to Mr. Solano. His goodbye to me seemed to die in his throat as the look on his face soured slightly.

“Uhm- which floor?” He asked, his voice now a touch deeper than it was before.

“I think it was the fifth floor.” I answered. I knew what he was hinting at. It was no secret that Mrs. Solano was screwing someone else behind her husband’s back. Specifically, his best friend and college roommate, Roman Zazo. Most of us figured that Mr. Solano had his suspicions and I, personally, didn’t judge him for not confronting his wife about it. Sometimes living in a sweet lie was easier than living with the hard truth. I turned back towards the door, but I felt his hand prop itself on my shoulder.

“Before you go-” Mr. Solano began, I turned towards him and he removed his hand, pushing it into the pocket of his dress pants, shifting his weight to his other leg. I looked up at his face, “Could you do me a favour?” I cast my eyes to the clock on the wall. My shift was almost over. I could just tell him that I had plans and wasn’t able to stay longer than my shift… He must have noticed my looking, “It’ll just be a few minutes.” He said, “Please?” He flashed me that signature smile which no doubt was part of the reason he’d made it as far as he had.

“Of course.” I answered him. He took a few steps away from me to the bar and pulled out a seat for me before pulling one out for himself. I took a seat and he began explaining to me what he wanted me to do.

~~~

I took my hair down out of my claw clip, twisting it tighter and putting it back up before placing my hands back down on the housekeeping cart. My palms were sweating. It wasn’t like anything was going to happen, but I didn’t want Mr. Solano’s, and everyone else’s, suspicions to be confirmed. I didn’t want to be the driving force behind my boss getting a divorce. I’d always liked Mrs. Solano, she’d always seemed nice enough, but what she was doing was wrong. I took a deep breath, pushing the cart down the hall and stopping outside of Roman Zazo’s door. I hesitantly looked over my shoulder, spotting my boss standing leaned up against the hallway wall, watching me. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he almost looked as if he had already made up his mind as to what was behind the door. I turned back, gently slipping the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign off the door knob, tossing it into my trash can, putting some tissues over it so whoever answered the door wouldn’t spot it immediately. I took a deep breath and raised my hand, knocking on the door.

“Housekeeping!” I called, sharply. I heard a loud shuffling from inside the room.

“We have a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign!” A woman called from inside. The voice was too nondescript to prove it was Mrs. Solano.

“Huh?” I called back, hoping that would draw her out. I heard an exasperated sigh and more shuffling as someone came closer to the door. I assumed they were checking through the peephole, making sure Rafael wasn’t there. The door opened to reveal Petra with an oversize men’s button-down hugged around her shoulders. My eyes drifted down her body, seeing that the only other thing she was wearing was a pair of white panties with white scalloped lace lining the waistband. My eyes drifted back up to see that she was glaring at me, leaning on the door frame. 

“We have a ‘Do No-’” She looked down at the door knob, seeing that the sign wasn’t there. She cast her eyes to my cart, obviously wondering if I had taken it.

“Do you want a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign?” I asked. She just sighed and held out a hand, blowing her hair out of her face. I grabbed one of the little signs out of my cart and handed it to her. She fitted it onto the door knob and slammed the door in my face, returning to what she had been doing before, presumably Roman Zazo. I looked back at Rafael. From his position, he would have easily seen who answered the door and what she was wearing, but he was no longer there. I turned my cart around and headed back over to where he was before. I spotted him when I rounded the corner. He was standing against the wall with his head in his hands.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Solano.” 

“No- It’s uh-” He sucked in a breath, “It’s what I expected.” I tucked my hair behind my ear. I used my key card to unlock the supply closet, pushing the cart inside before turning back to Mr. Solano. I felt bad leaving him in this state, but I didn’t quite know what to say. “W- Would you want to… stay for a drink?” Mr. Solano asked me. I paused, “I’d rather not be alone…” God I wanted to say yes… But should I?

~~~

Rafael handed me a glass of white wine. It was my second of the night. He sat down beside me on the couch with one of his own, nursing it as his eyes scanned over me. I felt a heavy blush coat my cheeks and I looked away from him, casting my eyes out the window behind the tv. When we first got back to his suite, he had to make a couple calls, but he had given me a glass of wine that I nursed, waiting for him to finish.

“Have you ever been cheated on?” He asked. The wine was tart in my mouth, dry white if I wasn’t mistaken.

“Once.” I answered him, letting my eyes glance back over at him. He seemed to be focused on me.

“Do tell.” He murmured. I leaned into him slightly.

“I was in my first semester of college…” I murmured, “Still figuring out my life…” He smirked.

“Go on…” He prompted.

“He was a frat boy… a couple years older.” I said, taking a sip of the wine and looking away from him. “Frankly, I should have known.” I smiled slightly. “I know it’s nothing compared to what is happening here with you and Mrs. Solano.” I added. My eyes went back to him. Looking over his face. His tan skin glowed from the light that cast in from the large window overlooking the whole city. Rafael hummed in response and my eyes shot to his lips. He was so close… We stayed silent for a moment and I wondered what he was going to do. I looked back up into his eyes. They were half lidded and had a gleam in them that I hadn’t noticed earlier. I knew where this was leading and it seemed to be dangerous territory. Rafael was my boss. And he was hurt. But fuck… I would be lying if I said I didn’t want him.

“(Y/n)...” Rafael whispered. My breath caught in my throat, hearing my name pass though his lips.

“Mr. Solano…” I answered, quirking the corner of my lip up into a half-smile.

“Please…” He whispered, leaning in closer, “Call me Rafael.” I smiled fully at his insistence and I felt my body leaning into him without me asking it to do so. My eyes fluttered closed as I let out a quiet sigh. Rafael closed the distance between us, pressing his lips to mine. My brain raced through the multitude of possibilities that could arise from this choice. His lips were so soft against mine and I could taste the wine we had both been drinking. Mr. Solano was my boss… and he was married. At least for the time being. What the hell was I doing drunk in my boss’s suite letting him kiss me? I felt Rafael place a hand on my cheek and I leaned into his slightly, pulling away from his kiss.

“What are we doing?” I asked, meeting his beautifully dark eyes.

“I am kissing a beautiful woman and… seeing where it goes.” He murmured, a small smile playing onto his lips.

“You’re my boss…” I whispered, looking down at his lap.

“Please… Mr. Solano is your boss. Rafael is just a man seeking some comfort…” I smiled. Maybe it could be separated. “You’re free to leave if you want.” He said. I looked up at him, my eyes meeting his. My eyes dragged down his face, knowing I should leave, but desperately wanting to stay. “But I don’t think you want to…” My cheeks burned with a hot blush and I cast my eyes down at our laps again. His hand dipped under my chin, turning my face up to look at him. “Do you?” He asked. I thought for a moment. Should I be fully transparent? Did I want this? I looked down at his lips again, feeling my skin tingle with a want to feel them on me again. 

“No… I don’t.” I whispered.

“Good girl.” He said, his voice deep and sultry. His hand seemed impossibly warm against my skin as he leaned in again. His lips touched mine again, though this time the kiss seemed more hungry. I extended out a hand, pushing it into his, already slightly messy, hair. My fingers glided through his hair until my hand settled on the back of his neck. He removed his hand from my chin, running it down my body to lay on my waist. Rafael was wildly handsome and, at least for now, he was mine. Petra didn’t deserve him… Rafael’s other hand ran down my other side, landing on my hip. His grip on me was tight but gentle. His lips worked against mine in a way that made me want to melt in his hands. I tangled my hand in his hair fully, giving it a small tug. His lips broke away from mine and he let out a soft groan. 

I took a few deep breaths before diving back in, this time I parted my lips when they met his. I softly ran my tongue along his bottom lip and I felt his grip on my hips tighten as he opened his mouth, allowing me to enter. He pulled me closer to him by my hips and I parted my legs, moving onto his lap as he directed. Our tongues met briefly before I pulled back from him slightly, getting used to this new position. I kept my grip on his hair and used my other hand to trace down his chest. I could feel the musculature beneath the tight-fitting button down. 

He leaned back in to reconnect our lips. I kissed him softer this time so I could focus on the movement of my hands. I ran my nails from his head, down his neck to meet my other hand that was fumbling for the top button of his shirt. I felt my dress ride up slightly as my knees spread to balance me on either side of his lap. I finally got the button undone and my hands frantically searched for the next one. He pulled back and let out a chuckle, leaning back in and connecting his lips to my neck. His lips worked against my skin in a way that left me briefly mesmerised, wondering what was to come. I was brought back to the moment by the feeling of Rafael’s teeth nipping at my skin. I desperately fumbled with his buttons, still unable to get the next one undone.

“Too excited?” Rafael asked, pulling back from my skin.

“Mmh- Rafael- please…” I begged. He chuckled, fully pulling back from me and griping the sides of his shirt and ripping them apart, sending buttons flying everywhere. A smile found its way onto my lips and I felt a hot blush burn my ears as my eyes scanned down his body. His skin was pulled taught over his musculature. His body was gorgeous. I reached out and let my fingers ghost down his chest. “M- Mr. Solano…” I whispered.

“What is it, beautiful?” Rafael asked.

“You are…” I trailed off. Rafael broke into a smirk. I pushed my hands onto his shoulders under his shirt. I felt his skin against mine for a moment before pushing his shirt off his shoulders, letting it cascade down his arms. He shrugged the shirt off and I marvelled at his body as I slowly leaned in. My lips met his and I rocked my hips against him slightly. His hands ran down my sides to lay on my hips, guiding them against him. I was wearing only panties under my dress, so there was barely any barrier between me and his slacks. I broke away from his lips, gasping at the feel of him against me. He guided my hips to move against him again. I bit down on my bottom lip, a low moan catching in my throat. Suddenly, our ears were met with a sharp knock on the door. I jolted away from Rafael.

“Relax, gorgeous.” Rafael whispered to me, “I’m expecting some documents.” I let out a breath and relaxed slightly, “Go wait for me in the bathroom.” I stood and did as I was told, heading to Rafael’s bathroom, wondering what he was doing. I slowly extended my hands to the bottom of my dress, staring in the mirror for a moment before looking down and beginning to pull my dress up so I could remove it. My movements were halted, though, when a pair of arms wrapped around me, holding me in place. I looked back up in the mirror to see Rafael bending into me and tucking his chin against my shoulder. “Please, gorgeous, let me unwrap this present…” Rafael whispered in my ear. I felt a blush wash over my face as I watched his hands extend down my body, his fingers running along my clothed stomach.

“Mmh…” The moan came from my mouth without my having much to do with it as I relaxed into his bare chest, letting my head loll back against him.

“Mh hmm?” Rafael asked. A smile spread over my lips. He gripped the hem of my dress, slowly pulling it up over my head before tossing it down on the floor beside us. His hands spread out over my stomach and I just watched his movements in the mirror. He leaned into my neck, attaching his lips to my skin, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses along my skin there.

“R-Rafael-” I gasped. I reached back, tangling my hand in his messy hair.

“What is it, gorgeous?” Rafael asked, nipping at my flesh.

“Mmh… Feels good…” I murmured, placing my other hand on top of one of his strong ones. He held me tightly against his chest. His bare skin felt good against mine, better than anything I’d ever felt before. He smiled against my skin and I felt goosebumps raise along my arms.

“Yeah?” Rafael asked. He dragged his hands to my back, unhooking my strapless bra. I took a deep breath as it dropped from my body. My eyes darted back to the mirror, only to find Rafael already staring at my chest. He ran his hands from my back to my chest, letting his hands gently cup under my breasts, his thumbs dragging up the sides. I rolled my shoulders and Rafael extended a hand, running it down my stomach to the waistband of my panties. He dipped his fingers inside it, pressing into my skin ever so slightly.

“Please…” I murmured.

“Please what, beautiful?” Rafael asked.

“I just want you to touch me…” I whined, gripping his hair harder. That signature smirky smile spread across his lips. He took his hand out from my panties, but let them wander down further, this time overtop of my underwear. He cupped his hand over me, letting his other hand wander up, caressing my nipple. I thrusted my hips up against him, getting some much needed friction. He pulled his hand away, sucking his teeth at me.

“Tsk tsk, not yet…” He murmured. I frowned and he pulled his arms away from me, heading to the shower, switching on the hot water before turning back and looking at me expectantly.

“Yes?” I asked.

“Take your panties off.” Rafael commanded. I furrowed my brows.

“What?” I was used to my partners undressing me. He took a seat on the chair placed beside the walk in shower.

“You heard me.” I blushed and slowly sprawled my fingers to grip the waistband of my panties. His eyes latched onto me as he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth. I slowly lowered my panties for him until they fell from my legs and I stepped out of them. He raised his hand, moving his finger in a circle, directing me to twirl around. I slowly did as he asked, when I got to the 180 degree mark, I heard him draw in a breath. “Stop.” He said. I did as he told me, stopping in place. “Bend over.” He directed. I bent over. I heard him stand and I watched between my legs as he got on his knees behind me, reaching out and placing a hand on my ass cheek. I had never had anyone treat me like this before… but I liked it. He palmed a handful of my ass before letting go and standing up, going back over to his chair. “Okay.” He said. I stood back up and continued turning until I was facing him again. I surveyed him and it was easy to tell that his cock was straining against his trousers, begging to be set free. 

“What now?” I asked, letting my eyes travel back up to his face where a smirk was set on his lips and he was looking me straight in my eyes. 

“You want to see it?” He asked, ignoring my question. I let his question sink in, mulling over what my answer should be. What answer did he want? He sucked his teeth, looking me up and down. A hot blush rolled over my cheeks and ears. “Get in the shower and adjust the temperature as you’d like.” I dipped my head in a slow nod, doing as he asked and moving into the shower. The water was hot, just the way I usually preferred it. I turned the cold knob a bit anyway, as I assumed the things we would be doing paired with the hot water would cause the both of us to overheat rather quickly.

“You gonna join me?” I asked, turning to look at him over my shoulder. He had dragged the chair against the opposite wall so he could watch me.

“In a little while.” He assured me, the same signature smile spread over his lips, “Go ahead.” I stepped under the stream of water that was falling from the waterfall shower head, shutting my eyes for a moment, feeling the warm water cascade down my body. I ran my hands up my sides to my breasts, cupping them in a provocative show for the man sitting outside the shower, watching me, who was essentially my boss. I didn’t care. I wanted to do this and I knew he did too. He just sat, relaxing back on the chair, watching me.  I ran my fingers through my hair, feeling it become more damp as the water ran through it. I shut my eyes again, letting the water run down my face. I ran my nails along my scalp, raking through my hair, going through any tangles. The warm water felt amazing. I rolled my neck and shoulders, fully relaxing. Rafael shifted in his chair slightly. His trousers seemed a little tighter and I desperately wanted to see what was straining so hard against them. I looked back up at his face to see that he was smirking at me. He knew what I wanted, but he wanted it to play out his way. I didn’t mind. I was actually quite enjoying this.

I looked down at the shelf cut out in the wall. On it sat an extensive collection of what seemed like luxury bath products. I picked up a bottle of shampoo, popping the cap open and pouring a bit into my hand. The smell of fresh orchids plumed up, enveloping me. It smelled amazing. I placed down the bottle, rubbing my hands together until suds appeared. I glanced over at Rafael, steadily growing increasingly more excited as to what he had planned for the night. I massaged the shampoo into my scalp before dragging the product through my hair. I then shut my eyes and moved so I was fully underneath the water, letting it rinse the shampoo out of my hair while it simultaneously ran over my face. When the shampoo was mostly gone, I heard some rustling from outside the shower. I moved out from under the water, wiping under my eyes and turning my head to see that Rafael’s pants were now unbuttoned and unzipped, laying open. Much to my dismay, though, he was not yet fully exposed. His dick was now straining desperately against his boxers. I wanted to leave the shower right then and there and take care of him, but he just watched me expectantly. 

I looked back to the shelf and picked up the bottle of conditioner. I opened the cap and squeezed some out into my hand. Up plumed a fruity smell that I couldn’t quite place. I must have had a puzzled look on my face, as I heard Rafael clear his throat.

“Lychee.” He said.

“What?”

“It’s lychee scented.” He clarified.

“I like it.” I said back with a small smile. I rubbed my hands together before lathering it into the ends of my hair. I raked my fingers through, making sure there were no leftover tangles. I moved back under the water, rinsing out the conditioner. My ears were met with the sound of the shower door opening, and I quickly turned. Rafael was entering the shower, finally fully nude. He pressed his lower body to me so I couldn’t see it. I felt his cock press into my hip. I turned so my back was pressed against him and his arms encircled me. One slid up to my chest, and the other slid down between my legs.

“Is this what you wanted?” He asked. I leaned my head back against him as he took my breast fully into his hand and he used his other hand to cup over my slit. My mouth fell open and a groan surged forward, it was mostly because I was anticipating what would happen next.

“R-Rafael…” I murmured, “Please…” I heard his lips spread into a smile as he began rolling my nipple between his fingers. I thrusted my hips into his hand again, but he only moved with my hips, not allowing me to get any friction. He just held me as I squirmed. His dick, now uncovered, pushed against my back. It felt large. And I wanted it. I pushed my ass against him and I heard him suck in a deep gasp, probably swallowing down a moan that had threatened to escape his lips. Once he had composed himself, he let out a deep chuckle. I smirked. I felt good for being able to elicit such a response from him. The hand that he had positioned between my legs slowly drew out and landed on my hip. He bent his body forward, guiding my body to do the same. He took the hand that was placed on my hip and he brought it down between us, taking his cock into his hand. He guided it up to me, slowly dragging it up my folds. I shuddered as he positioned it at my entrance.

I gasped as Rafael pushed into me. His seemed impossibly long, and I heard him gasp for air, obviously enjoying the sensation as much as I was. He filled me so wholly and so completely that I doubted I would ever be able to feel the same from anyone else in the world. It must have been something chemical, something hormonal… Something about him, about us.

“Fuck…” Rafael spat. “You feel so…” My mouth hung open, I tried to form words but nothing came out except a sort of mewling whimper.

“Ah! R-Rafael…” I whispered. Rafael stood, completely rigid, behind me, letting me get used to his size. I reached back, desperately grasping at Rafael’s hands. He interlaced our fingers and I slowly pushed my hips back to meet with his. I sucked in a deep breath and squeezed his hands. I felt him do the same.

“You ready, gorgeous?” He asked. I let out a sigh.

“... Yes…” I murmured. Rafael slowly drew out of me and I gripped his hands tighter. I felt the ridge of him run along my walls until he made it to just before my opening. He paused and I waited with baited breath for him to reenter me. My breath caught in my throat and I felt Rafael tense behind me. He slammed his hips to mine, fast and hard, pulling out and then plunging back in again. My nails dug into Rafael’s hands and he let out a groan. He pulled my hands back further, holding them in a way that allowed them to bounce me against his thighs. The warm water cascaded down my back and between our legs. I slowly began to stand up, my back straining, as I used his hands to straighten myself. Rafael angled his hips, now bucking up into me. 

He let go of one of my hands, dragging it down to my thigh and lifting my leg so he could get a better angle, then sweeping his leg under mine and propping his foot up on the low shelf in the corner. My leg was hung over his, and I rested all my weight on him. My other foot was barely touching the ground. His movements never ceased. I reached back, grabbing a handful of Rafael’s hair. His hand dragged up my stomach to grope my chest, and I felt as if my heart was skipping a beat. I gripped his hair harder and he let out a moan, dragging his lips against my skin. He felt massive inside me. I clenched around him and he held me tight against his chest, his arm locked around my chest. His other hand inched up my thigh to my stomach, pausing there for a moment before running down between my legs. 

His fingers spread out against my skin. Everywhere he touched me, it felt like a fire ignited. I was having sex with the most handsome man I’d ever seen. My boss. My handsome boss. My handsome, married boss… This was crazy. What the hell was I doing? I was having sex with a married man! Jesus Christ, what the fuck was I doing?!

“You feel what I’m doing to you, gorgeous?” Rafael whispered against my ear. His words brought me back to the moment. His fingers dug into my chest while his other hand was tasked with pleasuring the bundle of nerves between my legs. I was melting into his chest and my legs began to shake. Feeling what his hands were doing to me paired with the intensity at which his cock was plunged in and out of me, his hips rocking against my ass. I ran my hand up to lay over his, lacing our fingers together.

“Mmh… Fuck Rafael…” I moaned out.

“God- You’re so fucking beautiful…” Rafael groaned into my hair. My hand tightened around his and I began sliding his hand up my chest, guiding it to land on my neck. “Oh… is that how you like it…?” Rafael mused, dipping his head down to just beside my ear. I felt his tongue run over the shell of my ear. A shiver ran down my spine and I felt goosebumps raise along my arms. He gripped my throat, squeezing the sides. My brain felt fuzzy as he drilled into me. My mouth fell open and trying to form words was no use, as everything in my brain became a jumbled mess. “I know, beautiful… I know…” Rafael mused against my ear. He sounded so smug. He knew what he was doing to me. He knew I was fully unravelling beneath his touch. 

Small mewling cries fell from my mouth as Rafael continued pounding into me. What felt like a landslide began building up inside me and my legs started to shake. Rafael continued his movements, bringing me nothing but pure pleasure. Rafael’s grip on my neck loosened momentarily, and he began pulsing, rather than keeping a constant hold. I was almost to my peak. My walls clenched around Rafael’s cock.

“I can feel that you’re gonna cum…” Rafael mused, running his lips along the ridge of my ear, “Go ahead, beautiful…” My walls clenched around him a few more times as his grip pulsed on my neck before I was finally able to let go. I came hard, but Rafael’s movements didn’t cease. He was using me to get himself off. “Oh… fuck…” He grumbled. 

