Basically one massive Fic Recs for all the fandoms I’m in so I don’t forget.
------------------------
Spencer Reid
Twisted by @dreamwritesimagines
Reader’s dad is a serial killer and some shit goes down. And I love this series so much I literally wouldn’t sleep till I finished it.
This I Know by @idmakeitbehave
Reader has amnesia and doesn’t remember her boyfriend Spencer and it’s so frickin cute
Remus Lupin
Addressed to Him, Meant for No One // Part 2 by @theboywhocriedlupin
Basically To All the Boys I’ve Loved before but with Lupin and ugggghhhhh so good.
Just Go With It by @theboywhocriedlupin
Fake dating au? Yes please!
Loki
I Think He Knows by @revengingbarnes
Can Loki read minds? Maybe...maybe not. This is THE Loki fic for me I just love it so much.
A Job Million PRs Would Die For by @saiansha
I mean it’s pretty much a classic at this point. Angsty ending though.
Doctor Strange
Blood by @avengershumanresources
Reader is the daughter of King Anthony Stark and the student of Doctor Strange and its a fantasy AU and holy shit it’s so fucking good
based upon this request by @leahthesith: you've grown tired of astarion's games of jealousy, and it all comes crashing down one night when he chooses to spoil your fun with shadowheart.
warnings: mentions and allusions to astarion's past, as well as his sexual trauma. biting. lots, and lots, and lots of biting. oral sex ('f' receiving), smut. reader is not explicitly gendered/no pronouns are used. only a brief comparison of a 'schoolgirl crush'. reader has also had almost romantic interactions with several companions. 18+ - minors dni.
wc: 7.4k+
kinktober masterlist
There’s no reason for him to be looking at you like that.
No explanation, no justification, no reason for those jewel eyes to be glowering at you from across the tavern. For his fist to wrap around the mug of whatever he’s sipping on for show, pale skin going translucent in the dancing candlelight. For his entire chest having gone still the last several minutes, and for you to be unable to decipher if he’s simply too distracted to bother with the last of what remains of his living instincts or if it’s another instinct all on its own – if he’s holding his breath as he watches your conversation with Shadowheart.
Then again, there’s no real reason for you to be watching him back.
The matter of the fact is that you’re watching him just as closely, just as captivated by his presence from across the room, just to simply notice these things. The stillness in his shoulders and the glint that you swear must be his fangs poking past his lips should not be in your periphery. Your focus, all your attention, should be on the vibrant girl on the stool beside you. The dark beauty who’s speaking more with her hands than her lips, giggling over yet another glass of wine.
“You know,” she sighs wistfully, and you have to tear your gaze away from where it had wandered towards the vampire currently sulking away from the group, “The wine here in the city is much better than on the road.”
You hum as you distractedly take a sip from your own glass, tongue immediately peeking out to trace along your bottom lip subconsciously, as if you might be trying to savor the flavor. As if you can even taste the flavor. Your tongue has gone all but numb to the ruby liquid as a very different shade of red has captured your interest.
This could be the same wine from the druid party at the beginning of your journey, the party in which you snatched a bottle from the very shadow that is watching your every move, and you wouldn’t know the difference.
“It is,” you lie, swirling the red liquid a little bit, an attempt to bring back the taste all over your tongue.
And even if she buys your lie, Shadowheart can tell something is off, leaning in just a bit closer, peering at you just a little more concerningly, “Is everything okay? You don’t seem yourself.”
You don’t feel yourself. You should be feeling much more jubilant. You should be joining in on the same fun everyone else is having, toasting to yet another battle won. The end of it all was so close you could taste it.
And yet, you don’t. Because he’s in the corner brooding, and with him he’s seemingly taken both your mind and your mood.
“It’s been a long day,” It’s been one long day after another for months, it seems, “I suppose the wine is just making me relax a bit too much.”
That it is. The alcohol has managed to wiggle its way into your bloodstream, heading straight up your spine and to your brain. All your thoughts feather at the edge, and perhaps that was why you were watching Astarion back so intensely.
Months of this journey, and you still felt no closer to figuring him out than you had that very first night of discovering his vampirism. Each layer of him that you had peeled back only revealed more confusion to sit with. Some days, you swore you had him entirely figured out. You knew every in and every out of all his wits, and you knew all the steps to the dance in which he’d attempt to draw you into. You could play into whatever design he was spinning between the two of you; you could beat him at his own game.
But other days, days like today, you simply couldn’t.
All his flirtations, all his subtle seductions – you couldn’t decipher what was real and what was still for show. For every innuendo he’d whispered into your ear, he shared just as scandalous a comment with another party member. For every seemingly accidental graze of his cold skin against yours, he was attaching himself at the hip of another one of your companions. For all he gave, he would take just as much. Leaving you spinning in the hope of it all; leaving you with a yearning hunger that probably neared the threshold of his own vampiric hunger.
You want him. You hate him. He infatuates you. He irritates you. He is both sides of the same coin that has damned you every step along the way of this peculiar journey you’ve embarked on together.
