a/n: im back this is something that randomly came to me at night so I decided to write it. this is definitely ooc so if you don't like it here's the warning.
cw; female reader x nagi seishiro, alt universes, ooc nagi , bad writing
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺
You had always been interested in the way the galaxy worked. The ways the stars shined their brilliance with no care in the world. You imagined if one were to become human the next morning and show up at your school just dripping in good looks and confidence. Anyways, enough about the stars. You quietly stepped back into the dark apartment and closed the balcony door. The floor creaked with every step taken to your bed. Finally, with a long exhale, your muscles relaxed; before you knew it, you had fallen into the world of your dreams...
Someone was spooning you.
You felt it.
The heavy, long arms holding you by the torso, as if you'd run away in your sleep. You quickly got up and screamed, questioning who the man was.
The rustling of sheets and commotion woke the man up with a grumble. Now that you were up, you got a good look at him; his white hair managed to cover his eyes.
"What the hell are you doing in my bed!?" You yelled.
“What, no, you’re in my bed," the man spoke as he reached for his pillow and placed it over his head. As if you were just a noisy mosquito that was disturbing his sleep.
Seriously, did this man have no survival instincts?
You quickly scanned over the room, and OH MY GOSH, he was right.
Had you been sleepwalking? Maybe you got drunk or too high? The man’s monotone voice cut through before you could question yourself any further.
"Your hands look at them," he said with a bored expression on his face.
Before you even peered down, you felt a tingling, warm sensation starting from your fingertips as it slowly made its way up your arms throughout the rest of your body. As you looked at your body, it was vanishing? It wasn't like you were turning into dust, you were just kind of fading away.
The man stared at you with an expression you still hadn't seen it was interest? confusion?
Before you could even begin to panic or cry, you realized you were sitting on your bed. Your chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to figure out what was going on.
Obviously, that was a dream, right? It was the only logical explanation, right? I mean, yes, a dream, just a really, really realistic one. A lucid dream. That was what gave you the most comfort, so that's what it was.
You looked over at your alarm: 8:00 a.m. on the dot. Damn it, you wanted to sleep in on your day off. You hesitantly got off the bed and hopped into the shower to wipe off the glistening sheen of sweat that had appeared over your body.
Your wet hair was being held by the towel as you brushed your teeth. As you rinsed out your mouth, you looked into the mirror. And despite the slight fog that the mirror had gathered, you could tell that what you were looking at was not your reflection.
In the mirror, the white-haired man was staring right back at you with his toothbrush still in his mouth. His eyes widened.
"Oh wow, guess I'm not crazy," you clearly heard him say.
"Holy shit," you said to yourself, not once breaking eye contact with him.
The universe must have been bored. Seems like you two were going to be seeing more of each other, whether you wanted to or not.
tags: NSFW, MDNI, John Wick 2 storyline, slightly inaccurate John Wick, strangers to lovers, awkward first meet, knight in shining muscle car type, slooooooooow burn [then we fast af], reader is a vet tech type, descent into darkness/Underworld, adventures in dog sitting, age gap, references to Hades/Persephone mythology, flirting over text [or in John's case, just conversing], clothes on sex, cowgirl position, panties to the side, sliiiight voyeurism [if you squint], not a condom in sight-just the vibes, fingering, multiple org*sms, feelings of grief, shower sex, slightly toxic John Wick [he doesn't mean to, he's grieving], pillow talk, use of g*ns, hostage negotiation, talk of animal de*th and instruments involved, Charon/Winston/Santino/Dog involvement, possible relationship talk, attraction to "bad" men, making out in a car, quickie sex
synopsis: You meet a man named John Wick when he's dropping off his dog "Gunner" for a check up. From there, it's a slippery slope into a new world.
wc: 19. 7 k 😮💨
a/n: okayyy, yes, i did write this before finishing that one River Ward fic but this idea took me by storm in the dead of night. No I was not listening to my River Ward playlist when I thought of this, jeez what's with the third degree? my computer is actually trying to die on itself as i type this rn
You raised a brow at the man entering the clinic, wearing a red-stained dress shirt and tattered suit jacket.
"Hi," he began, walking up to the front counter as you straightened up before him.
"Hi," you repeated, meeting his dark eyes and internally wincing at the cuts on his face.
He was stoic, un-moving as he braced a hand on the counter. But his lips curled slightly in a smile. His hand slid, his forearm bracing the counter as he relaxed.
"Hi," he said again, this time his deep voice echoing through you. You couldn't help but return his polite smile, edging up on your toes to finally look down at his pet.
"Who do we have here?" You asked down at the beautiful dark gray pittie. The dog sat, tilting his head at you and you melted an inch staring into his cute light brown eyes.
"This is..." the man looked down at his dog and tilted his head with a loss of words. You raised a brow at him, waiting as he turned to look at you again with a slightly defeated look. "Gunner."
You huffed an amused air from your nose. "Cute, he looks like a Gunner."
The man nodded as you rounded the counter and took a careful knee before the pittie. "Is he friendly?"
"Absolutely." He barely managed to answer as the dog turned in the direction of you and started nuzzling into you.
His paws pattered the floor, stepping further into you and begging to be pet. You obliged, cooing at the attention-seeking pup, patting at his round body and scratching behind his ears.
You smooched at him, showering praise at this stranger's dog for a minute then looked up at the stranger himself. He was propped up on the counter, watching you love on his pet, with what you recognized as blood on his dress shirt.
"And is Gunner's owner friendly?" You cooed at Gunner, holding the dog's face in your hands to smush his cheeks.
The stranger scoffed, his lips curling in a wry grin before answering: "Gunner thinks so."
Your stomach fluttered at the stranger speaking, though you weren't sure if it was an instance of fight or flight. Meeting the stranger's dark eyes again, you quirked your mouth to the side.
"Does Gunner's owner have a name?" You asked, your bottom lip slipping between your teeth at the last moment.
"He does," the stranger answered as you slowly stood up from your place. His hand extended out for you to take, and you noticed his knuckles tattered with blood and swelling. "John."
You ignored whatever warning pang was rushing through your body as he introduced himself. Your hand reached out to grab his, minding your grip to not bring him pain. When you uttered your name, his smile only grew, finding himself pushing upright to tower over you.
"Nice to meet you." John said, his voice straining a bit.
"Same to you," you said, giving his hand a polite shake before dropping it and returning to your paperwork. "What're you bringing Gunner in for today?"
You stood outside of the clinic, circling through your ring of keys to find the one for your door. It never failed, with how many keys you had, it was always the last one you expected.
You bounced on one foot to keep yourself alert, filing through your keys in the unexpectedly cool night. You were already running late to meet up with friends and now you were battling your stomach rumbling.
As you were nearing the end of your key leash, you heard a few whistles from behind you. A cold ice jutted down your back, making your insides become rigid with the thought of being watched.
Still, you ignored it as best at you could, pretending to not hear whatever calls were over your shoulder. Your bouncing foot quickened, hoping you had found your out before whatever approached you.
With the final key try, you managed to lock the door and turn in the direction of your car only to be stopped by two tall men stood before you.
You excused yourself, backing away from them only to turn around to find two more men behind you. Staring at the men surrounding you, you glanced sideways into the street and stepped out.
"Where you goin' sweetheart?" One of the men called after you.
You held the strap of your bag tighter on your shoulder, your senses heightened as you heard the combined steps of the men crossing into the street.
You picked up your pace, scanning down both ways of the road with minimal cars around, only for their steps to heighten just the same. The rigid gulp that lodged in your throat was now cementing, your heart racing as you found yourself running across the street and onto the opposite sidewalk.
Your vision tunneled as you focused on getting away, unsure of what would happen if the strange men caught up to you. Turning down the perpendicular street, you barely glanced behind you as a car pulled up next to you.
The door swung open, over half of the curb, and you were almost stopped by it but managed around it. Looking at the car, you cautiously peered from a distance to see a slightly more familiar face than the strangers following you.
"Come on, I'll drive you to your car," John offered, his mannerisms unbothered and cool.
You looked behind you at the group of men now turning the corner after you. With another glance into the car, you saw Gunner and opted to take a chance with the slightly better devil you knew.
Climbing in, you shut the door quickly and looked over your shoulder at the goons left in the wake. You turned around to John, ready to share your gratitude but opted to catch your breath first.
You wheezed, holding the dash of the dark muscle car, and held your free hand to your chest. The instant adrenaline rush through your body was now wracking your heart, making your eyes water though you were unscathed.
"Are you alright?" John asked, one hand draped on the steering wheel and his other carefully cradling the gear shift.
You overly nodded, blinking away the mist of tears while your mind started to race with the horrific possibilities of what could've happened.
"T-thank you," you choked out, bringing your eyes away from John's dash to look at him. "I-I..."
John glanced over at you but said nothing else, only nodded in acknowledgement before changing the subject. "Your car's nearby?"
You nodded again, finally peeling yourself to sit back in the leather seat. You admired it for a moment, luxuriated by the curve and plush, but were interrupted by Gunner's wet nose to your ear.
You giggled, shrugging a shoulder up to get the dog to stop then reaching a hand back to pat his head. "Sweet boy."
John smirked dryly at your comment, slowing down to scan the two parking lots on either side of the street. "Here?"
You nodded, pointing to the right side of the street to your little rinky-dink car. "That's me."
You expected John to laugh at it, seeing as his car could literally drive circles around yours. But he didn't, only pulled into the lot and braked in front of it.
"Volvo's are a classic," he commented, gearing his car to remain stationary. He shifted slightly in his seat to face you.
You turned to do the same, noticing that he'd probably gone home to clean up and change; seeing as he was in a cleaner shirt, the blood on his knuckles nonexistent.
"Have a good night, okay?" He offered, meeting your eyes.
The adrenaline in your body pooled in that moment, making you feel jittery though you were pin still. You nodded again, wondering if you were nodding too much.
"Thanks. And thanks again for the ride, I appreciate it," you said quickly, unsure why your nerves were acting up now.
"Yeah," John drew out, looking at the back of his car, past Gunner and through the back windshield. "You gonna be okay?"
You nodded again, noting that you'd have to force something out. "Y-yeah, of course. I just don't know what their deal was. I'll be fine."
John's eyes skirted back to you, taking in your shaken demeanor with a once-over. "If you want, I could give you my number. In case it happens again."
He didn't want to mention how fast he'd be to escort you, but he was aware of his speed.
You held your hands in your lap, glanced down at them then back. "S-sure, it wouldn't hurt."
John watched as you carefully retrieved your phone and nervously unlocked it; turning the bright screen to him, he cradled the device and tenderly put his phone number in then turned it back to you.
You looked at him from your screen then back and saved it to contacts. "Thanks."
John said nothing else, only nodded; you gathered yourself, pulling your keys from your bag and opening the door to get out.
"Bye Gunner," you offered to the dog, reaching to pat his head. "Good night, John."
You climbed out of the car, tenderly shutting the door after yourself as John offered a polite wave through the front windshield. He geared his muscle car in reverse, throwing his arm behind the passenger seat to look behind and turn back onto the road.
You stood in the silence, watching as John drove off with your adrenaline in tow. Your heart pattered with a new sense, unsure of what to call it, but you stashed it away to rush to your car.
You found yourself lying awake, staring at the ceiling, in the middle of the night. Deliciously buzzed by two cocktails, you replayed the moments of the days events.
Hot stoic man walks in, hot stoic man has a dog, hot stoic man saves you from not-so-good guys, hot stoic man makes you feel safe.
You blinked slowly, your phone clutched in your hand while you tried to fall asleep. In a shock of embarrassment and a little confidence, you launched yourself upright and swiped your phone open.
Navigating through your phone, you managed to pause at the draft stage of sending John a text.
-Thanks so much againn for saving me tonight
You stared at your message for a moment, wondering if you should add more but decided against it at the last moment. You watched as the bubble popped up at the beginning of the thread, with the small status of the message as 'delivered'.
You sat still for a moment, your eyes threatening to close but in a long blink, your message went from 'delivered' to 'read'.
You froze, a new warmth starting from the inside of your chest, as your phone flopped onto the bed before you. You barely had the second to think of sending a 'i'm so sorry' text at realizing how late it was.
John: Is that what that was? I thought it was a friendly ride
He hadn't been able to sleep, finding himself at the Continental bar with 'Gunner' at his feet. John fingered around the rim of his glass, expecting the whiskey to dull his nerves but found himself brought back by your text.
You grinned dumbly at his response, snickering to yourself before gearing up your response.
-You're right. Thank you for the friendly ride to my car
You stared long at this response, wondering if did any good for the conversation. If this was even a conversation. You sent it anyways, but added further.
-I'm just thankful you were there when you were
John stared at his phone, glass cradled against his bottom lip as he stared at the messages that came in. His heart cinched for a moment, wondering if he was taking it too far. But it was a simple text exchange, nothing more.
John: I am too. Good night.
He paused in his message, feeling it to be too curt. You were just sharing your gratitude, nothing more. John understood, having felt the similar way of feeling cornered.
"Having a nightcap, are we?" Winston asked, sidling up behind John's seat.
"Winston," John stated.
"Jonathan," Winston offered back, pulling a chair open and sitting down. "I'd have expected you to be in bed already. Preparing for your long trip."
John glanced down at his phone, the open conversation between the two of you left on his end. "Yeah, but what can I say? Nerves got to me."
Winston quirked a brow in John's direction, tilting his head slightly at the sight of his phone upright. "There's no such thing as nerves with you."
John took a sip of his whiskey, letting it be his pause before he smacked his lips in appreciation.
"What is it?" Winston asked, undoing his suit jacket button.
John set his glass down on the bar and circled it under his fingers. "There's a girl."
"A girl?" Winston repeated, raising his eyebrows in slight surprise. "I fear I've heard that before."
John folded his lips together as he nodded, knowing that he'd said it a long time ago. "Yeah."
Winston took John's response with a purse of his lips, a tilt of his head. "So there's a girl."
"A woman," John corrected, turning his head in Winston's direction but not meeting his friend's eyes. "And I want to keep her safe."
"Then it's best not to interfere," Winston offered without a beat missed.
John found himself agreeing, but still opened his mouth. "I can't do that."
Winston's eyes steadied on John's stoic face, watching as his dark eyes finally rose to meet his. The older gentleman opened his mouth in a soft 'ah' then sucked his teeth in consolation.
"What're we going to do, then?" Winston asked, straightening up to the bar and raising his hand in a silent order to the bartender.
John picked up his glass again, sloshed the diminishing liquid around then pursed out a hard air. "I have an idea."
You managed to stretch yourself out at the foot end of your bed, holding your bright phone before your face while you tried to hold off of sleep.
There was no reason for John to respond back to you, especially with the time. You imagined that you had woken up this poor, tired man with diathesis just hours after getting home.
And you groaned in your sleep, feeling awful. With your next minute spurt of energy, you'd apologize to him for waking him up so late.
However, the buzz of your phone steeled you awake. You blinked at the bright screen before your face, eyes focusing on the message you received.
John: I am too. I know this is sudden, but would you like to get breakfast?
In the misty morning, you stood on the curb in front of your apartment building under your umbrella. You were patiently waiting for John to show up to take you to breakfast, hoping that it was the Greek diner just a few blocks from your job.
After a few moments, you expected a text from him saying you two would have to reschedule. It was only a matter a time, something you assumed was in the New York air. Plans were never fulfilled, always to be rescheduled.
Your inner plight was paused by the black, unmarked car that pulled up before you. Your reflection in the tinted windows was perplexed, taking a few steps back to assess your escape.
The driver side door opened and a well-dressed man wearing rimless glasses stood out and buttoned his jacket. You waited a moment, taking in the man's movements as he reached for the back door of the car.
"Miss, I've been sent by Mr. John Wick." The man announced, holding the back door open for you to get in.
You stared at the man for another moment in silence, pondering if you ever learned John's last name. You questioned if this man was trustworthy, even though he gave no reason to not be.
"Okay..." you drew out, looking both ways down the empty sidewalk before stepping cautiously towards the car. You folded your umbrella, setting it on the car floor.
You reluctantly climbed in, your nerves raising on their ends as you sat down and buckled your seatbelt behind the driver seat.
The driver smiled politely at you, shutting the door firmly before unbuttoning his suit jacket and climbing into the driver seat again.
He adjusted his mirror, buckled his seatbelt then geared the car into drive and turned on his veering signal. You held your hands in your lap, letting your bag slide to the empty space next to you.
"How do you know John?" You asked, attempted to fill the silence and calm your nerves.
The driver glanced back in his mirror after veering back onto the street, meeting your eyes with his polite smile reaching his gaze.
"Mr. Wick is a regular guest at my hotel." He offered, which didn't ease you very much.
You grinned cheaply at the driver, then let it drop. "Oh, of course."
You assumed, by John's paperwork for Gunner, that he lived nearby. You turned to look out of the tinted window, trying to map the area you were driving into.
The driver continued, "I am the concierge of the Continental. Mr. Wick has done a lot of work for my hotel."
Your raised your brows at that, glancing in the direction of the rearview mirror to meet the driver's eyes.
"My name is Charon," he finally introduced himself, hitting his turn signal down a caddy-corner street before stopping at the corner before sleek, marble stairs up to ornate glass doors. "Mr. Wick will see you inside."
You flinched as your door opened with a bellhop standing quietly on the sidewalk. Charon nodded after you, with you unbuckling your seatbelt and grabbing your bag and umbrella.
You stood under the bright awning of the hotel as the bellhop shut the door, leaving Charon to drive around the curb to park the car. You held your umbrella under your arm awkwardly, righting the strap of your bag as you took in the darkening sky of the morning.
"Miss," the bellhop instructed, holding his crisp gloved hand in the direction of the dry stairs.
You politely smiled, then walked up to the front door only to be greeted by yet another bellhop. Maybe you should've stopped when you got out of the car, feeling that each step you took brought the warning pangs back.
It felt like a distracted descent, the quiet luxury and decadence of the hotel drawing you in though it felt hostile just the same. The bellhop at the door guided you in the direction of the seating area, where patrons were gathered at white tablecloth tables in front of floor-to-ceiling windows to enjoy their breakfast.
Your heart continued to race as you walked through the lobby and into the seating area, feeling particularly under dressed compared to everyone else around you.
John sat at the table, with Gunner sat next to him, sipping at his black coffee. His eyes were trained at the doorway, glancing at his watch to track how much time he had left to spend in your presence.
Your eyes scanned the room before finally stopping at John. He was dressed in a cleaner suit, his hair combed away from his face and drinking coffee.
He paused in his drink, almost rushing to stand as he rounded the table to pull out your seat. You rested your umbrella on the arm of your chair then sat down, looking up at him with a smirk.
"What'd I do to deserve this?" You asked, allowing John to aid your seat under the table.
"N-nothing," John said, reaching to smooth down his hair as he sat down. "Just wanted to talk."
Your smirk turned into a smile, sitting up straight as if trying to perform for the hotel itself. John breathed in deeply, taking in your demeanor before calling the waiter over.
"Would you like some coffee?" John asked.
You nodded, holding your hands in your lap only for them to be occupied by Gunner's fat snout. You grinned down at the pup, scratching behind his ears as the waiter approached with a pristine cup, pouring into it with a shining french press.
"You know, when I was imagining what you did, I never imagined it was tied to this," you commented as the waiter set your cup down before you, then offered a fresh cream pitcher to the table.
John quirked a brow in your direction, taking another sip to punctuate his next words carefully. "You were imagining what I do?"
You gulped and paused, realizing that you had said your inside thought out loud. "I mean, I do for a lot of people. Mostly just walking by," you sheepishly offered in reason.
Staring across the table at this stoic man, you were reminded of staying up even later after you finally told him good night, picturing his face as your hand rested on your chest.
John gave away nothing, his eyes still while he mapped the soft expression on your face. He bit inside his lip noting the minute flush of your cheeks, how you shifted in your chair.
He scoffed in amusement, letting your excuse slide. "What did you think I did?"
You shrugged, reaching for the cream and pouring it into your coffee cup. You sprinkled in sugar from the decor bowl in the center, then used your own spoon to stir it together.
"Your paperwork said 'retired'," you began, another internal strike with bringing up your interested reading of his and Gunner's papers. "I thought you were maybe ex-military."
John's smirk lifted. "Something like that."
He leaned back in his chair, not wanting to puff his chest in pride. He had to remind himself that this was temporary again, the mantra in his head repeating over and over.
"Have you always wanted to work with animals?" John asked, deflecting the conversation from digging any deeper.
You remembered Gunner's head in your hands, looking down at your lap to playfully mush his face. "Kind of. I love seeing all of their sweet faces. I'd hate to see them in pain though, so it's the best and worst at once."
John couldn't help his trained stare on you, as you bowed your head to pet and praise at Gunner. He knew he was taking things in an odd direction, but he thought that it'd keep both of you safe at once.
"So, that's part of the reason I asked you here." John added, sitting upright as his hand braced the table. "I'm going out of town for work, about three days, and was wondering if you could watch Gunner for me."
You raised your head, immediately meeting John's eyes. "You want to leave him with me?" You metered your question, though you were excited for the opportunity to watch such a sweet dog.
That, and maybe you wanted to do the hot stoic man a favor. Whatever that was, your heart fluttered at the thought of doing what John asked. Even though you didn't know anything about him, even though he came in looking dangerous and was now portraying a clean slate.
It felt that he was the bright sliver in the imposing building, even though it was all cast in the rainy shadows. You were confused, your head almost done in by your survival bells ringing though you were still approaching the 'yes'.
John nodded. "Yeah, but here."
You leaned forward, unsure if you heard him correctly. While you hadn't thought of what your landlord would say about bringing pets back to your place.
John spared a chuckle at you, genuinely amused by your response. With a shrug of his shoulder, he leaned back again.
"I received a comp for my room, so I'd like for you and him to stay."
You stammered, freezing to think of what to say before shaking your head. Your eyes darted around the large darkly painted walls, ornate paintings and decorations nothing to what you were accustomed to.
"John, I mean..." you weren't sure what to say, knowing this wasn't an invitation to stay with him. "That's very generous."
His face softened, dropping his hand from the table to tilt his head at you. "Please. You'd be doing me a big favor."
Your mouth opened to argue him further, but John's expression was un-moving. He was still stoic, no indication that his offer had strings attached. Even with the atmosphere of the place itself, you found yourself caving.
"It's just a few days, right?" You reassured him, and yourself, by asking.
John's face broke, finding himself smiling again. His cheeks were beginning to ache, realizing that it'd been a while since he smiled so long.
"Yeah, of course. And they have in-house breakfast and dinner, a transit service that you can use to get to work." John noted, hoping that you'd take advantage of it all just to keep you safe.
"I can use it to go to work too?" You repeated, looking down at Gunner than back at his owner. "Can I take him to work with me?'
John's nose scrunched. "If you want, but I'm sure Charon would be able to check in on him when you're gone."
You nodded, looking down at Gunner again before reaching to sanitize your hands. "I think I can do that."
"Good," John said, pulling the menu up slightly to glaze over the menu. His eyes glanced to his wristwatch, knowing that he was losing time to make it to his flight.
Still, he made no quick effort to speed up his breakfast with you. You looked at the menu on the table, your mouth watering at the options available. Of course they were were gourmet, nothing short of the place itself.
You looked up from the edge of the menu, taking in more of this stranger's presence before speaking up. "What was the other reason?"
John froze for a moment, unfortunately caught off-guard by your question. His eyes still scanned the menu, trying to keep his expression at a minimum though his mind was now doubling back on his words.
He wryly smirked as he finally drew his eyes up to meet yours. "Just wanted to check in from last night."
John stood awkwardly before the front door of the Continental, wondering what the polite way to depart from you was. You stood before him, having to tilt your head slightly to meet his eyes. He was taller than you remembered, though you were taking him in while on your knees petting his dog.
"I have to go," John offered, reaching his hand out to brace your shoulder. "I'll let you know when I land."
You smiled, nodded. "Okay, and we'll be here. I hope you have safe travels."
John squeezed tenderly at your shoulder, feeling how fragile you were under the weight of his hand. He felt a soft weight off of his mind, knowing that the Continental was a steel trap for any unwanted guests.
His smile softened, dropping his hand to pet Gunner's head. "Good dog. Behave."
And at that, you watched John leave, raising your hand to wave after him before turning to Gunner.
"Your daddy's gone," you pouted, reaching to pat his thick back. "I guess we should get you upstairs."
"Allow me to escort you," Charon chimed in, silently approaching you from behind.
You flinched, sucking in a harsh air between your teeth. Charon offered an apologetic look to you, his hands clasped behind his back.
"My apologies, Miss. Allow me to escort you and Mr. Gunner upstairs," he offered again, waiting for you to regain yourself.
You adjusted your bag on your shoulder, shifting your umbrella under your arm then waved for Charon to lead. He carefully reached his hand out to take your umbrella, holding it as he led you to the elevator then handed it off to one of the bellhops.
"That is the Miss's. Please do not get them confused." Charon stated, calling the elevator button then holding his hand out for you and Gunner to board first.
Inside, Charon hit the 8th floor button, the antique number lever slowly raising from its resting place as the elevator lifted.
"So, you know John well?" You asked, unable to help yourself.
Charon lifted his chin, looking over his shoulder to you. He offered his tight smile, the same politeness as before. "I'd say so."
You nodded, mentally chewing on his short answer before thinking of another question. "How long has he worked for the hotel?"
Charon's lips changed into a smirk, noting your inquisitive nature. "Approximately 20 years."
Your eyebrows raised then, realizing that John had been working around the time you got your first pet. You folded your lips together, feeling your heart flutter while trying to decipher what that meant.
"Oh, so how long have you worked for the hotel?"
Your curiosity was beginning to get the better of you, each bit you were fed only bringing up more. The further you got from the ground level, the lighter you felt away from the depths.
Whatever darkness was harnessed in the lobby, the foreboding rattling snake vibe it gave, did not reach the upper levels. The elevator opened to the ornate, older decorated walls of the hotel.
The floors were carpeted in a sleek line design, the wallpaper an almost unnoticeable fleur design.
"Long enough," Charon said, chuckling at his own joke.
You spat out an amused air, following the concierge to the room. He stopped at the room at the end of the hallway, fishing into his suit jacket to retrieve the key.
Charon turned the lock, propping open the door for you to enter. You paused just inside the room, taken over by the view of the city from wide windows at the crest of the room.
The ornate decor was not scrimped in the room, seeing through the carved accent wall before walking around it. Gunner traipsed through the room, jumping onto the crisp white sheets of the large bed and sighing like he'd had a rough day.
You looked to Charon, who nodded into the room for you to take it in. You took your time walking through the hotel room, taken aback at the quality. Sure, you'd been in nice hotels before, having stayed in some with accrued loyalty points.
But this felt like a new feeling. It was strange, feeling swayed by the elegance of this hotel being used for you, to watch a pup that didn't seem swayed either way.
Pausing at the wet bar, you wanted to pull out your phone to take a picture just to show your appreciation for John's minimal effort. But looking back at Charon, he straightened his lips and exited the room.
When he left, you rushed to the window to look out at the city. Even with loyalty points, it never bought anything like this. You couldn't help yourself, pulling out your phone to take an overhead view of the city before setting your bag down on the accent table behind you.
You rushed around the room, looking at the other cool parts of the triangle-shaped room. Gunner was unfazed on the bed, resting his head down with a groan.
You had to stop yourself in the bathroom, gasping at the oversized mirror with the bright light inlaid inside the reflective surface. Watching such a good boy was not worth this treatment.
Still, you took a picture of yourself in the mirror, scrunching your nose and sent both to John at once.
-Are you sure about this?? Is there something you're leaving out?
John boarded his charter, retrieving his phone as it vibrated in his pocket. The smile on his lips was subconscious, seeing that you'd messaged him.
Opening his phone, he chuckled at the two photos you sent him. He read your message, finding himself lightened at the scrunch of your face in the mirror.
He paused before his seat, finding himself regretting boarding for the nth time since he left the hotel. John thought of what he would do if he went back, if you'd stay around and keep him company on the sacred grounds of the Continental.
John turned and sat, crossing his ankle over his thigh as he typed a response to you.
John: Oh, I did forget. He's a bed hog. And he likes to steal bacon off your plate. So watch out.
You sat on the bed, staring at the text thread between you and the stoic stranger. You smiled at his response, ready to send another text as soon as you retrieved it.
John: I made it to the plane. I'll let you know when I land. I can't thank you enough for this.
You nipped at your inside lip, wanting to thank him back for the outrageous accommodations. Wanting to thank him for breakfast. Wanting to thank him for his company.
-Okay, safe travels. I'd love to see where you're going.
John's smile remained, staring at your response as the ladder was pulled up and the engines turned on. He exited out your text thread, searching through his contacts to find another number.
"Jonathan," Winston answered on the third ring. He sat in the smoking lounge, with Charon approaching to report. "We have Persephone in the Underworld Palace."
John's jaw grit, attempting to skew the view of you having your own free will. You had the freedom to leave, he had to remind himself, though he wanted you to remain on the neutral ground.
"She showed me," John offered in response, feeling the palpable silence on the opposite end.
Winston and Charon shared a knowing look, with Charon raising his chin and checking his watch.
"Are you sure about this?" Winston asked.
John looked out of the small window to his right, sitting back in his seat as he thought of how long it'd take for him to return to the Continental grounds.
"It'll give me time to think of my next step," John said, reaching to buckle his seatbelt with one hand.
Winston sucked at his teeth, tilting his head in deep thought. "You're dangling her over the pond, Jonathan. Are you sure this is the safest thing you could think of?"
John pursed his lips, shutting his eyes for a deep breath. "I'll be done as soon as I can. I can figure it out from there."
Winston raised his brows in Charon's direction, who shook his head in response. "Safe travels."
Upon ending the call, Winston exhaled deeply and directed to Charon. "Make sure our young Miss and her companion are cared for. Don't allow her exit without escort."
Charon barely widened his eyes, pulling his hands behind his back, ready to execute his orders but Winston raised a finger. "And invite her to dinner on the roof. The four of us. For Jonathan's sake."
Charon nodded. "Of course, sir."
You stood in front of your closet, having been escorted back to your apartment by Charon and Gunner.
The concierge extended an invitation to you and Gunner to join the owner of the Continental for dinner. Apparently he was a close friend of John's and wanted to meet you, as it wasn't often John extended invitations to "outsiders".
You would definitely ask about that as you cycled through your clothes, wondering what dining with the manager fell under for dress code. Everything else was just thrown haphazardly to you weekender bag on your bed: clothes for work, some leggings for taking Gunner on walks, anything for comfort because you felt that you would step outside of the hotel room for anything other than work.
When your bag was packed with your toiletries tossed on top, you turned back to your closet to contemplate your dress code.
For a high-class hotel, you opted for a white long-sleeve dress with a built in silk bodice. It'd suffice, you shrugged, because it was your best dress in your closet. You paired it with your most comfortable flats and stuffed it all on top of your bag.
You grabbed your phone charger from the wall then rushed out of the door, making sure everything was off in your apartment. You carefully took the stairs down to the front door, throwing it open to Charon carefully waiting outside of the car for your return.
Gunner poked his happy face out of the driver's side window, staring at other onlookers in silence. You shut the door firmly behind you, grabbing your key to lock it after you.
Charon straightened on his feet, opening the back door of the car while his other hand extended to grab your bag.
"You don't have to--" you tried to argue on holding onto your bag in the backseat, but Charon was firm in taking the straps of your bag.
In a fluid motion, he shut the door after you righted in the backseat then went around the back of the car to open the trunk. You glanced after him, seeing that he didn't linger behind and closed the trunk then returned to the driver's door.
Gunner moved over to the passenger seat, that window open as well, as Charon geared the car into driver and veered back onto the street.
"What's your manager like?" You asked.
Charon glanced in the rearview, his polite grin ever present in his eyes.