“R-Raf…! Please!” I cried out. He only sped up.

“Don’t worry, gorgeous, I’m almost done with you…” He grunted out. My cheeks felt impossibly hot and my hands began searching frantically for something to grab onto. One of my hands latched onto the hand that he had placed between my legs and the other grabbed onto the one that he was gripping my neck with. My nails dug into his skin and Rafael let out a sharp moan. My whole body began shaking as I was forced into another orgasm. “God, yes! You feel so fucking good!” I felt Rafael twitch inside me as I rode out my orgasm on his cock. One of my hands  reached back, frantically clawing at the side of his face. I felt him grit his teeth as he held back his own orgasm to allow me to finish mine. My body finally collapsed back against his chest, and Rafael’s arms tightened around my middle and he lifted me off of him, keeping my leg hooked over his so I wasn’t standing when he let me back down. He kept one arm planted firmly around me, sweeping his other hand back to finish himself off. I felt hot lines of cum coat my lower back. I felt Rafael fall backwards slightly, landing against the shower wall and resting there. “Fuck… that was…”

“Amazing…” I finished. Rafael placed his foot back down on the ground, and my leg slipped off of his. I tried to hold myself up, but my legs trembled beneath me. Rafael’s grip on me tightened and we shared a chuckle.

“You okay now?” Rafael asked as I found my footing on the stone flooring in the shower.

“Yeah, I think so.” I muttered.

“Here- let me-” He reached out of the shower, grabbing a folded washcloth off of the stack on the sink, holding it out so it could soak up some water from the shower head. He then pumped some shower gel into it, sudsing it up before bringing it back between us, cleaning off my back. He rinsed out the washcloth before slowly beginning to massage the shower gel into my shoulders. I took in a deep breath and Rafael bent over me slightly, burying his head in my shoulder. He began pressing long and hungry kisses into my skin. Nothing in my imagination could ever have compared to the happenings of this evening. I groaned and leaned my hand back against him. He brought the washcloth around and caressed my chest down to my stomach before letting it slip into the floor and fully replacing it with just his hand. He cupped my breast and brought his other hand around to turn the water colder. The sensation was vastly different to how it had felt only seconds prior, but it wasn’t totally offensive to my senses. Goosebumps raised along what felt like my entire body and my nipples almost immediately hardened, which I assumed was what he was going for. He swiped his thumb over my nipple, closing his arm back around my middle. 

“Fuck… you’re so fucking gorgeous…” Rafael muttered. I felt him take a step towards the shower door, pulling me with him. He walked me fully out of the shower, standing in front of the big mirror over the sink. My eyes wandered down the shape of our form in the reflection. His arms were tight and his hands laid on me in a way that made me never want to leave. My eyes began tracing his face, he was wearing a sexy smirk.

“Are we gonna move this to the bedroom?” I asked.

“Mmh… sure, we’d have the same view there.” He answered. Rafael let me go and interlaced his fingers with mine, leading me to his bedroom. It was then that I realised what the massive mirror facing the Solano’s bed’s main purpose was. To give them a view of what they were doing. It was something I’d heard about, but never thought that I would have any interest in. I always thought that only narcissists would indulge in it, and maybe I was right, but something about it… in this moment… with Rafael… Watching what he did to me seemed like the most amazingly indulgent yet depraved thing we could do. And I wanted it more than anything. “Go ahead…” Rafael instructed, “Get comfortable…” I did as he said, grabbing up one of the throw pillows that I had so delicately placed on the freshly made bed. I laid back on the bed, positioning the pillow behind my head so I had a clear view of myself in the mirror. My hands immediately ran up my body, landing on my breasts. Rafael stood in front of me, just staring down, watching me. I quirked up an eyebrow. “God, you’re so fucking gorgeous.” I grinned. 

He fell to his knees at the end of the bed, linking his arms around my legs and pulling me down the bed. I let out a thrilled scream, pulling my pillow down with me. Rafael bent over my body, pressing his lips to my stomach. One of my hands ventured down from my breast to the top of his head, tangling in his hair. He kissed down my stomach before hovering over my core, staring at it intently. I ran my fingers through his messy hair, scratching his head gently. He inched down, letting his lips ghost over my skin.

“R-Rafael…” I whispered.

“Yes…?” He asked, dragging his eyes up to meet mine.

“You… look so hot right now.” My mouth moved faster than my brain. Rafael’s face broke into an eager grin and a hot blush burned across my face.

“You think I’m hot, god, you should see you.” He said, “Oh that’s right, you can.” He added, smugly. My blush only grew more intense. “Look at yourself, see how pretty you look when I’m making you feel good.” He buried his head between my legs and I reluctantly pulled my eyes up from him to see myself in the mirror. His arms looped under me, encircling my thighs and sliding me slightly closer to him. He turned his head, kissing up the inside of my thigh. I gripped his hair, silently begging him to just put his mouth on me. I felt him graze his teeth up my skin and I shuddered. 

After what felt like an eternity, his tongue perched just above my opening. He dragged it up slowly, flicking it against my clit. My head lolled back, but I kept my eyes trained on my face, only letting my eyes flit down to him every so often. Whenever I did, I found him already staring at me as his mouth worked tirelessly against me. His mouth was perched so that he was sucking my clit, while simultaneously pulsing his tongue against it. My grip on his hair became tighter and tighter with each passing moment as he brought me closer and closer to orgasm. 

Raf’s hair was wet, and I could feel a droplet fall on me every so often. My thighs tightened around his head and my hands forced his face into me harder. He groaned against me, and the reverberations sent fire rushing through me. A spark of something that threatened to ignite the room we inhabited. My walls clenched around nothing, begging for some resistance.

“Can feel how much you want me inside you, beautiful…” Rafael whispered against my sex. Blood was rushing to my ears as I forced his face back to where it needed to be, pleasuring me. Just a bit more was all I needed to be pushed over the edge. He chuckled darkly against me as his mouth formed back around my clit, sucking in the same pulsing rhythm that he had before. My grip loosened on his head for a moment, causing a couple messy strands of hair to dislodge, cascading down and tickling my stomach. He must have felt it as he looked up, staring at me through the fallen locks of his messy hair. The look in his eyes was positively sinful. 

His tongue worked against my bundle of nerves, bringing me closer and closer to release yet again. I wondered briefly if he would let me cum this time. My grip tightened back on his hair, pushing his head against me as I squirmed. My hips thrusted up against his mouth and I directed my eyes to the mirror. Something about seeing myself felt insanely erotic. Goosebumps raised along my entire body as I watched how my body contorted at his touch. His fingers tightened their grip on my thighs as I writhed, but Rafael’s movements stayed consistent, bringing me closer and closer. My toes curled as the wave began building up in my stomach again. The tension built more… more… more…

Until…

Boom…

The waves crashed down around me, sending my entire body into a fit of pure pleasure. I felt my blood rushing in my ears and my face felt red hot. It that moment, I took a chance and opened my eyes. I looked in the mirror first. Rafael’s head was still nestled securely between my legs and my face was as red as it felt. Knowing I was blushing only made me blush harder. My eyes shot down to the man between my legs. His head was laying on my upper thigh and he was staring up at me with that smug smile on his face. I chuckled.

“What?” I asked.

“You’re just so pretty when you cum…” He mused. My blush only grew more intense at his words. He stood and I saw that he was hard again. I frantically scooted up the bed, making room for him. He laid down beside me and I interlocked our fingers as we took deep breaths. I looked over at him.

“That was… amazing.” I murmured. He turned and met my eyes.

“It was…” Rafael answered.

“Want me to take care of that for you?” I asked, looking down at his cock.

“You don’t have to.” He muttered.

“Let me rephrase that.” I said, sitting up. “I would really like to take care of that for you.” I threw my leg over him and sat on his hips, staring down at him, “Would you like for me to take care of this for you?” I asked, reaching back and taking his dick into my hand, running my hand up and down it. Rafael’s eyes fluttered closed and he let out a deep groan. I pressed his dick against my ass, moving my hips up and down, giving him some much needed friction. “Should I take that as a yes?” I questioned. He opened his eyes again, staring up at me.

“Yes.” He answered. I climbed off of him, taking his hands and pulling him up off the bed. He stood and I fell to my knees in front of him. 

“Can you see yourself in the mirror?” I asked, squeezing his hands. He took his bottom lip between his teeth. Looking from me to the mirror.

“Yeah.”

“Watch how pretty you look when I’m making you feel good.” I mused, doing my best Rafael impression. He rolled his eyes at me.

“Just shut up and suck my cock.” He answered arrogantly. I felt myself getting excited. A bead of precum was collecting on his tip. I laid my tongue flatly underneath, dragging it up and over his slit before taking his cock fully into my mouth. I went down as far as I could. I couldn’t get all the way down. Rafael’s hand ventured down, tangling itself in my, still damp, hair. He guided my head up and down his length. I jutted my tongue out slightly, making more room in my mouth for him. He promptly took all of it up, slipping himself further down my throat. My throat constricted and I gagged as he pushed in a bit too deep. “Mmh… Sorry.” He muttered, continuing with his movements, but stopping before going too deep again. 

I felt his cock twitch and a subsequent muscle tense flood through him. He was close to release. His grip on my hair tightened and his pace quickened. I placed my hands on him, pushing back slightly. He let me go and pulled out of my mouth.

“Get on the bed.” I said, narrowing my eyes slightly and looking at him through my eyelashes. There was a flash of excitement in his eyes as his answer slipped through his lips.

“Yes ma’am.” My heart quickened as he took a seat on the bed. He reached out to me, placing his hands on my hips and guiding me down onto his lap. I laid my arms over his shoulders, staring into his deep brown eyes, and he stared back. His eyes half lidded from pleasure. There was, however, still a spark of excitement, as he knew what was coming next.

I dragged one of my hands down his chest and his stomach, dipping down and taking his, still hard, cock into my hand. I dragged my hand up and down him, getting him ready before slowly guiding him to my entrance. I lowered myself onto him and we both let out a content sigh. I extended my hand back up to his shoulder, bracing myself against him as I began to move. I rocked my hips against him and he let me. I could feel that he was holding himself back. My fingers dug into his shoulders and I threw my head back, my mouth hanging open and moans spilling out.

“F-Fuck Ra-Rafael…” I groaned. He bent into me, attaching his lips to my neck, kissing and biting me. I kept my hips moving steadily, reaching one of my hands down and perching my fingers on my clit. I circled them around it, bucking my hips against my hand. Rafael gripped my sides, guiding my hips against him. His breath was hot on my neck and he had devolved into placing open-mouthed, hungry kisses sloppily against my skin. He would cum sooner rather than later. I got myself closer, speeding up my movements on my clit. I clenched around him, feeling the wave inside me swell. 

Rafael’s eyes shut and he gritted his teeth, his grip on my hips becoming tighter, forcing my movements to become sharper and quicker. I grinded my hips against him roughly, so hungry to cum around his cock again. My nails dug into him and I bent forward slightly, tucking my head into his shoulder as my hips worked tirelessly, getting us both closer. I sank my teeth into his shoulder and he let out a loud groan, his nails now digging into my sides. 

“Fuck… Fuck…” He muttered under his breath, his head falling back. He gritted his teeth, and I broke away from him, my arm movements becoming jerky as I pleasured myself. Rafael’s jaw was tight and he began thrusting up into me, as I could barely be bothered to move anymore. I squeezed my eyes shut, breaking away from him and leaning back slightly.

“Oh… Oh my god… Fuck Raf!” I groaned.

“Yes! Fuck! Oh my god!” He moaned out. Finally, I felt the wave crash down and I could have sworn that I saw stars exploding all around our heads as I came. He thrusted up into me hard one last time, gripping my hips hard and holding me down on him as he came in me.

“Fuck…” I whispered, collapsing into his chest, “ That was… that was…” I inhaled deeply, “awesome…”

“Yes it was…” Rafael said, taking deep breaths and laying back on the bed with me on top of him. I rested there for a moment before sitting back up and falling off of him, laying in bed beside him. The bed was well and thoroughly messed up. They were nearly off the bed completely. I looked around and let out a small laugh.

“What is it?” Rafael murmured, a smile playing onto his lips.

“This room… it’s a mess…” 

“Just lay with me… We’ll worry about it tomorrow.” He extended his arms out to me and I laid back on the bed. I wrapped myself in the comforter, laying my head on his chest.

“Are you sure it’s okay that I sleep here?” I murmured.

“Yes, of course.” He murmured, yawning. My lips spread into a smile and I settled in for the night. The comforter was warm and the sheets were softer than I could have imagined.

~~~

A sudden buzz from a phone jolted me awake. I looked around, seeing that I was still in Mr. Solano’s suite. He was asleep in the bed beside me and I was wrapped in the white comforter. I stood up from the bed, finding it slightly uncomfortable due to the happenings of the night before. I clenched the comforter around me and looked down at the phone on the bedside table, assuming it was Mr. Solano’s. I double tapped the screen and saw the time displayed, 6:30am. My shift was to start in a little while. I hugged the comforter tighter around my shoulders and dragged it with me as I left the bedroom. Walking felt considerably more uncomfortable than just standing did. I walked past the bathroom, seeing my pile of clothes. I would need to get those before my shift. I continued on, heading to the living room. I passed the bar, seeing a short stack of papers. I glanced at them. Divorce papers. Signed by both Mr. and Mrs. Solano. When had Mrs. Solano signed them? Oh god… Had she heard us last night?

I looked back out at the living area, walking over to the window. The Sun was just peaking over the horizon, the rays splayed out over the sky behind the other buildings in the area. It looked beautiful. I heard footsteps echoing down the hallway before pausing at the bar. He was obviously looking at the papers. I looked back at him.

“Mr. Solano.” I said, tipping my head at him in a greeting.

“Please, you’re naked in my suite. Call me Rafael.” I smirked as he came up behind me, feeling his arms encircle me over the thick comforter, finding the edges and pulling them back away from my body. I let the comforter fall to the ground. Rafael bent into me and pressed his lips into my shoulder.

“Care to stay for coffee and breakfast?” He whispered against my skin, running his hands down my sides, letting them settle on my hips.

“Mmh… my shift starts in 30 minutes…” I answered.

“I think your boss will forgive you for being late.” Rafael murmured in my ear.

✦✦✦

(A/n): I hope you guys like this story, as it is the first one I have posted on Tumblr. Be sure to let me know if you have any requests. Bye for now! <3

[l4life]

Hi !! I would love to be your first Tumblr reblog, because this was amazinggg. I loved the writing !

[highvern]

Between the Titles

Pairing: Min Yoongi x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, smut (mature/18+)

warnings: egregious caffeine consumption, yoongi smokes cigarettes, reader is about the same height as yoongi (its me hello im almost the same height as him), gay taehyung, volunteer jungkook, silver fox yoongi (he just has some gray hair bc hot) smut warnings: making out, grinding, fingering, oral (f. receiving), semi-public sexual acts, bathroom sex, protected sex, praise kink

Length: ~9.5k

Note: no thoughts, just big brain yoongi in a sweater smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee. btw almost all the books in this are real but i haven't read them so if you have lmk if they're worth the read lmao. thank u to my dearest @gyuswhore and @idyllic-ghost for beta-ing this

Summary: Five days a week in the library means you're very familiar with the senior research librarian. It also means he has no qualms about making his own book recommendations either.

m.list + support my work

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

The sweet aroma of old books and strong coffee infiltrates your nose as the heavy doors into the library swing open, offering reprieve from the storm raging on outside. It’s far too early for anyone to be here beyond staff and a few other morning birds. You glide right to the circulation desk as if fatigue doesn’t pulse through your veins, barely quelled by the second cup of coffee you sip from.

As always, the same familiar head of dark hair with sparse silver streaks waits at the circulation desk. He’s the only person working this early despite being the senior research librarian but you never hear any complaints louder than muttered annoyance under his breath when he thinks no one is around to hear. Bent over his laptop, Yoongi doesn’t even bother to look up as he slides a heavy stack of books to the edge of the counter. 

Eleven total, ten heavy volumes on ancient fertility cults across the globe, and one book you know he’s mixed in for his own amusement. 

It’s become something of a game between you two. At first you thought he was mixing your materials with someone else’s, but every time you brought the additional copy back to his desk, Yoongi insisted he had no idea what you were talking about and questioned your reading choices. Each time the titles got more ridiculous: Castration: The Advantages and the Disadvantages, How to Enjoy Your Weeds, Amish Vampires in Space, the list goes on and on. But after he slipped Why Fish Don’t Exist into your stack a few weeks ago, you decided to start responding. 

You left the stack at his desk like usual, ears perked for his reaction to Fishes I Have Known. An amused snort rang out just as you opened the doors to leave for the afternoon. The sound was so unlike the stoic man you’d become accustomed to over months working on your thesis; not that you heard him talk much to begin with.

Since then you’ve made a point to match every book he leaves for you. Yesterday, Yoongi chose I Could Pee on This: and Other Poems by Cats. At the end of the day, you spent thirty minutes searching shelf after shelf for an appropriate response, every book failing to meet your expectations. It wasn’t fair he knew the expansive collection like the back of his hand but nevertheless you found something up to par.

Yoongi rolled his eyes when you passed your books over the counter, a copy of Staying Dry: A Practical Guide to Bladder Control, like a shining star on top. A brief pink of his tongue flashed across his lips, a feeble attempt to muffle an amused smile. It was the most obvious reaction since the first time you responded.

Smiling like the cat who ate the canary, you left on clouds last night.

But this morning you have notes to write.

Snagging the collection, you make your way deeper into the building. Your unassigned-assigned desk tucked away on the fifth floor, far enough away from any noise so you can fully immerse in work without the threat of distraction. An uninterrupted view of the courtyard below is an added bonus.

The wooden table top is covered in a neat collection of pens and sticky notes in minutes; your laptop and the foot tall collection of references you devour over the next eight hours taking up the other half.

A few titles you request over and over sit on top, too valuable to be checked out for long term use so you settle for keeping them in constant rotation since no one else bothers to read the dusty yellowing tombs. For now, you focus on the new pieces you hope hold the information you need.

Earth rites: fertility practices in pre-industrial Britain, Archaeology and Fertility Cults in the Ancient Mediterranean, Metamorphosis of Baubo: myths of woman's sexual energy— 

I’m in Love with Mothman…

Well there it is.

You thumb across the glossy cartoon cover, failing to bite back a smile. Yoongi has a penchant for tossing in the most outlandish romance books he can find. Maybe because he knows you spend just as much if not more time than he does between the stacks. The suggestion box at the desk was full of cards stained with your penmanship asking for longer hours; several of which you’ve seen Yoongi rip in half as he pointedly met your gaze.

Tossing it aside, you pull forward one of the more musty books and start reading.

When you finally manage to resurface from laborious tales on several cults of Aphrodite, the rain is long gone. Even the darkest corners of the old building seem to glow gold in the evening sunset filtering through the glass doors. They're the only thing standing between you and freedom in the form curling up on your couch with a glass of wine and a new episode of your favorite reality dating show. But first, Yoongi needs his books back. 

His desk chair is abandoned and the return cart is gone as well which means he could be anywhere in the building. Disappointment leaches into your spine at the fact you won’t be able to witness his reaction to the twelfth book in your pile; the one you spent an extra fifteen minutes looking for in the corner of the third floor. 

A thick piece of library paper lists the materials you’ll need for the next day lays atop the neon green cover of Pest Management Solutions: How to Manage Your Moth Problem. They decorate the corner of the desk until Yoongi returns to find them. Hopefully he appreciates your humor.

Yoongi isn’t at his desk the next morning when you come in either. Instead, a doe eyed man with a lip piercing occupies the chair, clearly playing some game on his laptop. 

Approaching the counter, you begin to ask, “Where’s Yoon–”

“Staff meeting,” he interjects like he’s already answered the question a million times despite the library opening only five minutes ago. The white of his teeth threaten to blind you. “But I can help you!”

His name tag isn’t the same engraved golden metal Yoongi’s is, it’s a plastic sleeve with a paper insert with barely legible handwriting you decipher as  “Jungkook” and below “Volunteer.” You’ve seen him before from a distance. Usually trudging through the shelves with the book return cart in tow, occasionally taking a quick read inside before putting them in their rightful place. 

“I need to pick up some books. I gave Yoongi the list yesterday.”

“Sure.” Jungkook jumps up, approaching the shelf lined with piles for other patrons. “What’s your last name?”

He combs through the list after you answer, finding your stack easily enough. 

“Alright so Yoongi left a note that the encyclopedias you wanted are on the usual desk you have upstairs. But other than that I’ve got: Historical Studies of Changing Fertility, Sacred Mushroom and The Cross, Archaeology and Fertility Cults in The Ancient Mediterranean…” Jungkook lists off the titles, checking to make sure they're all in order. “And, um, this one isn’t on the list.”

It must be Yoongi’s choice for the day.

“What is it?”

Jungkook looks like he’s trying to hide his own amusement as he slides it over for you to read.

If I Were a Bird, You'd be The First Person I'd Shit On.

“Huh,” you blush. “Wonder how that got in there.”

“He must have left it by mistake. I can put it ba–”

“No, I’ll take it.” You toss it on top of the other, less embarrassing books in your stack and gather it into your arms before Jungkook can get in another word. “Thanks for your help!”

Scurrying towards the hallway housing the elevators, you attempt to juggle the pile of books, your stuffed bag, and coffee without taking a spill. It’s one thing to have your silent battle with Yoongi, but having someone else witness it makes you feel downright silly. And for the first one witnessed by others to be such an absurd and downright passive aggressive selection sends embarrassment through your veins.

As promised, three encyclopedias sit neatly on your desk; the volumes so thick they protrude from the table top like a small mountain. No wonder he left them there instead of making you carry them up in individual trips. But Yoongi’s goodwill clearly ended there. A sticky note on top of the stack pens his discontent at your selection.

I had to spend 3 hours in the basement to find these. If you need them again, don’t.

Even though he hadn’t signed it, you know it’s from him. The tight script fits his personality; thin lines of annoyance bleeding through the ink, not just his words. A waft of musty old paper and dust breezes through your nose as you open the first copy. They must have been housed in a forgotten storage area. At least his bird book makes more sense now. 

You don’t dig into the heap until after the sun is halfway through the sky but when you do it only proves to unravel your wits. Reading on, the wrinkle in your eyebrows deepens further. Page after page of conflicting knowledge passes by, each sentence more confusing than the last; minutes negating months of research. The thick pages hardly provide a soft landing for your head as you allow it to thump forward in exasperation.

The scrap of chair legs alerts to a new presence watching your meltdown in real time.

“Something wrong?” Yoongi asks.

With a heavy sigh, you respond.“I want to die.”

“Get in line.”

Shifting in your seat, you peer in his direction. A different day but the same wardrobe: dark button up, glasses, same unapproachable facade. But what Yoongi is doing sitting next to you is new.

Yoongi makes himself comfortable, picking at his nails as he waits patiently for an explanation. 

“Everything in my thesis is either wrong or the world authority on fertility in Europe is full of it.”

“Bummer.”

“Your sincerity is overwhelming.” You snap.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. Boredom seeps across his face but he doesn’t move to leave, just sinks deeper into the chair. “You’ve read almost half the collection since you started coming here, why are some old dusty books such a big deal?”

“Because all of those books cite these books which means those books are wrong and all my work is in the toilet.”

“Those books are from the seventies, the information is probably out of date.”

Slamming the copy serving as a pillow shut, you take a second glance at the title: Encyclopedia of Women and World Religion, Volume 7.

“Yoongi,” you sing.

Yoongi’s gaze flashes to yours, a trickle of confusion flashing across his eyes.“What?”

You stack up the books and push them across the desk with some effort. Just to savor the satisfaction of besting Yoongi, you indulge a long sip of now cold coffee before speaking again. No one else is around to witness your victory but that won’t dampen the high.

“Looks like you’ll be back in the basement because you brought me the wrong editions.”

He opens his mouth to argue, snatching one of the books to investigate but you beat him to the punch.

“I asked for the twenty-fifth edition, not the seventh.” You smirk. “I think you're losing your touch.”

He watches you over the rim of the cover. A fleeting glance in your direction but it makes your heart squeeze with need.

“Well, I guess you’re right,” Yoongi sighs, standing. “Do you still need them for anything or can I go ahead and take them?”

With your approval, he heaves the heavy tombs on to his cart. The strain of his forearms, bare from rolled up sleeves, catches your attention. Veins raised under creamy skin, lean muscles leading down to hands you’ve noticed since the first day you started visiting the library.

If you keep staring, you’re likely to start drooling. So you dive back into one of the useful books littering your desk and pretend to read until he’s disappearing down the hall.

On your way out, leaving much earlier than a typical day due to Yoongi’s mistake, you drop the remaining books off at the circulation desk. Along with a copy of Avian Hunting Techniques. He’s absent again but it doesn't matter.

You continue out the doors and down the sidewalk only to spot him leaning against the brick exterior further down the street. Even from a distance you can make out the natural scowl he’s constantly sporting. Except this time his lips pout around a cigarette. 

Of course he smokes.

The quasi-mysterious librarian who flirts with you through book titles, smokes cigarettes and looks hot doing it. 

“You know those things will kill you, right?” 

“That’s what the box says but they aren’t holding up their end of the deal,” Yoongi responds, flicking the ash before looking at his watch. “Wow, out before six. I’ll alert the press.”

“Well, if someone gave me the right books then maybe I’d stay longer. But I’m not about to wait around while you get the ones I need.”

Yoongi takes another drag of his cigarette before responding, “Are you trying to say I forced you to take a break?”

The realization dawns on you. Yoongi is the senior research librarian. He’s never given you the wrong books, even when you request the rare copies needed to be loaned from a different part of the country. The few times you’ve offered understanding if he couldn’t get them were met with a challenge in his gaze and smug satisfaction when handing them over a week later.

“You brought me the wrong copies on purpose!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He’s lying. You know it. Yoongi definitely knows you know by the way he smirks. But he’s already crushing the filter under his shoe and moving back towards the library by the time your brain catches up to your mouth.  “Have a good night, Y/N.”

With a scoff of indignation, you stalk towards your car.

The next morning, you march straight through the class doors to where Yoongi sits, fueled by snowballed annoyance from the previous day. Waking up on the wrong side of the bed is an understatement. If there are any gods, Yoongi should pick one and pray.

Your free afternoon of yesterday was spent dealing with the chaos your apartment has become over the past few weeks. Unfolded laundry, stacks of random papers, out of place books, and errant dust bunnies all became new victims to energy usually reserved for a full day of research. Taehyung practically shit himself when he woke up before dinner and found you scrubbing the bathroom sink.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, hand to his chest like a flustered old woman.

Bleach curled in your nostrils. “I live here.” 

“Not between the hours of eight and seven.”

But after the mess was dealt with, aggravation set in. How dare Yoongi purposefully meddle in your work. Well meaning or not you were an adult and could decide when enough was enough. The purposeful mishap hadn’t set you back far, one afternoon but a drop in the bucket in comparison to the months you’ve already spent chasing new leads. But the principle of the matter is that it’s none of his business what you do and when you do it.

Yoongi slides a slimmer stack over when you stop in front of him.

“Encyclopedias are on your desk,” he announces through a sip of coffee. He continues to type away, feigning disinterest as you sort through your stack with measured annoyance.

“Are they the right copies this time?”

“Double checked them myself.”

You open your mouth to verbalize your doubts but Yoongi’s pick of the day catches your eye.

Surviving Your Stupid Stupid Decision to Go to Grad School.

Scoffing, you flip the book around and shoot daggers into his face with your eyes. “Do you think you’re funny?”

The corner of his mouth twitches then becomes a full blown smile. Leaning over the desk, he drops his voice, “I think I’m hilarious.”

Remembering you are, in fact, in a library, you manage to muffle a frustrated groan. You dump the supplementary reading back on the counter for Yoongi to deal with and head upstairs. 

Unlike the usual days where you put off finding a response to Yoongi’s extra copy until the waning hours of the afternoon, you drop your bags and head straight for the shelves. The fifth floor houses a collection of textbooks and other reference material. It’s why it's always deserted unless some poor fool stumbles on it by accident; the perfect place to work uninterrupted for hours.

You head down stairs, circling the fourth and then third floor like a shark in a feeding frenzy. A few covers spark interest but nothing captures what bubbles in your veins: annoyance, anger, confusion. A brief flutter of interest as to why Yoongi decided to mess with you but those feelings are more dangerous than the acidic ones.

Row after proves unfruitful in your quest for passive aggressive revenge. None have the same bite as his book, or seem to curb the homicidal thoughts raging in your head.

Until a little white book peeps back at you from the end of the aisle.

Yoongi jumps when you slam Bitter Is the New Black: Confessions of a Condescending, Egomaniacal, Self-Centered Smartass in front of him. A feat in and of itself to sneak up on him given the loan desk has a perfect view of the entire first floor but whatever he’d been clicking away at on the computer was distraction enough.

“What's this?”

“Thought you might like some new reading.” You flash your teeth.

His chin jerks towards the glossy cover. “I already gave this two stars on Goodreads.”

Of course he has.

Face prickling in embarrassment, you turn back the way you came without a word.

Hours later, when half the day has ticked by and the ache for more caffeine burns your eyes, Yoongi stops by your desk. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t try and gain the attention you pointedly withhold. He sets a paper coffee cup on the corner of the tabletop and leaves.

You snatch up the cup after he rounds the corner out of sight. The lack of sugar leaves much to be desired but free coffee is free coffee, especially to a PhD student with limited means. 

It isn’t much of an apology but guilt blooms down your spine anyway. He meant well. You aren’t known for giving yourself breaks; unable to quit while you’re ahead. A voluntary day off is less likely than winning the lottery. You’re a busy body and the constant work keeps you from dissolving into chaos.

You don’t see Yoongi again until every book at your desk is exhausted, begging for a break from your manhandling. Double and triple checking notes and citations are the poor excuse you implement to delay the inevitable. At some point you’ll have to go downstairs to face the music. 

He’s waiting like always, scanning the mountain of returns littering the counter from a long day. Each step closer withers something in your stomach. 

The copies in your hand shift onto the wooden surface, joining the stack for him to work through. Yoongi flashes a polite grimace when you catch his eye before immediately diving back into his work. Hopefully he understands why you chose Thank You for Smoking. And why you covered the second half of the title with a sticky note.

Jungkook’s smiling face greets you bright and early. His name tag has been upgraded from flimsy paper to a plastic one and a printed label with his name. 

Handing over your library card, he quickly scans it and grabs the books meant for today’s dissection. 

“Yoongi wanted me to tell you that if you want more coffee while you’re working, you can go to the staff lounge on the second floor.”

“Oh.”

Jungkook continues sifting through your requests, making sure each is correct.  “Between you and me, the coffee down the street is better. But don’t tell him I said that.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s a coffee snob and thinks his shit—sorry—stuff is the best.”

“Okay,” you say, grabbing your pile. “Thanks.”

You set up your station like always, sorting through each book and devising a mental to do list. The desk resembles a feast but instead of food it’s encyclopedias, printed articles, and dusty manuscripts Yoongi wrangled from who knows where. On the outer board of your work station rests the feature of the day: How to Beg for Cigarettes.

A few hours pass between the pages. Your previous research is confirmed by the significantly less dusty encyclopedias this time, corroborating the basis of your thesis. A new work you haven’t seen is cited in the back, piquing your interest for more evidence. 

Instead of bothering one of the staff, you use the library website and find it in their catalog. It’s somewhere on the second floor where Yoongi offers free coffee. Two birds, one stone; a new book and a new cup of coffee.

The layout resembles all the other floors. A collection of study tables in the center crowded by bookshelves on all sides. One person, an undergrad by the look of pure dread on their features, occupies a table but that's it. Glancing at the note with the call number, you start towards the stacks on the left.

You find the correct area, eyes scanning up and down the different shelves to no avail. Hundreds of books, different sizes in an array of colors, flash by but none are the one you need. You’re about to call it quits when you spot it on the top shelf, just out of reach.

Call it a moment of stupidity, a brief blight of recklessness, but the book sits only a few inches beyond your fingers. You look around to make sure no one is around to witness the brilliantly flawed idea crest in your brain. With the coast clear, you hoist yourself up the shelf.

A deadpan voice nearly makes you fall.

“Looking for something?” 

Yoongi stands a few feet away, head cocked to the side. Of course he’d find you in such a ridiculous position. Even through the blur of your peripheral vision, the harsh lines of his usual uniform clashes against the back drop of books. Dark jeans fitted over his thighs, dark button down rolled up his arms, and a pair of glasses that make him look hot. But you’re in no position to dwell when the risk of falling on your ass is so high.

“Nope, just getting in some exercise” you grunt, moving your foot to the shallow hold of the next shelf.

Yoongi moseys up behind you before continuing. “And climbing a decades old bookshelf is how you stretch your legs?”

“You smoke cigarettes, I climb old furniture. We all have our vices.”

Your foot slips from its perch, making you squeak before catching your balance. 

“Alright spider-monkey, that's enough.” His hands slide across your hip, fingers curved around the softest part of your waist as he helps you down. 

Distracted by the weight of him still on your hip, the heat of his chest a scorching across your back, you don’t even think to disparage him for the cheap Twilight reference. The few inches Yoongi has on you allows him to reach overhead to snag the copy you need with ease. But as you watch his hands close around the spine everything beyond fades to black; like the universe pinholes where you two stand.

“This one?” You feel the vibration of his words up and down your spine, warm breath tracing across the shell of your ear.

Body on autopilot, you turn to face Yoongi. His mouth moves, eyes scanning the book cover but every word deafens in a muddy haze. He doesn’t seem to realize his hand is still on your waist, or how he crowds you into the shelves; chest to chest, stomachs barely an inch apart.

“Huh?” you ask, tearing your eyes away from his mouth.

“I said, if you asked for this book earlier I could have gotten it for you.”

“Oh.”

“You okay?” he asks, stepping further into you. “You look a little flushed.”

The bastard smiles. A God’s honest smile like his thigh isn’t between your own, or he isn’t waiting for a reply while his fingers dig in beneath your ribs.

Just when you open your mouth to say something, Yoongi silences you with a firm squeeze of his hand. His head lowers until his breath ghosts along your chin. 

Then you’re kissing; lips sliding together easily like he anticipated it. The world shatters all around from just a few passes of his mouth across your own, the weight of his body flattening you against the bookshelf. 

The first hint of his tongue against the seam of your lips makes you gasp and Yoongi takes the opportunity to taste you. You melt under his attention. Head tipping back, shoulders bowing to take more, your senses flood with the remnants of coffee and something else; something so quintessential Yoongi your head spins. It lights a new flame in your veins, one burning with pure want.