"Mr. Scott is an old-fashioned type. Cordial, gentlemanly, with a taste of finer things."
You pursed your lips, looking out of the front windshield, then Gunner. When you looked back at Charon, he was once again fixated at the mirror, expectant of your next question.
"Should I...shape up?" You asked, aware of every movement you were making at that point.
Charon chuckled again, which you were unsure if genuine or sardonic towards you. "I believe you will be fine, miss. I think that Mr. Scott will enjoy your company and questions."
Your lips flattened in a slightly embarrassed smile then turned back to the window. "I'll start thinking of more now."
John paused by the bar of the Rome Continental, steadying his nerves before his mission. He had to remind himself that it would be this would be the last.
Even with the taste of being back, John's mind flashed with the thought of you. He choked on his sip of whiskey, clearing his throat while he stared at the crystal in his hand. Helen.
His mind flashed with the thought of Helen. John blinked, remembering his ring and circling it on his finger. When he felt his chest begin to heave with a new wash of grief, he stifled it with a long pull of his whiskey.
Just as his phone buzzed on the bar. John set the crystal back down, staring at the notification of your message and remembering that he meant to inform you of his landing.
Opening his phone, John was greeted with a photo of you sat on the bed with Gunner sat beside you. You were dressed in a short white dress, the bodice reflecting soft light as you leaned over his dog and hugged his head against your chest.
-We're having dinner with Mr. Scott, hope you made it wherever safely.
John felt struck in his place, staring at the photo in the growing thread of your messages. His heart skipping a beat before he finally picked up his phone to respond.
John: I made it safely. Never knew Mr. Scott extended dinner invitations, you must be lucky.
He looked through his entirely empty photo gallery to share the photo of the Colosseum from his plane window. John sent the message, let his phone clatter to the bar again as he sat back in his chair.
The rushing thought of you instead of Helen made him go askew, knowing that it was wrong to do. He grit his teeth, shut his eyes to remember his late wife's smile and not yours.
This was not what he wanted to happen, hoping to keep you at an arms length but still close enough to be safe.
You stared at your phone as Gunner jumped down from the bed, reading and rereading John's message before staring at the crowded overview of Italy from his plane window.
You zoomed in on the photo, staring at the Colosseum as the flattest fixture amongst all the little buildings, all of it resembling a miniature map.
John pushed himself up from his chair, pocketing his phone as he left the room with determination. He wouldn't be distracted by any feelings, regardless of who they were for, tonight.
Charon knocked gingerly at the door, alerting Gunner to the noise. You slowly stood, straightening out your dress and stashing your phone in its pocket then met the concierge in the hallway.
"This way, miss," Charon stated, starting in the direction of the elevator as before.
Inside the elevator car, Charon turned over his shoulder to look at you. "That is an elegant dress. You look very nice."
You smiled, practically beamed and offered your thanks; you pulled your textured hair behind your shoulder then looked down to Gunner.
The elevator lurched to a slow stop at the top of the hotel. The doors slowly opened to a long hallway, decorated the same as the others, with double glass doors that led out to a concrete patio.
Charon held the door open for you and Gunner, allowing the two of you to step onto the hotel roof patio. The view of the city was surrounding half of the balcony, with a larger building blocking directly beside it.
Your eyes fixated on the black glass patio table, decorated with an ornate black runner and four chairs. At the head of the table, you acknowledged the older gentleman as he stood up.
He approached you carefully, allowing you to take in that he exuded opulence and class, noticing the gilded pocket square in his dark suit jacket.
"Bonsoir chérie," the gentleman offered, gently taking your hand and bringing it up to his lips in a ghostly peck. "My name is Winston Scott, it is nice to meet you."
You smiled politely at him, tilting your head at Mr. Scott. "Nice to meet you too, Mr. Scott."
Winston carefully dropped your hand, his face playfully scrunching in offense. "Nonsense, call me Winston."
Your smile twitched further genuine, forfeiting your nicety to agree. "Okay. It's nice to meet you, Winston."
Winston winked at you, then guided you to your seat at the other end of the table. "You look radiant in that dress. I can see how you caught John's eye."
You giggled nervously, watching the older man pull your chair back. Turning your back to him, you tucked your dress to the back of your legs then sat down as Winston aided your chair to the table.
Winston returned to his seat at the opposite end of the table just as Charon pulled a chair for Gunner to sit to your left then rounded to sit to your right.
You looked at the good boy sat at the table, waiting patiently with his mouth open. You couldn't help but snort at the image, thinking that you should've found him a bowtie so he could've fit in for the dress code.
As Winston sat down, he waved a hand to direct the waiter over to the table. A tall martini glass filled close to the brim with an orchid colored liquid. The liquid held a light shimmer as you shifted the glass closer to grab; your eyes narrowed, looking at the beaded garnish at the bottom in a clump of red seeds.
Just as Winston and Charon received their drinks, the hotel manager raised his glass. "Salud."
You took careful hold of the thin-stimmed glass and raised it from the table, repeating Winston's cheers before bringing the drink to your lips. It was bubbly and light, sweet and tart at once.
From the bottom of the glass, you watched the garnish break apart and you opened your lips to ingest a seed with a gulp. When you were satisfied with your sip, you rested the glass back on the table then savored the taste as the seed slipped down your throat.
"Good cocktail?" Winston asked, smacking his teeth to savor his martini.
You nodded, shifting the glass to your left. "Is that cherry? Almost a shirley temple?'
Winston chuckled, shrugging a shoulder up before setting his glass down. "Close. It's pomegranate."
You hummed, letting the palette of the drink reignite on your tongue with that new knowledge. Charon looked over to Winston, sparing a slightly amused shake of his head.
Winston shrugged fully then, entertained by his own theme. "What is it you do, my dear?"
You straightened in your seat, looking over to Gunner enjoying his lap bowl of water then at Winston. "I work for a vet clinic, very small. That's actually how I met John."
Saying it aloud and remembering the timeline, your mind rushed with how fast things moved. You blinked slowly, your heart stumbling in your chest at remembering John a day ago compared to now.
Winston raised his brows: "Oh?"
You nodded and continued. "He brought in Mr. Gunner here for a check-up."
You reached to pat Gunner's head and he panted happily in your direction. Another soft wave of shock went through you, remembering what he looked like when he came into your clinic.
He should've been off-putting, and yet...
Winston tilted his chin, pursing his lips in intrigue. "Gunner, huh?"
You almost ignored Winston's comment, meeting his interested gaze from across the table.
"And he drove me to my car that night," you added finally, remembering with the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.
You had a nightmare about those men last night, one only fought off by your stoic man in a muscle car. Tightening your jaw, you reached for your drink and wet your lips again.
"Hmm," Winston offered after a moment, turning to Charon for any input.
The concierge was quiet, his own lips pursed in slight interest. Winston smirked waywardly, straightening up to brace his elbows against the table.
He carded his fingers before his mouth, staring across the table at you and wondering what it was that made John choose you.
"Jonathan always has had a soft spot," Winston said after another beat of silence.
You couldn't help your grin again, hearing John's full name. You imagined him as a younger Jonathan, introducing himself as such and Winston never letting it go.
"How long have you known John?" You asked, replacing your glass back to the table.
You realized you were dependent on your drink, noting the glass close to finished. All the garnish was sneakily slipped down with the liquid, leaving the sparkling drink to reflect the encroaching moonlight.
The patio overlights turned on, banishing the darkness and shadows from the area. Your nerves, charged since entering this place, were now directed to performing for John's cohorts.
Not that you needed their approval, you wanted to prove to yourself your etiquette. The nervous inkling in the back of your head was growing louder over the lush warmth, telling you that Winston and Charon would report back to John with their findings.
And you sat back in your chair to come to terms with why you cared. You did like John, but bit your tongue. There was no reason to go forth and ruin something as innocent as a friendship.
Winston chuckled, dropping his hands to the arms of his chair. "Since...he was a young man. Over twenty years, at this point."
You hummed, raising your brows as you looked between the two men across from you. You almost wanted to ask how old John was, the thought making you giggle behind your fingers.
"So a long time, then. Doesn't show for you, Winston." You commented, smirking playfully across the table at the older gentleman.
"Flattery will get you everywhere, my dear," Winston offered, lifting his glass to you and taking another sip.
With that, dinner was served and a plate was placed carefully before you. The seasoned smell of the marsala tickled under your nose and made your stomach engorge with hunger.
The sweet liquor was only making it worse, opening your mouth to drool at the elegant layout of your plate. You glanced over to Gunner, who was fed steak tips on a plate and heartily cleaned his bowl.
Your eyes dragged across the table, to see Charon and Winston staring at you in wait. You smiled politely, allowing the waiter to set a black cloth napkin on your lap before stepping back.
You thanked him, picking up your fork and knife to inspect them a moment before cutting into your chicken. The echo of silverware followed, with Charon and Winston cutting into their food and eating in silence.
You eagerly wanted to call John to talk about this dinner afterwards, but knew it would be better to wait for him to call first.
John sat down to catch his breath, exhausted after yet another night of fighting. Did he enjoy this? Sometimes he had to ask himself, seeing as how he kept going through it. He sat forward in his chair in the lobby, shuddering as adrenaline worked out of his system.
The longer he sat, the more pain that came onset. He winced as he sat back, feeling that he'd bruised a rib from falling through the Roman Continental window with Cassian. John slowly pushed himself up to his feet, approaching the front desk to request his passage home.
He went up to his room, returned back downstairs and awaited in the lobby for the first sign of daylight to make his way to the hotel.
In the meantime, John retrieved his phone and turned it on. When it cycled through, he expected a message from you.
He expected a message from you, especially after dinner. John thought of what awful stories Winston drummed up to entertain you without giving too much away. His top lip peeled back in an embarrassed scowl, already hearing Winston talk about a young Jonathan.
John thought of sending you a message, but thought of the time in New York. He wasn't even sure what he'd say to you. He wanted to ask about dinner.
So he did.
John: How was dinner with the infamous Mr. Scott?
You were escorted back to your hotel room floor as your phone vibrated in your skirt pocket. Gunner rushed up to the door of the hotel room, baring his teeth in a low growl as you stopped to grab your phone.
-Delicious, who knew Winston was such a gossip.
John raised his brows at his phone buzzing again, this time showing Winston calling him.
"Winston," John greeted, sitting back in his chair while his eyes fixated in the direction of the sunrise.
"Jonathan, she's a delightful little sprite. I am not surprised why you're taken with her," Winston offered, carefully taking his stride to the elevator after letting you be excused first.
"I'm sure you've entertained her," John offered, actively ignoring his mentor's comment while his stomach sank.
"She's great at listening, Charon said she was full of questions." Winston looked over his shoulder to his concierge, who shrugged. "Am I off-putting to questions, Jonathan?"
John noised in response, stashing a slight grin. "I wouldn't say that. Maybe Charon is more...approachable in general."
"That is why I hired him," Winston said, pushing the call button for the elevator. "Has she contacted you?"
John scrunched his mouth to keep from reacting, knowing that Winston could hear his lies. "Not yet. I'm sure she's had a long day."
Winston scoffed over the line, stepping into the elevator and motioning for Charon to hit the button for your room first. "I'm sure she has. She seems to fit here, in a sense."
John grit his jaw, stashing the sudden jolt of fear through him. "I'll be home tomorrow."
Winston quickly gave up, nodding at the line. "Bueno notte, Jonathan."
John pulled his phone from his ear and ended the call, receiving your text soon after.
Gunner stood on guard before your front door, nosing at the crack while you waited for Charon to arrive with your key. You stashed your phone again as Gunner wedged himself through the crack of the door then threw it open with a slew of heavy barks.
You ran in after him, narrowly missing a harsh shove from a dark-dressed figure. They attempted to push past you and outside, but you threw a knee out to connect with their gut.
You were a rattled mess as the person fell to the floor, their face covered in a hood and mask. Looking around the room as they tried to crawl away, you grabbed at one of the ornate vases at the entryway and threw it at their head.
Still, they moved and you stamped your foot onto their back as Charon turned the corner with Winston behind. You were frozen, putting more of your weight on the stranger's back as Charon finally assessed the situation and ran to the room.
"My dear, are you alright?" Winston asked, standing aside as Charon picked up the burglar and dragged him out of the room.
You stared fixated after the stranger, your body trembling as your breath was shortened. You heaved, unsure of what you were but aware that you once again could've been hurt.
That if Gunner wasn't around, you would've been attacked. You were stiff, even as Winston touched your arm.
"Come now, let's go downstairs, hmm?" Winston offered.
You barely nodded, feeling your eyes sting with the threat of tears, and Winston guided you to the elevator. Gunner followed suit, leaving Charon to clean up.
John: Let's hope its all good things. I'm leaving first thing in the morning. Let's do lunch.
You sat in the smoking lounge, curled up on the leather couch while Winston offered you a cup of espresso. He'd gone to his office and retrieved a decorative throw blanket to match the rest of the opulent hotel.
He carefully draped the cloth over your legs, allowing you to sit in stunned silence as he sat in the leather chair next to you.
Winston mapped your face, wanting to find the inside of the shock. He wondered if you would question why the person appeared, or for what. But when you gave off nothing, he gave up and sat back as he received a message about John Wick.
Followed by a number, with a lot of zeros. He stashed a gulp, straightening his chin as he glanced over to you again.
"I apologize, my dear, but I urgent business to attend to. Charon will be here with you."
You nodded, bringing the small cup up to your lips for a sip. The instant bitter brought you out of your flight mode, looking after Winston before Charon took his seat before you.
"W-what happened to that person?" you asked, never catching if that person was a man or a woman. You wanted to ask more, but were sure that no answers would help.
Charon sat tall and stiff in his chair. "I phoned the police and they have detained them at the station," he lied, though his face gave no indication.
You shuddered, looking down at your espresso then back. "Did they take anything?"
"No, miss. All of the hotel's belongings are accounted for. I can't say the same for yours, but we can assess that when we change your room."
You knitted your brows in concern. "You're moving me?"
Charon blinked and smiled politely. "If you wish, miss. We would like you to feel safe."
You looked back down, nodded in agreement to his statement. But you didn't feel that the room was tainted, unsure if it was tattered looking for something.
"Is...is the room still intact?" You asked, bringing the espresso cup to your lips again.
Charon nodded once. "It is no detriment to move. It would be the floor below."
The more you thought of it, the dark shadows of your room would be the same on any floor. The new room would only call for the next stranger to slither in. You shook your head.
"No, I'll be fine," you said quickly, setting your cup down as Gunner sighed, resting his head on your thigh. "He'll keep me safe."
Charon glanced to Gunner then back. "He is a good guard dog. He should be employed."
The night went on too long, with you stationed in the smoking lounge to nurse your espresso. Your nerves, despite the coffee, eventually calmed with Gunner finding his temporary bed on the leather couch.
Charon sat with you in silence, allowing you to regain yourself until you were ready. Finally, you patted Gunner's back, waking him then moved to stand.
You threw back Winston's throw on your arm, grabbing your empty espresso cup to return to the bar. Charon took the blanket from you, folding it as he walked you out of the lounge.
He handed off the blanket to the bellhop, leading you and Gunner to the elevator and escorting you upstairs to your room. It hadn't occurred to you how much time had passed, the smoking lounge offering no clock or windows to acknowledge it.
As the three of you ascended, and you found yourself lightening once again the further you got from the ground floor. The trudge back to your room was quiet, with a bellhop stood outside of your door.
"Please let us know of any missing items," Charon offered, holding his hand out for the bellhop to open the door. "If you have any concerns, do not hesitate to alert this kind gentleman."
You glanced to the bellhop, who stood astutely in the corner of the hallway. You looked to Charon and nodded. Charon opened your door and held the door for you to enter, and you took careful steps inside.
The room was untouched, with only the entryway vase missing. You sucked air between your teeth, hoping that John wouldn't be charged for the decoration missing. Charon handed off your room key, letting the door shut after you.
When the door was closed, you kicked off your flats then walked cautiously around the room. Every lamp in the area was turned on, leaving no shadows. You exhaled deeply and sat down on the bed.
You rested on your side, staring over at the bar of the room as Gunner jumped onto the bed behind you. The curtains were pulled to hide the windows, leaving you in the warm glow of the lights.
Slowly, you let the events of the day lull you away to sleep but not without a few startled jolts to double-check the room. Soon, you conceded and drifted off, curling into yourself to keep yourself safe.
You woke up with another jolt at the sudden brightness of the room. The lamps of your room were shut off, the curtains drawn back to show the bustling city and the sun bouncing off of the nearby bridge.
Your eyes curled around the room until you were frozen by the dark dressed figure at the side of your bed. Slowly, your eyes drew up to meet John's scraped face, his hair combed back his ears.
You broke then, rushing up from your place in bed to curl your arms around his neck. You shuddered into his shoulder, your bottom lip pouting as you shut your eyes.
John barely recognized how long he'd been watching you sleep, knowing that it was wrong to do. But he was gauging his next moves.
His attempt had done nothing to keep you safe; his eyes looked around the room, seeing it as a ruined castle. When you hugged him, he was shocked out of his thoughts.
John folded an arm around your waist, holding you against him but not with his full strength. He knew it was better to keep you at an arms' length.
He'd failed you and Gunner, leaving you both in the security of what he imagined as powerful but was now realizing less.
You squeezed closer to him, steadying your breath the more you held on. John shut his eyes to breathe you in, stiffening as he realized his action.
He turned his face into your neck, unable to control himself, and breathed against your skin. Your chest tightened, the warmth of his breath rolling down your body.
Slowly, you turned to meet his cheek, finding your mouth parting in a soft pant. John found himself pulled in further, turning to meet your mouth and lean in to kiss you.
Your hand raked up his neck to clutch the nape of his hair, barely letting the moment be taken as mistake, and kissed him feverishly.
John's hand slid down your back, over your hip to grab the back of your thigh and pull you further into him. His eyes squeezed shut, following the efforts of your lips before taking lead and slipping his tongue in.
You groaned into him, your other hand grabbing at the front of his suit jacket. John pushed down the dull pain in his body, letting all other thoughts take backseat as his lust took over.
Gunner whined, making both of you part in a soft pant. John dragged his eyes from you then to his dog, shaking his head once.
He guided his dog to the front door, opening it to the bellhop. "Would you mind taking him on a walk? I think I've got it from here."
The bellhop nodded, calling after Gunner as John lightly shooed his dog to follow him. After the two were down the hallway, John shut the door and locked it before returning to you.
You thought he'd have regained himself in the moments away, returning to your friendly charade before breaking for brunch. But John resumed at your lips, his hand clutching the back of your thigh before folding you across the bed.
You were overcome with his touch, hazy with the rush. Your hands found their way into his hair, the other at the buckle of his belt as you slowly followed his lead.
John bit back with a hiss, feeling your fingers fumble at his waist. His hand went to cradle your cheek, kiss you deeply, before retracting his hand to grab your wrist.
He slid your fingers further down his waist to acknowledge the urgent swell of his cock. Both of you parted from your kiss in shock; you glanced down your bodies as John stared down at you.
He was approaching an edge he'd never imagined again, his body alight with heat. You shifted up on your side, attempting to roll onto John. However, John's knee shifted onto the floor and turned at the foot of the bed, pulling you onto his lap as he faced the window.
You straddled his waist, your knees on the carpet as you looked down at your hand still rubbing his cock. John stared up at you, his eyes dragging down to acknowledge the open shoulders of your dress.
He carefully reached behind you, unzipping your dress to peel the top of your bodice down, revealing your breasts. You shuddered again, your chest heaving at the sudden cool of the room.
John leaned in to catch your lips again, guiding your hand to undo his belt and pants. The two of you shared a few desperate moans, finding yourselves drawn together.
He freed his cock with a part from your mouth. He attempted to find his words, to ask if this was okay for you two to do. John knew they were careening to something both unavoidable and difficult to walk back from.
You rested your forehead against his, sharing his breaths as you shifted closer. With a lick of your lips, you tasted him on you; you reached under the skirt of your dress, peeling your panties to the side before lining up and sinking down on John's bare cock.
His face was gorgeous as it broke, his brows knitted as his mouth pouted, as if he were about to cry from the feeling. You sighed deeply in his face, your eyes lulling at the slow pop of his hot cock head into your wet pussy.
Your hand found its way into the nape of his hair as you sank down on his length, tilting his head back to ghost your lips before his.
John's tattered knuckles braced your hips, following your direction down onto him. He hissed, letting a moan slip from his lips. Consequences be damned, John thought, rocking your hips into him before ducking his forehead to your shoulder.
You groaned, turning your head back to the ceiling and following his hands rocking you into him. The two of you paused in relief, feeling the heat build between your bodies.
John brought himself back with a peck to your collarbone, then another as he crossed over your chest then down timidly lap at your velvety breasts.
He chastised himself for thinking of squeezing you, hardening his touch and speed on you. John knew that he'd break you eventually, but he'd stave off his darkness for the time being.
You worked up the courage to pull off of his cock, turning to moan into John's ear as you did. You barely made it to his tip, finding your core begging for him again and sinking back down.
John groaned, tilting his head back against the bed to meet your gaze. His dark eyes were dangerous, dark pools yet enriching and inviting. You took hold of his shoulder, working up to a slow ride as you leaned into him.
John trembled, unable to blink as you rode him in the morning light. He was overwhelmed with infatuation, a sickening salacity the more he spent under you.
He was reactive by you, whimpering and twitching as you rode into him, kissed him breathless. John felt that he'd met his match, an unbeatable adversary though he never wanted to cross you.
The sun haloed around your body, making your skin golden in his presence. John came back to you again, hearing your moans heighten as you were brought closer to climax.
You found yourself grinning down at John, seeing his eyes focus back on you. Your hand went to his jaw, then combed through his hair before resting at his neck. "Did I lose you there?"
John spared a blissed-out grin, parting his lips to catch your kiss again. He'd never admit it.
You cried into his mouth, feeling within grasp for your undoing. John hissed and kissed further into you, his other hand reaching under your skirt to touch your clit.
You bent your back into him, panting into his mouth with a cry of his name to follow. You felt the brightness of the room begin to blind you as you approached the edge; your hips rocked a little firmer, trying to pull John overboard with you.
Finally, you broke with a loud moan, twitching on John's cock as he bucked further into you and climaxed. You writhed on him, your fingers clutching hard into the nape of his hair as you tried to catch your breath against his mouth.
"John," you cooed, pushing yourself further into his body to chase his warmth.
He grabbed at your shoulder, attempting to still you over him as your walls begged for his cum. John shut his eyes upon release, snapping back into his conscience and realizing his impulse.
When you regained a bit of yourself, you spared a few amused huffs, pulling upright to meet John's gaze. You watched as his lustful eyes draw back and you combed through his hair.
"Hi," you said, humming at the stoic man against you. "How was your trip?"
John did his best to smile, pulling your elbow in to kiss your bicep. He dragged his lips up to your shoulder and kissed again. "Could've been better."
He didn't want to ask too soon about your night, having already heard from Winston. John knew it was dangerous to return directly to you, but he had to be sure.
And now he knew that wasn't the only reason. The two of you stayed in place for some time, taking in each other. John glanced over your shoulder to the widespread window behind you, noticing a glint from across the roof.
He held you still, staring further as his eyes narrowed on the long barrel of a sniper. John stashed a frown, turning back to you to appreciate you.
He was sickened by himself, seeing you as his shield for the time being. John exhaled, reaching down to tap your butt playfully.
"Why don't we close the curtains, call in some breakfast?" He asked, fighting against his racing heart.
You bit at your bottom lip, slowly pulling off of John's cock with a whine before turning and pushing to your feet. You grabbed the ends of the curtains and pulled them tightly closed.
John deflated against the end of the bed, looking down his battered suit. He was taken aback at how you mounted him in such a disarray.
You reached to unzip the rest of your dress, but was met by John's lips on your shoulder. You shut your eyes, soothed by the warmth of his mouth.
He slipped his hands down your arms, shrugging your dress from your body and leaving you in your panties, bare in the front of the room.
John shrugged off his jacket then circled his arm around your waist to direct you back to bed. "Go on, I'm coming."
You followed his order, climbing onto the bed and peeling the comforter back. John pulled his belt from his pants, did the same for his tie before unbuttoning his shirt and dropping his pants.
He hurriedly undressed, though you never saw any effort. He moved intentionally towards you, resting a knee on the bed then the other as he grabbed your ankle and pulled you back.
You stretched your arms out above your head, finding yourself directly under John. Your faces aligned, his eyes skirting over your face. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb tempted at the corner of your mouth.
At the same time, his other hand circled around your stomach then down your hip before sliding his fingers into your wet pussy. You crooned, raising your hips to chase his touch and meet his body.
John kissed your chin, admiring the breaking on your face. He dragged his fingers in and out of you slowly, tracking every minute pinch and wain of your face.
"You're beautiful," he whispered, finding his words to not be his own.
John felt detached from himself, swirling a dark abyss of desire he hadn't thought of for a long time. You grabbed onto John's bicep, sucking in a breath between your teeth before moaning when his thumb folded against your clit.
"J-John," you stammered, your fingers clutching tighter as you found yourself fighting off another climax.
It was too late when you realized the bruises on his body, the wounds decorating his lean torso. Your mouth gaped with another croon, squeezing your eyes shut suddenly as you came on his fingers.
Warm rushes wracked through your body, causing you to roll further into John while you fought off the sight of his body being your undoing.
John's thumb at the corner of your mouth peeled back your bottom lip, flattening his finger along your gums. You pulled his hand further into your mouth to sensually suck at it before dragging it along your bottom teeth.
John was pulled further, the look in your eyes along with the feeling of your pussy around his fingers making it difficult to find pause. You licked the tip of John's thumb, dragged it down your body as he trailed his eyes after it.
His stomach sank then, his hand paused and flattened between your breasts. Staring back at him, as he felt your heart thrumming under his touch, was his wedding ring.
John's hand began to shake, staring at its placement against your body. You stared up at him, seeing that he was no longer meeting your eyes and was fixated at the placement of his hand.
He felt the room go askew, finding himself getting yanked out the abyss and washed ashore. John half-blinked, pulling his fingers out of you before climbing off of the bed and walking away to the shower.
You sat up on your elbow in John's wake, turning your head to watch him walk away. "John?"
You were unsure of what you did, if anything. But now, you were left bare. Righting yourself on the edge of the bed, you slowly followed after John into the bathroom.
John set his ring on the bathroom counter as he reached around the glass wall to turn on the shower head. He welcomed the silence for a moment, wanting to sieve through his thoughts as tangled as they were.
Stepping under the spray, John sighed and dropped his shoulders. He let the warm water roll over his body, drip down his hair as his muscles began to relax.
You stood at the door of the bathroom, watching John in silence before stepping up to the shower wall.
"Can I join you?" You asked softly, not looking up at him as if you'd done something wrong.
John waited a beat, shutting his eyes as he nodded under the rainfall spray. "Yeah."
You peeled your panties to the floor then stepped out of them and into the shower. You let the warm water dampen your hair, letting you slick it down between your shoulders as you turned your back to John.
The two of you shared the shower as if you were strangers still, the air palpable and dewy.
John raised his head and slicked his hair back, glancing over his shoulder to you. You wrung out your hair, turning under your arm to look at John and taking in his back tattoo.
You were taken in, turning around slowly to drag your eyes along his full back tattoo. You reached a finger out to touch at the center cross behind prayer hands.
John stiffened at your touch, his eyes overly blinking from the weight of the water on his lashes. You traced your finger around, noting the words between his shoulders without understanding what it meant.
"I was married before," John offered in the silent patter of the shower.
It was the least of what he wanted to say, his want for you and his feeling for his wife leaving him suspended in telling the truth. John swallowed, dropping his head to his side as you paused at bruise on his love handle.
"I still wear my wedding ring..." he admitted, his chest shaking for a moment, "it hurt to look at."
You paused dropping your head against his shoulder as your hand circled his side. "I'm sorry. You should've stopped me."
John straightened up then, turning around to face you. His tattered hands cradled your face, searching your eyes for an ounce of disdain towards him.
"I didn't want to stop..." John whispered, leaning in to nudge his nose against yours. "I...don't want to stop."
You let your eyebrows screw up in confusion, wanting to know what this stranger wanted. Because with learning more about him, you remembered again that he was a stranger.
"I want you," he muttered against your lips, tilting your chin to peck your lips, "to make it stop hurting."
Your heart lurched into John, feeling that he was saying it wrong but not wanting to dwell on it. You let your attraction give him leeway, letting him take your mouth again and soothe away your doubts in an instant.
You bowed into him, quavering as his hands slipped down your neck, then shoulders and elbows; he took in the slippery feel of your skin, admired how you molded into him this way.
He inhaled deeply through his nose, circling his fingers down to your hips and around the small of your back. John felt the swirl draw him back in, the taste of your mouth sickly sweet.
He bit away from you, hissing between his teeth as he tried to dampen the muddy thoughts within him.
You held your hands at John's sides, opening your eyes to witness the turmoil on his face. Your own stomach turned, lifting on your toes to kiss him again.
John nipped your bottom lip, pulling back on his hold to turn you around to the shower wall. He felt his vision tunnel on you, dragging his hand down between your legs to greet your pussy with his wet fingers.
Your nipples graced the cold granite of the shower wall, bracing with a soft gasp before John's fingers slipped into you. You rested your forehead against the granite, unable to hold back the moan lodged in your throat.
Your shoulders worked back, spreading your legs to allow John's touch further. John flattened his hand on the granite next to your face, lining himself up behind you.
He pulled his fingers out, using his hand to stroke his strained cock. John bowed his head, guiding his length into you and groaning at the welcoming warmth of your walls.
His hand went to your hip, gripping you tightly as he attempted to level himself. Your nose smushed against the granite, your mouth gaped open as you panted against the hard shower wall.
Your hand reached back to touch John but he took your hand and crossed it behind your back. He pumped into you once, earning another noise from you.
When he withdrew, your walls begged at his return; he pumped in again, making your knees buckle slightly.
John bent forward, kissing at the back of your neck before nipping at your shoulder. You turned, squishing your cheek against the wall to watch John's lips migrate down your back.
Your other arm folded directly before your chest, allowing the dampened air to coagulate in your lungs. John was slow in his pace, metering his noise to hear you echo against the stone walls.
His free hand reached around to ghost his fingers over your clit, allowing himself to get lost in the clench of your walls. John's lips trailed over the back of your shoulders, baring his teeth to nip at your skin.
He was painfully aware of how much he wanted to hoard you, to keep you stashed in this room with him with no end in sight. John knew he'd be able to to protect you alone for how ever long you wanted to stay with him.
The closer you got your climax, the more John became infatuated. Every moan of his name, he was dragged further into you, ready to use his resilience for whatever means to please you.
He pulled you off of the wall, draping your body against his chest; John's hands slipped over your wet body, pushing you further into him as you finally came on his throbbing cock again.
John lost his control, ducking his face into your neck to mutter his praise.
You rested your head on John's lap, staring across the bed at the breakfast tray by his feet. You tried to make yourself small in his dress shirt, wanting to take up as much of his warmth as possible.
Brunch had encroached into lunch, the Continental eggs Benedict turned into a nice club sandwich and fries.
John wanted to remain in the solace of the room a bit longer, knowing that he'd have to leave and face his consequences. As long as you didn't have to, John would task himself to clean up his mess better than before just so you wouldn't suffer.
He folded the newspaper in his hands around to scan the inside pages as Gunner sniffed in the direction of John's abandoned club.
You reached out to grab a few fries from John's plate, dragging them across the white comforter for Gunner to take.
John flipped to the next page, disinterested in the sports section. "I saw that."
You side-eyed Gunner then glanced up at John. "No you didn't."
John shook his head, eyes lazily dragging over the fine print of the newspaper. He looked so comfortable in this state, how you imagined he spent his Sunday afternoons at home.