A handful of his shirt pulls him closer. Yoongi follows easily but gets more than asked for when one of your hands tangles in the back of his hair, tugging until he’s tilting his chin the way you want. It’s a bad habit other dates have subtly complained about but a noise bubbles in his throat at the dig of your nails; responding with his own palm squeezing roughly across your ass until your hips meet his. 

The crash of the book near your feet is like a bucket of ice water.

“Oh my god,” you gasp. Jumping back proves futile as the shelf digs further into your spine. “I–”

Puffy lips and lowered eyes stare back at you, clear evidence that you haven’t hallucinated what just happened. Yoongi dips down to kiss you again but you slither out of his grip.

Forgetting the book on the tiled floor, you mumble an apology and flee back upstairs, beelining to the vacant restroom.

To your own mortification, your features mirror Yoongi’s; lips swollen, eyes glazed. Your sweater twisted around your torso clearly betraying your rendezvous in the stacks. Beads of sweat cling to your forehead and neck.

A few splashes of cold water help clear the fog in your brain but as it dissipates embarrassment sets in. Making out with a handsome man is one thing. Making out with the librarian assisting in the most important work of your life is an entirely different ordeal; one that can only spell trouble.

Pacing back and forth, the cool paper towel on the back of your neck helps calm your racing heart enough to leave the safety of the ladies room.

Try as you might to drown under piles of books, it’s useless. You pretend to read the same passages over and over but none of the words register. The kiss replays over and over and over again. You kissed Yoongi. Yoongi kissed you back. He tried to kiss you again when you pulled away.

The end of the day inevitably comes which means you have to face him whether you want to or not. But you won’t allow a single lapse of judgment to affect your work; a moment of weakness propelled by months of abstinence that just so happened to coincide with a surly librarian’s entrance into your life. You just needed to get it out of your system. If it hadn’t been Yoongi it would have been someone else. 

At least that’s what you tell yourself.

A glance at your watch informs you that today is the second day you’ll leave the library early. Rather than give into the stubborn instinct to stay, you decide putting as much distance between yourself and Yoongi is far better for your mental health. With squared shoulders and a raised chin, you head downstairs. 

Yoongi’s waiting behind the counter. He isn’t typing on his computer or scanning books. He watches every step you take, arms crossed in front as he leans forward like he’s eager for a confrontation. 

“Yoongi,” you say.

“Y/N.”

You use every fiber of will to maintain eye contact as you pass your stack over the counter. “I’ll need these same ones tomorrow.”

“Okay.” He nods. “And the kiss?”

“What kiss?” you croak.

Yoongi’s eyes blaze like you’re a new puzzle to be solved, like he wants to take you apart and find exactly what makes you tick. You feel naked. “The one where you—”

“Must have been someone else. Sorry. Have a good night!” You rush for the door before he can say another word.

Another morning is another day in the library, but this time your roommate begs to tag along. 

“Look, I’m not getting anything done on my thesis so maybe you’ll rub off on me,” Taehyung says.

Rolling your eyes, you step through the door he holds open. “I think you’ve had plenty of people rub off on you.”

Gasping with fake indignation, he catches up easily. “Are you calling me a slut?” 

“Yes.”

“Good, I wanted to make sure we were on the same page. Is that him?”

Yoongi and Jungkook are talking behind the counter. Jungkook’s hands wave wildly as he recounts whatever information to his boss while Yoongi listens with fake interest. Or that's what someone else might think. The subtle signs he cares are hidden in the details; the miniscule lift of shoulders, a cock of his head, and when Jungkook pouts in a way too ridiculous for a man his size, Yoongi hides a smile in the shake of his head.

“Yes.”

“And I’m the slut?” Taehyung scowls as you pinch his shoulder. “What? He’s a nerd’s walking wet dream.” 

“And he can hear you, so shut up.”

“Morning!” Jungkook calls on his way past with a cart full of books. 

He grins like he knows exactly what happened on the second floor yesterday but that can’t be true. Yoongi doesn’t seem like the type to kiss and tell. Only the type to kiss and tease you relentlessly for it when no one else is around to hear.

Taehyung’s attention immediately locks on him. You love your roommate, always have and, unfortunately, always will; but he is a slut and Jungkook is definitely his type. However, he’s on your turf and knows better than to fuck where you have to eat for the next few months. 

“Y/N, Y/N’s friend,” Yoongi says when you approach his desk. 

“Taehyung.” 

“Right,” Yoongi drawls, blinking lazily before sliding your books over and turning around to sort something on the opposite counter.

Taehyung, ever the gentleman, grabs the pile for you and follows upstairs. 

“Well he seems like a cup of sunshine,” Taehyung whispers. 

“Just because he isn’t fawning over you doesn’t mean he’s an asshole.”

“I’m very fawn-able, ask anyone,” your roommate argues as you approach the fifth floor. “Wait, what's this… How to Defeat Your Own Clone and Other Tips for Surviving the Biotech Revolution. This is the type of shit he’s giving you? You’re easier than I am.”

“Give me that.” You snatch the paperback out of his grip. “Stop being nosy.”

Taehyung lets you work in peace after that, disappearing to gather more of his own materials. Even in undergrad he’d never been one to sit still for long. But he still managed to get a spot doing an engineering thesis despite the constant changes in his attention.

After several hours of mind numbing typing you need a break, and another cup of coffee on someone else’s dime sounds perfect.

“I’m getting coffee.”

“Bring me some,” Taehyung says without looking up from his screen.

The staff lounge is nothing fancy. A couple small tables with plastic chairs tucked around, a cork board covered with fliers, and a white board stuck to the fridge scrawled upon with black dry erase marker. The coffee pot sits full in the machine, still hot to the touch. 

You pour two cups. Taehyung’s gets loaded with creamer cups until it’s closer to white than black while yours is sweetened to sickening perfection. When you try to take a sip, the liquid immediately burns your tongue. Too hot coffee is better than cold coffee but an ice cube would help make it more palatable.

Moving back to the fridge, you go to open the freeze but stop when the white board catches your attention again.

Most notes are chores or friendly reminders about time cards but almost half the board is dedicated to a back and forth.

‘Unofficial Employee of the Month: Jungkook’ 

A note in Yoongi’s tight script: ‘You don’t work here.’

‘That’s why it's unofficial!’ in what must be Jungkook’s messy handwriting.

‘You’re my official employee of the month. - Namjoon’

At the bottom is a crude drawing of stick figures, two tall smiling ones holding hands under a rainbow labeled ‘JK’ and ‘Joon’ and a comically shorter one with evil eyebrows surrounded by storm clouds and ‘yoongi :(’ overhead.

“Snooping for secrets?”

“Jesus Christ,” you jump, turning to face Yoongi. “Has anyone ever told you it’s rude to sneak up on people?”

“You’re in the staff lounge, there’s gonna be staff here.” Yoongi crosses to the coffee pot on the counter and pours himself a cup. He doesn’t add cream or sugar or anything else to lessen the bitterness. Cliche. “So, was bringing your boyfriend here your subtle way of letting me down?”

“You think Taehyung is my boyfriend?” You whirl around in shock. Yoongi raises a brow, prompting you to continue. “Jungkook is more his type than I am.”

Yoongi releases a pleased hum, eyes shining. “So no boyfriend then?”

“Nope.”

You’re shaking but don’t look away from his hungry gaze. Yoongi takes a step closer, and another and one more until you're pinned to the countertop and his mouth is on yours. 

This time, you're more aware of everything. The smell of his cologne, the tickle of his bangs along your forehead, all the tiny details that were muffled before. Yoongi’s lips are firm against your own, a little chapped but it only makes you hotter with each pass.

His mouth is everywhere; your chin, your jaw, peppering down your throat until he pushes aside the hem of your shirt and sets to work on the jut of your collarbone like he’ll never get a chance again. 

“Yoongi,” you hum on the first rake of teeth. 

He takes it as an invitation to dig in harder, sucking the skin until your spine threatens to break and you say his name again. Desperate for some kind of anchor, you knot your fingers back in his hair and pull. 

A throaty noise responds and the need to hear more rears its head. Yoongi who always watches with measured fascination undone by some light petting. The power is addictive. 

Legs spread, he presses in flat. The heat of his cock, rigid beneath the fabric of his jeans, teases across the seam of your own. You're technically still in public but the consequences concern you less than the knowledge that you’ll go mad if you don’t feel him. His arms circle your back, pulling you firmer against him, right to the edge of the linoleum counter.

Wedging a hand between your bodies, you manage to get his zipper undone while your tongue traces along his jaw. Yoongi angles his hips to help, curling into your palm when you cup him over the fabric of his boxers. Every press has him swelling harder. 

His hands reach under your shirt. Skin on skin, the rough calluses of his fingers trace your ribs, thumbs following the cup of your bra in a tease. It’s a simple touch but your own hands falter when he brushes a nipple. You melt into each other.

“Hey, Yoongi, do you know where—HOLY SHIT!”

Jungkook stops at the door, eyes wide, mouth wider. 

“Get out!” Yoongi barks. He’s trying his best to keep your body covered from the younger man’s view but even if Jungkook isn’t getting a full frontal he isn’t dumb enough not to realize what’s going on.

Yoongi shudders a few breaths. Head hung low, he tucks himself back into his pants without moving away. You’re already slipping down from your perch when he looks back up.

“I’m just gonna…go,” you mumble, scurrying out the door.

Jungkook waits outside, eyes still bugging out of his head but at least has the decency to pretend he didn’t catch you in the act.

Tugging your shirt down, you avoid his gaze. How far would you have let Yoongi go if Jungkook hadn’t interrupted? 

“Coffee?” Taehyung asks as you approach the table.

You know what you look like without a mirror. The same as yesterday with glassy eyes and bruised lips, clothes wrinkled. Thankfully, Taehyung is more interested in his modeling software than where you’ve been. 

“They were out.” 

With a sigh like he is personally victimized by the lack of caffeine, Taehyung collapses on the table and plays dead. But he perks up at the sound of footsteps approaching behind you.

“You left this in the break room,” Yoongi says, dropping a cup of coffee by your side before disappearing. 

You turn to follow his retreating for until he’s hidden back between the shelves. The back of his hair is still messy despite his attempt to fix it, same with the wrinkles in his shirt from your hands.

“I thought they were out?” Taehyung eyes you suspiciously when you look back at him.

Cradling the still hot cup in your hands, you avoid his gaze. “Shut up.”

“So you do have to sleep with someone to get a cup of coffee.” 

“I’m not sleeping with him,” you spit in a harsh whisper.

“Why not?”

“Because…”

Because what exactly? There isn’t a good reason other than the fact Jungkook was the king of cockblocks. You would have let Yoongi do just about anything he wanted and he seemed to be in agreement. But you’d rather die than admit that out loud.

“You are so smart and so incredibly stupid.” Taehyung rolls his eyes, rising to pack his things. “I need to pee.”

You point him in the direction of the bathrooms and get back to work.

When Taehyung returns minutes later he starts shoving his things in his bag. “I’m leaving.”

“Why?”

“This is like the epicenter of hot smart men and I refuse to suffer any longer.”

“You got Jungkook’s number,” you deadpan.

Taehyung can’t hide his own shit eating grin. “Yoongi gave it to me.”

“If you’re leaving, so am I.”

“Why?” your roommate whines. 

“Because I got you a hot date and that means you owe me dinner.”

“Technically it was Yoongi but I’ll concede.” Taehyung heaves his bag up. “Come now my dearest, we can still get happy hour if we hurry.” 

You reach in your own bag and toss him your keys. “Go wait in the car. I’ve gotta go grab another book real quick.”

“Whatever,” Taehyung says, mumbling something like ‘nerds’ under his breath as he heads downstairs.

You find Yoongi while on your way to his desk, already toting around the cart piled high with returns from the day. Several of the covers are Taehyung’s picks and somehow the knowledge they’ve spoken almost knocks you off kilter. Taehyung is a good wingman and that’s what worries you most.

“Hi,” he says, kneeling to put a book on a low shelf.

It shouldn’t have the effect it does but something about the way Yoongi looks up at you, on his knees, head tipped back, has your mind running wild with the image of him in the same position with both of you wearing far less clothing. Maybe if you weren’t interrupted in the staff lounge you’d have seen it in real life.

“Hi. Mind if I add these to the pile?” 

“Go ahead.”

The Stocking was Hung sits on top. You don’t wait around to see his reaction.

The temperature had steadily been increasing over the past weeks but this morning is the worst of all. That inescapable warmth fully seeded overnight and promised the comforting days of sweaters and pants are long gone.

Heat makes you lazy and fitful. In the early hours, long before you actually need to be awake, you stare up at the ceiling of your room. Not even a frigid shower helped the stickiness of your skin or laying still in your bed in nothing but one of Taehyung’s shirts and ratty shorts. It followed you everywhere until you left for the same brick building you spend more time at than at home.

Without thought, you throw on the first seasonally appropriate outfit in your closet; a thin dress that covers enough for the public but promises to keep you cool.

Yoongi seems to be taking the change in weather as well as you are. His usual attire is absent, nothing but a white shirt clinging to his torso. The pale skin of his forearms briefly catches your attention but you focus anywhere else to stop from rounding the desk and finishing what started upstairs.

You steel yourself and approach the desk, determined to act normal.

Familiar dark eyes flash up to greet you but Yoongi’s mouth doesn’t form any words. He just stares at you. You can feel the weight of his gaze on your shoulders, your neck, and then he pointedly keeps them trained on your eyes. Like he's willing to pretend yesterday didn’t happen. 

He doesn’t speak when he passes over the same pile of books as yesterday but you can feel him burn a hole in your back. Even after you climb up the stairs and out of sight, the prickling sensation you’re being watched follows.

You don’t get anything done. The words on the page might as well be another language as your mind races.

Yoongi didn’t give you an extra book today.

An endless list of potential explanations race through your mind. Maybe you’d been too forward with your choice. Maybe he’s gotten it out of his system, a quick tryst in the employee lounge enough to satiate his curiosity. Maybe because it’s the second time you’ve brushed him off. Even if it wasn’t your fault Jungkook stumbled in before anything worthwhile could happen. 

But he isn’t speaking to you and he isn’t giving you the random book you’ve come to look forward to every morning. 

Channeling the restless energy of overthinking, you take a lap around the floor. You pause to flip through random books as you zigzag through the stacks. Anything to take your mind off the unshakable tension sticking in the air like syrup.

Your laptop is in sleep mode by the time you reluctantly come back. Everything is as you left except a book you’ve never seen before sits on top of the open one you’d been reading.

There’s a Boy in the Girls’ Bathroom. 

A sticky note sticks up from the inside of the cover. A bolt of excitement shoots down your spine. When you flip it open a familiar handwriting stares back: ‘on the seventh floor’.

You hadn’t been gone too long but the fear of making him wait has you rushing up the stairs. Each step brings you closer to where he waits until you’re opening the bathroom door.

“Yoongi?” 

A hand wraps around your upper arm, yanking you in. Another hand silences a surprised shout before you realize it’s Yoongi and not a murderer pinning you to the interior of the door you just came through.

“Jesus, you scared me.” 

“Sorry,” he breathes. “It’s just not a good look for me to be up here.”

“Oh, really?” You smile. “And why is that?”

“This is my job.”

“Didn’t seem to stop you before.”

“Who says it’s stopping me now?”

He thumbs the strap of your dress, hooking under the thin material and dragging it down your arm. The heat and weight of Yoongi against you, touching you so simply, makes you vibrate. Yoongi moves into your neck, panting with a grind against your thigh. “I swear I don’t usually do this.”

You want to argue that you have two accounts that he does do this often, at least with you. But for someone who says they don’t, Yoongi is surprisingly natural. The tease prickling the end of your tongue fizzles out under his teeth across the curve of your shoulder, goosebumps blossoming along your back. 

A whimper unbecoming of an adult woman breaks the lullaby of summer air conditioner singing through the vents. You’re sweating under the cling of your dress, skin hot to the touch thanks to Yoongi’s attention; long fingers curved around your waist, thumbs skimming just under your breast.

“Could have fooled me.”

“This is a very nice dress.” His mouth bites down your neck, taking advantage of the new strips of skin the neckline unveils.

“That’s all it takes?” you pant from the wet of his tongue. “A pretty dress?”

“If you think,” he whispers into your ear. “I’m doing this because of your dress then you really haven’t been paying attention.”

The dark locks of his hair are too alluring to resist, tempting one of your own hands to scratch against the tip of his spine when Yoongi rolls against you again. A firm tug brings him to your mouth, lips molding to one another in a searing kiss. You can taste the coffee from the lounge and the faintest hint of cigarette smoke, like he thought to hide it before asking you to follow him.

“How long? How long have you wanted this?”

Yoongi hooks one of your thighs higher, savoring the heat of your core against the crotch of his pants with a slow thrust. “Since you came in and busted my balls over not having that archived manuscript when the website said we did.”

You remember that day. Patience thin from Taehyung’s loud overnight guest, you stormed into the library looking to take it out on a photocopy of the manuscript only for the only copy to be AWOL. Yoongi became the surrogate for your rage, his eyes burning into your skull as questioned how he could let it happen.

The next day was when he started adding books to your stack.

“That was months ago.”

“I’m a patient guy.”

You want him naked; ache to catalog what he’s hidden underneath bulky sweaters and loose button ups over the past few months. But that idea has to wait for somewhere less risky. You settle for dipping your hand under his shirt, tracing your fingers over the elastic of his boxers peeking from the waistband of his pants.

Attempting to hide the effect he has, you loop your fingers in his belt loops and pull him even closer so your face is hidden in the crook of his neck. “There’s a Boy in the Girls’ Bathroom? A little on the nose, don’t you think?”

“Like The Stocking was Hung is any better?” Yoongi sighs as your mouth ghosts over the rising vein webbing the side of his throat.

“Hey!” you object, rising to face him. “I thought you’d appreciate it after that mothman book.”

“I appreciate you complimenting my dick plenty.”

Yoongi doesn’t let you go, hands palming at the swell of your ass the entire way from the door to the counter. He’s got one hand curved along your jaw, thumb hooked around your chin and his teeth bruising your lower lip. The edge of granite digs in your spine but not for long as he lifts you and settles on his knees to dive under your skirt. 

He kisses up your calf, tongue snaking across the knob of your knee then the plush of your thigh. Just when you feel a puff of breath against the damp crotch of your panties, Yoongi falls to repeat the same path against your other leg. 

You don’t suffer for long. Pooling the excess fabric around your waist, Yoongi blinks up from between your thighs. The pink of his tongue follows the edge of your panties, wetting the fabric more until it clings obscenely. 

He pushes his glasses up to rest on the top of his head, keeping the mess of gray and black hair out of his eyes before diving back down.

His tongue lathers over your covered slit with a groan. “Taste better than I imagined.”

“You thought about this?”

“Couldn’t stop thinking about it. On my desk, yours, against that fucking bookshelf.” Yoongi punctures each word with more wet kisses against your core. “In my car, my bed. Everywhere.”

A cool breath has your thighs squeezing around his head thanks to the erotic combination of his spit and your own fluids drenching your panties. “Is this all you think about?”

“I had to come up here and jerk off yesterday because I couldn’t stop thinking about your hands.”

Your panties are pulled to the side before you can indulge in the new visual blooming on the edge of consciousness. “Yoongi.”

Eyes closed, his mouth circles your clit, tongue gently stroking you to life. Every pass against the sensitive bundle of nerves has your thighs squeezing around his head. 

The first prod of fingers makes Yoongi’s hold on the crook of your knee tighten. He stretches you back open, eyes following the way you suck him inside; coating his spindly digits with more arousal each time.

“A-ah,” you shake. “Please.”

Yoongi chances a glance up at your face, the needy sheen in your eyes, the way your mouth gapes, and decides to take mercy. 

He latches back onto your clit. Yoongi groans as you tug his hair, knocking his glasses to the ground. The pace he works your remains lethargic, savoring the kick of your hips until you grind against his mouth. 

Throaty groans vibrate against your cunt, tightening the muscles along the inside of your thighs. Neither of you are doing a good job muffling yourselves but if it’s between getting caught and having him stop then you’ll deal with the consequences when they come.

“Oh, Yoongi.” Your chest pulls tight; spurred on by the sounds of Yoongi bullying your insides, his mouth smacking against your folds. “I’m— oh, oh, oh!”

The rough crook of his fingers sends you flying. Only the pressure of his shoulders keep you from slipping off the counter as you explode against his mouth. Euphoria rushes your veins, licks of pleasure overwhelming. Every muscle quivers as Yoongi works you through until you use his hair to pull him away.

He’s quick on his feet. You’re still recovering as Yoongi pushes your bra down and draws one of your nipples into his mouth, licking and sucking until you pull his hair again. Eyes cinched tight, face wet, you force his pants open then his underwear until Yoongi is almost as exposed as you are; pretty in your palm, sticky and hot to the touch.

But it’s not enough to feel him in your hand, you need to feel him inside. To fill you up where you sit hollow and aching without his fingers to provide a sliver of relief. “Fuck me.”

Yoongi doesn’t tease, has no quip about how needy you are. He keeps his mouth on your chest and uses his hands to grab something out of his pocket. It happens so fast you don’t even realize the condom is on until he nudges between your legs.

Your nails dig into his back, breathing through the initial stretch is the only way you stay quiet. Yoongi hides himself back in your neck, strained noises clawing out of his throat.

Yoongi isn’t gentle. Not caution or waiting. Months of push and pull destroy any desire for him to treat you as something fragile. He rushes into desperately, forcing your palm flat against the mirror behind you for some semblance of stability.

“God,” he grunts. “You’re incredible.”

You whimper a quiet acknowledgement, too fucked out to blush under his praise; pulling Yoongi closer until he’s scooping his hands underneath your ass, thrusting into you over and over. His mouth finds yours. Greedy. Hungry. 

It’s Yoongi who struggles to stay quiet. Even through the kiss he moans loud enough you feel it in your throat. You listen to them all, twisting the hand knotted in his hair to hear the whine you’ve quickly become obsessed with.

“Should have done this sooner,” your back arches and Yoongi’s mouth slips back down. 

“I tried. But you kept ignoring me.”

“I wasn’t—fuck—ignoring you.” Yoongi is everywhere. His taste on your mouth, cologne burned in your nose. The feel of him all over your body. “Shit.”

He fucks you harder to prove a point, hand slipping down to rub your clit. Your second orgasm glows on the edges. If Yoongi keeps playing with you, stretching you in half on his cock and biting a mark into your breast, you know you’ll come.

You focus on breathing. Letting it come to you instead of chasing it, overthinking it to the point it evades you. It’s easier than usual. Yoongi doesn't leave room for anything else beyond feeling good. 

“Oh my god,” you whisper as the cord tightens. 

Everything turns white hot, pleasure tearing through your muscles and ripping them to shreds. You convulse in Yoongi’s hold, only pinned down by his hips fucking you brutally. Nerves shot, Yoongi babbles praise in your ear but it's indecipherable from the headrush.

Yoongi follows you over the edge a few strokes later, twitching inside you until he stills. His hips give a few arrhythmic bucks as he fills the condom with his load. 

There's something nastier about clothed sex. The way sweat makes your clothes cling tighter, the rush of needing each other so badly you can’t be bothered to do more than pull things to the side. 

You feel dirty but in a good way. Yoongi kisses across the apples of your cheeks, your chin, your forehead, even your brows, but never returns to your lips. Each leaves you more frustrated than the last, muscles twitching beneath and head turning at the last second to try and meet his mouth. 

Tricking you with a brief connection, he laughs when you chase his lips as he dodgers back. But a pout and whine bring him back into your orbit.

He cleans you up with paper towels, wiping away the mess between your thighs with something akin to disappointment. But he doesn’t complain as he fixes your clothes and then his own. Muscles like jelly, you fall into his side when he helps you down from the counter. 

With a kiss to your temple, “Let's get out of here.”

“Morning, Yoongi.” You smile as you walk up to his desk.

A set of dark eyes rise to greet you, taking the cup of coffee you so graciously offer before smiling as well. “Good morning.”

Jungkook gawks like he’s never seen you two speak before. Round eyes bounce between you and Yoongi as if it’s a tennis match instead of a normal conversation. Probably because Yoongi was less than subtle when he pulled you out of the building yesterday, telling him to call Namjoon if anything came up.

Or maybe because you’re wearing one of Yoongi’s shirts.

You discovered much about the mysterious librarian overnight. He’d taken you back to his apartment; a perfect extension of himself decorated with dark furniture and more books than anyone could possibly read. Yoongi owned a collection of vinyl records that rivaled his book collection, he was a great cook, and he was studying to take the entrance exam for law school. 

After you were wined and dined, Yoongi dedicated hours between your legs. On his couch, against the massive bookcase in his living room, between the sheets of his bed. 

He also had a kink for eating you out while you explained your thesis in precise detail.

You’d only been allowed to leave when Yoongi was getting ready for work, not that you'd put up much argument. 

You make a scene of sorting through the stack he slides over. It’s not that you don’t trust Yoongi. But now that you’ve had a taste, you’re addicted to his presence. But he unfortunately can’t follow you upstairs so you savor the time now. 

“One of my books is missing,” you say.

“Oh, right.”

Yoongi passes over an unfamiliar copy.

Maybe He Just Likes You

And the blue sticky note attached, with his handwriting. ‘Dinner when you're done?’

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie @gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire @missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @sliceofwoozi @dokyeomkyeom @yoonguurt

© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.

[dollfaceksj]

still don’t know my name | jjk (m)

➥ banner by: @archivedkookie.

➥ PAIRING: jungkook x fem!reader

➥ SUMMARY: In which your annoying neighbor—that you can’t stand—turns out to be the person behind the online account you’ve been sexting. You still don’t know his name.

➥ GENRE: smut ⋆ cybersex ⋆ enemies

➥ CATEGORY: mini three-shot

➥ WARNINGS: explicit sexual content, lotssss of sexting, cybersex, degradation kink, mentions of pornography, exchanging nude photos, nsfw twitter, masturbation (m & f), jungkook is a fucking JERK, reader is an annoying brat, bickering, neighbor beef, no like jk is rlly meannnndjdjdjd, reader is kinda dumb but thats not a warning for any time soon, awkward tension, lots of tension, gamer!jk, freelancer!jk, bam cameo <3, name calling (brat, dumb, stupid, etc.), mentions of roughhh sex (enjoyed by both parties), minors DNI

➥ WORDCOUNT: 8.3k

a/n: so happy pt. 1 is out !! 🤭🤭🤭 just building up the tension for this one … hehe 😋 hope u like it <333 feedback n reblogs are appreciated!

btw: unedited .. not my best work but i rlly wanted to get this idea out + jungkook is basically unnamed but it’s definitely abt him guys like don’t confuse anything he’s definitely the annoying neighbor but as it’s from reader’s perspective, you don’t know his name so he’s pretty much nameless

⋆ TAGLIST ⋆

⇠ TEASER ⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆ NEXT ⇢

@iIikebigbootybitches | 9:23PM

So what are you wearing lol

Ugh. You can’t roll your eyes hard enough at that. Do guys have no idea how to flirt with women anymore? What else would you be wearing than pyjamas if you told him you’re already in bed?

You | 9:25PM

pyjamas lol

@iIikebigbootybitches | 9:25PM

What kind

For fuck’s sake. Do men think women go to sleep in lingerie? Why did you even make that secret account if all men just bore you to death in your private messages?

You | 9:26PM

sweatpants and a tank top

@iIikebigbootybitches | 9:27PM

Isn’t it too hot for sweatpants? Haha

You | 9:30PM

i was kinda cold so i was hoping you’d get me hot and bothered but you’ve got me falling asleep tbh. goodnight aaron

@iIikebigbootybitches | 9:32PM

Damn lol. Harsh. This is why women don’t get asked out on dates anymore

Right… that’s the reason. Dumbass.

You waste no time blocking this goofball before turning over and closing your eyes, chasing the sleep you so desperately crave.

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“Dude, how the hell did you miss that?!”

The muffled voice coming from the wall to your right makes you want to scream into your pillow. With an annoyed grunt, you roll over and reach for your phone, squinting when your phone lights up and sting your eyes in the dark.

11:14PM.

A loud groan bubbles up the back of your throat as you slam your fist into the wall repeatedly, hoping your annoying neighbor gets the hint.

“I just saw you–” he pauses, “hold on a second.”

Not even 5 seconds pass before the banging is returned to your wall, as if you’re the one making all that damn noise.

He doesn’t just knock one or two times, he keeps banging like he’s got something to prove and he’s doing a great job at making your blood boil.

Then, he returns—to what you assume to be his computer—and continues talking at a volume that would allow the entire neighborhood to hear him play his stupid video games.

You angrily toss the sheets off your body when you’ve had enough, swinging your legs off the side of your bed. You angrily shove your feet into your fuzzy slippers before stomping your way to his front door, a Hello Kitty tank top draped over your torso and velvet shorts—yes, you lied to that freak—with the bedazzled word ‘JUICY’ spelled across your perky asscheeks.

You raise your hand and aggressively slam your fist down on the door, repeatedly and annoyingly like he did to your bedroom wall just a few seconds ago. It’s almost like his golden apartment number—504B—is mockingly staring at you. The urge to peel it off his door and toss it into your toilet is growing with each passing millisecond.

A loud groan reaches your ears from behind the door before keys jingling together resounds throughout the corridor.

The door swings open and there he is. Headphones around his neck, a scowl on his face, his tongue rolling against the inside of his cheek in annoyance as he slowly—and very arrogantly—drags his gaze down your body before meeting your furious eyes again.

This happens every fucking week.

Your eyes drape over his figure, committing it all to memory. His wavy black locks are pulled back in a small bun, strands—that are too short to fit into the elastic—frame his face just right and his torso is clad in a black tank top, tattoo sleeve on full display for you.

His grey sweatpants hang low on his hips, a silver chain decorates his neck, silver rings in his lip that glimmer under the hallway light of your shared corridor.

You cross your arms over your chest in defiance, proving to him that you don’t care about his scowl and he can look pissed all he wants. “Some people are trying to fucking sleep,” you snark at him.

He exaggeratedly rolls his eyes and it makes the nerves in your hands tingle with the need to smack the shit out of him. In response, he barks, “Who goes to sleep at 11PM on a fucking Friday?”

What a fucking asshole. If you could have the chance to kill one person in your life, it’d be him.

“I do. Now, stop playing your stupid games so damn loud. You sound like a fucking freak,” you huff, not waiting for a response as you start heading back to your apartment, which is literally—and unfortunately—right next to his.

“Yeah, don’t fucking count on it,” he calls out after you before loudly slamming his door shut.

Ugh, what a fucking prick! Can’t he just be considerate? You live in the same building, that means everyone living here should be considerate of others.

You’re aware that you’re the only one that has noise complaints about him, but it’s not your fault that your room is right next to his gaming setup!

You quickly snatch the pillow off your bed after you stormed back to your room with a complimentary door slam, just as loud as your annoying neighbor’s. Quiet insults about him spill out of your mouth as you throw your pillow on your couch and plop down, trying to go back to sleep in this boiling heat.

No matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to fall asleep.

Your chest dramatically inflates as you take a deep breath before taking your phone into your hands, deciding to scroll through your social media apps for a little while. Until they put you to sleep, at least.

You open the Twitter app and switch from your personal account to your secret account.

Which is basically just an account filled with pornography.

Not pornography of you, just home-made amateur porn videos by others that you retweet onto your profile—if you like them.

You’ve gained over 4.000 followers in the past few months—which also inevitably summons a few annoying men in your private and requested messages but nothing you can’t handle.

With a loud sigh, you scroll down your timeline and see your favorite NSFW account tweeted a few hours ago.

You click on his account and decide to scroll through it because it’s been quite a while since you last checked.

‘Me and who?’

‘Need a brat to do this to’

‘This video is hot as fuck’

Those are just the few captions you see, all followed by amateur porn videos and a couple thousand likes on each post.

The video plays silently and the soft moans from the woman in the video reaches your ears. She sounds angelic. Your teeth slowly sink into your bottom lip as you watch the man in the video press her further into the mattress, slamming his hips down into her ass.

The tingle in your core doesn’t let up and you’ve lost track of time when you glance up at the time, realizing you’ve been scrolling through this account for the past 30 minutes.

Your panties uncomfortably stick to your sex, silently groaning as you turn onto your back and scroll back up to the first video, captioned ‘Me and who?’. You watch it again, eyes glued to how this girl gets absolutely ruined, legs pushed back in mating press, moans and cries escaping her.

If only you could be in her position right now.

Your fingers slowly inch towards the hem of your shorts and slip under the elastic before you sneak your fingers into your panties.

The slick that coats your fingers from barely grazing your slit is absurd; you’re disgustingly drenched. A soft sigh escapes you as you slowly begin to rub circles directly onto your clit, grunting and moaning softly to yourself as you continue to watch the video on your phone.

Fuck.

You can’t help but grind up into your own fingers, groaning at the lack of friction you really crave. Being fucked exactly like in this video.

The speed in which you chase your orgasm picks up, rubbing faster and faster. It doesn’t take long after for you to cum all over your own fingers—you haven’t touched yourself in a while so the orgasm has you chasing your breath. You really need to start investing in some toys or something.

And no, not a partner. They’re nothing but disappointments waiting to happen.

A whine leaves your lips when you realize you have to get up and wash your hands, clean them of your slick. Your legs lazily swing off the side of the couch as you sit straight up.

You go to the kitchen to wash your hands and by the time you get comfortable on your couch again, you reach for your phone. You reply to the ‘Me and who?’ tweet with;

‘me i hope lol. cause i just came so hard to this video’

Then, you like the original tweet and lock your phone for the night, turning over and immediately drifting off into a deep slumber.

You don’t hear your annoying neighbor for the rest of the night.

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The following morning, you stir and slurp up the drool that had trickled down your chin. You must’ve been exhausted. How embarrassing.

Your hand reaches up and wipes your chin clean with the back of your hand as you sit straight up, scratching the back of your head as you try to wake up.

You glance at your phone and it says 10:03AM.

Fuck!

You shoot up from your couch, cursing to yourself. You’re supposed to meet a friend today at 10:30AM.

After taking a quick shower, putting on your clothes for the day and doing your hair & makeup, you quickly exit your apartment and lock the doors behind you before heading to the elevator.

Your phone buzzes.

[10:44AM]

Jimin

Incoming call

Shit!

Your finger taps the green button to accept the call. “Jimin,” you say, apologetically.

“Hey,” he mumbles. “Where are you?”

You quickly slam your fingers into the elevator button, hoping the more you tap on it, the quicker it’ll arrive.

“I’m so sorry, Jimin. I overslept. I’ll tell you the details when I get there.”

“Alright, no worries. I thought something bad happened, is all.”

Finally, the elevator arrives and opens up, making you hurry inside.

“Oh, no, nothing happened, I’m okay.”

Right as the elevator doors finally close, a hand slips right in between the gap before they fully close, forcing it open.

“Okay, good! I’ll save us a spot.”

You barely register Jimin’s words when the doors open and your eyes are met with none other than your annoying fucking neighbor.

You do your best not to groan at the sight in front of you and he doesn’t seem too happy about being in this small elevator with you for 30 seconds either, evident by the frown on his thick brows and the twitch in his lips.

“Y/N?”

Jimin’s voice drags you out of your trance, making you avert your gaze from the rude loser in front of you, watching as he walks into the elevator within your peripherals and settling right across from you.

“Oh, sorry. Yeah. I’ll see you soon.” You don’t say much else as you hang up the phone, shoving it into your purse before intently staring at the floor like it’s got something important to tell you.

He does the same, though. He’s not staring back, his chin is tilted up and you can only assume he’s glaring at the little screen above the button panel that indicates what floor you’re on.

The tension is so thick, it could snap with the single slice of a dull butterknife.

It seems to be the longest 30 seconds of your life, the occasional mechanical sounds as the elevator slides in between floors fill up your ears like it’s being blasted on a speaker at the highest volume right next to your head.

You allow your eyes to subtly travel to his hand, catching a glimpse of his tattooed knuckles and fingers that are clad in silver rings.

Fuck.

You avert your eyes before he catches you staring but you continue to just stare at the floor, bringing up your hand to scratch behind your ear in hopes you’d feel less awkward.

But it doesn’t help at all.

Fortunately, you safely make it to the ground floor and the elevator doors slowly open up. He doesn’t even have the decency to let you out first, just struts right out without another look at you and you watch as his figure disappears down the lobby.

You scoff to yourself but don’t let it get to you, ‘cause who cares? Walking out, you quickly exit the elevator too, heading out through a backdoor to get to your car.

Hmph. Jerk.

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You finally arrive at your destination, immediately spotting Jimin in the back.

With a saunter, you approach him quickly and sit down across from him.

“Hey,” he chirps as he puts his iced coffee down, nodding towards another right next to his to indicate it’s yours.

“Hi,” you breathe out as you plop down on the seat across from him, stirring your iced coffee with the paper straw.

“You’ve been oversleeping a lot, haven’t you? Is something the matter?” he inquires, tilting his head to search for your eyes.

Your hand comes up to rub your hairline, a soft sigh pushing past your lips as you stare at the cup in front of you. “My damn neighbor is getting way more fucking annoying with each passing day, Jimin. I don’t know how to deal with him.”

He crosses his arms over his chest and sighs in solidarity to your frustration. “That same guy? You two have been bickering for more than half a year, give it a rest.”

“It’s not my damn fault!” you whine, taking a sip of your iced coffee, almost moaning as the sweet goodness hits your tongue.

He shrugs his shoulders. “Anyway,” he starts, “how have you been?”

You part your lips to reply to him but get caught off guard by your phone buzzing. You intend to ignore it but then your phone buzzes again, again, and again. You wince when you see Jimin’s expression, offering him an apologetic smile as you glance down at your phone, reading the notification.

[Twitter]

@archurback4me liked your reply!

[Twitter]

@archurback4me liked your tweet!

[Twitter]

@archurback4me retweeted your tweet!

[Twitter]

@archurback4me followed you back!

Holy shit. What the fuck?

You’ve been following this NSFW account since forever! You can’t believe they just followed you back. You never expected them to notice you, much less follow and retweet one of your tweets.

“Y/N?” Jimin taps the table with his fingers right next to your drink to get your attention and he finally does.

“Oh, sorry,” you mumble and lock your phone, forcing yourself to dive back into the conversation but your mind is still clouded with being followed back by your favorite account. “Sorry. What were we talking about?”

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

As soon as you say goodbye to Jimin, you get in your car, reach for your phone in your pockets and quickly open Twitter. The order of notifications can only mean one thing; they liked your reply to their tweet, clicked on your account, scrolled through your account—because the tweet of yours they liked and retweeted is from a few days ago—and then followed you. You scroll through your notifications, noticing how the tweet they RTed has been blowing up.

The tweet of yours they retweeted is an amateur porn video of a guy fucking a girl in speed-bump-position, hips rocking into her ass as soft moans spill from her lips.

You captioned it ‘me and you’ and now there are hundreds of accounts under your tweet, saying stuff like ‘Fuck yeah’, tagging other accounts, asking for the source of the video and more.

You can’t believe your favorite account followed you back, how insane is that?

Your leg bounces up as you start scrolling through their account, your tweet being right at the top of their page.

Ah! This is so exciting.

You quickly ditch your phone, tossing it into the passenger seat before driving home.

Upon your arrival at your building’s parking lot, you quickly shimmy out of your car and jog towards the front door in excitement, barely able to contain yourself when you think about all the new accounts that have followed you and interacted with you because of that one interaction with @archurback4me.

You unlock the door to your building’s lobby and hurry inside but just as quickly, you bump into what seems to be a brick wall.

Except, it isn’t a brick wall—it’s your annoying neighbor’s chest.

(Who’s also really sexy.)

“Ow,” you mumble, reaching up to rub your nose to soothe the impact of colliding face first with his body.

“Can’t you watch where you’re going?” he grumbles but doesn’t seem to have any intention to rid himself of the proximity between you two.

You shoot him a glare and part your lips to shoot a comeback but you stop yourself when you hear sniffles coming from your shoes. Your head tilts down and your eyes are met by a brown Dobermann sniffing your feet and calves.

“Stop that, Bam,” he says as he gently tugs on the leash, putting an end to the dog’s greeting to you.

You’ve seen his dog before and—unlike him—the dog is pretty sweet.

“Oh, hi, you,” you coo, reaching your hand out to Bam’s snout to let him get a sniff of you and he does, tail wagging back and forth.

You glance up at your shitty neighbor, who is just staring at you with a soft scrunch between his thick brows. You hate how good he looks. Someone with a face that pretty shouldn’t have an attitude that foul, it makes them ugly.

Your brow quirks up, your way of asking for permission to pet his dog without giving him the satisfaction of asking him verbally.

His response is a simple shrug of his shoulders, which makes you instantly turn your attention back to Bam. Your hand starts stroking over his soft head, giving him chin and tummy scratches.

The dog leans into your touch, seemingly craving more and you intend to do that. You squat down but in the instance that you do, you regret it.

Bam instantly lunges at you and it makes you lose your balance, his strength is enough to knock you over and fall flat on your ass with a soft thud on the hard tiles. You don’t even get the chance to process what’s going on when Bam climbs onto your body and licks at your face, coating it in his slimy kisses.

“Bam!” his owner shouts, hands flying towards his dog’s harness immediately to get Bam off you and he finally does.

You wipe your wet cheeks with the sleeves of your shirt before rising to your feet again, dusting off your pants.

“Sorry about that, he can get pretty excited. Did you happen to eat any chicken today?” he asks you and you have to pretend to not be shocked with the way he’s interacting with you as if he views you as an equal and not an insect, like he usually does.

You soothe the sting in your elbows from the fall by rubbing it with your hands as you frown at him. “Yeah, I did.”

He slowly nods at your words and waves a warning finger at Bam, dark eyes silently lecturing him like a parent to their child in public.

Bam doesn’t care, though, simply continues to run in circles and chase his own tail.

“He lacks manners sometimes,” he mumbles to himself as he stares at his dog—that’s cutely running in circles like an idiot.

“Hm,” you pause, “like his owner?”

Smack cam.

His head snaps at you, an agitated frown on his brows. He clearly does not like that.

With that, you turn on your heels and head to the elevator without looking back at him but in your peripherals, you notice that he’s still standing there, glaring at you.

You click on the button to summon the elevator to avoid his intense gaze, he’d bore you into the ground if you were to look at him right this moment.

Unfortunately, the silence doesn’t last long enough.

“You literally complain about every little thing like a fucking granny, give me a break.” His voice is raised with the intention that you can hear him loud and clear, after the distance you put in between you two—his tone full of venom and mockery.

“And you game loud as fuck every minute of the night like a fucking loser. How about you give me a break?” you retort, foot tapping against the tiles underneath your shoe in impatience as you wait for the elevator to arrive.

He replies, “It’s not my fault your bedroom is right next to my gaming setup.”

Right, you told him about that fact during one of your many nightly adventures that are located at his front door with balled fists and flared nostrils.

But it’s not your fault either.

The elevator dings and you can finally release that breath you were holding, chest slowly deflating. You place one foot inside before turning your head in his direction to glance at him, eyes meeting his angry gaze.

“It’s not my fault either. I guess you’re just gonna keep seeing me in front of your door every other week, asking you to be a decent fucking human and be considerate of others.” You take one step into the elevator just so the doors don’t close on you after the words coated with poison leave your lips, almost stinging your own tongue. “And you have the audacity to blame that poor dog for his lack of manners? Seems like someone can’t take responsibility.”

You fully step into the elevator without another word but that’s not necessary when you see the surprised look on his face before hopping in.

That’s what he gets, you suppose.

Once you enter your apartment, you toss your keys onto the accent table by the door and kick off your shoes, leaving them unorganized by the door. You saunter into your bathroom and quickly strip, turning the water on in your shower to heat it up.

However, right as you’re about to step in, there’s angry banging on your front door.

Ah. Whoever could that be?

You wrap a big white towel around your naked body and approach your front door, creating a small gap as you open it whilst hiding your body behind it.

Why the fuck is he here?

“I’m moving my gaming setup to my room tonight. If I hear one more goddamn complaint from you, I’m making my dog shit all over your fucking doormat,” he pauses, big black eyes glaring into yours. He leans in a bit closer and it seems like only then that you realize he’s been pushing your front door further open with his elbow. “Are we clear?”

His furious gaze almost stings you. Summoning daggers to shoot into your skin. Planting a thorned vine around your throat. Letting it sink its sharp teeth into your flesh until you bleed out. That’s the only way you can describe his suffocating glare.

His breath fans over your face, a subtle reminder that he’s standing close. Too close.

You swallow in an attempt to rid yourself of the drought in your throat he just created. “It doesn’t matter where you move it to. If I hear you, I’m going to complain. Whether that’s right next to my bedroom wall or at the end of your corridor, you fucking freak.”

And with that, you slam the door shut in his face before he can say anything else.

Who does he think he is?

Threatening you his dog’s feces. What a freak!

You huff to yourself as you stare at the closed door for a moment longer before angrily stomping to the bathroom. You reach for your phone and notice some more notifications from Twitter, which instantly reminds you of what happened earlier today and makes you forget about the interaction with your neighbor just now.

Should you message the account? You totally want to! The owner of the account has posted occasional pictures of his body parts but never his face. No matter what he looks like physically, he’s so fucking attractive for his fantasies and the way he speaks.

You scroll a bit through the account until you see a picture of the account owner’s hand, captioned;

‘For the people who asked for a picture of my hand… Lol.’

With a picture of his veiny hand.

Wow.

Fuck.

Your eyes trail the outline of their fingers, nails, veins, wrist, knuckles. You’d love to have that pulling on your hair, spanking your asscheek, wrapped around your throat.

Should you just…?

Message them?

Let’s list the outcomes.

1.) Worst case scenario—they brutally reject you.

2.) Average case scenario—they never reply.

3.) Best case scenario—they reply and reciprocate the flirtatious energy.

You could live with any scenario, even the worst one. It’s just a stranger on the internet anyway.

But his private messages must be blowing up. With over 80,000 followers and thousands of likes and comments, you doubt he’d ever even see your message.

Fuck it.

Shoot your shot.

You tap the share button and choose to send the post of his own hand to him in a private message and then you tap the text box to add a few words.

Mind racing with all the things you could say, your thumbs anxiously hover over the keyboard as you contemplate your options.