"How long were you married?" You asked, feeling the comfortable silence grind to a screeching halt. It had plagued you since he mentioned it and no matter how many times John made you cum to keep you quiet, the question still remained.
John's eyes glanced down at you, his face never moving from the direction of his newspaper. His chest tightened at the question, feeling his ring finger pulse when you asked.
He relaxed his shoulders, folding his newspaper haphazardly before resting his hand on your shoulder. You shifted in bed, propping your chin up on the tops of your folded arms; John's hand migrated to the middle of your back, admiring how good you looked in his dress shirt.
He praised the tailor's choice for a dark shirt, hiding the blood staina better. John thought of how dangerous his hand was, how many men he'd taken down with just them. And he was tenderly rubbing your back.
"Five years," he said after a few beats of quiet. John set the newspaper on his lap, holding it there with his hand.
You raised your head, shifting closer to John. The two of you were past the formality of tiptoeing hard subjects, you felt. At this point, you knew that there was two possibilities of this ending: in bitter tragedy or a new beginning for the both of you.
So you asked: "What's her name?"
"Helen," John said, turning his full face to you. He decided to get ahead of your line of questioning, to explain how you were both here now. "She died earlier this year. She told me..."
He was cinched then, imagining her handwriting on Daisy's kennel. John felt the pain bubble up again, seeing his wrongs. "That I needed to love something more than my car."
He chuckled mirthlessly, hiding a gulp that lodged in his throat at his last word. Your brows raised slightly, sitting up on your elbow.
You two were there yet and, while you knew that to be true, you wanted to get there. Hopefully, one day.
"That's why I got Gunner," John added, seeing your reaction and realizing another mistake.
The two of you let the collective sigh alleviate the room, allowing you back down to rest your head on John's thigh.
"I'm sorry for your loss," you offered, reaching your hand out to tenderly caress his bruised side.
John nodded, resuming his hand on your back. The two of you returned to your previous action, your eyes lulling with the temptation of sleep.
The questions were hard to wade through; John understood that if you were going to be around in the dark pond, you would soon learn about the very facade he put forth.
He cleared his throat, ready to admit his hard truths that he left behind; it would be easier for the both of you to leave the Underworld unscathed.
John's phone vibrated from the nightstand and he was tempted to silence it. The precarious bubble surrounding the three of you was already threatened, and John didn't want a call to break the tender surface.
He picked it up, realizing that it was a message from an unknown number. John stared at it, seeing that it was an attachment but made no moves to unlock his phone.
You heard your phone begin to vibrate, somewhere discarded in your dress skirt pocket. You groaned, rolling your head back and forth on your hands with the attempt to convince yourself that it was a text.
But then your ringtone began to chime. John heard it too, turning his head in the direction of it. His hand became heavier on your back, attempting to keep you in place.
"Hold that thought," you said, sitting up to kiss John before climbing out of bed.
John's eyes were trained on you, watching as you pulled his shirt to its full length, barely covering your bare ass. He watched intently as you bent, searching through your dress to find the offending phone.
You stood up, rolled your eyes at the Caller ID and answered to your coworker. "What's up?"
Her voice on the other end was slightly shaken, telling you that there was a puppy brought in that was hit by a car.
"I-I can't deal with putting him down, can you come in?"
You glanced over your shoulder to John and Gunner, both of them enough reason to stay in bed. John sat back again the headboard, draping his arm over it with the invitation for you to return to his side.
You groaned in annoyance, bouncing on one foot in the slightest of tantrums. "Can't you call someone else?"
"I-I tried, but one of them is at a Communion and the other is out of town."
You pouted, knowing that you being the single one in a vet clinic meant that you were left to do the dirtiest of work.
"I guess....I can be there within the hour." You forfeited, turned to John as you said it.
And just like that, John's bubble burst.
"You didn't have to drive me here," you said as you and John sat a red light.
"Why wouldn't I?" He asked, reaching over to rest his hand on your knee.
You scoffed, turning to John. "Because I know you've got to be tired from your travel. I could've gotten Charon to bring me."
You were appreciative of John driving you on such short notice, but you wanted to give him a little space. It still felt too fresh, whatever you had, and you didn't want to impose so much that he ended up pushing you away.
"Please, I'm a faster driver," John said with a grin as the light turned green. He let his foot of the brake, tempting his gas pedal as he tilted his head at you. "And I don't want you depending on Charon when I'm around."
You smiled, reaching over to touch the back of John's neck. You could get used to touching him, running your fingers through his hair or scratching his beard. But you were getting ahead of yourself.
"Thanks," you offered softly just as John pulled up on the curb in front of the clinic. "I'll call you when I'm done?"
John nodded, leaning into your hold as you kissed him. "Maybe we can do dinner?"
You laughed. "Hopefully it won't be that long, but we'll see."
You kissed him again, then a third time before you hummed against his lips knowing that you were on an urgent timeline. "Okay, okay. I'll see you in a bit."
You threw open your door and got out, carefully shutting the door of John's car. He bent across the center, offering a wave to you as you opened the door to the clinic and looked back a final time.
He watched you walk in, though his stomach dropped as the door shut behind you. Something felt wrong and his proven instinct was off.
John's phone buzzed again in his pants pocket and he geared his car to retrieve it. Another attachment sent by the unknown number, this time with a message to follow.
Unknown: Come out, John. We have something you want.
You looked around the clinic, seeing most of the offices shut down for the weekend but the light in the exam room on. You called after your coworker, flipping on the overhead lights in the lobby.
When you got no answer, you looked over your desk for paperwork then started towards the back room.
John reluctantly opened the message thread from the unknown number, his heart clenching at the first photo. Of you and him, from the view of the window earlier that morning.
Though you looked so beautiful on his lap, your dress exposing down your back in the morning light, John was chilled at the angle. The same position of the sniper that morning.
He looked after you, seeing that you'd disappeared further into the clinic, then went to the second photo. You, through the view of a porthole window, wearing the clothes you'd changed into. He noticed his own car from the glass door.
John shut off his car and threw his door open, haphazardly closing it before running after you into the clinic. He tapped his side, acknowledging his gun stashed in his waistband and drew it when he was inside.
He called after you, hearing no answer as he looked around the sterile, quiet clinic. John straightened up, holding his gun out as he continued stepping cautiously.
"Hello John," a voice responded from the double doors into the surgery room. "You've been a hard man to track down."
John grit his teeth hard enough to hear his jaw resound. His nostrils flared as he tried to level himself, knowing that he had to keep a strong front.
"I thought 7 million would've made you an easy target, but you're a smart man to hide."
"I wasn't hiding," John retorted, not allowing the comment to show him a coward.
He stepped up to the wall, trying to see into the bright room. John caught a glimpse of you, petrified against Santino's shoulder as his hand grasped your mouth.
You stared, bewildered through the small porthole window, catching a glimpse of John's face. You barely shook your head at him as Santino raised his gun to shoot out at the glass.
"Right," Santino continued, pointing the gun to your temple and making you panic, crying at the thought of his finger slipping. "You had gotten distracted. Which is dangerous in your line of work, you know that."
You gulped, quivering in the hostile man's hold. John righted himself against the wall, popping the clip to check his ammo. He took another careful breath, turning back in the direction of the window before ducking across to the other side.
"You could've tried getting out again, but you'd just end up owing somebody...again," Santino taunted, playfully tilting his gun about as he thought of it. "And then when the next wife dies along with the next sad pup, the cycle of John Wick would continue."
You whimpered, looking out and darting your eyes back and forth to find John anywhere. John couldn't find an answer, thinking more about what he was putting you through and what it would mean for him to stop.
If he could stop.
He didn't want to admit it, but Santino was right in a sense. John didn't want to keep owing people for the life he'd been luck to have once.
He especially didn't want to do it twice. Not that you weren't worth it. But danger seemed to lurk whether he was in or out.
"It wouldn't happen again," John said finally, after thinking for a moment. "I wouldn't let anything bad happen to her."
Santino tsked, turning the gun back to your head. "It's a little late for that. Look at where we are now."
John shut his eyes, coming to terms with his consequences once again. He carefully put the safety back on his gun and held it to his side.
"Fine," John said, pushing open the double doors. You cried from behind Santino's hand, incoherently begging for John to do anything else. "You're right."
Santino huffed amusedly through his nose then looked down at you. "You need something done, you do it yourself, eh?"
Santino turned the gun onto John, readying to shoot as you noticed the reflection of his pistol in something on the stainless steel table.
Looking down, you noticed a full syringe of clear liquid. You flicked your eyes back to John as he saw your eyes look away.
He barely nodded in your direction as Santino pulled back the hammer of his gun and readied to shoot John. "No hard feelings, John. Just avenging my sister."
At the same time, you felt his arm loosen around you and you took the opportunity to grab the syringe and stab it into Santino's neck.
Your fingers fumbled at the plunger, slowly dispensing half of the clear liquid into his blood stream. Santino grabbed the syringe with his free hand, taking his other to smack you away.
"Stupid bitch! This is men's business," Santino turned the gun on you and John called for his attention.
"Hey! You want to kill me. So kill me," John offered, raising his hands.
Santino narrowed his eyes at John, looking from him to you and back. "You're not...even going to try to beg me?"
John shook his head; you kicked at Santino's ankle, causing him to stumble then crawled after him to grab the syringe again. This time you righted yourself over Santino's body and stabbed the needle into his chest.
You hyperventilated, staring at the man as his eyes widened in fear. You trembled again with the plunger, releasing more liquid into his chest.
Looking over to John, you hoped he would find the words you couldn't. You didn't even understand what this was about, but you were caught in the middle of it.
John met your gaze, feeling his hands going cold at the thought of you getting hurt. The decision was still so muddy, but he was aware of where to start.
"Call it off," John said, reaching to grab Santino's gun and point it at the man. "Call the bounty off."
You turned back to the man, his hair wild as his eyes were twitching in disdain. "Why should I? You gonna kill me too?"
You stared at the plunger in his chest, your thumb on the weapon. You glanced over your shoulder, seeing your coworker dead in her puddle of blood along with the dog that Santino brought in to bait her.
"T-this is pentobarbital," you bluffed, nodding to the syringe in the man's chest. "There was enough in this syringe to kill you twice. But I've on-ly used ha-lf."
Your voice betrayed you in a moment, but you stared at this man under you as if he'd wronged you personally. And he kinda did. He ruined an almost idyllic morning by running egotistical games.
John withheld his surprise, glancing at your profile while you reasoned with this stranger.
"Call it off, and I can undo it," you lied, unsure if you could make such a promise.
"Bullshit," Santino spat at you, looking over to John. However, by the stone-cold look on John's face, he was inclined to believe you.
You straightened up and looked down your nose at this man, floundering to be let up but realizing a lack of options. Your cold thumb tempted at the plunger further.
"Y-you would feel it in your knees first. A dull pain that washes away when you can't feel your legs." You tried to narrate, reluctantly mapping out the process when you so wanted to forget it in pets.
"Your heart will start rushing soon, hoping to pump enough blood to circulate down to your toes, but then your fingers will lose feeling."
Santino gulped and you barely glanced to John as your brows knitted and your eyes watered. "Let's get your phone out before we get to that, because there's no turning back from there."
John watched in stunned silence, holding the gun pointed at Santino for any sudden movements towards you. Santino did as instructed, pulling his phone and typing in his code.
He dialed the number slowly, staring at you strong-handing the syringe. When it rang, he glanced over to John, unfazed.
"Pull the bounty for John WIck." He stated when he got on the phone. "Yes. Santino D'Antonio. 758042."
"Yes sir," the operator on the opposite end stated. The line was quiet for a moment and you held your breath. "Your bounty is rescinded. Is there anything else--"
You smacked the phone away from Santino before he could say anything else then leaned back for John to take the shot. He blinked in the flash moment, then aimed and shot Santino.
The splatter of his blood from his head decorated your face and you were sat in the shocked silence of the past few moments. Santino's dark phone lit up with a message.
Unknown: Bounty: John Wick rescinded. Disregard previous messages of subject.
You let go of the syringe, looking down at your cool trembling hands before you felt a pair of thick arms curl around you. John wasn't sure what else to do in the moment, knowing that nothing he could say would make up for it.
He pulled you up, held you close and swiped the blood from your cheeks. John rested his lips to the top of your head and kept you still when you tried to tremble.
He expected you to cry, ready to coax you down, but you were silent. Grasping at his shirt, you turned your face into him and held tight. Your breath slowly returned to normal, shutting your eyes to rid yourself of the sight of your coworker dead. This strange man dead.
John knew that what came next wouldn't be easy and he was dreading every minute of it.
You sat in the car with John as an unmarked black van pulled up in front of the clinic. Looking over at him, you expected John to get out but he only nodded in the direction of the clinic as the older gentleman stepped out of driver's side.
Without word, the man nodded and patted at the back doors of the unmarked van; the double doors opened and you jumped slightly at the men that followed out. Each of them was dressed in dark clothing, two of them holding mops and buckets while the final two carried unmarked bags into your place of work.
Slowly you turned to look at John, hoping for some sort of explanation. John watched as you did, his face frozen in the sense of unknowing where to start. So he tried going for simple.
"I'm a contractor," he said, turning his body to face yours. "I do freelance work for anyone who pays me and I do most of my work out of the Continental."
You gulped, your eyebrows knitting in concern. "S-so Winston and Charon are..."
"They know about my work and aid me in doing so."
You raised your shocked brows even further, unsure of what contortion your face was in at the moment. "Oh, okay."
Though it was not okay.
You had dinner with assassins, or contractors as John explained it. You fucked a contract killer.
You fucked a contract killer. You gulped, the thought giving you butterflies.
"So you're not like...an assassin that kills for fun?"
John raised a brow in question then shook his head. "Only bad people, and people who've forgotten that they're bad."
Your face flattened a little, ready to ask your next question as you remembered the stranger in the hotel room. "I'm not being targeted, am I?"
John slowly reached for you, taking tender hold of the side of your throat as he leaned in. "No. And this is not a long con. Meeting you was just coincidence. I just...dragged you into my darkness. And I'm sorry."
Your bottom lip trembled, staring into John's dark eyes and seeing them melt with his sincerity.
"I like you," he began, his chest tightening at the confession. He'd slain 200 men in a single night, he'd killed an extra 100 to avenge his dog, but here was when he felt nerves. "I want you to stick around. If you want."
You instinctively reached for him, pressing your lips to his. He lost his breath, putting his other hand to the opposite side of your neck to hold you close.
When you'd had your fill, you parted from him with a trembling sigh.
"Is that a 'yes'?" John asked, rubbing his thumbs before your ears.
You smiled nervously, taking hold of John's wrists to keep him there and nodded. John smirked softly, wondering what was going on in your head in that moment.
"You'll keep me safe, right?" You teased, though you wanted the reassurance.
John nodded.
He let his hands drop and you took hold of them. "I'm guessing you're gonna stay in this line of work a bit longer?"
He tried to keep his face neutral, though it loomed overhead as the next big step. Slowly he nodded and watched your body deflate upon doing so.
"Just a little longer," John said, leaning forward. "I've got a month saved up at the Continental and I'd like to use my points before they expire."
You broke with an amused scoff, turning away from John's face trying to hold back from smiling. You rolled your eyes at him, feeling this as a new beginning for the both of you.
"And it's got your name written right beside it," John added, tilting his head. "I know that room service has been calling your name."
You laughed then, barely sparing a glance to the men as they returned to their van. "It'd give me time to look for a new job."
You didn't want to bring it down, but the reality encroached again. John grabbed your hands and pulled them in to kiss your knuckles.
"We can figure it out together," John said, rubbing his thumbs over your hands.
His darkness paired well with yours, he saw. John only witnessed a glimpse of it, but it would do well if his month stay turned into two. Or five.
Depending on how much trouble he got into. You bit your lip, staring down at your hands intertwined with one another.
"Did you...hurt his sister?" You asked, letting the words spill out before you could stop them.
John was still for a moment, taking in a steady breath. "I made a blood oath before I got out that he'd be able to hold over my head if I ever came back. He used that promise to kill his sister."
Your face scrunched up slightly. "That's so vile."
"Yeah," John said, running his thumb over your knuckles as if measuring each one in size.
You raised your gaze to meet his. "And he crossed you even after that?"
John nodded, letting you get accustomed to whatever this new beginning was starting from. You looked down again, sorting through your biggest thoughts by importance.
"T-there was a person that broke into..." you mindlessly thumbed over your shoulder, remembering the long night you'd had before this one.
"They were trying to gain the bounty." John said, staring after you as if he was losing you to your own personal spiral.
"Charon said he contacted the police." You snapped up to look at John again and he bit back a smile at your concern.
Your eyes were watering again, this time your bottom lip ready to pout from your teeth. He reached up and coaxed a tear away with his thumb.
"No contractor business is allowed on Continental grounds," he tried to offer as solace but knew that the next part would jar you. "It's an excommunication rule."
You stared at him, hoping that he would explain further.
"The consequence is death," John offered as solace. "It's a safe place. That's why I wanted you to stay there."
You dryly scoffed at him, turning into his palm. "You were trying to keep me safe?"
John nodded. "I saw how shaken you were that night when I picked you up. I wanted to look out for you."
You pursed your lips. "Were Charon and Winston looking out for me too?"
John's lip curled slightly. "Charon, yes. Winston as you've said, loves to gossip. The man can't help but know every detail."
You tilted your head against the seat cushion, pinning John's hand against your cheek. "Did you tell him about me?"
It felt wrong to ask in such a situation, but there was no doubt that your meet-cute with a contract killer was fucked up.
John hid a roll of his eyes, his cheeks raising though he lined his lips together. "I told him enough. He called you...my Persephone."
You reached for his hand, shifting it down for his thumb to brace your lips. You blinked, narrowing your eyes at him. "He's funny. I guess this is kind of like the Underworld. Contractors and blood oaths, sacred hotels and clean-up crews."
John raised his brows at you. "Still okay with staying?"
Your stomach, for the first time in the past few days, felt realigned with steel. Though hostage situations were something you never wanted to get used to.
You raised your left hand, pointing your pinkie out. "If you promise me something."
John's lips pouted to the side, never eager to hear about promises in his line of work. He slowly raised his left hand and pointed out his pinkie, waiting to hear what you had to offer.
"Name it."
"You promise to keep me safe if I need it, you can't dump me during a mission and you teach me how to shoot a gun."
John's brows quirked then, his mouth a wormy squiggle to withhold his amusement. He nodded, reaching his large pinkie out to hook around yours. "Deal."
"And..." you added, just as you hooked your finger around his and held him there. "We get dessert in bed and Gunner gets a plate of fries. Also I want to go with you once on a mission."
John's mouth scrunched up under his nose, his cheeks bottling his want to laugh. It felt good to have that still within him.
"I promise."
"Also," you continued, biting your bottom lip. "You help me move out of my apartment."
John chuckled, pointing his finger at you from his interlocked hand. "Now that's too far."
"Said the contract killer," you jested.
John metered his nod back and forth with another soft laugh. "Okay, fine. Also, you don't have to tell me not to dump you."
The two of you stayed locked in your pinky promise as John looked from it to you.
"Promise me something."
"Shoot," you said, scrunching your nose at the poor choice of word.
"You let me know if it gets to be too much. If you want out at any time, I will let you out. I don't want to keep you where you don't want to be."
You hummed, softly smiling at this man. You wanted to stick around for a while, even longer than that. But you didn't want to tell him so.
Even though you were sure this man was the opposite of squeamish. Nothing like boys you'd dated previously.
"Okay."
"And..." John drew out like you had, pursing his lips in soft thought. "I want a full day in bed, with you. Gunner'll have to stay with Charon."
You giggled softly. "Okay," you said, shaking your head in John's direction. "I promise."
The two of you solidified your pinky promise with another soft kiss; John let his hands untangle from you as he felt his ring finger pulse again.
He paused, looking down at his hands and circled his ring on his finger.
You slowly came down from the adrenaline and mushiness spilled and stared at John fiddling with his ring.
"If it's too soon for you..." you tried, but John shut it down with putting his ring hand on the steering wheel.
"I'll be fine," he said with a sigh, aware of when he'd take it off.
It wouldn't be for a while, and he should've asked if it was alright with you. You didn't even notice it, feeling that it was just a part of him.
"So was it pentobarbital in that bottle?" He asked curiously, starting the car and gearing it into drive.
You reached for your seatbelt, glancing out of your window at the vet clinic then buckled yourself in.
"I don't think it was," you said geniunely, unsure if it'd make a difference.
John turned his car into the underground parking garage and circled the top level to find a space. The two of you were going over John's excursion in Rome, why he was really there and what he had to go through to get home.
"That's so fucked up," you offered, unable to create any other cohesive thought.
John shrugged, which gave you the note that this was a normal thing that happened sometimes.
You leaned in, intrigued to learn more about this other half of John. There was John Wick, the mild-mannered dog dad that fucked so hard that you shivering at the thought.
Then there was John Wick, the contract killer who took down a mafia of men in the time it took for you to have dinner with Winston.
"What do they call you?" You asked after John geared his car into park then shut it off.
John raised his brows, glancing over at you. "Don't laugh."
You straightened up in your seat, mimicking a zip of your lips closed before nodding at him to continue. John smirked and undid his seatbelt.
"Baba Yaga," he offered, awaiting your eventual snicker.
But you were perplexed, staring at him. "What is that?"
He blinked once, turning to you fully. "The Boogeyman."
You stared at him, knowing that there was no doubt in your mind that while you feared this man just a little bit, you were attracted to him more.
You looked around the desolate parking lot then back at John. "Anything else?"
"The Wolf, The Devil..." John added, unsure if those names were even true but wanting to amuse you.
You leaned over to John and exhaled a trembling breath. "Is it wrong of me..."
You couldn't finish that sentence aloud, knowing that it was a bit twisted to want him more. The man had just shot another man in front of you...and yet...
You caught John's mouth in a fervent kiss, edging your knee over the center console to sit in his lap. John was surprised, making such a noise as his hands held your hips.
You blindly reached between his seat and the door, finding the handle to recline the two of you back.
John groaned at the sudden movement, but didn't break from you. He pressed his hand into the small of your back and held you tighter against him, allowing you to roll your body against him.
"I-I'm sorry," You offered, parting from him with smaller pecks to follow. "I don't know what came over me."
John looked at you from behind his half-mast eyelids, taking in your trembling chest and legs spread over him. The image of you that morning flashed by again, trying to hide the other twisted side of it.
"Let's go upstairs," he added, his voice hitting a new low.
You felt your body cinch at his utterance, reminding yourself of the euphoric kisses and bites that would come from it.
You nodded, reaching for the driver's side door and climbing out. John attempted to regain himself, righting his seat before grabbing his keys and climbing out.
You didn't expect this place to become a sanctuary to you. The dark foreboding walls, something echoing to the Asphodel, was not inviting like you'd seen most places.
The marble floors, the sharp edges, the posh guests, all of them were out of your wheelhouse of comfort. But you were relieved to enter the lobby of the Continental.
It felt like it held a new charm, one that you prayed never left. You were awash with a sense of security, taking John's hand and leading him to the elevator.
You pinned him against the wall, nudging your nose with his before tempting him with a kiss. He leered after you, his eyes fluttering close with the thought of tasting your lips again.
You nipped at his nose instead, bringing your fingers up to scratch through his beard.
When the two of you made it back to your floor, you grabbed John's hand and started towards your door. At one point, John's arm circled around your waist and he lifted you into him, carrying you to the room.
The two of you stopped at the door, with you fumbling to take the key from John and open the door. You felt his breath over your shoulder, his hands already making their way down the front of your pants.
You shook your head alert, finally making the key open the door and clambering in with John hot on your tail.
You barely made it to get your shoes off before John expertly undid your pants and tugged them down. You bowed onto the bed, readily hiding your shame at how wet you were.
John pulled your pants down to your ankles, then off before turning you onto your back. He took your knee, pulling your legs open and stashing a hard gulp at the sight.
He had no words to say, knowing that the truth would be squeezed out of him soon enough. He reached for his own belt, undoing his pants and freeing his stiffened cock.
You looked down at the comparison, his cock flush against your stomach. You whimpered as he drew himself back, pushing his cock head against your clit before letting it slip over your stomach again.
You threw your head back in frustration, knowing that you wouldn't last long being teased. John watched like an instinctual predator, waiting for his best strike.
His bare hand went to rest at your chest, feeling your racing heart beat hard. John pulled back again, rutted his cock against your clit then let it slide, gathering your wet and streaking your belly.
You whined again, drawing your knees up from the edge of the bed. "John, please."
He would savor every time your lips formed his name; he tilted his head back, soaking it in to puff up his chest when he was normally without flaunting an ego.
John dropped his head again, glaring darkly at you from under his brows. He rutted a third time, earning your writhing. Your head turned back and forth on the comforter, your fingers reaching out for him but never grasping onto him.
"C-c'mon," you hiccuped, finding yourself a disheveled mess. You were flustered and growing on embarrassed, as if John was showing off how turned on you were by him.
By what he did.
By what he did for you.
You gulped, tightening your stomach as you watched him rut a final time; this time he went back and pressed his cock at your entrance, making you drop your head in relief when he slid into you.
John's hand at your chest dropped down to your stomach, leveling your core to feel every inch of him. You practically vibrated upon the new sensation, finding yourself drawn closer to a peak you weren't even acknowledging.
John took his hands away from you to run them under your shirt; he tenderly shrugged your top from over your chin, blinding you the cotton as his cock thrusted into you harshly.
You lost your breath, gasping when he shrugged your shirt over your head and up your arms before pausing there. He flattened himself against you, catching your bottom lip between his teeth with a tender suck.
His fingers threaded through yours, tangling both of you in the cuffs of your shirt until he finally pulled it off of you. John did his with pulling away from you and reaching between his shoulders to rip his shirt over his head.
The cream top yanked up to reveal the yellowing and purple bruises along John's sides, ones you knew now to be wounds for his effort. He went above and beyond in his work, it showed deeply.
John tossed his shirt away, returning over you to feel your chest rise and fall against his. He wanted to undo you further, have you bare to him in the physical and vulnerable sense, but he didn't want to throw off his pace.
You keened when he hit a particularly soft spot within you and he recognized it as your second weakness. John licked his fingers and dove them between the two of you, finding your clit with expert precision and circling it.
You grabbed onto his shoulders, wanting to hook into him if he was going to keep on. Your pants heightened against his mouth, drawing more moans from you as his other hand peeled your leg back to your side.
You broke another inch, your eyes crossing as you glanced to the ceiling. John took it in stride, using his lips to level his chin and meet your eyes. "Did I lose you there?"
Your face scrunched in pleasure, just as your chest tightened with the threat of explosion. "You are the Devil."
He chuckled mirthlessly against your lips, taking them in another kiss as he continued his pace. The two of you found yourselves drawing further up in pleasure, finding the heat culminated between you two enough of a catalyst for you both to cum.
You were first, your mouth falling open in the moans of John's name. Your walls beckoned him further, stunting his thrusts from going too deep before he finally succumbed to your heat.
He rested his elbow next to your head, groaning and hissing in pleasure. The two of you shared your caught breaths, staring at one another in the dim light of the room.
You prodded your tongue to your bottom lip, your eyes raking up and down John's body. He did the same, though he paused at your neck and dove in to kiss you there.
You shied away, raising your shoulder to giggle at his warm breath wafting down your neck. He liked that sound, he wanted to hear more of that.
Sirens are dangerous and deceptive beings. Especially dangerous to naive sailors, particularly for men. And as it seems, Choso is no different. Because as soon as he hears your lovely call, he's willing to risk death just to feel your warmth. Even for a second.
included in Tales, Myths, Romances
Requested (pray forgive me for such a long wait!)
˖𖦹 ݁˖ pairing: ꒰ Sailor!Choso x Siren!Reader ꒱
˖𖦹 ݁˖ content/warnings: ꒰ MDNI 18+ : set in Ancient Greece : inspired by Greek Mythology : filth with plot : heavy smut : heavy breeding kink : whimpering Choso : siren pussy : mating : reverse knotting (???) : mating press : Choso is miserable as always : oral sex (both ways) : cum overflow : cum eating : belly bulge : happy ending : aphrodisiac puss : 6k words ꒱
˖𖦹 ݁˖ note: If you see me uploading it for the second time – no you don't (I may or may not have accidentally deleted the og post). A warm thank you to my real-life friends who sat with me in a bar and discussed how to describe the siren's pussy. I think it's the most filthy thing I've written so far. Also, a quick note, in Greek Mythology, sirens are half women, half birds, but I decided to keep the classic mermaid look!
dividers by @diviniyae and @solitary-serendipity
art by F_tality0 on X
Poseidon was enraged that night.
Breeze, always so gentle and kind, smacked the pirates' cheeks all night as the massive ship swam through the restless darkness. The mast was almost broken, bending under the powerful wind that gusted madly across the Aegean Sea, with tall waves and salty foam slipping onto the half-wrecked ship.
They weren't going to make it. For the first time in years of sailing, the captain truly believed that they weren't going to make it.
The ship was barely standing, traded goods hidden neatly below the deck, yet waves of foaming salt were constantly filling the vessel with its unmatched weight. It was getting heavier and heavier, slowly dipping into the relentless liquid till everyone gathered up on a deck, with fifty or so pirates praying for mercy.
To Poseidon, as only he could hear their pleas and still the madness of the waters. Never in over five years of their journeys had they encountered a storm like this. Rough, almost barbarous, as if God himself wished to wipe them from the earth.
Another wave spilt over the wooden edge, washing over a dozen or so sailors, wet and desperate, looking out for any haven. With almost a broken mast, they were already in a lost position, and yet through drenched lashes, with hands covering their eyes from the heavy, cold rain, they looked out.
And looked, looked, until a scream had slashed through the air, carrying the hope all these men waited for. "Captain, there's an island!"
Choso quickly looked up, chestnut eyes struggling to see through the thick fog and pouring rain that stung his cheeks with their mischievous giggles. Wet, dark hair clung to his forehead as his eyes finally caught a large shadow, bending and curving in front of his wet gaze.
He should be happy, just like other men, as a sudden hope appeared, yet something in his chest tightened. But Choso, a long-time experienced captain, knew that an island in the middle of the sea meant nothing good.
In fact, he could already sense it, see it. The rocky edges of the small isle. Sharp and shimmering under the pale moonlight, lighted solely by its cold beams and lightnings slashing the enraged sky.
He could see the foam swelling near the ship, with pearly scales appearing here and there, coating the full length of heavy tails.
He could hear the melody, carried by the storm, right towards their ship. Like birds chirping, the glazed sweetness that warmed the shivering hearts of sailors and lulled them into the clutches of deadly creatures.
Choso has never met the sirens, although he had seen them.
The enchanting, nymph-like beings frolic near the seaside, giggling and singing softly as they bathed on the warm rocks. Their skin always shimmered like gold under the warm rays of sunshine, reflecting off the crystal droplets coating their bodies.
The creatures of utmost beauty and lethal nature. Nightmares of every passing ship. One of the few divinities a mortal could actually meet, yet everyone who tried to ogle them from the dense forest, lurking at their gleaming bodies dipping into the sea, would surely end up dead.
But not Choso.
He, somehow, as a simple sailor with only a few foolish things to his name, managed to get close to those mysterious beings. Close enough to smell their skin – the scent of a sweet ocean breeze and sweat, as they soaked in the sun all day. To hear their lovely hums without going absolutely mad, and to cherish them while watching from behind the massive boulders. Big enough to cover his body completely and let him hold dear this special moment.
As myths and legends of forbidden love always go, there was one most enchanting siren, whom the poor sailor couldn't keep his eyes off.
The one, whose tail shimmered the brightest, covered in lovely pinkish scales woven with golden thread. With skin soft as flowery petals, although he never touched it with his own, calloused fingers. With a voice so lovely it lulled him to sleep, whenever he came to the seaside on late, late nights.
When nothing but the gentle waves and low hum of crickets filled the humid air.
He could be more daring. Braver, lurking behind the boulder with his gaze fixed on your body spread out on the sand and the turtles sleeping peacefully near your tail. Cherish the longing melody directed at the moon, as you sang it loudly and clearly, filling Choso's ears with the sweetest ambrosia.
Nights like this were always his favourite. Making his heart swell with a certain pride, as if he were a chosen one. The only one who could hold you dearly in his own, foolish way – never making a step, never saying a word.
But it was enough. He simply didn't need more.
And you… You seemed not to care about him at all.
Even if you sensed his presence, it seemed that this foolish sailor boy was of no danger or harm. As long as he was simply there, lurking from between the trees without sticky hands trying to grab you or your sisters, there was no need to kill him.
And thus, simply because of it, Choso started believing that the heavens had blessed him. Allowed to be the only mortal who could get close to such deadly and mysterious creatures as the daughters of the sea.
But then the storm came as he and his crew crossed the Aegean Sea and aimed for Athens. The journey was long and tricky, yet they finished it time and time again, always without a sweat and with goods delivered on time.
None of them expected the sudden hurricane, which raised the crystal waves to meters high and swelled beneath their ship. But even this would be manageable. At some point, the waters would calm down, and Choso with his crew would find their way to the shore.
Now, however, with the devilish melody slipping warmly into his men's minds, Choso knew that it was over. For the sirens' voice was more treacherous than Poseidon's wrath. A spell of the most unkind sort, luring the foolish man into their warm, open arms, only to sink their teeth deep into the flesh.
With fifty men on the ship, there was no chance for Choso to save everyone. Nevertheless, he needed to try.
"Close your ears," his shout tried to rip itself through the eruption of clashing waves. "The sirens are here, close your ears! Don't listen to them!"
His men started to panic, with low, frightened tremblings filling the drenched deck.
"Sirens? How is it possible?"
"Dear Gods, save us!"
"What Gods? No one will help us! That's it, we're done here!"
The terror grew as the haunting melody sharpened and became more distinct, as if a dozen or so sirens circled the ship. Choso stood on the deck, watching the shimmering tails and wet heads slipping from the tall waves. One more lovely than another, with long, flapping tails and warm eyes fixed on their prey.
With his hands covering ears, he couldn't hear much, and yet the sight of pearly smiles and soft arms stretched towards them was enough to feel the urge to jump right into their loving clutches. To feel the sweetness of their kisses on his cheeks, delicate fingers wrapping around his neck with the utmost fondness, till at last sharp teeth would dig into his body and take it deep under the sea.
As the ship drew nearer to the stony island, he finally realised that the helmsman, immersed in the melody, was completely lost. With both hands on the wooden wheel and a foggy gaze, he had no thoughts, steering the vessel directly toward the sirens' isle.
"No," Choso gasped, running towards the wheel. "No, fuck, wake up!" he screamed and screamed, but nothing could mute the sirens' sweet voices.
The melodic come to me, sweetheart, and, I'll treat you well, darling, or, come closer, fill me with your love. Sometimes it would be only the singing, sweet and treacherous, with a maddening power to possess the men's simple minds.
Choso shoved the helmsman aside and hurried to cover his ears.
He looked around and saw utter chaos. A few men took cover in the wet corners of the ship, clutching their heads and praying fervently. Others jumped off the deck, heading straight for the siren's open arms, foolishly lured by the sweet and tempting promises they had convinced themselves of.
The bodies fell one by one, and soon a wave of screams rose from the pearly foam, as the crystal waters turned crimson. Sirens' strong hands sank the sailors, only to rise to the surface again and wait for another fool.
The helmsman curled under the wheel as Choso took over the steering.
And that was his biggest mistake.
As he took his hands off his ears, all the melodic whispers and giggles suddenly reached him. Loud and clear, one voice sweeter than the other, choking him with an overwhelming power until breathing alone became too difficult. A warmth spread all over his chest, as if the sole sensuality of the voices made his heart beat faster and his skin coat in sweat. The heat hit his cheeks, fever broke, but it wasn't caused by sickness, no.
But by all the devilish oaths, hitting him like an aphrodisiac and pulling towards the ship's edge. He tried to fight the filthy warmth filling his body. The need to jump overboard and nuzzle into the sirens' warm, plush skin.
He gripped the wheel tighter, trying to get the ship away from the stony island. The storm was ravaging the vessel, and yet it seemed that the brutal wind finally started to bend under his pleas. He rolled the wheel, and rolled, and rolled, till the massive, wooden structure slowly turned back towards the open sea.
Men were jumping one after another, and he estimated that half of the crew was already dead. Sirens circled the ship tighter, voices even-pitched, sweeter, making him tremble from the overwhelming heat.
But he was strong, Choso had believed. He could fight them, as no woman was able to make him mad enough to force him to jump overboard. Saving his life was far more crucial than those few, mere seconds of pleasure spent in sirens' arms.
With fingers clutching the wheel and the storm still fierce, he steered the ship away from the island into the endless sea. Pale moonlight struggled to pierce the thick clouds overhead, while ghostly lightning forked across the sky, illuminating his rain-slicked face.
He screamed to his men, telling them to hang in there, to stay calm, hoping that a few of them who still nuzzled into the dark corners of the ship wouldn't go absolutely mad. Sirens sang louder, and Choso thought with nail and tooth to keep his mind clear. But the lustful fever was making him weak, melting his body into a trembling mess, until he needed to grip the wheel tighter to keep from falling.
And then…
Then the catastrophe came.
"Sailor boy," whirled in the air, reaching his ears. His body suddenly froze, eyes widened. "Sailor boy, come here."
The voice was distinct from the others – sweeter, kinder, with a silky undertone that pierced straight to his heart.
"Sailor boy, I know you're there," a melody rumbled through his body once again, forcing Choso to let go of the wheel.
Driven by madness, he slowly moved down the deck, sneakily gliding over the ship's edge. The dark, infinite sea stretched out before him, with pearly waves crashing against each other. Among other lurking sirens, with giggles and claws poised to seize his lustful body – there was you.
Calm and beautiful, with wet hair curling around your cheeks and slightly lidded eyes looking up at him. Water dripped down your shell-covered breasts, and moonlight bounced off the wet skin.
Your gaze carried a kind of grace – patient, almost trusting. And the longer Choso kept looking at you, the more he leaned further forward. Raven hair sticking to his damp neck, lips fallen open, as he tried to fight the heat bubbling in his loins.
"My sailor boy," you chirped, spreading your arms open. Towards the sky, him, with a lovely smile and a little tilt of your head. "Come to me, sailor boy. I know you wish to."
His fingers gripped the wooden side tighter. Till knuckles went white, and breath slipped with a shudder. Wind smacked his cheeks, rain filled the fallen lips as he still, with trembling eyes and body bent in half, looked at your waiting arms.
He wondered how soft your skin would be and what you would taste like if he tried to caress your lips with his. How far underwater would you take him before choking him to death and leaving his body behind, just like you did with all the other men?
Would you devour him right away, or perhaps cherish every piece of his muscular body, which he was ready to offer you on a plate?
Or maybe, just maybe, with gentle fingers, you would first trace his cheeks, gazing deeply into the warm chestnut of his eyes as if meeting a lover’s stare. Run your fingers through his hair and softly press your lips to his, patiently awaiting his response – longing for him to deepen the kiss with the desire of one tempted by forbidden fruit, mindful of the inevitable consequences.
The rest of the crew watched him in fright, yet no one dared to step any closer to the edge. For the captain seemed to fight something none of them could help him with. Something so deeply etched into his chest that he could only grip the deck tighter and lean on the line between life and death.
But then your arms opened even wider, lips curled mischievously, gaze flickered. "My sailor boy, my dearest," the voice suddenly became lower, with the sensual cheekiness swirling in his mind. "Come to me. Let me love you."
Amidst the frightened screams of the crew and the wind whipping his cheeks with sharp, rainy gusts, Choso jumped.
Into the arms of a woman who suddenly turned him into a madman.
𖦹 𖦹 𖦹
He woke up with a sudden realisation that he could still breathe. His body didn't hurt as much as he thought it would after being devoured by a siren, and solely a light pain pulsed on his face.
He raised hand, touching the long, bloody slash marking his nose and cheeks. An ache flickered under his fingers, leaving the crimson, still slightly wet liquid on soft pads.
Moonlight slipped sheepishly through the small opening above, and only then did he realise he had been dragged into the cave. The sand beneath his body was still wet, soaked by the clothes that had weighed him down. He clearly remembered the moment his body touched the cold sea, sinking quickly before a pair of gentle arms pulled him back to the surface.
But the rest of his memory faded, and the bloody mark on his nose was likely caused by a severe blow to his head.
It pulsed a bit, but he was too excited by the thought of still being alive to care about such a minor issue.
He gradually sat up, glancing around the small cave by the seaside. Gentle waves quietly lapped inside, flowing over the golden sand and touching his bare feet. The moonlight glinted brightly in the clear, dark sky, and the warm night air caressed his flushed cheeks. It appeared that, in the end, he wasn't on the rocky siren island, and a breath of relief escaped his lips.
A relief mixed with panic.
Because you weren't here.
He once again looked around, noticing how shallow the cave was. The back wall, covered in slimy seaweed, shimmered under the moonlight, carrying the salty, slightly rotten smell of fish. But nowhere in the cave could he spot the familiar pinkish scales.
"Looking for me, sailor boy?"
His head snapped back towards the entrance.
And there you were – smiling slyly, wet hair cascading down your back, head tilted slightly. You lay on your belly, resting chin on your palm, with long tail swaying back and forth, droplets of crystal-clear water dripping from the soft scales.
A sweet giggle bounced off the stony walls as you looked at Choso's lips fallen open. "Why? Aren't you happy to see me?"
His throat bobbed, fingers gripped the wet sand. "N-No, it's just…"
Too distracted, he struggled to carve into his mind every small detail of your face. His gaze fixated on your lovely eyes, veiled by a gentle fog, where the irises and whites blurred together, almost resembling a spectre. He noticed the gentle curve of your lips and cheeks, which held a slight warmth. Your ears, bent into an eerie shape, slightly pointed and much thinner, added a little uncanny look to your lovely face.
And yet, his breath hitched, and something heavy bubbled beneath the chest. "Why didn't you kill me?"
A sweet hum filled the wet cave, broken only by waves clashing gently against your splayed body. "Would you prefer that, sailor boy?"
"No, i-it's just…" Choso desperately searched for words, but his mind was still as if under the influence of your bewitching spell. "Thank you." That's all he could say, trembling under the heavy gaze of yours.
Lying in front of his seated form, your finger brushed his calf. "It's too early to thank me. You still don't know why I decided to keep you alive."
Heavy muscles bulged under the milky, slightly damp skin, curling around his thick calves and up to beefy thighs. A giggle slipped past your lips as you saw another bulge straining his woollen tunic. With a wetness padding the cloth, trembling slightly whenever your nail marked his skin.
Your fingers travelled up, up, skimming the calves, knees, and thighs, as he slowly spread them open. Chestnut eyes followed your gradually approaching body, crawling closer towards him. Heavy tail dragged on the soft sand as you slowly slipped out of the water.
Leaning on his arm, he gripped the sand harder, ogling carefully the mischievous loveliness twisting your lips.
"Ask me," you whispered, nuzzling into his thigh. Fingers slipped under the woollen cloth, pinching the soft skin. "Ask me why I saved you."
"Why d-did you save me?" he could barely breathe, feeling your digits dangerously too close to his leaking cock.
And then, he felt it. Your thumb pressing onto the wet head, teeth biting gently into the inside of his thigh. A cry rolled out of his lips, little grains of sand dug painfully into his palms.
"I think you're cute," slipped in a giggle, as you licked the bitten skin sweetly. He whimpered lowly, and you noticed crystal droplets swirling in his eyes. "And I need something from you."
But before Choso could ask what, your head slipped under his woollen robes. And then, something in his mind exploded. Sudden pleasure washed over his spine as your lips curled around his cock with a lovely hum, fingers squeezing the pulsing base.
"W-Wait– Ahhh!" his hand landed on your head, but he somehow couldn't bring himself to push you away. Instead, he brushed your hair away, letting himself take a closer, better look at your lovely face.
There was something utterly filthy in the way your pointy ears shivered every time another moan slipped past his lips. How your scales seemed to glow even lighter when his fingers skimmed through your neck, thumb brushing the warm cheek bulging with his feverish head.
You drank the pearly cum swirling on the tip of his cock with a hum before taking him in deeper. Till he could feel the end of your warm throat and muscles tightening around the fat shaft. Delicate fingers played with his balls, and a sudden cry ripped past his lips when you gave them a soft squeeze.
"M-my Goddess–" this time, he tried to push you away, feeling the dangerous heat once again coiling in his loins. "I c-can't, it's too–mhmmm–"
A sudden embarrassment hit his flushed cheeks at the thought of coming that fast. Needing nothing but a single luscious glance of yours and lips locking on his cock. Your head bobbed in frenzied movements, with low hums going straight into his pulsing cock and sending a wave of trembling pleasure down his spine. Nose tickled his pubes, saliva dripping down the veiny shaft, drenched in the honeyed sweetness of your mouth.
Pulling out with a soft pop, your gaze locked with his. "I'm not a Goddess, sailor boy," Choso wished to disagree, but your lips crashed against his. In a quick yet messy kiss, as you bit his lower lip, leaving him with a metallic sweetness and the musky smell of his cock. "But for now, call me whatever you want. As long as you'll give me this," your fingers once again squeezed his tightening balls.
Choso felt dumbfounded, madly besotted, with heart-shaped irises fixed on your face and lips slightly parted. "You want…" he barely pushed, not quite sure whether you were thinking the same thing.
But you nodded gently, giving his cock another squeeze. The flushed head was seconds away from busting, and you could see the milky trace of sticky cum coat the hardened tip.
"Give me a baby," slipped smoothly like a dream, causing Choso to blush deeply. Your hands curled behind his neck, then you pulled him closer, drawing him nearer as you slowly reclined, shifting your positions. "You're such a pretty, pretty boy," your warm thumb brushed his rosy cheek. "Can you do it for me? Do you want to make me pregnant, sailor boy?"
And Choso, with your tail between his thighs and your lovely little head splayed between his hands digging deep into the sand, could do nothing but nod. Slowly, with heat ripping through his body from the inside, and his heart suddenly skipping a few beats.
"Y-yes," he whispered softly, as you pushed behind the ear raven strands of his hair. A gentle sweetness shone in his eyes, melting your heart with its pure and innocent glow. His feelings were so pristine, as he desperately tried to hide this charming bashfulness behind an awkward demeanour. "If you allow me, my Goddess, I do want to–" his throat bobbed, another wave of embarrassment washing over his virgin body. He simply couldn't force himself to admit such a filthy thing!
You giggled, pulling him closer. Till your lips brushed gently and eyes met in a lustful crossing. "Then get to work, my sailor boy. Show me what you got."
Before Choso could ask, flustered, how this was supposed to work, you swiftly lifted your tail, putting the lower half of heavy, pinkish scales on his shoulder. Your hand curled around his, slowly, slowly, guiding it towards the swell of your ass. And then slightly down, through the hard scales covering your whole lower body. Choso tried to remember every little bump, each golden line curling around your tail like a halo, till he finally felt something else.
Something softer, slicker, hidden under a few flakes till you helped him feel the wet entrance of your pussy. His breath hitched, eyes crossed with your mischievous smile, as he sensed the slick coat his palm.
"Can you feel it?" you asked, but something in your voice changed. It became softer, more pleading, with a gentle frown appearing between your eyebrows. "Push them in, mhmm, just like that," guiding him softly, your nails dig into his forearm.
Two thick fingers slipped inside, and he immediately moaned, feeling the maddening tightness of your cunt. Gummy walls – not quite soft, but rather with slight bumps and swells – clamped down on his digits till thrusting them further was nearly impossible.
Choso had never been with a woman before and thus had no basis for comparison. Still, your warmth felt uniquely different from that of humans – slick, slimy, with bulges pressing into his fingers and holding them firmly. His two fingers were trapped in the soft, drenched embrace of your heated cunt, making his mind spin at the sheer thought of feeling you around his cock.
"My Goddess, you're s-so wet," he cried, curling another arm around your tail. His cheek nuzzled into the pink-scaled tail, and the silky fluke fluttered on his shoulder. "So tight, can you r-relax a little?"
When he tried to bend the finger, a sudden jolt of electricity dripped down your spine, and nails dug deeper into his muscular forearm. "I am relaxed, sailor boy. It–ngh–it can't get looser."
Choso was almost losing his mind. The warmth of your cunt burned through his fingers, soft bumps brushed his fingers as he pumped them in slow thrusts. With pads bumping into every swell of your gummy walls and honeyed slick dripping down the drenched sand. It stretched between his fingers, coating them in a weird, slimy softness, and, driven by sheer curiosity, he pulled them out.
Seeing the thought coiling in his mind, your eyes suddenly bulged. "No, wait, you can't–!"
But it was too late.
Two, drenched digits were pushed into his mouth, as he sucked on them with a low hum. His tongue licking them clean, a delicious groan escaped his tightened throat, as the syrupy sweetness exploded on his tongue. His mind started to spin, eyes rolled back, stomach squeezed in an almost painful pleasure and cock, if not hard enough, became almost stony. With head pulsing in feverish need as he brushed the fat shaft against the slick entrance of your cunt.
But something felt wrong… The heat that hit him was too strong, ripping him from the inside with a hungry flame that seemed to grow more resilient.
He looked down, seeing the pearly cum already bursting all over your soft, pulsing cunt, coating the lovely scales with waves and waves of thick semen. And yet, his cock was still rock-hard, throbbing with a raw need to breed your swelling cunt. With small folds puckered out, and a bumpy clit pulsing under the sticky droplets of his semen.
"W-What is g-going–"
"It's like an aphrodisiac," you cried, feeling his warm cum coating your needy pussy. "The slick, it's, mhmmm, you shouldn't eat it."
As the round head of his cock brushed your soaked hole, its muscles tried to draw it in. Your walls tightened around the throbbing tip, causing another surge of pleasure to ripple through Choso's spine and making him climax again with a sticky release.
"I can't, fuck, I-I can't stop cumming," a crying whimper rolled past his lips, as he nuzzled into your tale like a baby. "My Goddess, you tasted s-so, nghh, so delicious, fuck, so sweet. I don't regret drinking it, Idon'tIdon't–ah!"
Oh, what a lovely, whimpering mess he was. Although his massive cock ripped you raw, prising through the swells and bumps with a brutal intrusion, you still managed to giggle cheekily.
A massive arm firmly held your tail in place, while another hand moved down to your pussy. Fingers, a bit clumsy, found your sensitive clit, gently pressing and rolling the soft, pulsing button.
With eyes slightly half-closed and a mind clouded by pleasure, you stared at his face – completely miserable, crying, yet strikingly beautiful, with raven hair clinging to his open lips and a deep furrow across the milky skin of his forehead. His chestnut eyes remained fixed on yours, refusing to break eye contact, even as his hips moved desperately to meet yours. Messy words spilt from his loosened tongue as he kissed, licked, and bit the scales of your tail, making your thoughts whirl even faster.
"Don't, I'm–ahh–sensitive here!"
Deep eyes locked onto you, shimmering with a hint of mischief. "Oh, yeah? Where else are you sensitive, my Goddess?" he murmured, licking your tail again. "Tell me, I want to know every one of your sweet spots."
His thumb rubbed your clit, desperately trying to make your cunt loosen up just slightly. But it seemed that the swells and bumps coating your walls were already relaxed, forcing him to slide through the slick with a beastly thrust. Your cunt squished his cock till you felt every vein, every dripping pearl of his cum with a maddening accuracy.
Your arms spread open, waiting for him to bend over and bury his face in the plushness of your breasts. His fingers ripped the two shells covering your tits with a single tug, finally letting the swelled softness slip into his warm palm.
He leaned forward, folding your tail in half until the thin fluke brushed the sand over your head. "So soft," he whispered, squeezing your breasts with one hand. "My Goddess, you're so soft, e-everywhere," but before a moan could escape your lips, he captured them with his own, drinking in the sweet melody with a low groan. "Where is it? Where is your sweet spot?"
As no matter how hard he forcefully thrusted, how deep his cock slipped into your feverish cunt, it seemed that he still couldn't find this little button that would make you melt under his touch.
He pounded you like a madman, tearing through your clamping walls and sucking gently on your lips, as he felt each and every bump of your cunt. The filthy squelching sound bounced off the cave's wall, as the slimy cum dripped down the curve of your ass.
He mumbled, cried, whimpered miserably where is it where is it where is it, as his cock rummaged through your weeping pussy at a maddening pace, forcing your body to dig deeper into the soft sand. Your breast bounced with every thrust, eyes rolled back whenever he busted inside, filling your womb with heavy waves of cum.
As, dear heavens, he was cumming all the time – from the moment his cock slipped past your swollen folds, till the milky teeth sucked on your neck. The heat caused by your slick was constantly making him cum, till your lower belly bulged from the thickness of milky seed he stuffed you with. It flowed inside your belly, attracting his hazy attention.
His large palm pressed the lower, plump pouch of your belly, feeling the warm liquid spilling inside your puffy womb.
"It's, mhmmm, it's everywhere," you moaned into his lips, pulling him closer. Fingers digging into his hair, eyes glossy whenever the soft skin of his cock pushed your swollen bumps. "The things, ahhh, inside it's–" another cry filled his fallen lips, as the feverish head kissed your overflowing womb. "It's e-everywhere. The bumps–"
"Are your sweet spot?" Choso asked, feeling another wave of heat coiling in his loins. "You wish to tell me that all of them…"
"Yes, fuck, yesyesyes," your eyes crossed in pleasure, when his thumb pinched your clit. Rolling the little button between soft fingers, massaging it in small circles, only to tweak it with a little pain. "So good, mhmm feels s-so good."
And upon hearing it, something in Choso's mind snapped.
Again, again, again, and again, as he pumped his cock with sloppy thrusts. His warm cum filled your womb to the brim, coating his full length with sticky creaminess and spilling through your entrance. He plunged with brutal force, ripping through the swollen bumps that tried to lock him in place.
He pulled back from your neck, taking in the loveliness of your face, utterly lost in pleasure. Kissing warm cheeks, licking the chin, biting down on pointy ears till another moan ripped through your chest and cunt clamped on him tighter.
Tighter and tighter, until Choso somehow felt himself sealed. Your walls softened and expanded, embracing his pulsing shaft with an arousing, warm sensation.
"What's going on?" he brushed away the lost strands of hair stuck to your cheeks. "My Goddess, what–"
"We're, mhmm, mating," your head lulled to the side, and breathing suddenly became harder. He, on the other hand, froze. "You need to s-stay inside till I won't get p-pregnant."
But it was hard to imagine you weren't already with a child, with a lower belly bloated from the sheer amount of cum he filled you with. And when your cunt sealed him with a deathly grip, you finally came. Pulsing around his cock, drenching his hips with the slick sweetness, and bending your back in a delicious arc.
And Choso whimpered, feeling your warm cunt clamp down on him with short pulses, and pressing with his heavy hand on the bloated pouch filled with his semen. Till you cried right into his lips and allowed him to lick the sweat rushing down your temple. So beautiful, beautiful, my beautiful Goddess, bounced off your lips as he mumbled messily like a starving man. Rolling his hips with gentle thrusts, sending waves of pleasure down your spine.
You stayed locked for the next few minutes, and the moment Choso pulled out, his cum burst from your clamping walls. But he, oh, he didn't let it go to waste, quickly slipping beneath your tail and pushing the salty strings back with his tongue.
Drinking, slurping, sucking on your slick mixed with his, till the aphrodisiac once again hit his head. You tried to push him away, overwhelmed from the orgasm that ripped through you a mere seconds ago, but he was completely, utterly lost.
Sucking on your plump clit and stuffing you full with three fingers, only to keep the warm semen deep inside your womb.
He fucked you, caressed you and kissed every part of your body till the soft licks of sun started slipping shyly into the cave. Till your pinkish tail was coated in his cum and belly heavy, overflowing with the creamy warmth.
Sometimes he pounded your back on the sand; at other times, when your scales felt drier than usual, he put you back in the water, filling your tight cunt with calm waves slipping beneath your bodies.
He made promises, large and lovely, while biting and sucking sweetly on your nipples and coating the swell of your breasts with the wettest kisses. He fucked you madly and made love, as if cherishing the moment of intimacy meant only for the lovers.
And you, who initially intended to use him only for this purpose, began to breathe in every soft whisper. To nuzzle into his large, warm hands, kiss the skin on his neck, and look up at his handsome face with a gentle, tender gaze.
Thus, when morning arrived, and you both lay on the warm sand, turning toward each other, a quiet, shy voice said gently, "Allow me to go with you."
Your heart swelled, breath hitched in a tightened chest, seeing the pristine desperation beaming from his eyes. He sighed, feeling your fingers swirl the long, raven hair. "Do you know what you're asking for?"
He nodded, brushing the sweetness of your cheeks.
"You'll never be able to live above the water."
"I know," he added, eyes still kind and utterly hopeless. "I don't mind. As long as I can live with you."
And with a new, such strange feeling blooming in your heart, a soft okay, slipped past your lips.
There was a way to make him breathe underwater. Something sirens kept secret, never letting mortals know about such a deadly weapon.
"Drink my tears, then," you said, rolling him back onto your body. Till he hovered over you, with long, dark strands tickling your cheeks. "Make me cry, my sailor boy, and drink them."
Choso stared at your lovely face, taking in its divine beauty. "I don't want to hurt you," he whispered innocently, and you giggled.
Your hands curled behind his neck, drawing him into a soft, dear kiss. "You fool, there's no need to hurt me." A mischievous smile lifted your lips as you once again raised your tail and rested it on his shoulder. "I can think of a few different ways."
And Choso, as a madman, could only follow every wish of his beloved, siren Goddess.
Dearest anon, I hope your wish was fulfilled! And that everyone else also enjoyed it <3
Pairing: Dentist!Geto x FemPatient!reader
cw: Unrealistic/inaccurate dentist LOL, SMUT. Oral fixations, lots of fingers in mouth, drool, blowjob, first time writing Suguru pls be nice, swallowing cum, mentions of toothache (owwie), reader is fucking scared of dentists, praise, dirtytalk, proofread...ish...
It wasn't that bad.
That slight ache in your back molar when you ate food too hot or drank something too cold.
It was bearable.
You could bear it.
Honestly, you were just terrified of going to the dentist. You hated it- that pain when they would clean a cavity or even drill a bit too deep.
The only way someone would get you to lay down and get your teeth checked out would be if you'd get sedated.
You did like having… things in your mouth. So it was odd this got you so scared.
-
"He did it so quickly!"
"I couldn't even feel a thing!"
"He was so handsome!!"
You overheard some of your coworkers discussing a private dental clinic that had opened not so long ago.
Fine.
Maybe you should go book with the dentist there- just this once. Before the pain would get worse and you'd have to get the tooth pulled or something. Then you'd definitely get someone to bring you in unconscious.
A Wednesday, somewhere in the later midday.
You were sat in the rather aesthetic waiting area, just the receptionist sitting at the front desk and typing away with her long nails. Whoever owned this clinic had good taste in style.
The clock ticked and ticked and ticked…
God, you were feeling sweatier and more nervous by the second.
What if you could bail and just ignore the slight discomfort forever-
"Miss, Doctor Geto is ready to see you."
You give her a small smile and got up, fingers nervously holding on to the front of your shirt.
The doors pushed open and shut behind you, standing alone in a rather intimate space- it didn't feel as… hospital-esque and sterile cold as other places you've been.
Don't get me wrong, it was pristine and organized, hygienic and and and…
Your thoughts trailed off when you saw a man emerge from a room in the side, a warm smile on his lips and narrow eyes filled with a welcoming warm shade, some folder with papers in one hand. He was so handsome- those girls at work were right.
His hair was done up in a man bun, face mask tugged below his chin. And something about that lab coat and dark gray scrubs. Oh my.
"Hello, Miss. I hope i didn't keep you waiting for long. "
Your fear suddenly bloomed from a cold anxious ball to some blooming flower in the middle of your tummy.
Whatever, might just be the five stages of denial.
Getting up on the chair and having a sexy dentist wrap that little stupid piece of tissue and clip it around your neck shouldn't have made you feel hot in the face but it so did.
Until you saw him sit down, man spreading and getting comfortable while grabbing one of those dental mirrors. And the rest of the tools- hanging nearby on some expensive looking machine. But dear god if it didn't make you start shaking, blunt nails digging into the sides of the lush leather of the chair you sat in.
You could feel it start to lower and you were now laying flat down on your back.
Your eyes snapped shut, not to mention your teeth clenching and refusing to open. That same fear was flooding back. You had forgotten that you were supposed to let your doctor get a look at your chompers.
"Sweetheart? Hey… cmon, can you open your mouth for me, please?"
"Mnn…"
"I promise I'll just check up on your teeth, nothing painful."
"Mhnn…"
"Cmon… say ahhhh…"
A gloved finger lightly tugged on your bottom lip, making you peek one eye open to see a worried faced Geto peering down.
You managed to loosen up your jaw, opening up just enough.
"There we go, not so bad. Now, Miss, please keep open for me."
You just nodded yes, trying to keep your tongue from shifting too much.
The little mirror was cold when it clinked against a tooth or two. But besides that, it wasn't too scary.
You did wish it was his fingers inside instead…
Oh.
"Sweetheart.. open up a bit more for me, yeah? It will be quick. I just have to see all of your pretty teeth." Suguru calmly spoke to you, clearly wanting to have you calm down and cooperate. But the tone in his voice made you feel like melting instead of focusing.
You hadn't even noticed you were drooling, eyes now fully open and unable to look away from his focused face, so close… too close.
Those seemingly warm eyes turned, irises locking in with yours.
You swore you saw him try not to smirk before focusing back to looking over the backs of your upper molars. You did open up wider. Getting some small praise… why was he praising you? You liked it.
"Good… you're doing so good, just a bit more. I'm sure you can handle it."
Your eyes kept flicking down from watching his hand to then back to his face. It was like you couldn't decide what was better.
"It seems you have some sensitivity on your second molar, Miss."
You blinked, giving a small nod, unable to make anything besides a "mhm" sound with the mirror still inside.
When Suguru pulled it out you felt a bit sad his hand wasn't anywhere near your mouth anymore.
"Please rinse your mouth." Geto smiled, placing the mirror away to start picking up some other tool.
You glanced over to the little paper cup, watching it getting filled with water- picking it up and swishing the water around in your mouth, glancing over to the dentist with cheeks puffed up from the liquid.
"Spit it out, doll." Suguru chuckled, watching you seem unsure about what to do with it now.
You leaned back down and spat it out, trying to ignore the name he called you so casually, using the flimsy paper towel around your neck to wipe the saliva strings trying to escape your chin.
"Your teeth are healthy and in rather nice condition, but it seems you haven't visited a dentist in a while, hm?" Geto tapped a few fingers on the headrest of the chair, signaling for you to lay back down.
You obviously did as told and tried to answer his question.
Maybe Suguru had caught on by now, because once you opened your mouth a few fingers were pressing down on your tongue and then gently moving side to side as if inspecting your bottom set of teeth, lightly pressing down on your canine.
"Isn't it a bit rude to not answer questions, sweetheart?" He cooed down at you, the thumb of the hand in your mouth softly pressing against your cheek, making you tilt your head, having you look up and meet his amused gaze.
"Wehhll…m..doont.. likkeuh denthisthts…" You tried to babble out with the digits in your mouth, drool already pooling around them.
How embarrassing.
It looked like you were shaking, again, not from fear though.
Something about the way the gloved thumb caressed the side of your cheek and whilst the middle and ring finger were taking their time to spread your saliva around while "inspecting" the rest of your pearly whites had you forgetting why the hell you were even here. The small pain from your molar gone.