Then, you start typing before you can even think it through and you hit send without another thought.

Fuck!

You | 6:31PM

(You shared @archurback4me’s tweet with @archurback4me.)

hi could you maybe not share pictures of my new necklace? people might want to steal it

Fuck. You really just implied his hand is a necklace to you, wanting it wrapped around your throat at all times. You crazy bitch.

You stare at your phone a little while longer but nothing changes. You deeply inhale and breathe out a long sigh that carries a pinch of disappointment before ditching your towel and getting into the shower.

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As you get out of the shower, you can’t help but immediately lunge at your phone, the events from before your hour-long shower booming in your mind when you check your Twitter.

Holy shit.

No messages. What a surprise.

You have requested messages but it’s just bots claiming to be sugar daddies, roleplay accounts or guys wanting you to rate their penis.

You’re a lost cause.

You groan immaturely as you toss your phone aside, drying your body with a pout on your lips and a slight frown decorating your brows.

Your phone keeps buzzing and your heart threatens to implode within your ribcage, yet every time you check it’s just a notification about your tweet being liked again or some loser in your private messages talking to themselves.

Stop it. You’re like a teenager waiting for a response back from the popular guy at school, grow up.

You perform your usual routine before getting dressed in a new pyjama set, loving the way the fabric feels against your freshly shaven legs.

You make yourself a late night dinner, eating it by yourself like a loser before heading into your room and dropping onto your mattress, plugging your phone into the charger and turning over.

A gentle sigh pushes past your lips as you shut your eyes tightly, enough to make stars appear on the back of your eyelids.

Your phone buzzes again but you decide to ignore it. Sleeping time is precious.

You suppose you’ll check it out in the morning.

Wait.

What if it’s @archurback4me?

You try to ignore your thoughts. You need to sleep.

But you can’t ignore it.

You turn over and immediately reach for your phone, watching as it lights up and your heartbeat stutters in its rhythm when you see it’s a Twitter notification.

You open it up, anxiously biting down on your lip. Fuck, you need to calm down.

It’s a message. Holy shit.

Your thumb hesitates but eventually opens your private messages tab.

@ilikebigbootybitches2 | 12:09AM

Why did you block me lol

For FUCK’s sake. Did that Aaron guy really create a new account to send you another message?

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip to prevent yourself from screaming your head off before locking your phone and turning over again, trying to sleep for real this time.

You should just forget about it at this point.

And you finally, slowly, drift off into a deep slumber, without a single sound coming from your neighbor’s apartment.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

The sunlight peeks through your curtains, causing you to swallow down the curse that’s sitting on the tip of your tongue. You really need to get darker curtains.

You crack your eyelids open and glare at the ceiling, softly sighing as you bring your hands up and rub the sleep out of your eyes. You reach for your phone, noticing a few more notifications from messages, Instagram and Twitter. You check your messages first, replying to Jimin’s question about whether he should cut his hair or not.

Then you open Instagram, noticing the likes people have left on your story—a picture of you hanging out with Jimin.

And then, with a deep sigh, you open Twitter, scrolling through the hundreds of notifications about your tweet being liked and retweeted. You should’ve muted that damn tweet before going to sleep.

You notice you’ve gotten new private messages and you already hold your heart to not be disappointed.

@cockandballt0rture

1 message

You sigh in annoyance and open to read it.

@cockandballt0rture | 8:43AM

hey cutie

You fight the urge to roll your eyes.

@ilikebigbootybitches2

4 messages

For fuck’s sake. Doesn’t this guy know when to give up? You open the conversation nonetheless.

@ilikebigbootybitches2 | 6:01AM

I didn’t even do anything

I’m sorry if I said something wrong

Yo unblock me bitch

Goodmorning beautiful

What a fucking freak. These were all sent in the span of 2 hours. What a red flag.

Your mood is worsening the more time you spend in your private messages tab.

@archurback4me

2 messages

You’re not even in the mood to keep checking, you just…

Wait.

Holy fucking shit.

Is that…?

It is.

It’s him.

He replied.

A lump forms in your throat and it unleashes a bag of sand all over your tongue, drying out your mouth in the process. Why the hell are you so nervous? Just check the messages!

Average case scenario has been thrown out the window. It’s either brutal rejection or reciprecation.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

Your thumb taps the unread messages and your eyes intently watch as his response is revealed to you.

@archurback4me | 2:12AM

Necklace, huh? Lol. Can’t lie, I like that a lot. That’s a good one.

First time talking to me and you’re already demanding and claiming me? ‘Brat galore’ for sure. Someone needs to teach you some manners, Angel.

Holy shit.

Oh, shit. What the hell?

Why is your heart pounding in your throat? You wanted this.

It’s excitement. With a mixture of anxiety, maybe. Just breathe. You’ve always got good comebacks, make use of them!

Okay, you will. You wanted him to reply and he did. Now, think about what you want to say to make sure this conversation keeps going.

You decide not to answer just yet, it’s barely 10AM. Go wash your face and brush your teeth before you even begin to think about being horny.

You rub your eyes once more and swing your legs off the bed. Damn, you slept well tonight. You actually didn’t hear a thing from next door. You won’t applaud him for it but you’re glad you’ve finally slept undisturbed a whole night.

You freshen up, make yourself breakfast, lazily watch TV. You do every and anything to get your mind off of that message. Unfortunately, you’re an impatient bitch.

You | 11:16AM

someone needs to teach me manners? i don’t think anyone has the capability to put up with me like that lol. being annoying is like my second nature

You almost want to scream at the amount of strength you use to not cringe at yourself. It’s been too fucking long since you’ve gotten laid, holy shit.

You continue to watch TV, satisfied with just having a lazy Sunday.

2 hours in, you’re chewing obnoxiously loud on some Cheetos, chugging back a can of soda as you’re deep into this murder-mystery show, pausing several times to explain your theories at the wall like a fucking loser.

Damn, you need friends.

Your phone buzzes.

You absentmindedly glance at your phone before back at the TV, shoving some more cheese balls into your mouth.

Until the notification registers in your brain.

You almost choke when you lunge at your phone and unlock it.

Twitter notification.

Fuck.

@archurback4me | 1:23PM

Are you challenging me? Lol

Oh.

Yes. Yes, you are.

Would you look desperate if you replied right away?

Man, fuck it! You’re not a high schooler. It’s a Sunday and you have nothing better to do.

Your thumbs dance across your keyboard as you type in your message and send it.

You | 1:24PM

that depends. do you like to be challenged?

You return your attention to your TV, fighting so hard not to glance at your phone.

It’s easier when you remember it takes him a while to respond anyway, so no need to—

Your phone buzzes.

You immediately lunge at your phone as if his message contains an acceptance letter from Harvard Law.

@archurback4me | 1:27PM

Who doesn’t like to prove others wrong? Especially when the others in question are brats that love to run their mouth lol

Why are you getting horny over some random text? Get yourself together!

You | 1:28PM

and how would mr. smartass know i’m a brat that loves to run her mouth?

@archurback4me | 1:28PM

Aside from you literally just proving my point by talking to me like this and your username being @bratgaIore?

Scrolled through your account a bit. Your captions tell me everything I need to know lol

Nice panties btw

Nice panties?

But you didn’t send him any photos of your…

Holy shit.

He scrolled far enough on your account to find the one indecent picture you posted months ago, a photo of you bent over in the mirror with your perky ass in the air, showcasing the small patch of slick that had leaked from your pussy, through the baby blue colored fabric.

Your face isn’t even in the picture nor are there any recognizable features but publishing photos of yourself on your porn account makes you nervous so you try to avoid it at all costs.

So, why the hell do you find yourself digging up the blue panties from the picture in your drawers right now? Stop!

What are you even doing?

You | 1:35PM

panties?

oh you mean these?

(You sent a photo.)

You can’t believe you just sent him a photo of you on your knees, camera placed behind you, angled at your ass with only the panties covering your buttcheeks and a slightly arched back. What the hell is wrong with you?

He didn’t even have to say or ask anything, you really just did that on your own accord. Are you insane? Since when do you do stuff like this?

@archurback4me | 1:37PM

Lmfao

Fuck lol yeah those

You’re fine as fuck lol

Did you take that just now? For me?

Fuck. Is it that obvious? Now you seem desperate.

You | 1:38PM

you wish

@archurback4me | 1:40PM

Lol. Barely exchanged 5 messages and you’re already driving me up the fucking wall

You | 1:41PM

i already told you no one can put up w me and i take pride in that 🫶

@archurback4me | 1:44PM

Oh, I’m not saying I can’t handle that smart mouth of yours

I’m saying I wanna fuck the shit out you lmao

Oh.

Okay.

Why are your thighs clenching and why is your pussy tingling?

You | 1:45PM

you think i’d let you?

@archurback4me | 1:47PM

You’d beg me babe

Fuck. He’s so fucking cocky. You can’t help but love everything he’s saying.

You | 1:48PM

you sound confident

@archurback4me | 1:48PM

I am. Are you chickening out after all that spewing?

You | 1:49PM

as if

He doesn’t respond for another while so you check his account. He has a new tweet.

‘I’m so fucking hard. Lol’

11 RTs. 54 likes.

Oh. Okay. That’s cool.

@archurback4me | 1:51PM

So, you agree that you’d let me?

You | 1:51PM

aren’t you being a little too cocky?

@archurback4me | 1:53PM

Lmfao

Don’t you like it?

Fuck. You do. You really do.

You | 1:54PM

maybe

but only because i’m cocky too

@archurback4me | 1:55PM

Yeah lol I can tell

And I’ll fuck it right out of you. Dumb girl

Ah, shit. He’s really getting to you.

You | 1:55PM

ur the dumb one 😒

@archurback4me | 1:57PM

Sure I am

For letting you run your mouth like this and not being able to show you the consequences

Already starting to piss me off

You | 1:58PM

good. i enjoy pissing men off. y’all don’t deserve to smile

@archurback4me | 2:00PM

LMAO

Ok you made me laugh

Only makes me wanna fuck your face more though

You | 2:02PM

but you won’t so there’s really no need to talk big game

@archurback4me | 2:03PM

Lmao

You | 2:03PM

what’s so funny i wanna laugh too

@archurback4me | 2:04PM

Nothing

I’m laughing ‘cause I don’t think anyone’s ever been able to piss me off solely through DMs before

You | 2:05PM

yeah well i’m not gonna keep repeating myself

@archurback4me | 2:07PM

Trust I’ll fuck the shit out of you one day. Dumb brat. Make you drool all over my dick like you’re fucking stupid

Damn. Damn. DAMN. You’ve never folded this easily over some sexts, what is he doing to you?

You | 2:09PM

and that day won’t be anytime soon so i’ll say whatever the hell i want in the meantime 😝

@archurback4me | 2:10PM

Lmao

Right

Are you alone right now?

You | 2:12PM

yep

why

@archurback4me | 2:12PM

No reason

Just been thinking about those panties since you showed them

You | 2:13PM

oh these?

(You sent a photo.)

You know you’re petty for sending him a picture of your middle finger but you couldn’t help it.

@archurback4me | 2:14PM

LMAOOOOO

Mannnn

I was excited too

You | 2:16PM

tell you what

i’ll give you another glimpse if you can prove your latest tweet to me

@archurback4me | 2:17PM

My latest tweet?

You | 2:17PM

yep

@archurback4me | 2:18PM

Ah. I see. Lol.

You don’t reply just yet, waiting to see if he takes you up on your offer. Or compromise, whatever you want to call it.

A few minutes of no interaction go by and you can only assume he might actually be doing it.

Then, your phone buzzes.

@archurback4me | 2:22PM

(🕷️🥀 sent a photo.)

Another lump forms in your throat as you tap the message, allowing it to show you the photo he sent you.

And holy fucking shit.

Low angle, hand gripping his massive boner through his grey sweatpants, tank top lifted to his belly button, happy trail leading down his toned abs and disappearing under the hem of his sweats.

@archurback4me | 2:22PM

Satisfied?

Fuck, you can’t even put into words how hot this is right now. You stare at the photo for a few minutes, your poor bottom lip swollen from how hard you’ve been chewing and sucking on it.

You immediately spread your legs, aiming your front camera right at your sex from a low angle—whilst making sure to keep your face out of it—and capturing the big wet patch on your pussy that proves your arousal at this moment.

You | 2:25PM

(You sent a photo.)

does this answer your question?

@archurback4me | 2:27PM

Damn you’re so

Lmao.

Lmfaooooiwannafuckyousobadooooo

You that wet from being called a dumb girl?

You | 2:27PM

LMAOOOO

but no. i’m that wet from pissing you off. dumbass

@archurback4me | 2:28PM

Yeah, you’re doing a great job at it.

But that’s okay

It’s great even. Keep running your mouth

You | 2:28PM

yeah?

@archurback4me | 2:28PM

Absolutely

Gonna be that much sweeter when I fuck you silly and you’re just gonna be a dumb cock hungry whore swearing you didn’t mean to say all that

You | 2:29PM

then you clearly don’t know me that well

@archurback4me | 2:30PM

You’re right I don’t

Tell me a bit about yourself, angel

Oh, shit. What do you tell him? How much do you say? How much do you keep private? You’ve never gotten to this stage in sexting, it’s usually just horrible questions about what you’re wearing and whether you’re wet. It’s never gotten to a personal stage before.

You | 2:32PM

hmm what do you wanna know?

@archurback4me | 2:33PM

Everything, princess. I’m a bit intrigued

I’d like to know all about you

Do you work? Study? What brings you to this side of Twitter?

Oh, that’s… surprising. You’d think he rarely gives the people in his DMs the time of day, you wonder what he finds intriguing about you. Is it really just the fact that you can get him so worked up without having to do much more than put your annoying mouth to use?

Maybe he has the same problems as you, boring fucking people in your DMs and now someone has come along that piques your interest. You’re relieved you piqued his interest as much as he did yours. Well, maybe not as much but enough to ask you about your personal life.

You | 2:35PM

i don’t really work or study. i have a degree in social work and my parents are currently in the process of building a school so i’ll be working there once it’s finished

and i came to this side of twitter because i’m horny as fuck lol

@archurback4me | 2:37PM

Ah, interesting

And yeah… I suppose that was a dumb question lol

You | 2:39PM

just now realizing that ur dumb? lol

@archurback4me | 2:39PM

Lol

Don’t piss me off

You ok w being called a slut and stuff right? I’ve seen you tweet about it before but still wanna make sure

You | 2:39PM

yeah i like it a lot when done right. thanks for making sure

@archurback4me | 2:40PM

No need to thank me for that

Is Angel your name?

You | 2:40PM

you can call me angel

@archurback4me | 2:40PM

I can but it doesn’t make sense to me

You | 2:40PM

wdym?

@archurback4me | 2:41PM

I mean that you’re a fucking brat and nowhere near angelic

You | 2:42PM

lol

well now i hope it stings you every time you call me angel

@archurback4me | 2:43PM

Lol

You’ve made me so fucking hard

I can’t stand you

You | 2:43PM

lol

ur a bit easy

@archurback4me | 2:43PM

Coming from miss idk-you-but-don’t-spread-pics-of-my-necklace-aka-your-hand

You roll your eyes and chuckle, moving your camera downwards and recording as you push your panties to the side. You drag your finger up your wet slit and slowly pull it away, showing the camera just how wet you are when the string of slick stays connected to your fingers as you pull them away from your sex.

You rewatch the video a few times, eyes glued to the way your fingers slide your panties to the side to reveal your bare pussy to the camera. With your pussy glistening under the sunlight, it looks quite mesmerizing. Your teeth pick at the inside of your cheek as you add it to your message.

You | 2:48PM

lol touché

but i never said i wasn’t easy

look where it’s got me

(You sent a video.)

The jolt of electricity traveling up your spine can only be described as your heart skipping a beat. You can’t believe you just did that. Sure, you’ve sent inappropriate photos before, but you’ve never actually sent anyone nudes. Not anyone that wasn’t your romantic partner, at least.

You watch in silence as the typing bubble pops up and then disappears. Fuck. You wonder what he wants to say.

Several minutes pass. Shit, did you overstep?

You get up from your couch to get yourself a cold drink in hopes it’ll cool you down but after chugging the entire can of soda, you realize nothing is going to help you right now.

Fuck. Why are you panicking? Calm down. He’s just–

Your phone buzzes.

@archurback4me | 2:58PM

(🕷️🥀 sent a video.)

@archurback4me reacted to your video with ‘❤️’!

Holy shit.

Holy fucking shit.

He’s full on stroking his rock hard dick, precum oozing from the tip, shaft wet and lubed up. Fuck. It’s so fucking hot.

You can’t help yourself as you jog to your room, jumping onto your bed and ditching your panties as you do.

You start pumping your fingers into your drenched pussy while watching the video, your own touch not doing enough for you. You wish he was here, ready to pound you for hours on end.

You click the voice memo option and hit record, holding your phone near your pussy as you start deliberately fucking your fingers into your sex faster to create the loud squelching sound as you try to keep yourself from moaning in the background but to no avail, you’re pretty sure a few faint moans can be heard in the voice memo but you don’t care. You’re so fucking turned on and it’s his fault.

Your thumb trembles as it hovers over your keyboard but just as quickly, your thumb slams down on the send button and you toss your phone to the side.

Ugh, what an odd feeling. This is weird.

Your teeth anxiously go on a rampage by tearing the loose flesh around your nails clean off your fingers as you await his response. He probably has multiple people in his DMs sending him these types of things, why would yours stand out?

But just like clockwork, your phone buzzes.

@archurback4me | 3:09PM

Are you trying to fucking kill me

What the fuck

You | 3:10PM

just now realizing that?

ur not very bright are you

@archurback4me | 3:10PM

Lmao

You’re gonna regret talking this much shit

You | 3:11PM

threatening me with a good time?

surely you can do better than that

@archurback4me | 3:11PM

Lmfaoooo

I’m looking forward to fucking all that brattiness out of you

Corrupt you and use you as I please

Dumb fucking girl

You | 3:11PM

me too

but unfortunately ur all talk no action

@archurback4me | 3:12PM

LMAOOO you’re actually pissing me off

Gonna be thinking about you whenever I’m fucking someone now

And it’s all your fault

You | 3:12PM

LOLLLL

good

you should be thinking about me

@archurback4me | 3:12PM

Lol

Of course you would say that

Brat

You | 3:12PM

sorry

can’t help it if you make me feel special

@archurback4me | 3:13PM

How am I making you feel special

You | 3:13PM

telling me no one has ever pissed you off like this and we’ve just started talking

i told you i take pride in that

@archurback4me | 3:14PM

For fucks sake

You’re so annoying

Kinda reminds me of someone I know

You | 3:15PM

lol hope they’re sexy like me

yes i quite literally told you that all the way at the start

@archurback4me | 3:15PM

Lol

But people say it often

But they don’t turn out to be annoying like they claim

Just loud and boring

You actually being annoying makes me wanna literally fuck it out of you lol

You | 3:15PM

now you’ve got me giggling

@archurback4me | 3:15PM

You like the idea of being fucked to the point of breaking, right?

Apologizing for running your mouth while you’re sobbing and drooling all over me and your pillows

Like a proper stupid girl

You | 3:16PM

sounds like a dream come true

but it won’t happen so

@archurback4me | 3:17PM

I’m a freelancer so I’m usually free but my schedule is always full around this time of year

We can meet in a few weeks if you’re up for it. I’ll fly out to wherever you want me to

You | 3:16PM

interesting

what do you do for work?

if ur ok w sharing

@archurback4me | 3:16PM

Photographer

You | 3:16PM

ouuuu

gonna take pics of me when you’ve ruined me properly?

@archurback4me | 3:17PM

If you allow me

You | 3:17PM

hmm

okay

deal

@archurback4me | 3:18PM

Finally not a smartass answer

You | 3:18PM

ur right 🤔

lemme change that real quick

shut up freak

Suddenly, he types and then stops. It makes you wonder whether you said something wrong. You keep rereading your last few messages. Did you?

@archurback4me | 3:22PM

Infuriating little brat

Pissing me off

Anyway

I’m gonna go walk my dog but thanks to you I have to go fuck my hand first

Don’t miss me too much

I’ll talk to you later. x

You | 3:22PM

okay

send me a vid of you fucking my necklace

aka a vid of you masturbating

lol jkjk

i’ll try not to miss you

@archurback4me | 3:23PM

Lmaooo

Oh? 2 non-smartass answers back to back

You’re already breaking for me and I haven’t done anything

You | 3:24PM

piss off loser

go walk your dog

@archurback4me | 3:25PM

Watch your mouth Angel

I will

Talk to you later

You | 3:26PM

sorry sir

baiii

You put your phone down and can’t help but smile widely, lips twitching at its corners as you try to stop yourself from getting…too excited.

Because then it dawns on you.

You still don’t know his name.

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[bethschamberoftales-deactivated]

Forbidden fairytale | JJK (m)

Synopsis: You're the Princess and he is your bodyguard. He is here to protect you, not to fall in love with you and neither you're. But; when fate have other plans, who are you to complain?

➳ Pairing: Bodyguard!Jungkook x Princess!reader

➳ Genre: s/e2l, forbidden love, royal!au; fluff, angst, smut, slow burn

➳ Rating: 18+

➳ W/c: 10.3k

➳ Warning(s): They barely can stand each other☠️, JK with tattoos and piercings (eye brow piercing!), lots of BICKERING!, uses of the word 'daddy'👀, reader can't tolerate him and neither he can ( don't worry, I'll bonk them later), foul language, lots of sexual tension, TEASING!, mention of past incidents, mention of minor characters death, he calls her 'princess'🥹

➳ a/n: It's finally here!!! I really hope you enjoy it<3 please give it your love and support 🥹 because this is gonna be a wild ride! I read a book and got inspiration to write it🫶 a huge thanks to @missgeniality to making that banner for me, you're a lovely human being<3

SERIES MASTERLIST | TAG-LIST

MAIN MASTERLIST | WIP's

“Yes, Daddy!”

Your eyes moved at a lightning speed to the direction of those obscene words, just to found birdy – a parrot owned by the librarian – squawking from his cage.

The lack of creativity was clearly showing by the bird’s name, the owner surely doesn’t given much attention to it, But she definitely was creative in the bedroom, you can tell.

You stifled a laugh when you see your bodyguard; Chris standing right in front of the parrot with displeasure written on face, while others found that amusing, he did not. He isn’t the only one here who is not very happy with the situation.

It’s a library, people come here to read in peace but when someone shouting “daddy” right in your ears, you’re bound to been distracted. Not a very pleasant environment for library. It’s not like everyday, the librarian would leave her very bold parrot here. She was out of town today hence she thought it would be best to ask Alice to take care of Birdy during her working hour.

Oh! How wrong she was.

“They are going to get along well.” Alice, Assistant of the librarian, chuckled as she speaks “Poor Chris.” You held back another laugh but the small tug in your chest still appears “it’s not happening, I afraid. Chris is leaving soon.”

He is being with you for five years, you both have created a strong bond. He is a humble person also kind and understanding, has never complaint about a single thing and most importantly supportive. He was not only your bodyguard but your friend but now he was leaving for paternity leave and staying in Ely after to take care of his wife and newborn.

You were happy for him but you would miss him tons. It’s hard to find a bodyguard who you will be comfortable with and you can only hope his replacement and you had the same bond.

“Really? I’m sorry to hear that.” Her face soften, she is in her mid-thirties with long brown hair and ocean green eyes “he has been with you for a long time.”

Yes and that’s why it’s hurt to let go of someone you have been with for nearly your entire college life. People got attached when they are together for a period of time, sometimes it’s healthy, sometimes not but the attachment you had with him was in the sense of brother-sister bond.

“At least, you’ll be here for me.” You’ve been volunteering for the state library since your freshmen year of college and Alice have become a great friend and a mentor of yours. You both had become close over the years. Mutual interests had brought you two together.

You had spent hours after hours here, talking about various books. From mythology, history, dragons, harry potter to astronomy, stars, time travel and science nothing goes undiscussed when you two are together, even anime.

But it’s not going to be for too long. Between Alice, Chris and your graduation next year from Yale university, where you were majoring in international studies – as expected of a princess – you were tired of the goodbye’s.

“Yeah, I guess.” A melancholic expression hover over her face but gone as soon as it came “You are such a good person, you know?” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Not many youngsters are into working at a boring library when they can go clubbing. It’s even more rare to find someone of your stature who does volunteering on her own will and at such a young age.”

Your cheeks dusted in pink at the compliment “It’s my pleasure. I adore books.” You were little when you started reading out of boredom or more precisely, loneliness. It was like a distraction – an escape – from your cruel reality and you clung onto it.