"I see… you don't like me then? Not one bit? I'm hurt, Miss… really am." Suguru pretended to pout a bit, the two fingers gliding deeper- you hoped he didn't see how your eyes rolled back, hands unable to hold on to just the sides of the chair and twitching to grab into his arm.
You wanted to say that no, no you did like him but that no came out as a small…
moan.
"Oh?" The hand halted, slowly pulling out- as if teasing you for making such a sound.
The fingers didn't get too far though, gathering the dripping drool to nudge back inside of your parted lips, almost having you splutter.
"I guess i was wrong."
Your hand finally reached up, nervous digits gripping into the white sleeve of the lab coat.
You initiating some sort of touch was like a switch being flicked down.
Suguru pushed himself up, wiping your drool across your cheek while smiling down at you.
The chair silently lifted up, riiiiightt until your face was laying at the perfect height. Just about where his bulge was.
Great.
Sucking a dentist's dick wasn't on your bucket list.
But watching Suguru use his teeth to pull the gloves off and reach down to the waistband of those a bit too oversized scrubs, you already had your lips parting. Again. For a completely different reason now.
Fwop!
A girthy cock smacked you right across the face, you could feel it wanting to twitch from the feeling of your skin.
"Patience, doll."
Your hands struggled to stay put while Geto slowly dragged it back and forth, just rolling his hips and nudging it closer and closer to your mouth- greedy tongue already darting out to try and get a lick in.
"Such a dirty girl, put that back." He gripped the base of the heavy thing, lifting it to smack across your mouth a few times, finally letting it slide over your glossy lips after, making sure to only drag it between them, not inside to let you have a taste.
"You're not so scared anymore, are you, sweetheart?"
"Mnnoo…" You pursed your lips to speak, kissing the pinkish tip before it slid past.
"How cute."
"Let's get you off of this chair, mn?"
-
The floor was a bit hard on your knees, but that wasn't the thing you were worrying about right now.
It was the man standing above you, a large palm playing with your bangs while the other lazily jerked the tempting thing in front of your face.
A dark happy trail disappeared underneath up his shirt, the ivory coat shifting with each of his movements- your nails dug into your knees this time, eyes almost doe and watery by how badly you wanted to lean forward and have Suguru's cock down your throat.
It was cruel, honestly.
"Will you be a good girl and open up wide for me?"
"Yes-"
The meaty thing lightly smacked against your cheek, leaving a light smear of precum on the spot.
"Don't answer me, just do. Let's try this again, hm?"
"Open up. Say Aaaah."
"Aaaaahhh…"
You thickly swallowed, opening your mouth just barely, too focused on staring at the way Suguru's wrist was sloppily dragging the palm back and forth, running across this big vein that you swore you could taste already-
Another smack to your cheek with the fat cock.
"Wider, sweetheart. Be good."
You let out a small whine but finally let your jaw go loose and leaned forward.
The hand in your hair reached further back, gripping into your locks and pushed you forward.
The delicious way that thick girth slid into your mouth… across your tongue and farrr back down to your throat. Not even having you gag surprisingly.
"There we go, finally got what you wanted so bad, yeah, doll?"
"mhnmmhm!" your humming vibrated around the meaty thing stretching your lips and rewarded you with a soft groan from Geto.
The sound of full balls smacking against your chin, lewd gags and wet slurps filled the neat space.
Drool was definitely dripping down your chin and dampening the collar of your shirt.
Not to even talk about the puddle drenching trough your panties…
But Suguru was filling your throat so good you couldn't do anything but blissfully shut your eyes and hold on to your own thighs.
"Feels nice, yeah? Sooo good…" You could hear him start to ramble from above you, both of those large palms cupping the sides of your head to keep it in place as he used your mouth. Clearly this was getting to Geto just as much as you.
"Fff… shit… Will you be a do.. doll and… swallow? Swallow for me?"
How could you say no to such a lovely man.
Suguru almost collapsed, having to let go of your face to grip into the tool trolley nearby, rattling it- making sure to push in alll the way to the hilt, neatly trimmed hairs tickling your nose as your throat convulsed and tried to swallow around the girthy thing down it.
The hot cum spurting down it made you choke and try to pull away for some air. But you definitely did swallow every last drop.
The softening length gently glided out, leaving your throat feeling empty.
-
Well then.
After your dentist helped you get cleaned up a bit and made sure you were alright.
It was time to go home.
Tooth still sensitive.
But it's okay, Dr. Geto made sure to leave a spot for you to come in next week. On a Wednesday.
And the week after that. For free.
How kind.
Seems like your fear of going to the dentist had disappeared too.
Yoon's notes: FOR MY LOVELY MOMMMY @serpenttine. I am still very i donno insecure about my writing after everything and doing a char i have never done IM SHITTING MYSELF SCARED. but i love drea so much i wanted to make this special, to show her how much i care for her. AND AS A CONGRATS ON HER BIG MILESTONE IN FOLLOWERS. you deserve the world mama. MWAH I HOPE YOU LIKE
. . . in the ashes of what once was, a lost dove will reincarnate. luminous, grand wings will flex and freedom will be grasped — she will fly away from her prison, and into the arms of new.
WARNINGS ── fem!reader 、age gap, reader is late thirties, kaiser is early twenties 、reader is married to noel noa 、pastor!noa 、lost soul michael kaiser 、sacrilege 、infidelity 、fingering 、lots of kissing、masturbation、fingers in mouth、hand job、scent kink kinda、(1) one scene with mommy kink、nipple play、dirty talk、gagging with panties、uh ohh reader catches feelings、MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.
SUPERNOTE i need to be stopped im sorry idk what is going on with me lately 😓😓😓 im being compelled to write these novelette length fics completely losing my shit i just can’t help myself. there’s so much fun to be had writing and developing these. i hope you all enjoy as much as i do. this is an experience, lock in, and share it with your friends like a bad drug. xoxo (pleaseee reblog i lost so much sleep bc i couldn’t get this out of my head 🥹)
WORD COUNT 17.5k (i warned u sorry)
YOU ARE A DECOR piece; an object to gawk, a portrait of submission. A vision of the sun, drawn up in a flowy, silky yellow dress, your hair pinned out of your face with floral hairpins. The golden trumpets of cherubs play as the flower stems.
Beside him, you are ornamental, an accessory. Your yellow kissing his soft purple, popping in the star speckles in his tie. His pale blond dancing with the pastels in your pins. Your hands clapping when he delivers with conviction, and holding his delicately when he turns to you. You exist beside him to make him look better. A trophy. The man who has it all: the perfect life, the perfect leadership, the perfect wife.
When those lights turn off, and the congregation clears, and you can finally breathe, who are you? He is no longer your husband; he is Noel Noa, he is your partner. Who are you?
You are a prisoner of devotion. A casualty of undeterred loyalty. A good pet, a dependable follower, a necessary cog in the wheel. You keep your husband afloat and the world he lives in stable. He can’t live without you; you are the air he breathes. You are also slipping away—loneliness gnaws at you. He has marred you a pariah; he has tarnished you. He has tainted his lifeline and let you be, and now you fill a role too small for you, too torturous. The lights go out, and now you can breathe. You are freed from perception.
The lights are on again. You’re not on stage; they’re not as bright, as damning, but they are on, and people can see you. They see you smiling, keeping your arm looped in Noel’s. They see you happy, doing better, all things considered. You’ve healed, they think, Christ has repaired what the Devil has trampled.
It’s the first day back. People are hesitant to leave—it’s been three months without you! They want to know if all is well, if it’s permanent, if you practice what you preach.
Noel cheated on you. It was a mistake, he said. They all say the same. He didn’t mean to. Things just weren’t the same; he was vulnerable, she was available. It didn’t mean anything; she was just a warm body—nothing compared to your warm heart. God will punish him for betraying you. Do you have it in you to forgive him?
Of course you do. There’s a rock on your finger, vows settled into stone that sanctify your union. ‘Til death do you part, no matter how many tears you cried, how many mirrors you avoided.
They look at you with pity and with humor. With contempt. You’re a laughingstock, even if they have the decency to do it behind your back. They see you and they can only think of him: what he has done for you, and now what he has done to you. Who are you?
You’re transfixed on a boy. He caught your eye during the service. Front left, five seats shy of the middle of the pews. He was shaggy, disgruntled, rough-looking. Messy blond hair, accented with the purest jewel-tone blue, sits on his head and upright in the air, unkemptly. Your first thought was that you dragged in a homeless boy. You kept looking at him, unlistening to Noel’s sermon about rebirth and forgiveness. The boy was unlike the people who usually stumble in. He looked wholly uninterested. But he was there, in the pews, and he was watching you.
Suddenly, you feel naked. Too observed. He can still see you when the service ends, when you walk away across the shadowed stage. It feels like his eyes are on you still in the hallway. You feel them periodically through the lingering fellowship. You mix and mingle, parading around like a grand float, and sometimes you’ll see him: loitering with a bottle of water, waiting.
Sister Irma and her husband, Stephan, come over, all chipper and annoying. You can’t stand their fake, cartoonish asses, but Noel lives to humor them. You pat his chest, slowly unweaving from him, “I’m going to go grab some refreshments, I’m a bit thirsty. Want anything?”
He leans closer to you, “Wait. Say hello to Stephan and Irma.”
“I’m alright,” you confirm, giving a small, reassuring smile. “I’ll surely see them around. Give them my best.”
You’re gone before anything else can be said. You can hear Irma’s obnoxious cackle and the acknowledging, brotherly grunts of Stephan and Noel. It makes you cringe.
The boy is idling by the refreshments table: a charcuterie spread, paired with pitchers of crisp grape juice. He nurses a plastic cup of juice, with a mini-slider half-eaten in the other hand. You initiate.
“Is this your first time here?”
He nods, biting the slider. His words chew the bite, “Came with a friend.”
“Well, welcome to Divine Eyes and Trees Catholic Church,” you greet, cheery and robotic. “Where is your friend now? Or is it just you?”
He takes another bite and looks you up and down. Catholic Church. He looks past you to Noel. Catholic Church. What a joke.
“He left with his family. I’m just eating before I have to go.”
“Do you have a ride?”
“I’m walking.”
“Where to?”
He sips from the cup. His eyes are boring into you, crystalline and sharp. Even this kid probably knows about you, how stupid and funny you are. He sees you—he sees something, and he purses his lips. “What’s it matter to you?”
You hold your hands to your chest, as if the gesture makes you more sincere. “I care about all of our congregants. You are our community—our family. It is my duty to do with my position and give back, so I’ll ask you again: where to?”
He laughs. “You’re full of shit.”
And then he’s gone. You’re frozen with that unassuming grin on your face, and he’s swallowing the rest of the slider, downing the rest of the cup, tossing it to the trash can on his way out.
That’s day one.
Day four, you find out his name is Michael. At night, when Noel snores blissfully, you whisper his name to yourself. He shows up on the blacks of your eyelids. Still annoyed, still uninterested, still enigmatic. Who is he?
You busy yourself with discovering him.
On day six, after subtle poking and prodding, results yield. Sasha whispers to you and Irma that Michael is an orphan of sorts. His mom abandoned him and his dad at a young age, and his dad never recovered. He ran away a few years ago. Nothing has really changed for him since, but he’s just out of that situation. He’s had a few instances of legal trouble, a few stints of loneliness. Word around is that he found a friend, a well-off, somewhat stable friend, and this friend is lending a couch, maybe a spare mattress. A sad story, poor boy. Irma tears up, so theatrical.
You get caught up in the idea of helping. It has some semblance of control, something to busy your jitters because Noel insists on letting you relax—he’ll handle all the big stuff, it’s his mess to clean.
The ninth day comes, and you approach Michael about joining a Bible study session. You used to run them, and you insist that you still will. This is your thing, this is your time to be a leader, to be heard and revered. You’ve lost some people during the scandal, and he could use the productivity.
He declines.
You don’t stop trying.
It takes another six days of convincing. You talked to him a lot during this time. You got to know him a little more.
He’s athletic. You mentioned your community golf team, and he eyed you like an idiot. “Golf is the most insulting thing you could have presented me,” he chided. “ Where’s the excitement? The vigor? Nothing about it is seductive; it is unsexy.”
“You shouldn’t talk like that here!”
“You should be more realistic.” He shrugs. “You thought I’d join your Bible study, then your golf club. You’re terrible at finding a reason to talk to me.”
You laugh, a little too nervously. “I’m just presenting opportunities to get involved in our community,” you lie, very unconvincingly. “I’ll have you know, our golf club is quite fun, and our Bible studies are quite fruitful.”
“Sure,” he quipped, scoffing at you.
“We have better food, too. I cook, we all cook—it’s a potluck of sorts.”
That gets him to agree.
Michael isn’t hungry, he just likes to stand by the food. He told you once, “You can tell a lot about a person by their plate. All types of sociopaths walk among us.”
It made you laugh. “And what determines that?”
He stared deeply into you, right at the pendant that swung over your chest. A crystalline bough of grapes. “You pick off the fruits: the grapes, the berries, the apples. You’re compliant, perfect. Just peachy, even.”
And then he laughed at himself, “Peachy,” he repeated. “Peach. You’re Peach.”
“Where’d that come from? What’s it mean?” You asked. Your smile was humored but confused—something swirled in your chest, and you wanted to know if you were going crazy.
Michael just said flatly, “Means you’re sweet, to a fault. Temptation, to some; immortality, indifference, to others.”
You knew then that he could see you. Beneath all of the contrived garb, the labor of hair and makeup, the perfectionism. When the cast of holiness absolved and all that was left was a woman, or a husk of one.
Something inside had shifted, and it was long before Noel’s affair. It’s why you couldn’t touch him, why your kisses tasted stale. You pushed him to it, you figure, you had nothing to give, and he was lonely too.
Michael can see past that, too. What’s the point in throwing away a perfectly good person for something shiny, new, and unattainable? How can abandonment be reasoned—how can it be reconciled? How good of a husband is Noel Noa to make you stick around?
He wants to know, for whatever reason. You both have found an odd solace in studying the other.
You catch glances all throughout the study. Nobody else notices; they’re too busy reading and chatting. They’re small, fleeting, only worth a dime of a moment. But they feel innate, like something you have to do.
As soon as you all wrap up, you make your way to him. He’s back by the food, picking at cheese crackers. You don’t greet him, you immediately start with a quip: “Do those mean I’m a prude?”
He laughs, dryly, “Among other things.”
“Did you enjoy yourself?” You ask, helping yourself to a grape. It’s mindless; you don’t notice until you bite it in half, and an embarrassed smile pulls at your lips. Michael gives a small, humored smile, too. “I try to make these more casual. My home is a place of worship, as well, but it’s also a temple.”
Michael shrugs, “I was a bit distracted, couldn’t focus. Next time, loosen up more. Give them something to look forward to.”
You shift your weight onto your right foot, “Next time? You’re coming again?”
“Should I not?”
“No—you definitely should,” you grin, “It’s nice having you around.”
A moment ebbs and flows between the two of you. It's a little heavy, a little leading, like there's something understood but unsaid. Michael just blinks at you and his smile shortly grows. “Why are you so obsessed with me?” He asks.
“Huh? What?” You laugh nervously. You're not obsessed with him, you're just drawn to him. He…entices you—it’s not a conscious decision you make. The Lord works in mysterious ways, he presents things to you oddly. He is an opportunity for something great, you feel the Lord will show you that. “No, no, it’s just… you're new, you have…lived a life, I’m sure…maybe. I just want you to find peace in our sanctuary, that’s all.”
Another beat passes. Michael looks you up and down, “Do you have peace in your own sanctuary?”
You laugh choppily, confusedly, “W-what do you mean?”
“Your husband.” He says, his voice lowering slightly. “You’re not in love with him anymore. You’re killing yourself pretending to have been saved by the Lord and worshipping him.”
“It’s…not at all like that—”
“You think the pain in your eyes is invisible? Or the dejection when he touches you, or proclaims his love and devotion to you for everyone to hear? Do you think we can't see?” The questions make you almost shrivel. You thought…you’ve been trying! More than anyone else will ever give you credit for, you have been trying. Normalcy, holiness, perfection: three pillars that have come crashing down on your head but you're trying. Just to do something right, so you're at rest in death.
“No, we…we’ve had our issues. But they're gone now, everything is alright,” you try to assure. It sounds like you're trying to convince yourself more than anyone. “You shouldn't say things like that. They aren't kind. Or true.”
Michael kind of laughs at you, in disbelief, almost pity. Do you not hear yourself? Does nobody hear how that man has ruined you?
“Then why are you obsessed with me? What are you looking for in me?”
Everyone is gone. They left for the evening, thanked you for your time, checked to make sure the same time, next Thursday—you confirmed, and bid them goodbye. For some reason, Michael was still around. For some reason, you didn’t question him.
He pushed the door behind the last person, and with a few quiet exchanged words, he’d made his way to you, and like something compelled him, he kissed you. His hands cupped either side of your face, and his lips were surprisingly gentle against yours, like they were waiting. As if you were compelled, you kissed him back.
In a matter of moments, you’re stumbling backward until you finally collide with something: the wall. You’re pressed right beside where you’d led the group, left of the archway leading to the dining room. Michael holds your hands at bay and wedges between your legs. The kiss is wanton, baggaged. It feels like something so distant, now foreign, like the first time you’ve ever experienced it. It makes you gasp and whimper; it leaves him to take the lead, to guide you, with his tongue pressing and slipping against yours.
Heat rises to your face. You’re slightly ashamed, you feel as though you should be, and like this should feel wrong, but it feels amazing. It feels like salvation, or the first gleam of such divinity.
Michael parts for a second, and you both slump and catch your breath. His mouth opens to speak, but you answer before he even asks: “Don’t stop.”
He doesn’t waste any time; he doesn’t know when Noel will be home, and this seems like the only time he will satiate this looming appetite—this fascination. It’s so weird, so sensual but unpreverse. Like magnetism, you’re drawn in. Michael gorges on the suppleness of your skin, licking and kissing, but careful to keep carnality at bay.
His right hand, though, it barges past the waistband of your skirt and panties, but hesitates to move closer. His hand sits in your warmth, an unintended tease, as he asks, “Can I touch you here?” very lowly, very warmly. Almost all breath, like a desperate exhale.
You can’t answer; you can only whimper and nod, fervently.
The middle and index fingers slot between your folds, and you jolt. It’s like the first time someone other than yourself has ventured down there in ages, and his touch is foreign. His hands are much more slender than Noel’s, slightly less rough and calloused. And there’s a tentativeness, perhaps a shyness that gets him going gently, slowly painting tight circles around your clit.
“Please,” you urge, you beg, “don’t hesitate.”
Your hands hold onto his shoulders as he takes your instruction, applying pressure as he attacks your neglected clit. The sounds that escape you are soft moans, weepy whines, even. He feels the vibration they rumble through you as he kisses your neck. He tastes the sheen of sweat building on you, sweet like sin.
His fingers push forward, finding your entrance and immediately folding. You clench in a sharp inhale and relax with a deep exhale, every action a response to his fingers slowly, slowly, pushing in. Both at the same time, a slight stretch for the untouched, but so familiar, so desirable.
Your nails press through his shirt, clawing at his skin. He sighs against your skin when he’s knuckle deep, and starts a trail of kisses across your collarbone.
The movement is like water: slow, weighted ebbs of his fingers, swimming about in your depths. It feels like nothing you’ve ever felt before, like he knows exactly how to touch you, how to get you pushing his name out like you’re a deflating balloon. You throw your head back against the wall, lifting a heavy leg, trying to hump against his hand.
He fucks his digits in you masterfully—stupidly well. He makes you yelp when he randomly picks up speed, and laughs against your chest when he slows back down. His fingertips rub and push against your found G-spot, teasing you, almost. It feels like he’s lighting your body up from the inside out. Like you’re a bomb, and your fuse has burned away.
Your walls beat in tandem with your heart. He pulls his fingers back, letting his index join as they press against your sopping folds, rubbing again. They capture your clit, with a little more fury this time, and gives it a good bullying. You scream out. Your hands scratch at the wall.
“Holy s—smmm, I…” Your words die in your throat. You croak.
Michael assaults your clit intentionally, deliciously. It pounds and pounds away, drumming a cacophony of electricity and pleasure through your veins—it’s intense, it feels like it's sitting right in your stomach, overtaking your autonomy. Only now, you can buckle and seize, heaving short breaths.
And then his fingers are back inside of you, his index joining the squeeze. His thumb finds an angle to flick and press at your clit.
You twitch. You whine. “It feels so good…” You mumble. Your voice is low and weak. Your eyebrows are knitted tightly, and your eyes are heavy and fluttering. “Feels so, so good.”
It doesn’t take long for your orgasm to teeter around. It’s almost embarrassing how fast it comes, but Michael congratulates you for it. “I want you to cum,” he mumbles, scissoring his fingers steadily, “You’re almost there…good. Let it go.”
You lock up. He keeps pace. Your heart throbs, your clit in tandem. You gasp loudly, “Oh my f—hmmm, yes!”
It’s cute how you still keep yourself from swearing and vainly using the Lord’s name. As if that matters. He’s breaching your marriage, in your marital home, mere moments after you ended BIble study. In the living room where you and your husband sit, across from the dining room, where you dine, beneath your bedroom, where you sleep.
This moment has stamped itself aggressively in your home. Everywhere you go, you’ll remember how a boy at least six years your junior fingered you senseless—every thrust a scoop away of your brain—pushing you to your orgasm faster and better than your husband ever has.
You thrash slightly, mewling his name saccharinely as he fucks you through. Just as tender, as tentative as before. Almost sweet—no, cherishingly sweet as he kisses you one last time. It feels final, like no questions and no conversation.
His hand pulls out of your skirt and his wet fingers graze your face, tiptoeing to your lips. He doesn’t push them all the way in, but just enough to intrude over the fat of your swollen bottom lip. Just enough to gloss it, and kiss the taste right off you.
It’s like there’s something sacred in your mouth, something he needs to revere impersonally. He’s not forceful but impassioned—a scavenger with a goal.
And then finally, he pulls away. Your lips are still pursed, eyes still closed; you hesitate to let it go. Your bottom lip is between his teeth until he lets you go, and kisses your warm cheek.
“Same time next week?” He asks.
You don’t answer—not really. A slow, hazy nod happens before you can even truly process what has happened.
He just lets himself out.
When he’s gone, the house returns to its usual silence. It’s almost darker. You slide down the wall, crouching into a squat, and cry into your palms.
—-----
You cleaned yourself and the house up and started preparing dinner. It’d been decided that you were going to make spinach-stuffed chicken breasts since the morning—you usually save it for special occasions, but Noel requested it. Something about a craving, about homeliness, he said.
It took you longer than it should have to prepare the chicken. It was just…the action of stuffing the chicken, using your fingers because they’re much more effective, and feeling the wetness, the folds of the slices brushing against you… You couldn’t do it, not without thinking about Michael, about what you had done.
How were you going to face Noel knowing that, hardly an hour ago, a random young man fingered you knuckle-deep in your living room? Under the portrait of God that hangs above the mantle, under the wedding memorabilia. How did he look at you after his first time with Elsa?
He didn’t look guilty, or at least you don’t remember him appearing that way. He looked pensive, but he always does. Noel is an observer, a silent watcher. Nobody could keep a thing from him. You tried, during your second year of dating, to try and surprise him for his birthday, but he saw right through it. He still played along to humor your kind efforts. He doesn’t really do that kind of thing anymore.
And he can’t observe you anymore. Or he just doesn’t—he chooses not to. It would beg him introspection, real growth, the kind of thing unbecoming of a 42-year-old leader.
So you wear that same pensive look, and plate his food. A large heap of mashed potatoes, the bed for the steaming, fat chicken breast. An island of string beans ropes around the potatoes. And you set it before him at the table, negligent to kiss his temple, the way you always do. You fill his glass with water. Then you do for yourself, and join him.
Noel feels that you’re in a mood. He says grace; you commence dining. But your movements, the look on your face— “Is something the matter?”
“Hm?” You hum. You don’t look up from your plate. You’re just cutting away at the breast, sawing it apart. The knife scratches and digs into the china. Noel cringes, but you don’t. You don’t do anything but pretend.
“Hon,” he says, his utensils clattering to the plate. He wipes his mouth with the napkin. “You’re cutting up the plate. It’ll be scarred.”
You smile and stop cutting. “Nothing’s wrong. Everything is peachy.”
Peachy. You want to laugh at yourself.
Noel isn’t humored, and he doesn’t find your answer sufficient. “Are you sure? How was the Bible study?”
You begin cutting again and sever a chunk. You fork it into your mouth demurely, nodding and covering your mouth as you speak, “It was fine, same as usual,” you laugh. “We have a few new people. Wendell brought his children; they’re older now. A few fresh faces, young adults. I spoke to one…Michael. He’s..quite an interesting case.”
“Michael…” Noel repeats. “I feel like I’ve heard that name before.”
“It is a common name, dear,” you laugh at him. He joins in, but it’s quite apparent to both of you that nothing is quite funny. It just makes things a little less quiet. “You might have, though. He’s the blond boy with the dyed ends.”
“And the tattoos. The homeless one.”
You blink a few times. You fork another cube of chicken into your mouth, “He’s not homeless.” You chew.
Noel takes a sip of water. “Oh. I heard that he was.”
“He’s not,” you say, all too quickly. “He’s found a place to stay for now. But who knows how long that’ll last. He’s in need of guidance, I feel—I think we could help him.”
“I think you can too.”
You shoot him a glare. He doesn’t see the way you’re looking at him. He never does; nothing you do is of note. You stab the collection of string beans. Three pick up on the prongs. One falls on the way to your mouth. That makes you want to laugh, too.
“He says he’s athletic. Maybe you could start up the football club again.”
Noel shrugs, “Perhaps,” he says. “That’d be taking me away from you even more. Would you be okay with that?”
He says that as though he’s present when he’s around. If anything, you’d prefer the distance. It’ll make it easier for when you finally gain the courage to leave in the middle of the night.
You shrug, trying to appear tentative, like it matters. “I’d be okay with it. You’d be servicing the community, enacting God’s will. The youth could use it. Michael, definitely.”
He clears his throat. “How old is Michael?”
“I’m not sure, I never asked. Twenty, maybe?”
“He’s not that young.”
“We married at twenty-one. We were kids.”
“I was twenty-five. I knew my rights and wrongs, then,” he says, swallowing a mound of potatoes. “I knew I loved you and wanted to spend the rest of my life with you.”
You smile. He flatters, but there’s no real charm anymore, no spark. They’re just words without meaning. “I did too, but we were still immature.”
He lets you win. You aren’t receptive to him anymore; you’re pulling away.
“I’m sorry.” He says.
You drink from your glass, “For what?”
“For Elsa, for everything,” oh dear God. “I never meant to take seventeen years of your life and throw them away—”
“Noel, please, let’s not get into it tonig—”
“I’ll say it until I can’t speak anymore. I owe you that,” he sits back, scooting the chair. He can’t stand when you keep him at bay now; it feels like a punishment. You wish he could move on, you wish he would let you move on, but he just keeps reminding you. Elsa, Elsa, Elsa, the bitch won’t release your marriage.
He gets up and walks over to you. He takes your hands. You stifle your reluctance. “I’ll see about the club. And this Michael kid…I’ll check in on him myself. I’ll do my best to help you, my love.”
“Thank you, Noel,” you say.
He just hums and kisses you on your temple. And then he leaves you alone at the dinner table. You barely ate; he ravaged the plate. He can be gluttonous in that way, slothful in how he leaves you the clean-up.
Your husband is a sinner, but he likes to play Prophet. Who are you?
—-------
It’s been two weeks.
You’ve talked to Michael here and there, learned a few new things about him. One: he’s a bastard. He has a sharp tongue and is not afraid to be callous. That smile can and will be a farce—he’s like an anglerfish: bright and enticing, hiding a bite.
Two: he doesn’t have a job, doesn’t go to school, and he never really did. You asked him why, and he tensed up. “My father just didn’t care,” he said. You didn’t press further.
He can be sensitive; he won’t talk to you if you’ve offended him. You’re trying to help him regulate through the word of the Lord. He gets special time with you—you don’t have much going on these days. Not many are seeking life-support from the woman who couldn’t satisfy her husband.
You’d taken him to one of the Sunday School classrooms. There are lots of materials in there. You didn't use them; you just talked. He told you his friend, Ness’s family, is insufferable. He hates staying there with them; he’d rather be homeless again.
You asked him why he stays, then? “This could be the opportunity to find a job and save up. Who knows if, or when, they may change their mind.”
He laughed at you. “You don’t know what it’s like out there. Noel gives you everything you need.”
“Not everything,” you said. It got a little heavy, then. “My needs and his perception of them are completely different. I want a lot more than you could imagine.”
“Me too,” he said. It was said like checkmate. He leaned back in the small chair. “I want a lot of things I can’t have.”
“Why not?”
He cocked his head to the right. His shaggy bangs fell over his eyes. You could still tell he’s staring right at you. “I’m not the protagonist. I don’t get blessed with fortune and good karma.”
“You could,” you argued, “you can control your narrative, you just have to take charge.”
“And then what?”
“And don’t let it go. Never let the universe get the element of surprise. Be the idealized you, be in control.” You told him. You were almost talking to yourself. Saying the quiet parts of your prayers out loud. “What is one thing that you want?”
“More than anything?”
“Or in general.”
Michael paused. And then he shrugged. “What about you?”
You figured you would answer; it might make him more comfortable. One thing you want… “A new life.” You said. “A life where solitude is foreign. I want love, vigor, freedom. A life with real meaning, not just to prove to everyone that I deserve to live. If people could stop looking at me like I was stupid and pitiful all in one, I would be happy.”
“Why don’t you just leave him then? It can’t be that hard.”
You laughed, almost in disbelief. He could be naive. “It’s so much harder than you would think. I owe him my life—I love him. He’s my husband.”
“You deserve better than that,” Michael said it so matter-of-factly, so coolly, it didn’t dawn on you as being loaded. He said it as an affirmation, a reminder; you took it with a smile.
“Thanks. You do too, Michael,” you grinned. “What is it that you want in life?”
His smile teetered on cheshire. “Freedom’s a hot commodity.”
Three: He likes you.
He likes to talk to you, to pick your brain. He lingers, knowing you’ll always find your way to him, and that you’ll always humor him. Something philosophical, something immature, something taboo—he likes to wade around in that pretty little head of yours, find what makes you tick. —Or, what about you makes him tick.
And he likes to touch you. He told you you have soft skin, and you smell nice. It was a mumble, it just kind of came out mindlessly. You appreciated it nonetheless.
You hugged him that night. He lingered in your presence. He got almost shy, endearingly boyish as he leaned forward. “Can you kiss me?” He asked you, quietly.
You didn’t answer; you just obliged him. The kiss was tender, tamed, chaste. You didn’t give too much of yourself in it, but he wouldn’t let you go. His hands pushed your back; he held you caged in his arms until you really kissed him, the way lovers do.
He left after that. Neither of you got an answer as to why he asked. Maybe he just needed it, something soft and real and comforting. Who knows.
It left your stomach in an uproar, though. You couldn’t sleep that night. You tossed and turned, and then you gave up. You rocked Noel awake; he woke with a deep grumble. “What’s the matter?” he asked.
“I need you,” you whispered. “I’m sorry for waking you.”
Noel immediately dispelled your apology. He glanced at the clock to his right. It was 1:43 in the morning. “It’s late.” He said.
You nodded, “I just…I’m feeling a little restless. Touch-starved. …It’s been a while.”
“We have service this morning. We’re doing baptisms,” that was his way of denying you. He rolls over, pulling the covers up over him, “You should get some sleep.”