She gently smiled at your direction after putting the last book on the shelf as she says “You’d make a great queen one day.”

That’s not happening and that’s not how it’s supposed to be. Not that you’ve any desire in you to be a queen. That’s the least of your concern. “Thank you, but I have no interest in being queen. The crown does not belong to me, anyways.”

You are the princess of Ely, a small kingdom in United Kingdom. You do have royal blood in your veins but still you doubt, if you really belong to the royal family.

Your parents died when you were a kid, your mother during your childbirth and your father from a heart disease when you were only four years old. Even though, your mother was your biological mother and the rightful queen of Ely, she was never accepted by the royal family, because she doesn’t belonged to a noble background.

She was a commoner. A normal women who was a veterinarian who loved books and pets. Your dad loved her and married her against the laws. According to Ely’s Royal Marriages Law, the monarch must marry someone of noble birth.

For that reason, Your father was banished from the thrown by the royal committee and not only that, was sentenced to leave the palace after she given birth to you. Your grandfather was enraged after knowing about what his son had done.

But, your mother’s demise right after your birth made the committee second guessed their decision and came to the conclusion that, your father should marry someone noble, only after that, will he get back the title of ‘king’ and since your father didn’t wanted to piss your grandfather anymore, he did exactly that.

Now, your brother – step brother – is preparing to be the king, the rightful heir of the thrown. Your brother Elios, who was a year younger than you, had been training to take over after your grandfather, king Alexander, since he was a child. Once Elios had children, you would be bumped further down the line of succession, not that you merely had a chance in the first place. That’s for the good. You would rather wander around the city in a donkey costume than a queen wearing a plastic expression and a set of agonizing heels.

She gave you a sympathetic look, which you’re quite familiar with by now. As irritating as it was, you couldn’t do a thing about it. The media is a monster, they knew how to spread rumours, let it be true or not. In your case, it was both.

“excuse me –“ a blonde haired boy came up to her when she was about to say something to you “do you know where I can find this book? I’ve checked the literature section but it wasn’t there.”

“It’s okay. Help the gentleman, I’ll handle the rest.” Upon hearing you called him “gentleman” made him blush, you noticed.

“Always ready to help. You know, you’re the best!” she exclaimed and gave you a tight hug before turning on her heels to the other direction. You laugh as you bid your goodbye to her.

It doesn’t take a genius to figured out that she liked the boy. He was a regular there and the way Alice’s eyes ogled him the whole time was furthered proved her obvious crush on him. They would look cute together, you thought.

You might be able to find someone, someday too.

“Are you ready, Your Highness?” Chris asked, clearly eager to get away from birdy. Irritation etched his features as he looked at the parrot with disgust.

“Yes. Let’s go.”

“Yes, let’s go!” Birdy squawked as both of you exited. “Harder, daddy!”

Your laugh finally broke free at Chris’s grimace but soon, he was laughing along side you.

“I’ll miss you, and so will Birdy.” You held your books a little tighter to make sure they doesn’t fell off. Chris insisted on holding them for you but you don’t let anyone touch your books. You were always a bit extra cautious of them. “Tell me about the new bodyguard. What’s he like?”

The leaves crunched beneath your sneakers as you walked toward your off-campus house, which was only twenty minutes away. The month of August in US was quite warm than your liking. You’ve always preferred winter and autumn over any other seasons.

In Edmunds, you wouldn’t be able to walk down the street without getting mobbed, but that was the great thing about New heaven. It’s student population boasted so many royals and celebrity offspring, a princess was another stranger walking down the street. You could live your life like a relatively normal college girl here.

“I don’t know much about the new guard,” Chris admitted. “He’s a contractor.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Really?” The Crown sometimes hired private security contractors to serve alongside the Royal Guard, but it was rare. In your twenty-one years, you’d never had a bodyguard who was a contractor.

“He’s supposed to be the best,” Chris further informed you, mistaking your surprise for wariness. “Ex-Navy SEAL, top-notch recommendations, experience guarding high-profile personalities. He’s his company’s most sought-after professional.”

An American guard. Interesting. He is must be very skilled if he was in Navy SEAL but When two people were around each other twenty-four-seven, compatibility mattered. A lot. you knew people who hadn’t meshed with their security details, and those arrangements never lasted long.

“I do hope we get along.”

“I’m sure you will. You’re easy to get along with, Your Highness.”

“You’re only saying that because I’m your boss.”

He grinned as he said “Technically, the Director of the Royal Guard is my boss.”

You wagged a playful finger at him while narrowing your eyes “Backtalking already? I’m disappointed.”

He laughed. Despite his insistence on calling you Your Highness, you both settled into a casual camaraderie over the years that you appreciated. Excessive formality exhausted you.

You couldn’t help a small stab of envy when he talks about his unborn child and fatherhood, how proud he looked with his eyes glimmered under the sunlight. You were nowhere near ready for marriage and kids, but you wanted what Chris and his wife had.

Love. Passion. freedom. Freedom of having your own choices. Things no amount of money could buy. A sardonic smile touched your lips. No doubt you’d sound like an ungrateful brat to anyone who could hear your thoughts. you could get any material thing you desired with a snap of your fingers, and you were whining about love. Grand-father might be disappointed with you if he came to know that.

But people were people, no matter their title, and some desires were universal. Unfortunately, the ability to fulfil them was not.

You might fall in love with a prince charming who would sweep you off your feet but you highly doubt it. You don’t even want it. Most likely, you’d end up in a boring, socially acceptable marriage with a boring, socially acceptable man who only had sex missionary style and vacationed in the same place every year.

No, you don’t want a prince charming. You would like a sacred knight for yourself, who would fill your life with sparks and show you the whole world. Who would burn down this earth for you and escape with you where no one knows you, somewhere away from here.

But, that’s unlikely to happen.

You pushed the depressing thoughts aside. You had a long way to go before you even thought about marriage, and you’d cross that bridge when you got there.

You were in your little bubble of thoughts when you heard a screech across the street. You head snapped at the direction and found an old lady on the ground and a man running away with a hand bag in his hand which is probably belong to that old lady.

Before you can do anything and tell Chris to catch the thief, you noticed another man. Chased after him in a speed like the Cheetah. You’ve never seen someone running at that speed.

His steps calculated and skilled as his legs took some long strides and the next thing you knew, the man was under him as –more like a bullet train, less like a human– men locked him by grabbing his biceps from behind and knocking him down on the ground.

It all happened so fast you couldn’t register all the things in your mind for a second but as soon as you came back to your senses, you ran towards the old lady.

“Are you okay, Ma’am?” you asked the lady as you crouched down to help her stand up. It’s against the rules for a princess to kneel in front of anyone but you can’t follow them when there’s someone in need of help.

“Your highness –“ Chris tried to aware you of your position but you assure him that it’s fine. Humanity comes first than any title or class.

“Where is that scumbag? Bring him to me!” she shouted in you ears as soon as she stands on her feet with your help.

You saw the man from earlier – who was chasing after the purse thief – brought him towards the lady. She didn’t wasted any time as she landed a harsh slap right on his left cheek. “You scandalous kid, what kind of a naughty behavior was that?”

You tried to stifled your laugh when she scolded him like a little baby who had stolen a candy. The dark haired man hold him on the place the entire time until the police came and solved the matter.

After he returned her bag to her, she thanked him and gave him a goodbye kiss on his cheeks which he accepted but doesn’t gave any kind of reaction in return except of a polite nod.

Now that the chaos has subsided, you were able to observe the men closely. You swear, you’ve never seen a man with that kind of body structure. Those muscle.

Lord. Have. Mercy.

He was approximately six feet tall with solid, sculpted muscle packed onto every inch of his powerful frame. Black hair slightly longer at the back of his neck and fell over his brown-doe eyes. You assumed, his legs were longer than yours.

For someone with that intimidating physique, his face holds softness, even though his eyes were as emotionless as a robot with a bored expression. Then, the tattoos covering his right arm catches your attention when he stepped in front of you and you feel your body tilted forward a centimetre, unable to resist his gravitational pull.

You were tempted to run your fingers through the dark lines of his tattoos when his deep voice hit deep inside of you as you feel an odd sensation you rather not mind exploring, “Jungkook.”

You were confused as of why he was introducing himself out of nowhere but then it hits you. He was your new bodyguard who was going to replace Chirs. His face was total opposite of his body. What a contrast. But why he didn’t tell his full name?

He was the opposite of the preppy, clean-shaven types you usually went for, but that didn’t stop a swarm of butterflies from taking flight in your stomach.

You would have called him cute if it wasn’t for his unbothered, cold expression on his face. Then, something silvery catches your eyes. Piercings. Round silver rings attached to his lips, not only one but two, and one to his right eye brow.

Oh god! He will be the death of you.

You were so lost in your thoughts by this man’s sudden appearance that you forgot you should introduce yourself too. Chris being the life saver as he always been, let out a small cough to pull you out of your dreamland.

“Hello, I’m ____, it’s nice to meet you.” You preyed to the holy spirit up there that no one noticed the flush creeping on your cheeks. You don’t want to embarrass yourself on the first day of your meeting, let alone in front of your bodyguard. You omitted the Princess title on purpose. You never liked to address that whenever you’re introducing yourself to someone. It seemed too pretentious, even hostile. But, you are the princess so it was unavoidable but not on one-on-one conversations.

You did, however, noticed Jungkook didn’t address you as Your Highness the way Chris did. You didn’t mind—you’d been trying to get Chris to call you by your first name for years—but it was another sign your new guard would be nothing like your old one.

Jungkook’s eyes wander on your body for a second then came back to your face and you feel your stomach made a flip. However, he was as unwavering as ever, not a single trace of emotion.

“It was a stupid idea to walk on the streets, open to any possible attacks while being unarmed and vulnerable.”

Did he just called you stupid?

You blinked “Excuse me?”

“Also, you have to move.”

You blinked twice as you asked again “I beg your pardon?”

“Your house.” Jungkook tilted his head toward your spacious but cozy two-bedroom abode. “It’s a security nightmare. I don’t know who signed off on the location, but you have to move.”

The butterflies dies down as soon as it came. You just met less than two minutes ago, and he was already ordering you around and calling you stupid like he was the boss. Who does he think he is? “First of all, I’ve lived here for two years. I’ve never had an issue.”

You stopped before shifting on your heels so you can stand straight to look him in the eyes properly, because, god, is he tall. “And, second, I know where I should walk or not, it was not stupid.”

“First of all, It only takes once. Second, do you know any self-defence? From what I’ve seen few minutes ago, it was much of a child’s play to attack you” he asked, repeating in the same pattern you talked to him. His brows shifting upwards as he questioned, like he already knew the answers to his question.

“No, I don’t but Chris was with me.” your voice defensive as you said with as much confidence as you can gather in you and crossed your arms “And, I’m not moving.”

You punctuated your words with a sharpness you rarely used, but Jungkook’s condescending tone grated on your nerves. Any attraction you’d felt toward him crumbled into ash, dying the quickest death in your history with the opposite sex. Not that it would’ve gone anywhere. He was, after all, your bodyguard, but it would’ve been nice to have eye candy without wanting to drop-kick him into the next century.

Men. They always ruined it by opening their foolish mouths.

“You’re the security expert,” you added coolly. “You are here to figure it out, not to tell me where I can live or not.”

Jungkook growled at you beneath thick, dark brows. You couldn’t remember the last time anyone had growled at you “Yes, Your Highness.” His inflection on the last two words made a mockery of the title, and the embers of indignation in your stomach stoked brighter.

He was clearly irritated and so do you. The only difference was he doesn’t let that show on his face where you were looking at him like you can murder him just by your glare alone. Chris cut in before you can prove that theory.

“Why don’t we go inside? It looks like it’s about to rain,” he said quickly.

The sky was crystal clear when you and Jungkook looked up at the same time. You wanted to laughed at his failed attempts but was too much furious to do so. Chris cleared his throat. “You never know. Rain showers come out of nowhere,” he muttered. “After you, Your Highness.”

Without resisting, you three entered the house in silence.

I shrugged off your coat and tried to being more civilised towards him despite the growing anger beneath your cool façade “Would you like something to drink?”

You didn’t wanted your relationship with your new bodyguard to start on such a sour note. You’re going to be with him until his contract expires. Fighting with the person you’re going to be with, for god knows how much time, wasn’t a smart decision to make. So, you tried to rise the white flag, offering peace.

“No.” Jungkook scanned the living room, which you’d decorated in shades of rich brown and beige. It wasn’t a luxurious place but, rather, you go for something cozy which can provide you comfort. That’s what house is for.

“Why don’t we get to know each other?” Chris said in a jovial, too loud voice. “I-I mean you and Jungkook, Your Highness. We can talk needs, expectations, schedules…” he tried to fill up the awkward silence as Jungkook stand there like the statue of liberty with hands down.

“That’s a good idea.” You mustered a strained smile and gestured Jungkook toward the couch. “Please. Sit.” For the next forty-five minutes, you talked about logistics for the transition. Chris would remain your bodyguard until next week, but Jungkook would shadow him until then so he could get a feel for how things worked.

“That’s all fine.” Jungkook closed the file containing a detailed breakdown of your class and weekly schedules, upcoming public events, and expected travel. “Let me be frank, Princess ____. You are not my first and nor will be my last, royal I’ve guarded. No clients of my have ever been harmed while under my protection, nor complained or doubted about my procedures. Do you know why?”

“let me guess, Because you blinded any possible attackers with your charm and grace that they couldn’t do anything but fall for you,” you said. Your voice filled with sarcasm as your face devoid of any possible emotion.

Chris choked on the water he was gulping down from his glass. He was barely able to held back his laughter.

Jungkook’s face remained emotionless and bored as always. Of course, it wasn’t supposed to be funny. Your joke wasn’t a comedy central worthy but you imagined, someone fed him bitter gourd instead of honey when he was born, because it was much easier to find humour in a grumpy eighty-year-old man than him. Sahara might have more moisture than his dry expressions.

“The reasons are,” Jungkook said calmly, as if you hadn’t spoken at all. Ignoring your provocative attempt, he continued, “I don’t get involve with my clients personal lives. you are my client, I’m here to protect you from any physical harm and that’s all, Not to be your friend or anything else. Also, I know how to do my job the best and they believe in that too.”

“How so?” your polite smile carried a warning he either didn’t notice or ignored.

“They do what I say, when I say it for anything security-related. That way they never got into any trouble or they never had to compromise their lives with anything.” His eyes locked onto yours, “Understand, Your Highness?”

Love and passion was long forgotten which is now replaced by immense anger towards this arrogant asshol–

Nevermind.

You seriously want to slap that arrogance off his face and knee him on his little buddy down there. You shut your eyes for a second, took a deep breath before you responded. “Yes.” smile sharpened. “Luckily for us both, I have no interest in being your friend, or anything else.” Your voice cold like the ice burgs in the Antarctic ocean.

You’ve been following Chris’s security advices but you’d be damned if you fed into his inflated ego.

“Good. I’ll assess the house before we discuss next steps, including upgrading your security system. Right now, any teenager with access to YouTube tutorials can bypass the alarm.” He gave you a disappointed glare like you’re some mindless idiot for not noticing such a simple thing before disappeared into the kitchen.

His big chunky boots clicking against the floor mirroring your furious state ticking like a time bomb.

You jaw dropped, “He is– I…” you sputtered, totally speechless. You turned to Chris, who was trying to melt into the giant potted plant by the front door. “You’re not leaving. I’m dismissing your appeal of leave.”

You aren’t going to accept Jungkook as your bodyguard. Never. You will kill him in his sleep. He needs protection from you, not the other way around. “it’s just his first day.” There’s no confidence in Chris’s voice, you weren’t sure he was trying to convince you or himself, “You’ll get along just fine after the…transition period, Your Highness.”

If one of you doesn’t kill the other by then.

You took a deep breath and tried to calm your pulsating nerves which he got onto earlier so easily. You pressed your fingers on your temple, I can do this, You chant to yourself.

You’ve survived the worst. From, A British lord once tried to grope you under the table at Monaco’s Rose Ball and you “accidentally” stabbed his hand with a fork to your absolute evil, another name of the Satan, your step-mother dearest, Tatiana.

He was nothing compared to entitled aristocrats, nosy reporters and evil family members.

Jungkook returned with his infamous bored, emotionless face. He looks like a mannequin decorated in a shopping mall. Even they expressed more emotions on their face than him, but this with an additional scowl evident on it.

“I’ve detected eight security vulnerabilities we need to address right away,” he said. “Let’s start with number one: the windows.”

“which one’s?” don’t loose your temper. Not yet.

“all of them.”

You gotta be kidding me!

Chris covered his face with his hands and you started plotting how you could strangle him in the mid-night when he is asleep. You gotta tie his arms and legs before, can’t underestimate those muscles underneath that tight t-shirt.

You have a long journey ahead of you.

Jungkook was hanging by his last straw of patience, the thread was loosing bit by bit. Thanks to you. He was this close to losing his sanity and it’s just been two weeks. He had never met a client as infuriating as you. Sure, you were beautiful which is not a good sign when you’re in his position, and he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t liked your sassiness, how you came up with witty replies but it irritates him more than entertain him on several occasions.

It seems, you liked to disobey him on purpose. When he said you to not to do something, you did exactly that and when he said, you should do that thing, you never done that and ignored him like he never existed. You insisted on spontaneously attending crowded events before he could do the advance work, and you treated his security concerns like you were in the battleground of PUBG and he was giving you warning about you have enemies nearby.

This wasn’t a game, but you didn’t seem to understand that.

Couple of days ago, you confronted him that, it was the way things had worked with Chris, and you didn’t intended to change things now. Jungkook said he wasn’t Chris, and said he didn’t give a damn what you did or didn’t do when you were with him. Jungkook ran the show now.

You didn’t take that well, but he didn’t gave a shit either. He was as unbothered as the greedy politicians in your country. His was proving that he surely doesn’t give a fuck about you liking him or not. He is here to do his job and he will do exactly that.

He was overbearing from every angle and the more you live with him, the more it becomes hard to live with such an egoistical arrogant man in the same house. Have you said that he is with you 24/7 hours?

One of the worst things about having a round-the-clock bodyguard was living with them. You didn’t realize that until Jungkook came into your life unfortunately. It hadn’t been an issue with Chris because you’d gotten along so well, but living in close quarters with Jungkook put you on edge.

Suddenly, your house seemed too small, and everywhere you looked, Jungkook was there. Drinking coffee in the kitchen. Stepping out of the shower. Working out in the backyard, his muscles flexing and his skin gleaming with sweat. It all felt strangely domestic in a way it hadn’t felt with Chris, and you didn’t liked it one bit.

It's scary. Feeling domestic with your bodyguard? What the hell is wrong with you?

“How is that you’re still alive in those clothes under the scorching sun?” you asked one of the warmest day of September as you watched Jungkook do push-ups. You were genuinely curious of how he is putting up with that in this hot weather. You’d faint if you even stand there in those clothes.

You were wearing a light cotton dress. Despite the thin material, a bead of sweat trickle down your neck when you gulp your ice-lemonade and move your eyes from the book in your hand towards him.

Jungkook must be roasting in his black shirt and workout shorts.

“Trying to get me to take my shirt off?” He continued his push-ups, not sounding the least bit bothered.

Warmth that had nothing to do with the weather spread across your cheeks.

“In your dreams.” It wasn’t the most reasonable answer, but it was all you could think of.

You were curious about seeing Jungkook shirtless. Not because you wanted to sneak a peek at his abs—which you grudgingly admitted had to be fantastic if the rest of his body was anything to go by—but because he seemed so determined not to be shirtless. Even when he left the bathroom after a shower, he was fully dressed.

Maybe he was uncomfortable getting half-naked in front of a client, but you had a feeling not much discomfited Jungkook. It had to be something else. An embarrassing tattoo, maybe, or a strange skin condition that only affected his torso.

Jungkook finished his push-ups and moved on to the pull-up bar. “You gonna keep ogling me, or you got something I can help you with, princess?”

Oh! He is infuriating! You are going to strangle him tonight in his sleep.

The warmth intensified on your cheeks. “Your name should have been Mr. cocky instead of Jungkook, should be a perfect fit for you. And who said I was ogling, I was secretly praying for you to get heatstroke. Besides, I’ve a far more interesting book in my hand to read rather than staring at your boring form.”

Lord save me. What the hell are you saying? You didn’t even make sense to yourself.

A shadow of a smirk filled the corners of Jungkook’s mouth. He can smirk? That’s new. but it disappeared before it blossomed into something real. “Good to know.”

“So, what’s your full name?” you asked after coughing for a few times and make the situation less awkward.

He paused his exercise for a second but again continued before responding, “I told you. It’s Jungkook.”

“No, I mean your surna– ,” before you can finished your sentence, he interrupted, “I don’t have one.” Jungkook answered quickly, voice sharper than before. You didn’t understand the reason behind the edge in his voice but you didn’t pushed it either.

“So, I guess I have to call you Mr. JK from now on.”

“Mr. JK?” he asked you, not much expression on his face but you thought you catch a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“Yes.” Then you went back into the house and let Jungkook bake in the sun. You hoped he did get heatstroke. Maybe then, he wouldn’t have enough energy to be such an ass.

Sadly, he didn’t, and he had plenty of energy left to be an ass.

“How’s the book?” he drawled later, when he’d finished his workout. Your gaze were on the book instantly as soon as you saw him walking towards you.

“Thrilling.” It was belonged to thriller genre so you weren’t technically lying. You tried to focus on the page instead of his sweat dampened shirt clung to his torso. Eight pack-abbs. Fucking hell. Not that you were counting.

“Is that so?” Jungkook’s face remained impassive as he walked towards the bathroom. There was a hint of mocking in his tone and without looking back, he added, “By the way, Princess, the book is upside down.”

If there was a hole underneath your feet, you should have shoved yourselft in it this instant. You were even ready to let blackhole consume you.

You slammed the hard cover shut. When was the last time you’ve been embarrassed like this?

He was insufferable. A gentleman wouldn’t point something like that out, but Jungkook was no gentleman and he was proving that over and over again.

Unfortunately, you were the only person who thought so. Everyone else found his nonchalant emotionless attitude charming, including your friends and the people at the shelter. What a shame.

“Isn’t he hot?” Yubi, one of the long-term volunteers at Bond with Paws, whispered. She snuck a peek at where Jungkook sat in the corner like a rigid statue of muscles and tattoos before returning his gaze towards you.” Is he single?”

“How am I supposed to know? We don’t talk about personal lives. But judging from his personality–“ You snuck a peek at his direction too, before adding “I don’t think so. Yeah, definitely not.”

“What do you mean by that? Any girl would kill to be his girlfriend and live with him. I’m sure of that.” She giggled before start swooning over your bodyguard.

Yeah. It’s all rainbow and flowers until you take a closer look and get a hit by the reality, and then BOOM! Those rose-coloured glasses will be on the ground in no time. “You say that, but you’re not the one who has to live with him.”

It was two days after the upside-down book debacle, and Jungkook and you hadn’t exchanged any words since except good morning and good night. You didn’t mind. It made it easier to pretend he didn’t exist.

Yubi laughed. “I’ll gladly change places with you anytime for that hot shot.” She tightened her ponytail and stood. “Speaking of changing places, have some errands to finish. Do you have everything you need?”

You nodded. You’d taken over Yubi’s shift enough times by now to have the routine down pat. After she left, you get back to your work which was petting Bam for now. He is a Doberman who is a sweetheart under that scary form of his.

Jungkook didn’t move from his corner spot. There was no one except for two of you but his eyes roved around the playroom like he expected an assassin to pop out from behind the cat condo at any minute.

“Does it get exhausting?” I scratched Bam, behind the ears to which he returned the affection by licking your hand.

“What?”

“Being on all the time.” Constantly alert, searching for danger. It was his job, but you’d never seen Jungkook relax, not even when it was just the two of you at home.

“No.”

“You know you can give more than one-word answers, right?”

“Yes.”

He was impossible.

“Thank God I have you, sweetie,” you said to Bam. “At least you can carry on a decent conversation.”

He barked in agreement, and you smiled. Dogs are better than humans.

There was another long stretch of silence before Jungkook surprised you by asking, “Why do you volunteer at an animal shelter?”

You were so startled by the fact he’d initiated a non-security-related conversation you froze mid-pet. Bam started licking your hand in the hope of getting your attention back to him. you resumed petting and decided to go on the same path he was going, “I like animals. Hence, animal shelter.”

“Hmm.”

Your spine stiffened at the skepticism in his voice. “Why do you ask?”

Jungkook shrugged, “Just doesn’t seem like the things you would like to do in your free time.”

You didn’t have to ask to know what types of things he thought you liked doing in your free time. Most people looked at your and made assumptions based on your appearance and background. You do attempts fancy parties and luxurious dinners, goes to shopping like any other normal girl could do but that didn’t mean you don’t like to do other things, also that didn’t justify you genuinely liked to do those things.

“Seems like you know many things about me after knowing me for only one month.” You said, voice filled with sarcasm.

“I done my research, Princess.” It was the only way Jungkook addressed you. He refused to call you by your first name or Your Highness. In turn, you refused to call him anything except Mr. JK since he never told you his last name. “I know more about you than you think.”

There he goes again, acting like he knows everything. His know-it-all attitude was getting on your nerves.

“But not why I volunteer at an animal shelter. So, clearly, you need to brush up on your research skills.”

He flicked those hollow brown eyes in your direction. You wonder, how many layers he was hiding behind that cool exterior of his. You thought you spotted a hint of amusement before the walls crashed down again. “Touché.” He hesitated, then added reluctantly, “You’re different from what I expected.”

“Why? Because I’m not a spoilt superficial brat?” your voice chilled another degree as you tried to cover up the unexpected sting of his words.

“I never said you’re a spoilt superficial brat.”

“You implied that.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Princess.” He grimaced, “You’re not the first royal I’ve guarded, You’re not even the third or fourth. They all acted similarly, and I expected you to do the same. But you’re not…”

You arched a brow in response “I’m not…?”

You peek a hint of faint smile on his face and almost shouted in surprise, but before you could do that, you controlled yourself. “A spoilt superficial brat.”

You laughed. You, laughed at something Jungkook said. Sun must had rise from a different direction that day.

“My mom was a veterinarian. She loved animals.” You surprised yourself by saying that. You wasn’t planning on talk about your mom with Jungkook but you let loose because it’s the first time you were having a decent conversation with him. “Never saw with my eyes but heard from people in the palace. I’ve always loved animals but palace didn’t allowed pets hence the only way I could regularly interact with animals was by volunteering at shelters.”

Jungkook listen to you in silence, eyes focusing on you and only you. “I enjoyed it and also do it because … to find her presence and feel closer to my mom whom I never got the privilege to meet,” a sheen of melancholy ghosted over your eyes, “In the urge to know what kind of person she was when she existed. The rest of my family likes them fine, but not in the same way we do. Or did.”

You never met your mother so whatever she used to do or loved – according to people – you tried to do the same things to find pieces of her in those little things.

You didn’t know what prompted your admission. Was it because you wanted to prove you wasn’t volunteering as a PR stunt? Why did you care what Jungkook thought of you, anyway?

Or maybe it was because you needed to talk about your mom to someone who hadn’t known her. In Edmund, you couldn’t mention her without people shooting you pitying looks – some disgusted looks too – but Jungkook was as calm and unruffled as ever.

“I understand,” he said.

Two simple words, yet they crawled inside you and soothed a part of you, you hadn’t known needed soothing. When Jungkook said, he did his research, he wasn’t lying. He knows about your family history, it’s not like every single man in UK along with the world aren’t familiar with your family history. Those made national headlines, for god’s sake! But he might know some internal affairs too, along with personal information.

Then, your eyes met and you felt temperature dropping to minus around you. Dark, mysterious, piercing. Jungkook had the kind of eyes that saw straight into a person’s soul, stripping past layers of elaborate lies to reach the ugly truths underneath.

You wonder if he could see the girl beneath the mask, the one who’d carried a decades-long burden she was terrified to share, the one who’d cried alone at nights because Princess don’t cry in front of others, the one who would killed—

“Harder, Daddy!” Birdy choose to ruin the moment with his notorious obscene outburst. “Harder!”

Seems like the librarian didn’t took the humiliation lightly. She dropped birdy here in the shelter after that library incident.

Jungkook flicked his gaze away, and you looked down, your breath gusting out in a mixture of relief and disappointment.

“Daddy—” Birdy quieted when Jungkook levelled it with a glare. The bird ruffled its feathers and hopped around it’s cage before settling into a nervous silence.

“I’m impressed.” I said, trying to shake off the unsettling awkwardness between you. “You might be the first person who’s ever gotten Birdy to shut his mouth. Congratulations! You should adopt him.”

“Hell no!” he grimaced at the thought.

You stared at each other for a second before a small giggle slipped from your mouth and the icy wall shielding his eyes cracked enough for you to spot another glimmer of humour.

You didn’t talk for the rest of your sift but the mood between you two lightened enough for you to think that you might be able to have a functional working relation with him.

The wind nipped at the bare skin on your face and neck as you walked home after your shift. Jungkook and you had fought over whether to walk or drive, but in the end, even he had to admit it would be silly to drive somewhere so close.

“Are you excited to visit Ely?” you asked. you were leaving for Edmund in a few days, and Jungkook had mentioned it would be his first time in the country.

“I’m not going there for vacation, princess.” He said there like you were forcing him to go to a prison camp, not a place which is famous for being worlds one of the most luxurious places. His face remains unbothered and bored but his cold tone made an addition to the cold weather of the night.

“I know you’re not going for vacation.” you tried and failed to keep the annoyance out of your voice. “But you’ll have free ti—”

The high-pitched squeal of tires ripped through the air. Your brain didn’t have time to process the sound before Jungkook pushed you into a nearby alleyway and pressed you tight against the wall with his gun drawn and his body covering yours.

Your pulse beat got on a high gear and your heart thumped against your ribcage like it’s going to burst at any moment from the sudden adrenaline rush and the close proximity. He radiated heat and tension from every inch of his big, muscled frame and it wrapped around you like a cocoon as a car sped past blasting music and leaking laughter out of its half-open window.

Jungkook’s heartbeat thumped against your shoulder blades, and you stayed frozen in the alleyway long after the music faded and the only sound left was your heavy breathing.

“Mr. JK, I think we’re okay.” You said quietly.

He didn’t move. You were trapped between him and the brick, two immovable walls shielding you from the world. He’d braced one hand protectively against the wall next to your head, and he stood so close you could feel every sculpted ridge and contour of his body against yours.

Another long beat passed before Jungkook re-holstered his gun and turned his head to look at you.

“You sure, you’re okay?” his voice was deep and scratchy, breathing faster than normal, and his eyes searched you for injuries even though nothing had happened to you.

“Yes. The car took a turn too fast. That’s all. We are not in any danger.”

“You never know. It only takes few seconds to happen something dangerous.”

You let out a nervous laugh, your skin too hot for comfort beneath his fierce gaze. “I was more startled by you throwing me into the alley.”

“I told you, got the idea why we should have driven?” he stepped back from you and the cold breeze hits you like a truck. You wish, you could have wear more warmer clothes. It was exceptional a colder day in September. “You’re too open and unprotected walking around like this.”

He was being over dramatic. “I don’t think so. If your research didn’t include the fact that, New heaven is one of the safest city in US, I suggest you should do your research again.”

He didn’t looked least bit convinced by that information. “How many times do I have to tell you? It only takes once. No more walking to and from the shelter from now on.”

“Now, you’re simply overreacting.” The annoyance was evident in your voice. You knew he was doing this for your safety but still, it was a little too much.

“It is my job to think of everything that could go wrong. If you don’t like it, fire me. Until then, do what I say, when I say it, like I told you on the first day.” He said with that cold, unbothered expression on his face that annoys you to the core. His voice was like knife, cutting your skin with his words.

Here we go again.

When you thought, you can have a somewhat decent relationship with your bodyguard, it all goes to two to zero quicker than you thought. You wished you could fire him, but you didn’t have a say over staffing decisions and no good reason to fire Jungkook other than you didn’t get along.

You’d been so sure your shelter interaction marked the beginning of a new phase in your relationship, but Jungkook and you had taken one step forward and two steps back.

Flight to Edmund, Ely’s capital, was nothing except the familiar icy silence filling the environment and cold war going on between you two. The plane ride had been chillier than a winter dip in a Russian river.

Your dislike towards him only increased in the last one month but he doesn’t seem to care. He had already declared, he wasn’t here to liked by you but to do his job. He is truly a jerk.

Today was the first semi-free day on your schedule since you landed, and when you announce what you were going to do on your birthday, the shock on his face was something to stare at.

You decided to visit your parents today. the eerie howl of the wind whistle through the bare trees at the nearly-empty national cemetery. A deep chill swept through, burrowing past your layers of clothing and sinking deep into your bones where you seated on the ground in front your parents grave.

Birthdays supposed to be fun, something to be celebrated but ever since you were a child, you never celebrated your birthdays. Because, This was the day your mother dies while giving birth to you.

Your grandfather tried to, once, when you were five years old but failed at his attempt.

You ran away and locked yourself in your room. The little you was so emotional that she couldn’t made her self to talk about it the next day. All she did was cry, but of course in privet. Because, princess don’t cry in front of people.

You chuckled bitterly at the thought of it. They clearly don’t consider you as human, are they?

“Hey. I’m here again.” You greeted your parents with a faint smile on your face. The emotions were running so high you couldn’t register when you started crying when rumbled about stupid things going on in your life.

Your friends, your graduation day which is the very next year, your evil step mother, your days in US and lastly, Jungkook.

You never thought you would talk about your bodyguard with them. With Chris or any other bodyguards you had in the past, you never even mentioned their name to them but you didn’t know why you felt compelled to do so this time.

You told them how he is a bad news, how is making your life hell by his stupid ego and a urge to control your life and how he is standing outside of the cemetery, waiting for you while keeping his eagle eyes on the area, searching for any possible danger as if someone will popped out of the bushes and attacked you. They were too small to hide a grown men.

His head turned at every direction like a bunny searching for his food. Now that you thought about that, he quite resembled with a bunny. You laugh at your own thought.

Bunny’s aren’t assho–

Nevermind!

You wiped out the remaining tears from your cheeks and bid your goodbye to them before turning on your heels.

“You ready? We can stay longer if you want, but you have an event in an hour.” He said as soon as you stand a few inches from him. An unusual expression on his face which you’ve never seen before and his words were, as if he was telling you that he understands. It’s weird how much it calmed your nerves.

“No, I’m ready. It’s just… I always visits them on this day and talk to them as if they can listen to me. It’s silly, right?” you trailed off, clearly self-conscious.

“It’s not silly,” his voice sounds a bit strained as he continued, “I do the same with my old military buddies.” Yeah, he is from Navy. He must have lost many of his comrades in the battle ground. You didn’t know how close they were but losing friends every time when you’re fighting along side with them and seeing them die in front of your eyes was something horrific to even thought about.

His eyes didn’t met yours when you searched for them and you felt bad, “Do you stay in touch with your friends from the Navy?”

His eyes alert as always, searching for ghosts so he could shot them because, hell no way there was anyone except for two of you.

“Some of them.” Again short and crisp answer from his side. It’s so hard to have a conversation with someone who don’t indulge in the convo as much as you do but you kept trying.

“What made you leave?” you didn’t know why you felt curious about his past all of a sudden.

“It got too much. The deployments, the uncertainty, the funerals. Watching the men I served die right in front of me.” The tightness in his voice intensified further the more he talked about his old days “It fucked my mental health, and if I didn’t left when I did…” he paused, you swear you noticed hint of grief in his eyes, “It’s the same old story Princess, nothing special.”

You felt a tug in your chest. Sympathy. Compassion. Guilt? You didn’t know why you felt that emotion. Maybe because you thought he was a heartless person when in reality, the things happened to him in the past made him this closed off.

You reached the car and when he opened the car door for you, you stopped and rest a hand on his arm.

“Every story matters, weather it is special or not.” You said, “and, my apologies, both for what happened and for prying.” You tried your best to gave him some comfort. Why? You didn’t knew. You didn’t even liked him as a person but he is still a human with a heart, right?

“If I didn’t wanted to talk about it, I wouldn’t. it’s not a big deal.” He retreat his arm from your touch and you felt something inside you and it wasn’t the butterflies.

“I don’t regret being in the Navy. The guys in my unit were like brothers to me, the closest I ever had to a real family, and I wouldn’t give that up for the world. But the frontline stuff? Yeah, I was over that shit.” He let out a deep shaky breath before he continued and, if you weren’t any wiser, you’d have mistaken it for nervousness.

“Yet you chose to be a bodyguard after,” you said while tucked your hair behind your ears, “Not a very wise decision, if you ask me.” You said in a somewhat playful tone.

“I have the skills to be a good bodyguard.” He trailed, “But, Don’t think I’ve ever been in as much danger as since you became my client, though.”

You scrunch your brown in confusion as you stare at him dumbfoundedly. For a second you thought he was going to smile but then his lips came back to a straight line, imitating his infamous no-emotion face.

“My risk of rupturing an artery increased tenfold.”

Did he just cracked a joke?

Your face filled with delight and exasperation at same time, “The Edmund’s air did something to you that you finally found your long-lost humour, Mr. JK. What a miracle.”

A chuckle escaped Jungkook’s throat and you nearly chocked on the air. Did he just? No way!

The sound was so melodic that you wanted to heard that over and over again. Something flatters in your stomach which you recognised as butterflies. You looked over to him with surprise in your eyes before offered him a tentative smile.

His gaze falters anywhere but you, before he said, “let’s go or we’ll be late.”

You never thought this would happened to you, but here you’re in your car heading towards The Florence, the most expensive restaurant in Ely.

You had no plan on going there, but when your stepmom, Tatiana, offered the news about you getting an invitation from Petric Von Rosen, the soon-to-be king of Sweden, you were more irritated than shocked. She was hell bound on setting you up with him. Why? Who knows!

You know him since you were a teenager. David Von Rosen, the king of Sweden was far more wiser than his son and his mother, Iseul Von Rosen, The Queen was far more humbler than him. He was nothing like them, you doubt if he was their real son. It was very much possible someone switched the babies.

His mother was bed ridden since his birth so you could have some sympathy for him, but after meeting him on several occasions, all the compassion you felt towards him drained out of you in a blink of an eye.

You fidget in your seat, tried to came up with some excuse to passed this on somehow, but you also knew it wasn’t possible. You grand father told you to go there by himself. He just wanted his grand daughter to have fun on her birthday, you understand that. Really.

But this… it was torture.

“Why didn’t you turn down the invitation if you don't wanted to go there, Princess?” Jungkook asked out of nowhere, eyes glued to the road.

“I wish I can.” You scoffed, “Seems like the power comes with the title of Princess isn’t enough to have everything under my control, Mr. JK. There’s still things I can’t do even with my stature.” You voice turned into whisper as you trailed off the last words. A hint of sarcasm was present in your tone.

Freedom. choice. You didn’t have neither of them. Even if you could had everything in the palm of your hand whenever you asked, there’re many things you won’t be able to have in your life.

Rest of the ride was silent as you sit there with your thumping heart and Jungkook drove you to your desired destination.

“My Princess, how have you been?”

This can’t be real!

This was the first thought you had after witnessing a bunch of reporters coming straight towards you while the cameras flashed at your direction, blinded your eyes with it’s bright lights.

You thought you were going to had dinner with him but what in the hell was it?

Apparently, this fool had invited the whole media conference. You knew he has a show off-fever but this was extreme. Considering the fact, you didn’t even wanted to celebrate your birthday made it worse.

“What is this, Petric? Why are they here?” irritation laced in your voice, your face wasn’t that pleasant but it was hard for you to had one in that kind of situation.

“Because it’s your birthday. I wanted to celebrate your birthday in a grand way, show you how much you matters to me.” You wanted to laugh at his face but controlled it before it slipped.

One of the cameraman tried to took a closer shot by stepping closer to you but before he could have one more step, Jungkook grabbed him by his coller and put him back in his previous place.

Jungkook was shielding your like an armour, covering your body from any possible harm. He must looked like a koala from how close he was to you, the heat of his body radiated from him making you feel warm. Your cheeks became pink from the close proximity.

Someone from the reporters, tried to asked you about your mother but before they could do it, Jungkook locked them with a glare which could have freeze a wild animal in the amazon forest. His eyes were holding something else in them that night, you didn’t recognised what but for the first time, you felt safe. For the first time, you were thankful that Jungkook were there, with you.

“Is this a date with Princess ____?” one of the female reporter asked Petric, somewhere from the crowd.

“Oh, Yes it is–“

“As far as I remember, you never mentioned about this being a date, Petric.” your smile was more threatening than pleasant.

“Now, I’m! This is a date and I got you this neckless as your birthday gift.” A neckless worth millions encrusted with diamonds were presented in front of you but all you did was glare at him with a dangerous smile on your face. You heard squeals and Aw’s from the crowd.

“I never agreed to go on a date with you.” You smile faltered, you were losing your patience.

He nervously chuckled before ushered his royal guards to sent off the reporters to the outside. Seemed like, he doesn’t liked the honesty nor the humiliation.

“What the hell was that?” his voice goes higher than his usual tone and took a step forward. But before he can get any closer, Jungkook came between you two and rested a hand on Petric’s shoulder. Anger seeping from his eyes when you peeked at them.

You never seen him like this. That was the first time he had ever shown an emotion properly.

“I suggest, you should step back this instant.” His voice lot more calmer than his eyes but the threat it held was not something to ignore. There were three royal guards standing around you, each of them pointing their gun at Jungkook, one even dared to came closer and placed a hand on the arm, with which he was holding Petric.

Jungkook didn’t backed down nor flinch a bit. Eyes stony and his grip farm as he shield you from everyone in the room like a huge rock.

“You’re the bodyguard, right? Stay out of our personal matters.” He said to Jungkook before shifting his gaze towards you, “come on, let’s have dinner, my princess.”

Jungkook’s muscles flexed as he held him a little tighter and Petric whined like a little baby.

Petric is a blonde men with leaner body, beard and eyebrows same colour as his long hair which he had put into a ponytail. He looked like a toddler with his five point five feet height compared to Jungkook's. Jungkook could have killed him and he wouldn’t be able to land a single punch in his direction.

“Let go of the Prince!” He ignored the tall, bulky dark skinned guard standing next to him.

“No. I lost my appetite so I’m leaving. And from the next time, if there would be any, I suggest you to choose your words wisely, especially when you’re with me, Petric.” Your voice held confidence and determination as you levelled him with a sharp gaze which had inner meaning of ‘don’t you dare mess with me’. You thought you seen a hint of amusement and proud in Jungkook’s eyes.

He tried to reached out to you but before he can did that, Jungkook again, came between you two, “You heard her. I don’t think it’s a wise idea to make a lady uncomfortable.”

Petric’s face bloomed with rage but you didn’t mind that. That night, you left with a satisfaction you never thought you needed.

The whole time, Jungkook was there with you. Protected you. Defended you. You felt you finally had someone by your side.

The most surprising thing was, when you reached your room, you found a full container of lasagna and desert by the coffee table with small note written on it, “Eat well, Princess.”

Your caretaker, who had been with you since you were a child, said Jungkook came by your room to drop food for you.

The hope and butterflies came with full force and threw you out of the window. You felt something for him which you weren’t allowed to. Weren't supposed to.

It seemed like, He had more layers to himself than he showed and the urge to strip them bit by bit was heavy. You wanted to crack the wall he had built around him for years.

The hope of having a decent relationship bloom again, but this time, you wanted a little more than that.

You pushed the idea as quickly as it came. Because at the end of the day, the only relation you could have with him is work related.

Because; he is your bodyguard and you are the Princess.

Hey! You made to the end!!🥳 Thank you for giving it a read but it's just the beginning! There's so much moooore to come!! So, hold on there🌚

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[florasuno]

Gojo never actually asks you to marry him. You wake up one morning and there’s a small, subtle band on your left ring finger that’s shaped like infinity. You blink at it sleepily until your eyes focus and then tilt your head up to meet his gaze.

He’s pretending to be asleep, but you see the way his mouth tilts up when you stare at him for too long. You don’t say anything, simply wrap your arm around his middle and pinch his side before settling back to sleep.

It stays on your finger. That’s answer enough for him.