You got out of bed and headed for the bathroom. He was already fast back asleep by the time your feet hit the floor. The next ten minutes were spent working your orgasm out of yourself quietly. It went faster when you imagined Michael and his tattoos and his melodrama. How weirdly charming he was. How he was oddly infatuated with you, and you him.
Now, he sits at your dinner table.
Apparently, sometime last week, between your conversations and moments, Noel had found him. They talked a little—about what, you do not know. Noel refused to divulge details—and he had extended a dinner invitation. You don’t know why he did that, either. And for some reason, Michael agreed.
You made Mongolian beef and rice for dinner. It was next up on Noel’s meal plan. He wasted no time in digging in.
“This is delicious, Mrs. Noa,” he compliments. You cringe at him calling you that. He’s never said that to you before.
You gracefully accept the compliment. “Thank you, Michael.” Your eyes lock. He’s enjoying this. Does he see your discomfort? Your husband doesn’t.
Noel clears his throat. “Michael,” he starts, “did you get a chance to look at that program list I gave you? Anything catch your eye?”
“No,” the blond says, “I’m not interested in working in the church.”
“Oh. You didn’t mention that when we spoke.”
“I figured I’d let you pass along some options. Something might’ve clicked, could have been something to bide my time,” He says, and his eyes are on you. Noel follows his line of sight, and you look down at your plate, pushing chili peppers around.
“What are you interested in?” Noel asks, his words like an exasperated sigh.
You reach out to him, “Remember, hon, I mentioned the football club. Any word about that?”
Noel nods slowly, shoveling rice in his mouth. “Oh, yeah. Didn’t hear back. Remind me to check tomorrow morning.”
That’s code for he didn’t check in the first place. You know your husband well—he can be a fool. He must figure you one.
“I don’t have many interests. I’m just getting by,” Michael answers, diffusing the beats of tension.
Noel flares his nostrils, “That’s no way to live, is it?”
“It isn’t by choice.”
“It is, isn’t it, though?” Noel asks. He’s keeping an even tone, a noncombative expression. It doesn’t work to diffuse Michael. “You left your home, you neglected to ask God for clarity—”
“Noel—” you say, trying to stop him. He can get so impassioned sometimes, and all he says are the wrong things. He’s brought you to tears countless times that way.
He doesn’t listen to you, though; he never does.
“What is it you think Divine Eyes can do for you, that you cannot do for yourself? What do you think my wife can do?” Now he’s reaching out to hold your hands, now he claims you.
“I never asked for anybody’s help.”
You pull away from him. “I took it upon myself. I needed something to do, having been relieved of most of my duties.”
Noel straightens up. He clears his throat again. “I still feel there’s room for introspection.”
“That’s okay,” you nod, “everyone is entitled to their opinions.”
Michael takes control of the mood again. His lips smack apart, “What kind of things did you use to do, Mrs. Noa?”
“A few community outreach things. We have a shelter for the unhoused and vulnerable youth, I did marriage and womanly counseling, and things like a community garden, the choir, Bible studies, of course, and I was in charge of the Sunday School system,” you say. You didn’t realize how much you did, how important your work was, until you finally said it out loud. The smile on your face falters, and you shrink. “But, when Noel and I took a step back, my duties were split among the sisters. I only get Bible study and Sunday School, now.”
Noel tries to lighten you up, pinching your cheek. “It’s only temporary, dear. It’s just the optics right now, we have to ease back into these things.”
“You got right back to work though, didn’t you, Pastor Noa?” Michael asks, drinking from his cup. “Right back like you never left.”
“It is my church. I have a duty to fulfill, a divine right from the Lord.”
“You don’t think the Lord values Mrs. Noa’s work? Shouldn’t she fulfill her duty?”
“She is—”
“Michael—” you try to interject.
Noel speaks over you, a bit aggressively. “She keeps this house together. She keeps me sanctified. She is the crux of my priesthood; I would have nothing without her. Right now is simply not her time. Patience is a virtue, and my wife is nothing but virtuous.”
“Wow. What an inspiring relationship.”
—------
“Please lead me in the right direction, steer me clear of hindrances and sin,” You mumble. It’s late. About ten PM. Noel trekked off to sleep, but not before asking you to show Michael to the guest room.
You paused. “What?” You asked.
“I offered him to spend the night before dinner.” He said, flatly. “Is that alright with you?”
It’s a little too late to ask, you thought. Michael is already here, and Noel’s already on his way to the shower. You would have to drive him, and you're no good at nighttime.
“It’s fine.” You said. He kissed you on your temple, and took his leave.
Michael was perched in your living room, nursing a glass of fruit punch, watching TV. He notices you instantly.
Not much is said during your trek to the guest bedroom. Michael takes the time to be a silent observer: your home is a chapel to worship the past. The hallway starts with a collage of photos, capturing your wedding in time. You looked so happy, so young. You were gorgeous in that dress.
A line of photos stretches down the hallway. The two of you as children, the two of you at ceremonies, receiving rewards, being a partnership. There was a point where all these images were more than distant memories. A lot of the doors are closed. The ones that are ajar lead into dark, cold rooms. It makes him realize that, besides your feet shuffling down the hall, there is no sound. You would never think someone else lives here. It’s so lonely.
“Here you are,” you said, gesturing into the room. It’s model, almost like an editorial style. “Noel and I are the door right at the end of the hall, if you need anything. The bathroom is across the hall.”
He didn’t say much. He just thanked you quietly. You didn’t linger; you left the room and escaped to your studio. You dropped to your knees and grabbed a pillow and groaned deeply, frustratedly into it.
And then you sat down, clutching your pillow in silence.
What are you doing? What is happening?
You needed guidance, so you started praying on it. An hour later, you’re still on your knees, fervently begging brevity.
“Whisper Your wisdom into my spirit; remind me that I am in Your image, and grant me the discernment to follow where You lead,” you clutch your hands tighter, leaning weakly against your altar. “Heavenly Father, I come to you in a time of need. Help me trust in your plans—”
“Can’t sleep either?”
You nearly jump out of your skin. You whip around and find Michael leaned in your doorway, laughing at your reaction. You sigh in relief, holding your chest. “Please knock next time,” you say softly. There’s a tiredness in your tone, an exhaustion etched over you. “And no, I cannot. My head is quite busy. Same for you?”
He steps into the room without invitation. You don’t question nor correct. He takes a gander around. “I have a hard time sleeping in unfamiliar places.”
“Oh,” you react. “I’m sorry. Would you like some melatonin or…”
“No.” He walks over to you and perches in the bay window. It’s not that comfortable, but your pillows make it better. “Just wanna talk to you. D’you mind?”
You don’t. You really don’t.
You roll out of your kneeled position, turning to rest your back against your altar, bringing your knees to your chest. You adjust your gown over your legs. A silence passes along. “Sorry for dinner, by the way. It’s been eating away at me.”
“Why?” he asks.
“There was a lot of tension. I don’t know why Noel was acting like that.” You tap your toes against the ground in an unheard rhythm. You’re shrinking. Your eyes are so far away. “...He gets like that sometimes, it’s never made any sense. I think he’s bad at his emotions.”
“He talks like that often?”
“He apologizes after. He’s not a perfect man.”
Another beat of silence dwarfs the room. It’s getting thicker, it’s getting harder to swallow. You have to clear your throat, something tries to wedge its way in.
Michael adjusts his position in the window. The soles of his feet sit on the velvet cushions. He feels a type of luxury disgustingly enviable card between his toes. You have so much, but it means nothing to you without love. What is that about?
He would kill to live in a house like this, with photos to cement milestones, with the essence of love, no matter how distant it grows. At least it exists. At least he’s willing to fake it. But you aren't happy; you would kill to get out of here.
“Can I ask you an intrusive question?”
A smile breaks across your face, “Sure. Why not?”
“What was your relationship like at first? What about it justifies this?”
You’ve asked yourself that same question. You met Noel at 17; he was 22. He was the teacher’s aide of your Homiletics class. You were friends for a while. He asked you out on Christmas Eve, two years later, under the mistletoe. He was nice, he was so sweet. It was no brainer that you fell in love with him.
A year later, he proposed on New Years day. He had just started at a new church, a fresh start in his seminary work. New people saw him, and perceived him—you were the only constant in his life, the only thing he could count on. He knew then, when nothing urged to keep you around, and he couldn’t see the world without you, that you were meant to be his wife. God sent you to him for a reason. You cried and said yes. He showed you a world of trust and sanctity, love within limits. He took his time with you; he never made you into someone else.
It was perfect. Your wedding was extravagant; he made sure the day was perfect for you. And he took your virginity that night, and you his. It was so romantic. It was clumsy and awkward at times, but it couldn’t have been any different. He made love to you like that always. Your body, your existence was his vice.
You had your problems, like all couples. You fussed and argued. He’s so methodical, so particular, and angular. He lets loose on his terms. He seemed to always prioritize the wrong things. He was focusing on ascending the pastoral ladder, then opening his own church, then dominating the greater city area. He became a king, and your relationship became a symbol. Your needs, your wants, your dreams, were shelved. They could wait; it was his time.
He neglected you. You got lonely. You felt undesirable. He had no urgency to rebut your insecurities. He found comfort in Sister Elsa—she ran the community garden with you. She was in your home, she ate your food, she had your companionship and trust, and she still stepped into your marriage. He let her in.
Never in your bed, he said. Sometimes in the car, most times at her house. It wasn’t completely sexual; sometimes he went to just talk. She listened. He didn’t love her, but he depended on her deeply. He was going to stop soon, but they got caught before he could. Ms Lenoire, the gardener, caught them in the parking lot. She was bent over in the backseat of the car, he was choking her from behind—
“Have you ever been in love, Michael?” You ask him.
“No.” He says.
“Me neither,” you admit. It feels like a weight lifts off you. You slump to the left. He pulls his feet back, giving your head the space to loll over. “I was so young, I wasn’t thinking. Everyone just kept telling me that God blessed me, that my life had finally found meaning. It felt like it was the right thing to do. Everyone said it was love. I didn’t know otherwise—I don’t know otherwise.”
“Is that what matters most to you—love?”
You scoff, “Don’t judge. When your entire existence is said to be a vessel of love, you yearn for your meaning.”
“You mean a lot…” It comes out fast, but he stops himself. His voice dies, and he hesitates to keep speaking. His eyes look out of the window, instead. “You sell yourself short. You’re the only person in this world that’s okay.”
His words make you laugh. You nudge his calf, “I’m just okay? And what about your friend..um—”
“Shitty Ness,” he grumbles. “He doesn’t count.”
Your eyes pull up his legs. Oddly muscular given his lean frame. They fill out Noel’s old sweats well. You swallow.
It’s loneliness, it’s ostracization. He’s a warm body, and you’re cold. You subconsciously lean forward. “I was praying for guidance. There’s so much confliction inside of me.”
He cocks his head, “What about?”
You just look at him. He is a part of the problem; surely he knows this. His touch, his eyes, your connection—you dance in the shadows where only he can see you, and you feel alive. You feel excited; the thought of him renders you girlish. Replays of your conversations lull you to sleep.
What does any of it mean? Why is it happening?
“I don’t know what your touch means, and why I yearn for it. Am I drawn to you because I’m restless, or because you are beginning to mean something to me? Do I want to leave my husband because I hate him, or because I like you?”
Michael just sneers. He can be rude in that way. “Sorry,” he says. It sounds sincere, almost unlike him. “I got in that pretty little head and fucked it all up.”
And his hand is reaching forward, patting and rubbing the crown of your head. You roll your eyes and swat him away. “Shut up.”
“You didn’t…mess anything up. You just showed me things differently…” You turn to look up at him. He looks so normal perched up there. Unholy. You wonder what it’s like to be him. It’s like you want to crawl into his brain, maybe even under his skin, and feel freedom. “Can I ask you something?”
His nails scrape against each other. He nods.
“That night, when you…When you touched me, why did you? What made you do it?”
The question has been eating away at you ever since it happened. You didn’t even do anything for him. He just kissed you and brought you to your orgasm, and left. Why?
He laughs again, this time a little lighter, not directed at you. Like he’s in disbelief, or maybe embarrassed. You don’t know. You don’t know how to read him.
But he just wipes his face, leaning on the hand perched on his thigh. His shoulders roll. “Because you wanted me to.”
“How do you figure that?”
“You did, didn’t you?” He shifts again; he’s sitting upright, now, scooting down the window. Your head is beside his thighs. You can smell him—he smells like sin, like fantasy. Your eyes flutter. “You didn’t push or pull away, you didn’t fight. You didn’t tell me to stop or wait. You gave yourself up the minute I touched you.”
You wipe your face, shaking your head with your palms on your eyes. It’s embarrassing. It’s true. You see it clear as day: you didn’t fight him, you pulled him closer, you begged him, you praised him. Something inside of you had woken that day, and it clawed for something, someone, and he just happened to be there.
Now, you just happen to want him there always.
You sigh. Deeply, defeatedly.
Michael slinks his arm around your shoulder. It pets at your shoulder, awkwardly, but akin to soothing. His touch is favorable; you don’t mind it. You lean in.
A long moment passes like this. And it’s quiet—so quiet, almost inky. His fingers tap on your shoulder, then along your collarbone, then up your cheek. It’s soft. They tiptoe across. Then they reach your lips. Your eyes look up, you try to catch his visage in your peripheral. It’s a wordless question.
He answers: “You really need me, don’t you?” It’s a whisper, it’s a truth hesitant to be spoken aloud. His words feel tingly. They make you shiver. You go to reply, but you don’t know what to say. Your lips smack and hover apart, and those tiptoeing fingers tread right in. Your brows furrow, but you let them intrude. You let them press on your tongue and poke around your cheeks. You let him feel you from the inside out, dancing in the heat of words left unsaid.
It feels weird. It’s not something you’ve ever done before. Noel never experimented with you. It was always missionary, always praise, always kissing. He didn’t even like it when you sucked his tongue once—you didn’t get to orgasm that night, the mood had died.
He did with Elsa, though. They were caught in the backseat of his car—your marital car—with him mounting her, locking her head between his bicep and forearm. His fingers were in her mouth, that’s what Lenoire said. She was a drooling mess. She looked like a cheap slut. He liked that, though; that’s why it happened the way it did.
You like it too. You like how Michael is moving your head around, how he’s pushing them as deep as he can with this angle, how he’s stretching the corner of your lip out. It lights a fire in your gut when he hits your gag reflex. You tear up a little. It’s good.
And then he stops. He pulls his hand out of your mouth and scoots away some. You track his movements, and your eyes meet. You wonder how your eyes look right now, if they’re as pitiful and wanton as you feel they are. He narrows his at you, smiling snakily. “You gonna come up here?”
You stand up and sit beside him. He’s left you a little space to squeeze between your pillows and his leg. He makes it worse, scooting impossibly closer, hostaging you against the wall. His damp fingers hold your jawline, and he kisses you in the way he always does.
He breathes you in deeply and then exhales, breaking into your mouth with his tongue. His lips feel like they match yours perfectly, like the way they slot and smooch was predestined. It makes you loosen up, the way you always do, and he presses into you harder.
His left hand finds yours on the side of his face and takes it, guiding it down his body. Your fingers chastely make out the lines of his body through Noel’s old tee. He brings your hand to his lap, where a low tent perches. Your breath hitches. Your fingers shake.
“Do you need me?” He asks lowly.
You chase his touch; you lean into him. “...Yes.”
He kisses you fleetingly. An acknowledgement, maybe even a praise. “Good,” he mumbles. His hips buck into your hand, and you instinctively roll your palm against him. His voice rumbles in his chest; he traps it there. “I need you too.”
Your lips connect again. His hands shoot to your waist and pull you on top of him. Your knees dig into the velvet cushions, your feet tap at his knees. You still kiss him, fervently, like you’re dying of thirst and he’s the last drop of water on earth.
And your hips move all on their own—through your clothes, your clit kisses his bulge, and a spark of pleasure waves under your skin. You moan quietly into his mouth, and you work on chasing that feeling.
Desperation slowly starts to build. The room starts to get warm. His touch migrates up your nightdress, over the cotton of your panties, and up your back. He presses you forward—he hugs you, pulling away from your kiss to nuzzle against your skin and breathe you in.
“You smell so good,” he mumbles against your skin. He kisses your neck, and his hands hold you at your ribcage. Your heart beats excitedly. Could you feel his if you touched him there? “Undo my pants,” he instructs, “take my cock out.”
A grin pulls at your lips, “No need to be crass.”
But you oblige him anyway. You untie the sweatpants and loosen the waistband. Your hand surfs into his underwear. He sighs, “We are crass; this is crass.”
“I think I like it,” you mumble. Your hand wraps around his hard-on, and he hisses at your cool touch. You hesitate for a second, but he nods, and you hold the waistbands at bay as you pull him out. He’s bigger than Noel. Noel’s cock is stumpy and fat—it stuffed you full, and it was always a fight to get there. Michael’s is slender and tall. It stands proudly at attention. The light from outside the window catches on the bulbous head; pearly precum bubbles over. Crass.
“I know you do,” he says. Your eyes stay glued in his lap, so you miss his teasing smile. His grip pinches at the skin beneath your breasts, then kneads it, like you’re putty. “You’re a crass woman. Cheating with me while your husband sleeps upstairs.”
You shake your head. Heat swarms in your face. You can’t keep your expression straight; there’s no denying it.
“Give me your hand,” he says, and you oblige. He takes it, curves your fingers like a cup, and brings it to his mouth, dribbling a small pat of spit into your palm. “Touch me,” he says. He leans forward, kissing your jawline, “Betray him.”
Your eyes flutter as he kisses under your chin. Your left hand sits at the base and your right slowly traces its path back down. The tip knocks at your pinky knuckle, and you turn your hand to palm it. He sharply inhales, then shakily exhales as your hand slides down, then around, then back up. Your wrist flicks naturally—it’s like second nature to you.
Michael’s dick feels bigger when you stroke it. It feels eager and warm. It feels heavy. The veins thump when you trace the head, his balls clench when both your hands wrap around him. You’ve given Noel plenty of handjobs. This is the first time that it feels rewarding: you sit above Michael, you watch his face curl up and his mouth ghost over quiet sounds, you are in control.
Be it betraying your husband, or servicing yourself, you find an exhilaration in this moment. You wish to clench your thighs, to temper that ache between your legs. You lightly rock on his glutes.
His hands go back down your back, right under your panties. The middle and ring fingers of his left waste no time in prodding at your weepy hole, taking the plunge, and making you whimper.
And suddenly, synergy is found. The room is quiet. The wet schlicking sounds are the loudest, and they increase, but your dry, heavy pants are a close competitor. You feel like you’re ready to cum. Your clit drums away, and your stomach is doing sommersaults.
Dexterous fingers flick and flex inside of you—they hit your g-spot, and an uncontrollable, whiney moan slips out. He shushes you. “The door is cracked; he could hear you, catch you like this for me.”
That doesn’t move you. Your brows are so tightly knitted. “I don’t care…I wanna..I wanna c-cum,”
Michael laughs, “Then let me fuck you.” He smooches your lips. His ministrations come to a slow stop; you follow his lead.
It takes a second of maneuvering. You sit up on your knees, he pushes your panties to the side. You hold his shoulders, and he holds his dick; he angles to find your entrance. Suddenly, you’re nervous, like it’s your first time. It feels so stupid, but you tap his shoulder, “Michael,” you whisper, “Go slow.”
He coos. “Aw, been a while?”
“Shut up,” you quip, feeling embarrassed. Because it has been a while, it’s been far too long. Two years, almost halfway to three. You were lost, and he found Elsa. She put out, kept him busy and satisfied, and when you were ready for him, there was nothing to give.
You’ve practically dreamt of the next time you’d be taken. It feels like it’s coming to fruition, almost better than you could imagine. The intrusion, almost foreign, almost taxing, melts into familiarity, into wantonness, within seconds. That held breath tumbles out like a whimper. Michael keeps you steady as he lowers you down, but that doesn’t keep your nails from clawing into his shoulders. Your core feels warm. Your stomach feels tight. Weirdly enough, you feel like you want to cry.
“Fuck…you’re so..fuck,” Michael exhales. He groans, throwing his head back against the window.
“Michael,” you whine, your voice cracking. “I c-can’t— it’s too much.”
He rolls his hips; they lift ever so slightly, and you mewl. Your voice is like a viscous liquor. He wants to swallow it. He could get drunk off you.
“You can,” he says. He swallows thickly, “Oh, fuck, you can. Go slow.”
You close your eyes. When you do, it feels like you’re falling into him, like your bodies are melting into one. Everything feels warm and soft. Memories can’t replicate the feeling that comes with another human being touching you, guiding you up and down, up and down, until confidence dawns over you, and you take the reins. How it feels when his hands push up your nightgown over your chest, and your hardened nipples are pecked, then licked, then enveloped. That heat in your chest, those stars in your gut, that bliss in your lungs is unique—it’s primal, it’s what you need.
Michael laps at your nipple, sucks and blows on it like it’s his lifeline. Your hands on his shoulders soon find purchase in his long, messy mop of hair, gripping and tugging and clawing at his scalp. Every passing second, every beat you slide along, feels better and better. You chew hungrily at your own lip, fighting to keep your moans quiet.
But it’s hard. It’s so hard—you just want to scream his name. His feet firm their stance and he’s bucking up into you. You meet the hilt for the first time and yelp so loud that the two of you still for a moment, finding each other’s eyes. You giggle, and then he does it again, and you moan; and then again, again, and again, until his hands are holding your hips again, and yours are slapped on the window behind him.
Your tits swing against him. If he’s lucky, the sensitive, pebbled nipples will catch on his tongue, and he’ll get to feel you clench and shiver.
Your eyes are watering. Your body chases the high autonomously: you’re fucking down on him like a wild animal, your back curving and flexing at the behest of your feverish hips. And he lets you, he meets your energy. You’ve never felt anything like this before.
Noel would have controlled you. Your hips would have been pinned down, your pleasure would be in his hands. To be, or not to be, depended on him. His endurance, his desire, his pleasure. When he said your name, it was a warning. Quiet down, relax, I’m going to cum. It wasn’t like how Michael says it: almost begging, saying it because the taste lingers on his tongue, because he wants you to hear what you’re doing to him. And he swears. He grunts against your skin. He shows himself to you.
God, he sees you. He takes you and he wants it to never end. You don’t want it to end. “Don’t stop, Micha,” you breathe, “My God, don’t f-fucking stop. I need to cum, please let me cum,”
“You swore,” he notes. His hands knead your ass, pulling your cheeks apart. There’s a sticky, gluey sound that resounds, but the sound your bodies make as they drum against each other is worse. It’s lewd, like a puddle being stomped through. He just chuckles, grinding your hips atop him. “You’re all gone, Mrs. Noa. You’re all mine,”
“Right there—please!” Your fists ball against the glass of the window. The late-night dew is scribbled away in your handprints.
He grinds your hips down again, this time rougher. His fingers dig into your skin, and your clit drags against his pelvis. “Like that?”
“Like that…God, yes.”
And he obliges you. His body is an instrument for your pleasure, and he plays it masterfully. Your sloppiness, your exhaustion, is confirmation—it’s praise. The expression on your face: hot, sweaty, exasperated, but so blissful, an amalgamation of desires newborn, longing refound, and intensity, sensuality.
Everything that has lain dormant inside of you resurrects—you feel like a woman reborn. Your arms fly to the air, and your entire body faces shivers. Your orgasm bubbles over and with a shaking, long-drawn mewl, it releases. It’s like wings sprout out of your back. It’s like you’ve touched Heaven.
Michael thrusts you through it, biting your skin to keep himself quiet. Your orgasm feels like a warm, divine cascade; you lock around him and bask his throbbing cock beneath it; you urge him to cum inside of you. Noel always pulled out, even when you didn’t want him to. His cum found home on your thighs and your abdomen. He never wanted kids; his selfishness kept you lonely and unfulfilled.
But Michael follows suit. He groans lowly, crescendoing into a broken, vulnerable moan. You moan with him. It’s so sexy, it’s so raw. He cums inside of you; you feel the throb of his cock, the thumps of his balls, the ropes splashing inside of you.
You slow, and then you stop. He holds you, he hugs you again. You hug him back, arms cradling his head in your sweaty chest. You kiss his temple, and he sighs against you. It feels like relief. You just sit there; neither of you say a thing. You just exist in each other’s arms, lost for words.
It feels like a comfort long lost, now found.
—-----
You’re glowing. You’re glowing in a way that you haven’t in a very, very long time. It surprises people around you—their eyes are always on you, always scrutinizing, and they see it clear as day.
Days pass with a blissful monotony. The only thing that seems to stick is Michael. Michael, Michael, Michael, he’s like a bad plague. You’re sick. You’re losing your mind. But you’ve never felt more alive, more sane.
A week after that night in your studio, the football club started back up. You stick around sometimes. People think it’s sweet that you’re supporting your husband, still, and they think something must have changed.
You’re not watching him. Sunglasses keep your gaze at bay; nobody sees how you gawk at Michael.
His calves and his thighs…the sun on his skin, the sweat running rampant…you used to feel that way watching Noel. He used to make you so giddy. You wanted to kiss him right off the field, but he wanted to clean up. And you can’t kiss Michael, but he lets you pat him on the shoulder. Your fingers linger, and you always lick over your lips.
You covered for Elise after she got hit with a bad fit of pneumonia. She and Helene run a fuel station for the players, and take donations from audience members. Just five euros, and they’re playing for the long game! You stood under the booth, clapping when everyone else did, grinning when eyes were on you. When the game broke, and the players stopped by for water, you greeted, complimented, and blessed them. When Michael came by, he lingered.
He let his fingers slot with yours when passing off the bottle. He took sips in your face, sighing and gasping like he really needed it.
“Refreshing?” Helene asked him.
“Yeah,” he replied, but his eyes were still on you. “I could drink your entire supply.”
Helene laughed. You laughed along with her. He wasn’t laughing; he was just staring, scraping his teeth against the tip. She noticed, of course she would, and her laughing slowed.
“You’re playing hard out there, Michael,” she complimented.
“Yeah,” he repeated, more monotone, less focused. “Mrs. Noa said she’d treat me to dinner if I got at least four goals, so I’m working for my reward.”
“I did?”
Helene grinned, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Well, you should hurry and get back out there! One more left, right?”
He just winked and went on his way.
Michael had gotten more playful, more teasing. More reckless. The subtle flirting, the mindless conversation—it’s fun. It makes you feel so alive, so young.
After that match, you’d told Noel you promised Michael dinner, an incentive to get him invigorated. He didn’t ask to tag along; he just told you you’re doing a good job with him. You thanked him, and he kissed your temple, letting you go.
You did go to dinner. The meal was okay. It was time to go home, and on your drive to drop Michael off, he made you pull into an empty, grotesque alleyway. It wasn’t romantic, nor ideal, but it was fun. He made you cum in the backseat, splayed across the center console, reaching for the steering wheel or seat necks for stability. And then you dropped him off at Ness’ house, but not before he kissed you goodnight.
A week after that, he was brought up over dinner with Noel. You were having some dry, ugly kale salad with walnuts and feta. Your fork was twirling through, and then let go when your husband called your attention.
“I’ve been thinking about something.”
“What is it?”
“Things are going so well, don’t you agree?” He asked. You nodded. That made him smile. “And you’re doing such a good job. I’m so proud of you. Michael is making real progress—he seems different.”
You got excited. You thought he was preambling into a grand reveal that you were getting your other duties back. It’d been a month, perhaps longer, since you came back to the church. People aren’t talking as much anymore; they’ve found a new taboo to gossip over.
But you kept it demure: you gave a small smile, interlocking your fingers. “Thank you. I’ve been putting my all into it…I feel like this is the pick-me-up I needed.”
“I think he should come stay with us.”
You were floored. He’d just said it plainly, like he had given up beating around the bush. It was deathly silent—clearly not the reaction he had anticipated.
“What?” You asked. “I thought… You just said I was doing a great job with him…”
“You are doing a good job,” he replied. You noticed how he subtly corrected you. It made your eye twitch. “But why give just 100% when you can give 110—150%? We have the means, why shouldn’t we?”
“Let him live here? Don’t you think that’s a bit much?”
Noel took a bite of salad. He minded his manners as he spoke, “I thought you, of all people, would be on board.”
You furrowed your brows, cocking your head at him, “And that means…?”
“You care about him, don’t you? Like you said, you’re putting in your all in helping him. Let’s put our all in,” he forked another heap of kale into his mouth. A part of you felt like this was a trap, like he knew about your sordid relationship with Michael and was trying to get you to admit it. You narrowed your gaze at him, and he sighed, releasing the utensils from his hands and leaning forward. “I want you to think about it. He could be the first in a very long line of Divine Eyes’ reformation work. If he keeps progressing, all everyone will see is how you’re an Angel among man—carrying out God’s will. You could get your hands back in with the shelter, you could revamp everything, give everyone a chance. Don’t you want that?”
He was supplementing you. As though you are a child, with a need for stimulation, while he can do all the important stuff. Michael is your new shiny toy, and Noel planned to shove him in your face to keep you in a good mood. He’d do it again and again, with whoever you set your eyes on, to tell himself that he’s taking care of you, he has your best interest in mind.
It didn’t really matter to you, anyway. You and Noel lived on completely different planets. At least the house wouldn’t be lonely anymore.
Four days later, Michael had moved in. Noel brought him over with just a single bag on his shoulder. He left you to welcome him in; he had to run. A finance meeting, something boring and too monotonous for his pretty wife.
You’d made up the guest room for him, adding a few more trinkets and decor to make it more personal. “I want you to feel at home,” you’d told him. And then you looked at the bag he set on the floor. “Is that all you have?”
“All that’s mine, yeah. Ness let me borrow some clothes while I was there.”
“Oh,” you said. You tapped your foot, pursing your lips. “Do you want to go to the mall? It’ll be a while before Noel is back, and a little more before dinner…and we could look for jobs? There’s always someone hiring in the mall…”
He walked up to you, a smile on his face, a laugh in tow. “It’s cute how you still get nervous talking to me.” He grabbed your hand in his as he walked by you, pulling you along.
You rode to the mall, windows down, music blasting. The music was secular, the station on the radio Noel never clicked on. The button was stale from neglect. Michael had laughed at you. You pushed his shoulder.
The ride was quiet, it was ambient, with the birds chatting and cars humming. There was a new brightness to the world, a color to it that you hadn’t seen in a while. It felt like a dream, or like a movie: something so distant, so unbelievable to be real. A type of relief and liveliness that came at a hard bargain.
But it was real, and it was yours. It was your hands brushing against his at the gearshift, his hands on your thigh, your heart skipping beats. Like you're a teenager again.
You had to keep your distance at the mall; people recognize you, and they gossip more than anything. You tried to warn Michael of that, “I’ve had my name tarnished enough for one lifetime,” you said.
He didn’t care. “You told me I could control my narrative…why can’t you do yours?” He asked you. “They’re all going to rot in Hell, anyway. Who cares what they think?”
You laughed, shaking your head, “That’s not right to say.”
Those blue eyes clouded when they looked at you—a premonition of the storm brewing. He licked his lips over, “Want me to get on my knees and repent?”
Blasphemous—he is a blasphemous fiend and yet, you are so enamored with him. That goofy, wide grin couldn’t be pried off your face, and your heart couldn’t stop pounding for mercy. It told you to stop holding him at bay. You’d already let him in. There is no turning back. So, you obliged him: hand in hand into the mall, careful to keep your fingers from latching. That makes all the difference; it’s the subtext in the motions.
You tried to stay a half-pace ahead of him, to make sure that if anyone saw and noted you two, it’d look innocuous; like it truly is an innocent outing, and not a makeshift, secret date. Most people did eye you. Looks of curiosity were infectious, it plagued a greater part of the mall. —Or, maybe, you were self-conscious, feeding yourself the idea that people saw you and him, and they saw a story. You felt like they saw something to laugh at.
Groups of younger, flouncier girls passed you by and their looks were born of snark. And then they’d look at him, and their gazes would soften. They might’ve begun whispering, if they were ever so bold, laughing aloud, staring. You pulled Michael all around to avoid the girls who made you feel wrinkly and sad.
At one moment, in an oversaturated Hugo Boss, you’d left Michael to try on a bundle of outfits. You were finding replacements to trousers that he handed back to you with a grimace, “Only a puritanical shithead like Noel would wear something like this. I’d rather die.” And his expression hardened. He was not amused, and dead serious. “Don’t think of it as something acceptable in your society. Go secular.”
You walked away, laughing. He could be so theatrical, so playful with his words. He has an understanding of life and language far beyond your years, let alone his own. You were back shuffling through the racks, trying to find something casual. A few pairs of straight-cut, dark wash jeans caught your eyes, and you picked them up bringing them to him.
He insisted on making you wait and marvel at his try-on haul, praising you each time the curtain pulled back. “This is much better,” he remarked, staring himself down in the mirror. There was an arrogance on his face, a pleasure. And he looked at you, “You did a good job. I’m proud.”
Your cheeks were burning hot. You had to draw the curtain, you couldn’t look at him and he found too much amusement in your flusteredness. “Hurry and get changed. I’ll go take the clothes to the register.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he sung, and your tongue swiped over your teeth. It took him a few moments to gather up everything, and he passed it off to you, uncaring that was only in his boxers behind the curtain. His tight, fit figure flexed. He caught you staring. You excused yourself instantly.
When the heap of clothes finally sat on the counter, you sighed. The cashier grinned, “You and your son find everything alright, ma’am?” She asked, scanning the tags.
You were fishing Noel’s card out of your wallet and froze. You looked back at her, your expression knitted tightly. “...My son? He’s not—I don’t have any kids.”
She laughed lightly. “My apologies,” she said, scanning away. Her bagging work was sloppy; you cringed each time the bag crinkled and wrinkled with her ministrations. “I’d just assumed. It’s not every day a couple as unique as you wander in.”
“We’re not a couple, either,” and you held your hand up, flashing the hideous emerald-cut wedding ring to her, “I’m married.”
“...My apologies, again, ma’am.”
The rest of the interaction was awfully awkward. She couldn’t stop staring at you, and at your ring. When you paid, a whopping 1785 euros on Noel’s card, you heard her immediately whisper to a coworker beside her. Something about how she would have never guessed, you must have a sugar-arrangement of sorts. It fluffed your irritation. Michael caught it as you walked out of the store, and he asked, but you wouldn’t elaborate. “She was rude,” was all you said.
And then it happened again. An older couple marvelled at the amount of bags hanging from his arms, saying “Such a kind young man, helping his mother,” the old man said. His wife tapped his chest, “Conrad hated shopping with me. Never liked to help out his dear old lady, did he?”
You narrowed your eyes. You shouldn’t have said anything, but it was bothering you. Do you look like his mother? You don’t even look alike, where could this idea even be dredged up from? “He’s not my son.” You said, rather harshly, and stomped off.
Michael couldn’t help but laugh, following after your steam trail. You weren’t amused to answer any of his questions.
Your final straw was in the food court. You tried to leave, trying to reason with Michael that you could pick something up on the way, but he begged like a petulant child—and like a weak, spineless mother, you acquiesed. How could you not? He told you he’d never been to the mall before, not unless he was stealing camping gear to sleep in inky shadows. He just wanted to try a real corndog.
He was left at a table with the bags, occupying himself with a book you picked up. He likes to read. You figured you’d nurture that healthy trait, at least. You were walking back, tray in hand, when someone had bumped into you. You both started muttering apologies, and then you looked and— “Elsa?”
“Mrs. Noa…hi,” it was her, in the flesh. She changed. She’d dyed her hair, turning her icy blonde into an ugly ginger. She’d cut it, too. The hair that used to swing down her back, that Noel no doubt tangled his hands through, was chopped bluntly at her shoulders. She looked even younger, with those big brown eyes wide as they looked at you. You saw your reflection in them. You saw disappointment. “I didn’t think I would run into you, let alone here.”
“Feeling’s mutual.” You adjusted on your feet. Discomfort wracked its way through you fast. “What are you doing back here? I thought you moved away.”
She rolled her lips against each other, “I did. …I’m just back for this weekend, visiting some friends.”
“Any reason they couldn’t come to you?”
You didn’t mean to be snarky. You were still angry; you probably always will be, but their affair wasn’t malicious. She’s young. Twenty-four, now, younger when it began. He had the power, he was in control—he would die if he wasn’t. She made a conscious decision to lie to your face for two years, but so did he. And he owed you more honesty and respect than she did, or ever would.
Despite knowing that, seeing her made you violently upset. And on that day, of all days—it was like a slap to the face.
She might’ve been able to see that on you. Her expression softened. “Mrs. Noa, I didn’t mean to cause any trouble by coming here—”
“You never mean to cause any trouble. It just follows you around,” you said, your nostrils flaring, your heart rate quickening. You tightened your grip on the tray subconsciously. “Have you seen Noel? Have you spoken to him?”
“Of course not. I meant what I said the last time we spoke. I have done enough damage to your family…I want no parts of Noel Noa, with all due respect, ma’am.”
That word. Ma’am. An age marker. You’re mature, you’re jaded, no longer a miss or even missus. Ma’am. Hearing it, again and again and again, bothered you. And it never did before, not until Elsa. Until Michael. Until there are constant reminders that your life has passed you by, and all for what?
“Please leave, Elsa.” Your voice was so quiet, she barely heard you. But you looked like you were on the brink of crumbling apart, and she knew that she was the last person you would want to help you.
She didn’t say anything else.
You stood there frozen with the tray. You would’ve stayed there all day if Michael hadn’t shown up and thrown the damned corndogs away. “That’s a waste of food,” you said. “I’m sorry I took that away from you.”
He didn’t say anything. You just went home.
Everything was normal. You didn’t even mention to Noel that you’d seen Elsa. You told Michael later that night, spinning wine around a wide glass while he raided your refrigerator. He asked you about the affair, and it dawned on you then that he was probably one of the only people around you who didn’t know. He might have heard things, most of them untrue, and he might have speculated, but he didn’t know. He never asked you until then.
You stopped wanting to talk about it after it happened. You shut down when people asked, when Noel wanted to work through it. The marriage counseling was a dud. It hurt too much to think about.
But you told him. All the raw, all the ugly, all the things that still keep you up at night. And he just listened. He didn’t ask you any questions, he didn’t give you any solutions. He just sat down and shut up, and thumbed your tears away when they started to fall. He couldn’t think of anything to say, anything that would sound right coming from his lips. He was better off saying nothing at all, and that was okay. At least he was there.
You just wanted him around. Every day, you found a new reason to drag him along. He was like your pet, or your assistant, as Irma joked, and he didn’t mind. He wanted to be around you, too.
Whether it was monotonous, like grocery shopping or meal prep or sitting in a quiet room, opposite each other, silently reading, it was you two. Or you at the football matches, even after Elise had recovered. Cheering for him, and for Noel, but mainly him. Walks around the neighborhood. Late-nights in your studio.
The weather had begun to clear, and Noel had called the pool cleaners to freshen up the ugly thing. The two of you had the first dip, and you taught him how to swim that day. He was red and flustered, so embarrassed that you were guiding him through the water, holding him up. He cursed up a storm as he kept sinking, almost drowning at a point, and you had to save him. You held him, and kissed his temple, “It’s okay,” you laughed. “I’m right here. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
He finally was able to float after an hour. You called it quits, ready to shower and get dinner ready before Noel came home, and he followed after you. You showered together. You’d only done it once before, sneaking in behind Noel one time, trying to liven things up. It was awful; he didn’t want to fool around, and you had a very awkward conversation about boundaries after.
But when Michael slipped in behind you, it was all giggles. All awkward bumping around and a lot of water all over the place. He washed your back, and you his. You traced soapy lines up the vine of thorns, and just hugged him from behind. You stayed like that, under the water, for a moment. It wasn’t long before he was turned around, and you were pressed up against the wall, with his lips on yours and his dick inside of you. The towel bar snapped out of its hinges from you trying to hold onto it. You laughed.
Noel asked you about your limp when you sat down for dinner. You and Michael exchanged a quick glance. “I slipped in the shower, earlier,” you said, evenly. You faked a wince when you adjusted your seating position. “Can you fix the bar, hon? I was holding onto it when I fell and it came down with me.”
He said yes and didn’t ask any further questions.
The following week, you started delegating time to helping Michael study. He wasn’t interested; he said that “A boring, monotonous life isn’t for me.”
And you asked him, “What type of life do you want, then?”
He paused, leaning back in the chair. His hands rifled through his hair, “A fabulous life,” he breathed, “I will want for nothing. I’ll have more than I can do with.”
“And after that?” You asked, turning to him, “Is that all? Is that what life means to you?”
He shrugged, “It doesn’t mean suffering, and waiting to be saved. I’ll be the savior.”
“Who are you gonna save, Michael?” You propped your arm on the desk, resting your head against your hand. He was so serious, so truthful, you couldn’t help but laugh.
He was still serious when he turned to you. His eyes were so bright. “You,” he said.
It made you warm, knowing he cared enough about you. He wasn’t using you; you aren’t temporary to him. You matter.
He didn’t want to study, so you didn’t make him. Your time together was spent talking, majorly, saying all of the deepest fantasies aloud. Or you were reading. Or you were making him help you cook, but he wasn’t a great sport about it. He would always find his way behind you, his hands on your hips, lips on your ear so he could ask you quietly, “Is this how Noel does it?” Just so you could hit him, just so he could make you laugh.
Or he was playing football in the yard while you perched on a lounge chair, sunbathing. Sometimes he asked you to help, “Just kick the ball back to me,” he said. You weren’t very good at it, but you did it for him.
You did his hair. The length was becoming egregious, and he’d asked you to cut it. You started to sweat a little, “Me?” You said, “Are you sure you trust me with scissors?”
“Who else?” He simply said.
And an hour later, with a computer to your right and a comb and scissors in your hands, you made an attempt. It was fun, playing in his messy lop of hair, playing barber. Noel came home while you were cutting away, stopping to peer through the door. You looked happy in a way he hadn’t seen in a long time. Perhaps in a way he couldn’t do for you.
You didn’t see him anymore. All you saw was Michael. Your hands were lost in his hair, massaging his scalp; your lips were kissing his temple. The touch, the attention that used to be all his had been robbed right beneath his nose, and he was the one who’d let him in.
He wondered if that’s how Elsa made you feel. Betrayed. Overlooked. Abandoned.
Dinner that night was a little more tense. Your feet twiddled under the table with Michael’s as you all ate in a droning quiet. There was a question hanging in the air. No one seemed to beg it. Noel just observed and ate.
“You did a nice job on Michael’s hair, hon.”
You swallowed your food, shaking your head, “I messed up the back. It’s…okay, though, I think.”
“It’s better than okay. Those motherly instincts came out—like how my mother used to give me haircuts as a boy,” He paused, to sip from his glass, and shoot a look Michael’s way. Almost like a warning. “He’s like the son we never had, eh? A nice addition around, wouldn’t you say?”
Your face instantly frowned up. You went to speak, but Michael beat you to it: “Imagine if I’d had a mom like you,” he said. And then he laughed.
Noel didn’t get the subtext, he wasn’t privy to your heart, your secrets, anymore. He just smiled softly, “Well, you do now.”
You were so upset. As soon as he drifted off to sleep, you found yourself pacing around the guest room—now, Michael’s room—humoring him with a fiery whisper-rant.
“Do I really come off as motherly—as your mother?” You asked him. It was partly rhetoric; yes, and no. You have an innate softness, an openness that’s half attributed to your faith, half attributed to your heart. It’s pure, in a way that he’s never seen before. It was hard to believe it existed, until he met you.
He shook his head, sitting up in the bed. “I’d have been blessed, though,” he said, reaching out to you. Your hand slid into his. “Everyone would’ve been jealous of me. I’d have the best mommy around.”
You rolled your eyes, feeling heat bloom under your skin. He put this cooing, teasing tone on as he spoke, tickling his fingers up your arm. You wanted to pull away, but you didn’t. “Stop that,” you said, “Don’t call me that.”
“Why not?” He drew, pulling you onto the bed. “Am I too old for that now? Should I call you mama, instead? Have I done something wrong, Mama? Have I been bad?”
“You’re being annoying. Quit it,”
And then he was fully slinking around you. Stood on his knees, hands wandering down your front, under your shirt. He started fondling your boobs, flicking and pinching your nipples that tightened instantly under his touch. You breathed a shaky breath, and he grinned, “Oh, you like that, don’t you? Like when I touch you there?” And then his lips were kissing the side of your head, his tongue tracing the shell of your ear. You were shivering. Your hands shot to his forearms.
“Micha…” you whispered. It sounded like a warning, but also a plea.
It never takes much for you. You’re easy to rile, in every way, and he loves to push your buttons. Testing the waters, seeing how far you’ll let him take you. To what extent will you go for love…
He kept kneading your breasts—soft and pliant, like the rest of you, just where to touch you to get you slumping against him, needing for his touch. He kept cooing, kept mocking you
“I’ll be a good boy for you,” he grinned. You could hear the honey dripping out of his mouth. “I’ll make you feel so good. Let me use you; let me have you.”
You nodded. It was a futile feat to fight the fire churning in your stomach, the wantonness zipping its way through you. Your body had become addicted to it, to him; it longed and begged for pleasure like it was starving. It was almost insatiable. Nothing could be done. You’d gotten a taste, and you were aptly addicted.
He pulled away from you, scooting back and pulling you flat on the bed. He climbed over you, hands quickly returning up your shirt, lips on yours. His shaggy head of hair draped over your head, encasing you in darkness. All that existed was his touch. Your hips chased him, as did your back: arching, like you were goading his palms to sink into you.
“Can you…?” You didn’t want to say it. You still weren’t used to swearing and being crass. You shifted your eyes down to your humping crotches.
His lips pecked yours. “Gotta use your words,” he whispered. And then he leaned impossibly closer, his body practically flat on top of you. He only wore boxers to sleep, and you could feel his bulge throb against you. Eager; needing you just as much as you needed him. “You’re in control, mommy—you have to tell me what you want me to do to you.”
And he used that word, just to make you squirm. He chuckled when you did so, slopping wet kisses on your face, “Don’t be shy. You can’t be shy with me.”
“You’re mocking me—stop mocking me,” you said, hands threading through his choppy haircut.
“‘M not…”
“You are…” your breath clogged in your throat; he teased your earlobe again, then down your neck. The scent of your perfume still lingered: roses and vanilla. He breathed it in, deeply, exhaling just as heavily against you. You felt his entire body deflate, sandwiching you between the mattress.
“Tell me what you want,” he mumbled. His voice wracked through your flesh. Shivers and goosebumps were born all at once. “Use me for your pleasure. Tell me how to be good to you.”
And his words are so quiet, you almost couldn’t hear him. Like he couldn’t bear to say it out loud—you figured, feeling the heat of his cheeks against you.
But he liked it when you took control, when you told him what to do. He was your pet, your assistant, as Irma joked; he’d do anything you needed him to, so long as you didn’t stop being good to him.
He likes to tease you, but you like to make him soft. Melting Michael is easy; he becomes someone else. In your arms might be the only time he becomes himself.
So, you hugged him, wrapping your legs around his waist. “Make me proud, liebling,” you muttered. You felt him tense. “Don’t stop ‘til you’re finished.”
And he took you seriously.
The duvet had met the floor at some point, accompanied by your clothes, as he fucked into you. He’d first taken you just like that: wrapped in your arms, soon burying into your chest, sucking on your nipples fervently, his left set of fingers lodged in your mouth. It didn’t take long for either of you to cum that way. You were twitching against each other, holding back your moans until a strain sat on your throat. It took him a few moments to pull away, and when he did, he pulled you on top of him, his head half off the side of the bed.
You rode him furiously, and you had to stop, reaching over the bed to grab your underwear and stuff them in his mouth. His eyes were wide, and his face was red, but he was in Heaven. He could taste and lap at the smeared pool of arousal as you fucked yourself crazily, almost biting through your lip to silence yourself. His hands took to your neck and squeezed either side, and you wheezed out, eyes rolling, orgasm dribbling out of you. It was so ferocious, intense in a way you’d yet to have seen—pure carnality.
That was lust. The richest sin of them all had peeled from the shadows and overtaken you in that moment.
You had to sit back after that, catching your breath. Michael just laid there, chasing his orgasm: one hand pumping his cock, the other keeping your panties in his mouth. He looked so erotic, like something you had to pull your eyes away from, but you couldn’t stop staring, goading him on with matching moans, silky praises.
He came all over his hand, a little on his thighs. It was something you started to do with him, something that made you feel so dirty, but you couldn’t stop. You drug your tongue up his fat, muscular thigh, taking his hand and feeding his fingers to yourself. He shuddered, taking your soiled underwear out of his mouth, “Oh, fuck,”
And that was the precursor to him flipping you over, pulling your hips back, and thrusting into you, uncaring for how sensitive you both were. The plap sound was infectious—music to his ears. And he liked how you moaned and whined against the pillow, pulling it under your chest for support. You sounded so gone, so saccharine, he couldn’t stop.
He ripped you up and held you to him by your chest, pinching and hitting your sensitive nipples. You fought tooth and nail to be quiet but it was like he wanted you to scream to wake the whole neighborhood. His hips were so violent against your ass, just snapping and snapping until tiredness looped its way through, and he just held you there, rolling up into you. You could see stars on the wall and could feel them in your veins. “Ngah– shit—!” You cursed. “I c-c—”
One hand reached to your clit, teasing and pressing at the nub; he hissed when you clenched and seized against him. “G-gonna cum?” He asked, his voice shaking.
You nodded weakly. “Fffuck yes—” you cut yourself off with a moan, your hips bucking wildly. You were so tight, so ready to combust. There was a pressure deep in your gut, one that made you heave and wriggle, and Michael fought to keep you afloat.
But you wanted to sink. You whined and cried, feeling your skin be set on fire and your vices be relieved; all that existed and mattered was how good he felt inside you. His dick going in and out and jabbing at your sweet spot, throbbing and dribbling all inside of you.
He could feel it too. And it was different. There was something so different about that moment. He just felt…primal, ignited by something lurking and dark inside of him. He felt the need to claim you, to finally take you away from all of this.
He thrusted up into you curtly. One sharply after the other. He could feel it too: the tightness in his balls, the fuzziness in his head. He licked the sweat off your shoulder. “‘M gonna cum, too, shit,” he breathed. There was a frustration, a breathlessness in him. “Gonna fill you up…‘ts not too late to make you a mommy—”
You cut him off with another moan. You were hardly listening. Your head was heavy on your neck; you lolled it over your shoulder, shadowing his hand on your clit with your own.
“‘Ll be the prettiest mommy ever…all mine—all my mommy,” He was slurring, his voice was cracking. He sounded so little, so needy, so vulnerable.
That was your final straw. It was your most powerful orgasm to date, and you’re sure you were louder than the boundaries of that room. But if Noel did wake, heard his wife being fucked to oblivion by someone half his age, you didn’t care. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was your hips autonomously rolling against him, your pussy weeping around him as he filled you completely. He moaned so squeakily, so tiredly.
And then you were done.
He released you and you fell forward, your arms catching you but soon buckling. You laid in an unceremonious hump, heaving breaths against the mattress. Michael plopped back onto his ass, falling against the mattress.
You slept in his room that night.
You woke early in the morning, and showered, and laid in bed beside Noel, as if nothing had ever happened. He rolled over and kissed you on your temple when he woke. Your little secret was safe in Michael’s room. You wanted to be safe in there, for longer than just one night.
It was beginning to feel like you wanted that forever.
—-------
Noel is gone. The annual Pastor Conference has come by, and he will be gone for the next four days. You’re not joining him this time. You declined, telling him you’d hold down the fort while he was gone.
He looked kind of sad. Maybe he wanted that time away to reconnect, in a way he has been unable to for a while now. You kissed his cheek and assured him it’d be okay. He just nodded and then kissed you deeply. He hadn’t kissed you like that in a while. It felt like a thousand words unsaid.
And then he left.
The first day, you prioritized getting everything in order. You’d been busy sneaking around with Michael so much that you let the housework get beyond you. You mandated that he leave you alone for at least four hours, and he obliged, taking to the footballs in the backyard to pass the time.
Productivity was your goal at first, and you had begun to feel bad for your affair. It was getting too wild, too much—you couldn’t rest at night without thinking of running off with Michael. And since Noel was gone, there was nothing stopping you from sleeping in his bed with him.
You cuddled at night and kissed in the morning. Things felt so much better in his arms.
You don’t know if it’s a cope or a truth from your heart that your mind is hesitant to accept. There is something in Michael so ravaging. It has taken your life by storm; your mind, your body, and somehow, your heart.
Noel is gone, but he returns tomorrow night. The house has never felt more comforting, more alive, than it does now, without him; with Michael.
You lie in bed together. It’s silent. A calming, okay silence. You’re lying facing each other; your hand busies itself tracing up his tattoo. You asked him about it a week ago, the origins and meaning gnawing at you for a while. He said it represented the impossible.
The impossible.
He notices your pensiveness. “What’s going on in there?” He asks.
You weakly smile, shaking your head against the pillow. “I don’t even know anymore,” you sigh, I think I’m going crazy.”
He laughs. “For me?”
“Yes, actually,” you say. Your eyes are zeroed on his face. You gaze at his beauty. He’s like a diamond you hand-dug out of the dirt; you behold him with soft reverence, like too harsh of a gaze could temper his sensitive, vulnerable exterior. “You’ve done something to me.”
“What’d I do?”
You swallow. Your stomach wraps in knots. You inhale, and then exhale, “You made me fall in love with you.”
If it wasn’t silent before, it is now. He hesitates to respond. You watch the blues of his eyes wash over, you can’t tell in what.
“I think I’m in love with you, Michael,” you say again, this time, a little more confused, like you aren’t sure of what you feel. And you aren’t. Your mind feels foreign, like you can’t understand anything going on in there. You just know that his presence is enough to make you giddy, that he’s weaseled his way deep into your heart and you fear letting him go. It’s been a few months with him, and they feel like the best months of your life. They feel like Heaven. He feels like God; he has saved you. “It scares me—it confuses me. I don’t want to throw myself into..something that I’m not sure of, just ‘cause I’m sick of my husband. I told you I’ve never felt love before—”
“But I make you feel something like it?”
You nod. “How can I do this to him? Aren’t I a terrible person?”
“He wasn’t there when you needed him.” He answered fast. His fingers start to trace up your thigh. “You aren’t a terrible person for going after what you need.”
“Aren’t I, though? And I dragged you into all of our mess—”
“We needed each other,” he says. He says it sternly, with finality. “We saved each other.”
You pause, swallowing his words. You did, in a way. You got Michael’s life together, for the most part. He’s found his place on the football field. Some of the church committee members mentioned national team tryouts, and he’ll be on his way in a few weeks. He pulled you out of your love drought, your attention drought. He gave you hope and confidence and freedom—you reached deep into a layer of lust you have no business in as a Pastor’s wife.
But could you be Michael’s girlfriend?
“I don’t know if I’m ready to live like this…without Noel,” you say quietly, chewing on your lip. “I don’t know what it feels like.”
Michael shakes his head. “You’ve already been living without him. There’s nothing left with him. Is it really so hard to leave?”
“He’s all I’ve ever really known.”
“And what have I shown you?”
Freedom. Relief. Boundlessness. Debauchery. Love…
Your eyes lock onto his, “You’ve shown me how to be human again.”
That makes Michael laugh a little; you join in. You could be like this with him, you could be silly and raw.
His fingers come to your lips, brushing against them, poking at your bottom lip. His eyes flicker down and up. “You must really love me to trust me with that power.” And he says it with a laugh, but there’s a depth to it. A weight that you must shoulder. An actualization that dawns like the high summer sun: blazing, and unforgiving.
werewolf shidou! and the first time he saw you he knew you were going to he his you had to be
werewolf shidou! who followed your scent around until he finally found your apartment
werewolf shidou! who watched you through your curtains to fall asleep because he just couldn’t resist himself! :(
werewolf shidou! who followed you into the starbucks the following morning
werewolf shidou! who “accidentally” bumped into you causing you to spill your coffee all over your white shirt!! (and he just can’t help but look down)
werewolf shidou! knew it was all going to work out when he gave you his phone number so he could buy you a new shirt
ok sorry guys definitely not my best </3 but I needed to post something so everyone knew I was still alive but I PINKIE PROMISE SWEARR that i will post more this month •̩̩̩̩ᯅ•̩̩̩
you don’t have to write this btw i just had like a thought while reading preacher’s son!bunny. like imagine him teaching you proper worship(aka giving him head) or like giving you a matching tattoo
UGGHHHHH and he'd be so annoying abt it too (ykw i need an excuse to write abt preacher's son!bunny)
⚠︎ WORSHIP, ORAL (M!RECEIVING), PRAISE, THROAT BULGING (SLIGHT), IF YOU'RE OFFENDED BY SACRILEGIOUS/RELIGIOUS THEMES, DNI!!
when you think of a preacher's son or daughter, you imagine a mild mannered and church heavy centered person who follows the laws of heaven and the will of the lord ─ not a man with zero remorse for his acts of sin.
which often includes something sacrilegious like fingering you in the middle of service, or aiding you in going door to door to spread the word of god only to sneak you away and give you a quickie behind the chapel.
he's annoying in the way he teases you too ─ telling saying you're off-key when singing hymns, making you recite verses from memory and poking fun when you get it wrong, playfully chastising you for wearing something "scandalous" to sunday service. he's insufferable amd even though he cracks a joke about feeling dead inside, it's you that bears the punishment of unlawful acts.
his taunting and overbearing need to guide you down the right path has you feeling suffocated, though admittedly, his sinister grin and husky voice always lures you in like a siren's song, making you feel even more like a sinner.
but one day, when he stops by your house and tell your parents that he's worried that you're not taking church seriously, you knew you were about to commit the most heinous crime against your faith.
he makes up a fake story and urges your parents to let him in so he can teach you the proper ways of worship ─ little did they know that meant you sucking his cock in your bedroom where your parents were susceptible to walking in or hearing the sinful act.
and he has no shame in it. there's no shame in the way he lowers you to your knees and unbuckles his belt. there's no shame in the way he pries your lips apart with his thumb, slipping his digit inside to feel the warmth of your mouth and the wetness spread around his finger. hell, bunny even goes out of his way to make sure you leave the door unlocked ─ so what if your parents walk in?
his crimson eyes burn into you as you tug his pants down his hips, his happy trail and the multiple crosses poisoning his skin greeting your eyes as you pull his cock from his boxers.
he watches tentatively as you take him into your mouth, the warmth of your tongue and mouth almost too much for him to bear. bunny doesn't bother lowering his voice ─ he wants you to know how well you're doing, how much he appreciates your worship. he loves the gleam in your way and the way you lean into his touch, gently patting your head and whispering soft praises.
"you're doing so well, cariño ─ worshipping me so fuckin' good," he grunts, wiping away the tear that slips from your eye with his thumb.
he's never considered himself as a god-like figure or even a holy man, but in this moment, he's never felt more like a god than he does when you bob your head faster, taking him deeper into your throat until you gag. but that doesn't seem to stop you, not even as tears blur your vision, as his cock bulges in your neck or even as your mother frantically bangs on the door, too scared to just walk in based on the obscene noises she hears.
the sounds of gagging, of guttural groaning, of soft, muffled moans and sniffling ─ it's all sickening to your mother's ears but sounds like heavenly bliss to the man you're worshipping.
a fire sets ablaze in the pit of his stomach, prompting you to hollow your cheeks and perform with vigor to get him to release, his pleasure the only thing on your mind despite the sounds of yelling coming from downstairs. even as footsteps charge up the rickety steps, bunny waste any precious second with you, pulling his cock from your mouth and giving himself a few lazy pumps.
his body shudders and just as the door of your bedroom swings open, bunny paints your face with his cum, a shaky moan of excitement emerging from his throat as you lavishes you with the reward for your worship, uncaring of the shocked and disgusted expressions etched into your parent's faces.
and yes, word spreads quickly of the vile act the preacher's son committed against an "innocent" church goer, not that he really cares. he never gave a damn about the church anyway. bunny doesn't register his father's cries and shouts of anger as he reprimands his son for "violating the sancitity of god's will". bunny just rolls his eyes, leaving his father to his ramblings ─ he had no intention of staying in this god forsaken town, especially when he had you now.
he had you sneak out of your house and meet him at his favorite tattoo parlor, wanting to commemorate a special moment for the two of you ─ and what better way to do it than with tattoos. he makes sure you get the same them in the same area, just above your navels.
they're crosses, but while yours stands upright, his is twisted and flipped upside down, signaling your continued faith and his fall from grace, his label as the antichrist.
synopsis: unhappy relationship. no service, trapped in a cabin with your boyfriend’s hot older brother, you’re faced with two options: will you save your relationship, or give up?
pairings: itoshi sae x reader
content: smut w/ plot, infidelity, established relationship with rin, masturbation (f), unprotected p in v sex, vaginal fingering, breeding, oral sex (f & m receiving), cheating on poor rin, very unhappy relationship, (rin slander but i still love him sorry)
wc: 7.5k
rin was perfect, at the beginning of your relationship. now, he barely had any time for you, and when he did, he was talking always about how he’d beat his brother and become number one. you always listened though, because you love your boyfriend.
you’ve been dating for a year and a half, and unfortunately the most interesting thing about your relationship is the sex. those sparks you felt at the beginning? looong gone.
if it wasn’t about soccer, rin didn’t care that much. and he made that very clear. his short replies, and the distance between you two was growing more and more by each second.
coming into a relationship was different for you; you were used to hookups and meaningless sex, so when you met rin, you decided that maybe it was time for you to settle down. the beginning of your relationship wasn’t terrible, and he was a lot more attentive than he is now.
every night, you’ve been sleeping with your pillow and a vibrator. rin spends all day at practice, then when he comes home, he’s too tired to pay any attention to you or more specifically, your needs.
tonight, you hadn’t expected it to be any different from how it is every night. you didn’t bother cooking dinner, he was never there to eat it anyway. when the front door opens at seven pm, you don’t run into his arms and ask him a million questions about practice, you just sit on the couch with your phone in your hand.
you both feel the drift in your relationship, but neither of you do anything to fix it.
rin drops his soccer bag, sweat sticking to his body, before he walks past you. “my mom wants us all to go out for dinner tomorrow night.”
that’s all he says to you.
you can’t help but chew on your lower lip at the sight of your boyfriend all dressed up, and maybe that’s why you’ve stuck around for so long. it sure as hell wasn’t because of the mask of indifference he wears on his face every day. his hand is cold, pressing against the small of your back to guide you through the restaurant.
you hadn’t a clue on who was going to be at that restaurant, and rin hadn’t elaborated on anything more.
rin’s mother greets you with a hug, and his father with a hug. but you aren’t paying attention to them, you’re paying attention to the male sitting across from them; magenta hair, wearing the same stoic expression as rin.
“i’m sure you remember sae, he’s staying here for a few days.” his mother says, helping you to your seat.
how could you forget? rin talks about his brother a lot, even when he claims he doesn’t care.
you smile, and nod your head as your boyfriend takes a seat next to you, oblivious to the way your eyes linger on his brother. “we haven’t formally met.” you say, looking into sae’s teal eyes.
sae barely spares you a glance, his cold teal eyes flickering over you for just a second before returning to his glass of water. he swirls it slightly, the ice clinking against the sides.
“mm.”
that’s all you get—one dismissive sound. no pleasantries, no acknowledgment beyond that single indifferent hum. his posture is relaxed but stiff, as if he’d rather be anywhere else than here in this restaurant with any of you.
his mother sighs like this is normal for him (it probably is), and rin doesn’t even react—too busy glaring down at the menu like it personally offended him.
the silence stretches uncomfortably until sae finally speaks again—though not to you directly, instead addressing rin with a tone that drips disinterest:
“you still playing forward?”
rin stiffens immediately at the question, grip tightening on his menu before he grits out, “..yeah..”
sae exhales through his nose—not quite a laugh but something close to mocking amusement. “hm.” that’s all he says before taking another sip of water like this entire interaction is beneath him.
you watch as rin’s jaw clenches hard enough you can practically hear it from where you sit.
and somehow… somehow, despite how utterly unwelcoming sae acts toward literally everyone at this table—you find yourself intrigued by him anyway.
maybe it was because he was everything rin pretended to be: cold arrogance wrapped in effortless confidence without even trying.
or maybe… you just liked things that didn’t want you back.
their mother clears her throat, after taking a long needed sip of wine. she reaches for their father’s hand, before nodding her head. “sorry for this..” she says, shooting you a look.
you wave a dismissive hand before she continues, “since our sons love each other so much, and haven’t seen each other, we decided to go on a trip for the weekend. all of us.” rin’s jaw ticks, and sae’s eyes narrow.
their father nods his head, “yeah, and there’s no getting out of it so i suggest just packing your bags and shutting the hell up. we’re leaving friday morning.”
“that goes for you too, y/n.”
your heart beat races, and you side glance your boyfriend, who looks pissed. and that might just be the most emotion you’ve ever seen on his face.
“seriously?” rin asks, and his parents nod their heads. “yeah, all of us are camping, and it’s already planned so no point in fighting it.”
“we’ve already got the cabins rented.”
camping? your eyes widen slightly but you don’t say anything. it wasn’t just going to be a weekend with rin— who’s barely acknowledged you at this dinner table, it was going to be weekend with sae too. and his lack of expression when greeting you, only made you even more interested.
sae lets out a sharp exhale through his nose—almost a scoff. his fingers tap once against the edge of the table, just enough to make the silverware rattle slightly.
“camping.”
he says it like it’s some kind of foreign, ridiculous concept. like he—someone who breathes football and arrogance in equal measure—couldn’t possibly be expected to waste his time with something so... ordinary.
his mother gives him a look that clearly says don’t start, but sae doesn’t even acknowledge it. instead, his eyes flick toward rin for half a second before sliding right past you like you don’t exist. again.
“fine.” he finally mutters, sounding entirely unimpressed by this entire situation (or maybe just life in general). “don’t expect me to enjoy it.”
rin scoffs at that—finally looking up from glaring at nothing on the tablecloth. “like any of us were going to.”
their dad sighs loudly while their mom pinches the bridge of her nose between two fingers as if praying for patience (or maybe divine intervention). meanwhile? you can’t help but notice how sae’s mouth twitches at rin’s response... almost like he finds it amusing beneath all that ice-cold indifference he wears so well.
and then — because fate has decided tonight is full Of Little Moments That Should Not Be Noticed But Are Anyway — sae shifts slightly in his seat... and somehow manages to catch your gaze again without even trying too hard about it...
this time though?
there’s something lingering there behind those teal eyes — something sharp enough to make heat curl low in your stomach before he looks away again like it never happened at all.
after that shit show of a dinner, you’re counting down the days until friday. a few months ago, you gave up on trying to peel the layers of itoshi rin. but now? you had a new mission: itoshi sae. maybe you should feel guilty, but you seriously haven’t had any fun in months.
your friends all moved on with their lives, while you were still stuck in a tasteless relationship.
could anyone blame you for wanting to have fun? if anything, your boyfriend was kinda the one who drove you to this point.
you finished packing your bag on wednesday night, you even packed your best lingerie. god only knows why; you haven’t had sex in maybe a month, so what could magically happen on this trip that you’d need lingerie? you had no idea, but you had hope. a lot of hope.
thursday night, you and rin drove down to his parents’ house so you could leave for this camping trip early in the morning.
the only thing he did do for you was help bring the suitcases upstairs to his childhood bedroom, that happened to be across from sae’s.
and fortunately for you, sae was already there.
the moment you step into the hallway, you can practically feel the tension radiating from under sae’s door. like he’s aware of your presence even before you are—like some kind of predator sensing movement in the dark.
rin’s barely glances at his brother’s shut door as he drops your bags unceremoniously onto his old bed.
“don’t bother unpacking much. we leave at five.”
and just like that, he turns and walks out—probably to go brood alone in some other part of the house. typical.
but sae’s door?
it creaks open just enough for a sliver of teal to cut through the dim hallway light... watching... waiting...
then—click—it shuts again with deliberate quietness before you can even properly process what or who was staring at you from inside that room just now.
you swallow hard against nothing in particular and tries not to think about it too much when choosing which pajamas to wear later — the conservative ones… or the other option tucked neatly beneath them In your bag where no one would see unless they were really looking.
you weren’t in the mood to deal with your boyfriend’s lack of attention towards you tonight, and you couldn’t care less about where you were right now.
you simply groan, zipping your bag up again before taking a seat at the edge of his bed. you weren’t even in the mood tonight, and that was unlike you.
whatever. maybe a shower’ll help.
even with water cascading down your body, and a hand in between your thighs — you don’t feel anything by imagining rin being the one in between your legs. you frown at yourself, two fingers pushing into you and your free hand circling your breast as you dig further into your mind.
you hate it. hate how you don’t feel guilty when you’re thinking about sae, and his slender fingers being put to work instead of yours.
you moan quietly, eyes shutting tightly as water drips down your body. your fingers work faster, and you feel yourself chasing that release you haven’t felt in so long.
and you really can’t help it when his name slips from your lips. not when you think about those pretty teal eyes looking at you.
sae pauses mid-motion, fingers still hovering over his phone screen where he’d been scrolling through some pointless messages from his coach.
his ears aren’t trying to pick up on anything… but walls in this house have always been thin. and even if they weren’t? that sound—soft but unmistakable—would have cut through steel anyway.
for a second, he just… stares at the wall separating his room from the bathroom like it personally insulted him (which, honestly? it kinda did right now). then his jaw tightens minutely as something unreadable flickers behind those teal eyes before being ruthlessly shoved back down into whatever abyss emotions go to die inside him normally.
but then a slow smirk curls at one corner of his mouth despite himself because really? of course this would happen tonight of all nights when you were stuck under the same roof for days starting tomorrow morning...
and isn’t that just fucking ironic considering how little effort rin ever put into keeping what was supposedly ‘his’ satisfied enough not to wander mentally elsewhere these days?
not that sae cares obviously.
except maybe a little bit.
because now there’s an image stuck behind his eyelids every time he blinks —water-slick skin and whispered names that don’t belong to who they should’ve belonged too--and frankly speaking? he hates how intrigued by it all he suddenly is.
he turns off his lamp with more force than necessary before rolling onto his side, eyes fluttering shut.
you should feel guilty about finishing to your boyfriend’s older brother’s face, but you don’t, not even when you lay next to your boyfriend.
the next morning, you’re sitting in between sae and rin. rin’s not facing you, but sae’s body is turned towards you. they’re both not looking at you, though. you feel like you can’t breathe, and everything feels smaller than it really is.
being in this car was just a reminder of how sad your life is; no social life, a boyfriend who ignores you, and nothing exciting happening to you anymore.
you’re a beautiful girl, you know that. so why aren’t things working? why doesn’t he try anymore?
you sigh deeply, gazing out the car window. your thoughts were eating away at you, and you hated it. you always hated thinking so much.
the car ride is suffocating—silence thick enough to choke on, broken only by the occasional static from the radio rin’s father left on too low to actually hear.
sae shifts slightly next to you, his knee brushing against yours for half a second before he pointedly angles himself away. but not before you catch it—the way his teal eyes flicker down at you once. just once. like he knows something.
and maybe he does.
maybe he heard you last night through the walls you’re now realizing are far too thin in the house full of secrets and unspoken things festering under everyone’s skin.
rin doesn’t even seem aware of how close you are to cracking open right between them; his headphones are in, eyes glued to his phone as if this entire trip is nothing but an inconvenience. which, for him… it probably is.
sae isn’t looking at you anymore—but that smirk from last night lingers like a ghost at the corner of his mouth anyway… small and cruel and knowing in ways that make heat crawl up your spine despite everything telling you it shouldn’t be there at all.
his voice cuts through the silence suddenly — cold as ever but with something beneath it now, “you should open your window.” a pause just long enough for tension to coil tighter in the air between them all before he adds, “before you suffocate.”
and oh god does THAT feel like more than just casual advice about airflow inside a cramped car ride suddenly.
“right.” you comment, leaning over rin’s lap to crack the window open.
you look at sae, “better?”
you could almost laugh at yourself, because sae spoke to you before your own boyfriend did this entire car ride. rin’s jaw ticks, and his leg bounces but he doesn’t say anything. he doesn’t need to, because you can already tell that something’s bothering him.
you press your lips together, letting the warm breeze from the moving car hit her face. your eyes are watching the splashes of green and gray from the countryside as they continue driving.
“almost there, guys.” rin’s father says, glancing through the mirror at the three sitting together in the back.
you look at your boyfriend, before reaching to grab his hand.
sae gaze flicks down to your joined hands—only for a split second—but it’s enough. the ghost of that smirk tugs at his lips again before he turns his face toward the window, as if the scenery outside suddenly became fascinating.
rin stiffens under your touch but doesn’t pull away. instead, his fingers remain limp in yours—cold and indifferent, like you’re holding a dead branch rather than the hand of someone who supposedly loves you.
his thumb twitches against your palm—the only sign he even remembers you exist right now—before going still again. sae exhales sharply through his nose at rin’s actions but says nothing else.
“you missed your exit.” sae points out flatly from beside them without even looking up from whatever football analysis is playing on HIS phone screen now instead (because priorities).
their dad curses under his breath before making an abrupt u-turn that sends everyone lurching sideways and somehow in the chaos, you find yourself pressed flush against sae’s side for one fleeting moment— close enough to catch the faint scent of expensive cologne mixed with something inherently him underneath it all— before everything rights itself again... leaving behind nothing but static electricity crackling where skin briefly brushed where it shouldn't have been allowed to brush In first place anyway.
there were two more dreadful hours in this car with the brothers, you hated every second of it. you’re the first to pull your hand away from rin’s, and all he does is side glance you. unfortunately, sae finds humor in this sad relationship you have with his brother.
“and.. we’re here!” rin’s father says, parking the car next to two wooden cabins. he looks back at his sons, and you, an oblivious smile on his face. he doesn’t know that while you’re angry with one son, you’re very interested in the other.
so great. no service. no AC. upset boyfriend. and his hot brother. all in one stupid cabin.
“of course, you three will share a cabin. we’ll take the other one.” their mother comments, shutting the car down and opening the trunk. “unfortunately, there are no AC’s so i hope you’re all okay with that. it’s only for three days, and two nights.”
you want to die. not only is it scorching hot, but you’re carrying three bags into a cabin.
the moment you step inside the cabin, the thick scent of aged wood and stale heat hits you like a brick wall. the air is heavy, suffocating—much like the tension between you, rin (who’s currently slamming his bag onto one of the creaky twin beds), and sae who lingers in the doorway for a beat too long before stepping inside with deliberate indifference.
rin doesn’t even look at you as he mutters, “i call this bed.” as if sharing a room with him was ever going to be anything but an extension of your usual routine: distance wrapped in silence.
sae, meanwhile? he drops his bag onto the other bed without so much as sparing either of you another glance—but not before you catch it: that slow drag of his teal eyes over your sweat-damp skin where fabric clings just enough to outline curves beneath. it lasts half a second at most, yet burns hotter than this godforsaken cabin ever could.
then he turns away again—cold mask back in place—and casually stretches out on his claimed mattress like none of this bothers him at all while his brother sulks across from you both, unaware or unwilling to acknowledge how quickly control of this situation could slip right through his fingers it he keeps neglecting what’s right in front of him.
“you two should get settled.” sae finally comments idly, voice laced with something dangerously close to amusement despite Its usual frost before adding, “before one of you spontaneously combusts from all this... tension.”
you sigh deeply, finally dropping your bags next to rin’s things. you cough softly, looking around the room. it’s not terrible but you definitely aren’t used to it. “you want to go for a walk?” you ask, and he looks at you. straight face, and all. that was your attempt at easing the tension.
“not right now, mom said we’re going out by the fire after we settle in.” rin replies, and your smile falters.
“okay.” you say, turning to unpack your bag. rin never fails to make you feel like a big, fat idiot. and you hate it.
rin leaves the room, off to wherever the hell, leaving you alone with sae. you stop unpacking, and just flop back on the mattress, looking up at the ceiling.
why did you even come? to attempt at getting laid by your boyfriend’s brother?
sae watches from his bed, one arm folded behind his head as he idly scrolls through something on his phone—though the way his teal eyes flick toward you when you fall onto the mattress suggests he’s not actually reading anything.
a beat passes.
then another.
finally, he speaks, his voice low enough that it wouldn’t carry past these four walls even if rin was still nearby. “you look like you regret every life choice that led you here.”
there’s no sympathy in his tone because sae doesn’t do sympathy, but there is a sharp edge of… something. amusement? understanding? either way, it cuts deeper than rin’s indifference ever could.
he shifts slightly on the bed—fabric rustling as he turns just enough to glance at you fully now with those calculating eyes. “shouldn’t have expected anything different from him.”
a pause.
“but you already knew that.”
it isn’t cruel so much as brutally honest—the kind of truth someone only says out loud when they know damn well nothing will change either way... because some people are just stuck in their own patterns until something or someone forces them out.
you prop yourself up on your elbows, looking into sae’s teal eyes before you chew into your lower lip. unfortunately, he’s right. you do regret every choice that led you here. or maybe not. because without rin, you wouldn’t be across from sae right now.
his small acknowledgement was enough to make a slight smile appear on your face, before you sigh deeply.
“it wasn’t always like this.”
sae watches you silently from his bed as you speak, listening to your words with a calculating gleam in his eyes that doesn’t quite match the relaxed stance he’s in. he’s good at reading people, this one. good at seeing past every pretty (or not-so-pretty) mask they put up so yes, he notices it—the subtle resignation on your face in the wake of her own words, the way your shoulders slump like a part of you already accepted this as normal, expected even.
and something about it pisses him off.
”rin doesn’t fix things,” he says flatly, as if stating an obvious fact. “he breaks them and walks away.”
a pause. then, with deliberate slowness, he props himself up onto one elbow—teal eyes locking onto yours like you’re suddenly the only thing in this godforsaken cabin worth looking at. “you still have time to walk away too.”
“i know,” you say, sitting up in the bed across from sae. “i know.” you repeat again, unsure of yourself.
the unspoken or not hangs between you like an open challenge. and for the first time in months? you feel something other than resignation simmering under your skin.
“but i’m not sure if i want to walk away right now.” that was bold, even for you. but it felt good. really good. the implication hangs heavy between you, and your eyelashes bat against your cheek before there’s a knock at the already cracked door.
“mom wants us to go by the fire.” rin says, looking at you then at his brother. you both sit up from your beds, and watch as rin walks away from the now opened door.
sae walks out behind you, and your heart races until you exit the cabin. the sun was already setting, and the fire was already being lit.
the fire crackles in the center of your little gathering, casting flickering shadows across everyone’s faces— rin’s stiff posture, his parents’ oblivious chatter, sae’s razor-sharp profile cutting through the dim light like a blade. you can practically feel the heat of him standing just slightly too close behind you as you both approach the circle.
sae doesn’t sit next to his brother. instead, he casually claims a spot right beside you, one knee drawn up lazily as he leans back on his hands—close enough that if you shifted even an inch? your shoulders would brush.
rin’s eyes dart between you and sae for half a second before he pointedly looks away, but not before you catch it: the faintest tightening of his jaw at how little space exists between you and sae now compared to how much there always is between you.
sae doesn’t react beyond tilting his head just slightly toward you, voice low under cover of laughter from his parents. “changed your mind yet?”
the question could mean anything—walking away from rin? staying? choosing something (someone) else entirely?
“maybe i’m still thinking.” you reply, eyes flickering from the growing fire to meet with sae’s.
“even when the answer’s right in front of you?”
the fire crackles between you all—orange light flickering across sae’s sharp features, catching the cold amusement in his eyes as he watches your breath hitch at his words.
rin’s still sitting stiffly beside you, ignoring you completely in favor of whatever argument his parents are having about marshmallow-roasting techniques. but sae doesn’t look away from you.
not when you stare into his eyes. not when your fingers fumble with a stick trying to spear a marshmallow because suddenly his presence next to you is closer than before, close enough that his breath ghosts against the back of you neck as he mutters, “you’re doing it wrong.”
and oh god—his hands are there too now (supposedly “helping” guide yours), long fingers curling over yours to adjust the angle of the stick with deliberate slowness while rin remains oblivious just inches away.
your breath hitches, and you raise your eyebrows mockingly. “oh really?” you’re teasing him, with your words and your tone. “i needed help putting a marshmallow on my stick?”
rin’s barely paying attention to the conversation happening next to him, and the ghost of a smile on his brother’s lips. you look at your boyfriend, offering him a stick.
“marshmallow?”
he looks at you, “yeah, yeah. hand me the hershey bar too.” is the most he’s spoken to you. the tension in your shoulders release when you pass rin a marshmallow and a hershey bar.
you lean closer to the fire, roasting the marshmallow before teasing sae further. “am i doing this wrong too?”
“tomorrow we’re going to check out this store nearby, then we’ll go canoeing. it’ll be all sorts of fun.” rin’s mother says, roasting her marshmallow.
“fun.” rin mutters, sliding the marshmallow onto his stick.
“yeah, you’re still doing it wrong,” he murmurs low enough for only you to hear, teal eyes glinting with something dangerously close to challenge. “too close to the flame. it’ll burn.”
and sure enough— your marshmallow catches fire a second later. you yelp softly, jerking the stick back as rin glances over at you before returning to his chocolate bar.
sae exhales through his nose—almost a laugh—before reaching over casually... and plucking the charred mess right off your stick with two fingers. he pops it into his mouth without flinching at the heat then levels you with a look that says: “told you so.”
his mother is still clapping excitedly about tomorrow’s plans while their dad pokes at the fire like none of this is happening right under their noses---blissfully ignorant of the way sae’s knee brushes against yours under the log you’re sitting on... or how rin still hasn’t noticed anything beyond his own damn candy bar.
you giggle, “hey! you ate my burnt marshmallow.” a smile’s on your lips, and it’s a pretty sight for anyone to see. sae almost grins, but he settles on passing you another marshmallow.
“try it again.” he says, teasing you lightly. you sit up with a fake determination, pushing the marshmallow through the stick and leaning closer to the flames again.
this time, you don’t push it too far into the fire. and it’s perfect. “quick, graham crackers! and chocolate!”
you place the crackers on either side of the marshmallow, then grab a piece of chocolate from rin’s chocolate bar.
“this is the best s’more you’ve ever seen.” you say, looking at sae.
chemistry flows between you so easily, better than how it’s currently going with you and rin. but then his parents stand up, letting out a yawn.
“okay, we have to get up early so don’t stay up too late. and rin, put out the fire for us. your mother and i are going to lay down now.”
“hm. decent.” he concedes dryly, though the way his eyes linger on your lips when you take a bite betrays more interest than his tone lets on.
as his parents retreat to their cabin, rin finally stirs from his chocolate-induced stupor long enough to grab a bucket of water and dump it unceremoniously over the fire—steam and embers hissing into nothingness around them. “done,” rin mutters, already turning toward the cabin without waiting for either of you. “i’m going to bed.”
and just like that? he’s gone—leaving you alone with sae in the dim glow of dying coals and whatever this tension is between you that keeps crackling louder than any fire ever could.
you look at sae again, and he moves a hand to your mouth, wiping the excess chocolate that resided next to your lips. the act made your breath hitch, but the sound of a dying fire made you snap out of this hypnosis.
“we should probably go back now..” you murmur, standing up from the log. sae nods his head, standing up behind you. and you both walk into the cabin. wordlessly. you won’t acknowledge anything that happened outside, and maybe that’s for the better because when you shower, and go back into the room. it’s rin’s bed you lay in, not sae’s.
and for a second, he forgot that you were his brother’s girlfriend.
sae doesn’t say a word as you slip into rin’s bed but the sharp exhale through his nose is just loud enough to cut through the silence. his jaw ticks once before he rolls onto his side, back facing you and rin.
like hell he’s going to watch this.
rin, oblivious as ever, is already half-asleep with one arm slung over his eyes, and the other hanging off your waist.
you stare up at the ceiling in the dark, painfully aware of two things:
1. you can still feel sae’s thumb brushing chocolate from your lip like it was nothing (it was everything).
2. the space between you and rin has never felt wider or more suffocating than right now.
somewhere outside, an owl hoots—mocking this entire disaster of a situation probably. while inside? the only sound left is three people breathing in sync but never really on same page at all.
sae has to do something to help you open your eyes.
the next morning passes like a breeze, and you’re the last to get ready. when you pass by the couch in the living room, rin and sae are both lounging. there was a gap in between them, surely it was for you? no. they just didn’t want to sit next to each other.
“mom and dad said they’re going to some food market near by, they want one of us to come while the other two stay behind.” rin says, barely glancing up from his phone. he’s mostly speaking to his brother, but you catch glimpses of the conversation when you walk into the kitchen.
sae leans back against the couch, arms crossed—but his gaze tracks you like a predator sizing up prey.
“one of us should go with them,” he says coolly, eyes flicking to rin. “unless you’d rather stay here and bond.” the sarcasm is thick enough to slice with a knife.
rin scowls but doesn’t argue—because even he knows their parents won’t tolerate both brothers ditching for some market trip while leaving you behind alone.
a beat passes. then rin exhales sharply through his nose before pushing off the couch, “fine, i’ll go.”
he looks at you, who’s too busy flipping through the cabin’s welcome manual. “be.. careful.” rin says, grabbing his jacket and stalking out of the cabin.
sae raises his eyebrows, a calm smirk on his lips as he registering the fact that you two are alone again.
“you look so.. pent up.” sae says coolly, standing up from his seat on the couch. your tongue slides over your lower lip, and you turn to look at him.
“maybe i am.” you retort, and he almost smiles at your words. “mhm.” is all he settles for.
you look at the shut door, then back at sae. you feel a rush of excitement, being all alone with him. you feel everything, except for guilt. your boyfriend led you to this.. right?
maybe if he hadn’t neglected you, you wouldn’t have wandering eyes.
sae closes the distance between you in two long strides, his fingers catching your chin to tilt your head. his teal eyes burn with something dark, hungry, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip.
“poor little y/n,” he murmurs, voice dripping with mock sympathy. “so neglected. so lonely.” his grip tightens, his other hand sliding around your waist, pulling you flush against him. “tell me—how long have you been fantasizing about this?”
his lips ghost over yours, teasing, taunting, his breath hot against your skin. his fingers trail down your throat, over the rapid pulse fluttering beneath your skin, down to the neckline of your shirt. “how long have you ached for me to fuck you the way he never could?”
his knee nudges your legs apart, his body pressing your back against the counter, pinning you in place. the heat of him is overwhelming, his scent—smoke and something dangerously intoxicating—filling your lungs.
“no more pretending,” he murmurs, his teeth scraping over your earlobe. “today, i’ll give you what you’ve been begging for.”
you open your mouth to protest, but words don’t come out. not because you have nothing to say, but because you simply can’t deny him. that last bit of self restraint you had? it ripped.
you grab sae by his shirt, pulling him down into a hungry kiss. your teeth clash, your tongues fight, and it’s disgusting. if sae wasn’t so horny, he’d scold himself and you for being so improper.
his hands slide down your body, and you roll your hips against his desperately looking for what you haven’t had in months. it’s pathetic, really.
and when you pull away, you look at him with those sex-craved eyes, like a virgin who’s never experienced this much passion before. all before you drop to your knees in front of him, tongue lapping over your lower lip as your fingers loop through the waistband of his sweatpants.
“you’re disgusting,” sae muses, looking down at you pull his boxers down. his cock springs out free, smacking against your face. “desperate for your boyfriend’s brother.”
you lick your lips at the sight of sae’s cock in front of you; furious red tip already leaking pre cum, and a long thick shaft. your mouth practically drools, and sae only smirks at the sight. you should feel pathetic, really, for how easy you fell into his hands.
your movements are careful, and slow as you wrap your hands around his cock but sae’s not taking it. “you want this,” he snarls, dragging his cock over your lips, smearing pre-cum across your mouth. “want everyone to see a desperate little whore you are for me.”
sae’s fingers guide your head, gripping tight as you take him into your mouth with a hungry moan. his cock throbs against your tongue, the taste of salt and pre-cum flooding your senses as you hollow your cheeks, sucking him deep.
“fuck—“ he hisses, his hips jerking forward, forcing himself deeper down your throat. his other hand braces against the counter, knuckles white with restraint. “such a good little slut for me, aren’t you?”
you whimper around him, your fingers digging into his thighs as you take him to the hilt, your nose brushing the wiry curls at his base. drool spills down your chin, your eyes watering as he fucks your mouth in short, brutal thrusts.
sae’s breath comes in ragged growls, his grip tightening on your head, yanking you back just enough to meet your gaze. his teal eyes are wild, pupils blown with lust. “fuck, we don’t have– have that much time.” he stutters ever-so-slightly, looking down at you.
and then he’s pulling you up, spinning you around, bending you over the counter. your shorts are yanked down in one rough motion, his fingers sliding through your soaked folds.
“so fucking wet,” he growls, pressing two fingers inside you, curling them just right. “all for me, huh?”
his cock replaces his fingers in one brutal thrust, splitting you open, claiming you completely, in ways your boyfriend hasn’t. your scream is muffled by your own arm as he pounds into you, each snap of his hips sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.
“mphm– sae! s–slow down!” you squeal, tits bouncing against the wood counter with every violent snap of his hips. he pulls you up by the neck, before one hand pushes your tank top up and cups your breast.
“slow down? do you want your boyfriend to walk in on me fucking you on this counter?” sae taunts, lips brushing the crest of your ear. “mhm, i don’t think you do.”
sae’s fingers dig into the soft flesh of your breast, his thumb flicking over your nipple as he drives into you with brutal, unforgiving strokes. the slap of skin against skin echoes through the cabin, mingling with your broken moans. “nghhh!! sae—“
“look at you,” sae groans, his voice rough with lust, his hips snapping forward, burying himself to the hilt.
“taking my cock like you were made for it. rin doesn’t deserve this sweet pussy.”
your back arches, nails scraping against the countertop as pleasure coils tight in your stomach, your walls fluttering around him. sae’s grip on your thigh tightens, his fingers leaving bruises as he fucks you harder, deeper.
sae pulls his hips back, before turning you over to face him. you look into his teal eyes, drool dripping down your chin, and your back pressing against the counter.
next thing you know, your leg is hiked up on his shoulder and he’s fucking into you at a brutal pace. his fingers push into your mouth, muffling your loud moans.
“nghh~! you’re sososo big!” sae replaces his fingers with his lips, pulling you into a messy kiss, all while he’s fucking up into your pussy, abs flexing with every thrust. you moan when his cock pounds into you, almost eight inches of pure bliss.
you look into sae’s teal eyes, your pupils blown. finally, you were breaking him down. breaking those walls. “you’re so fucking— mhm! handsome.” you hiccup, tits bouncing with every violent snap of his hips.
“yeah?”
“sososo fucking handsome.” you repeat.
sae’s grip on your hips tightens, fingers digging into your flesh as he slams into you with a brutal, unrelenting pace. his breath comes in ragged pants against your lips, his usual composed facade shattered into something feral, desperate.
“fuck— look at you,” he moans, voice rough with desire. “taking me so fucking well, gorgeous.”
his cock throbs inside you, stretching you impossibly wide with each thrust. the wet slap of skin on skin fills the cabin, mingling with your moans. sae’s teal eyes burn into yours, dark with need, pupils blown wide—no longer the cold, distant man you first met.
his thumb swipes over your clit, rough and demanding, and you arch against him with a broken cry. his grip on your hips tightening as he slams into you harder, deeper—like he’s trying to ruin you.
his cock pistons into you relentlessly, the thick length dragging against your sweet spot with every brutal thrust. “you needed this,” he snarls, fingers digging into your thighs as he spreads them wider, claiming you. “needed me.”
his hand slides up to grip your throat, not choking—owning. “say it,” he demands, hips snapping forward in a way that makes your vision blur. “say you fucking needed me.”
“i– i needed you so bad.” you cry out, eyes rolling to the back of your head.
sae laughs, his fingers digging into your throat as he forces you to look into his eyes. “damn right, you did. looking at me like that last night, moaning my name in the fucking shower.”
“come for me,” he orders, voice dripping with dominance. “let me feel you fucking ruin yourself on my cock.”
and when you do, when your walls clench around him like a fucking vice, sae follows with a groan, spilling deep, hot ropes of cum inside you, his hips stuttering as he fucks you through both of your orgasms.
for the first time, there’s no mask. just him. just you.
that’s when the reality of the situation hits you: you just cheated on your boyfriend. with. his. fucking. brother.
sae’s fingers dig into your hips, keeping you pressed against him as he pulls out with a slow, deliberate drag, his cock glistening with your slick. his breath is still ragged, his teal eyes burning into your with a mix of satisfaction and something darker—something possessive. “we should probably…. c–clean up.” you murmur, still dazed out.
“clean up?” his voice is rough, edged with amusement as he tucks himself back into his pants, his gaze never leaving yours. “you think a shower will erase what we just did?"
he steps closer, crowding you against the counter again, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. his other hand slides between your legs, fingers pressing against your swollen pussy, smearing his cum deeper into you.
“let him smell it on you,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. “let him see how wet you still are for me. how his brother fucked you better than he ever could.”
you tense at his words, before giving his chest a weak nudge. “i’m going to take a shower before they come back.” you say, slipping past him.
sae only watches you stumble away, his cum still dripping down your thighs. “you forgot something.” he taunts, holding your shorts up with one finger before you turn around and snatch them from his hand.
and maybe that’s how you end up in the bathroom, gripping onto the sink as sae buries his face in between your thighs.
sae’s grip on your thighs tightens, fingers digging into your soft flesh as his tongue flicks against your clit with ruthless precision. the vibrations of his low chuckle against your sensitive skin send shivers up your spine.
“oh, fuck. we don’t– don’t have that much time.” you cry out, voice shaking.
“time?” he pulls back just enough to speak, his lips glistening with your arousal. “you think i give a fuck about time right now?”
his tongue plunges back inside you without warning, lapping up every drop of your slick as his fingers curl against your hips, holding you in place. the wet, filthy sounds of him devouring you fill the bathroom.
one hand slides up your stomach, fingers pinching your nipple roughly, twisting hard enough to make you moan.
“you taste too fucking good to stop,” he groans against your pussy, his breath hot. “and you're lying if you say you want me to.”
“rin can wait,” he murmurs, dragging his tongue up your slit one last time before standing. “i’m not done with you yet.”
the sound of the front door opening barely registers over the pounding of your hearts.
“sae? y/n?” rin’s voice calls out from the living room, and your eyes widen with fear. sae looks at you, then back at the locked bathroom door.
“yeah?” sae calls out to your oblivious boyfriend, placing a hand over your mouth to keep you from making any sounds. oh, fuck.
rin stands in front of the locked bathroom door, lips pressed together in a straight line before he speaks again. “have you seen y/n?” sae bites his tongue, sparing you a glance before replying. “no, she told me she was going on a walk to clear her mind. why?”
“well,” rin pauses, scratching the back of his neck with one hand. “i bought her.. flowers, i just wanted to apologize for everything. i guess, i’ll wait.. then.”
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