“I know what you mean,” Shadowheart brings you back to reality with one swoop of her hair, a careful gathering of the locks to leave a shoulder exposed, “What is it that they always say? Wine is the secret ingredient for every bad decision?”
Your eyes trace carefully over her skin, the slope of where her neck meets her collarbone, the residual bruising leftover from the latest fight blooming beautifully over her. A welcome distraction.
“I don’t believe I’ve ever heard them say that,” you muse, a smile tugging on your lips, eyes still traveling. Up, up, up.
Over the line of her jaw, across the curve of her chin. Pillowy bottom lip and softly rounded nose. Softness – she’s made up of all soft and delicate features, such a contrast to someone such as Ast-
You must stop thinking about Astarion.
You’re no longer asking yourself of it, you’re demanding yourself of it. You make a point to move your body and head carefully, positioning yourself just so that the outline of the confusing vampire on your mind is entirely blocked out by Shadowheart’s silhouette.
“Oh, trust me – they say it all the time,” something simmers beneath Shadowheart’s returning grin, a sparkle in her eyes that should spark some sort of excitement in you. But it’s a hollow ache; you’re still painfully aware that he’s in the room, “Say, would you like to maybe… I don’t know, get out of here? I’m sure we could sneak some more of this exquisite wine to the room upstairs, perhaps find somewhere to relax together even more-”
“Oh, my dear Shadowheart, don’t you know that that would be thievery?”
His voice, so close and sudden, sucks all of the air out of your lungs.
“Astarion!” Shadowheart jumps a bit at his sudden appearance, but you hardly move a muscle. As though your body had been expecting him, as if you had always known the night was leading to this outcome, “I’m surprised to see you’ve given up your gloomy act to join us all. I thought you might sulk in the corner all night.”
His eyes lock on you, and the facade of his usual self seemingly melts. There’s something darker beneath the surface, an animal caged away, and you can see it as it bares its teeth, “Not sulking. Merely observing.”
You can’t speak. Your entire chest is still tight, lungs still deflated, by his proximity.
“Well, hard to tell the difference when you hide away in the darkness,” Shadowheart manages to get out before her lips press tightly together, clearly irritated at your companion.
She’d nearly had you. She had been giving you clear signals, doing away with any games of cats and mice, and she had nearly had you.
“It’s in my nature, I suppose,” his tone falls flatter than normal, the words void of all the airiness and usual cadence he accentuates.
He still has you far more enraptured than she’d ever stood a chance of accomplishing.
“We were just heading upstairs,” you blurt out, and Astarion’s eyebrows raise at your proclamation.
“Is that so?”
You don’t quite understand why, but you feel the need to over explain yourself, painfully aware of Shadowheart’s inquisitive gaze as she watches you fumble with your words, “Yes! I- I was just telling Shadowheart how tired I’ve grown. We were just calling it a night-”
“By stealing a bottle of wine?” his tone is growing sharper, and you squirm beneath what has almost become a glare. In an instant, he’s noticing all that discomfort, and you watch the facade be built back up in real time. Brick by brick, he once again resumes his usual role, voice raising a few octaves and a dangerous smirk returning, “And stealing our dearest cleric away from such a wonderful night of celebration? Nonsense! Allow me to accompany you instead, my sweet.”
The nickname rolls off his tongue as naturally as it always does. Sugary syllables, predatory purring. It almost reels you in until you remember the give and the take. The push and the pull.
Two sides, same coin. And you’ve yet to figure out the value of that coin.
“There’s no need for that-” Shadowheart begins to protest, but Astarion quickly cuts her off with a flourish of his hand.
“Please, I insist,” even with his words lightened, sweetened up the slightest bit, that animal still lingers below the tone. Shadowheart will not be accompanying you up to the room. That much you know. “You were clearly having such a good time. It’s truly no problem, I don’t mind watching after our fearless leader.”
“I don’t need to be babysat,” you snap, reactive like a dog threatened.
Like a dog cornered.
Yes, that was what you were. A rapid animal, backed up into a space, given no choice. Your heart was racing at the idea of being alone with Astarion. It was no longer a game of mental chess played across a busy tavern – it would be just you, just him, and all those terrible layers you had yet to decipher. It was a recipe for disaster. It was the perfect storm brewing, set for the destruction of you.
“I won’t be babysitting you, dear,” he smiles, and it looks more like a hungered sneer than a sign of genuinity, “Simply there, at your service, for whatever you may need.
I need you to leave me alone. I need our journey to be over so I can stop being your puppet to string along.
You wonder if the thought may have traveled over the tadpole bond and that was why his face falls, rather than your stubborn silence.
For a moment, you think Shadowheart is going to speak up. That possibly, she might just fight back against him, save you from the impending doom. But when her mouth opens, you hear the last possible thing you could have ached to have fallen from her lips.
“I… suppose I’ll be on my way then. Have a good night.”
Defeat.
It wraps around your name as she whispers it before she stands from her stool, unassuming to all your silent signals begging her to stay. Footsteps echoing over the commotion around you as she turns her back, and you feel the walls of this corner drawing in on you.
“I-” you start when you finally look back to Astarion, but he’s already reaching out to grab you.
“She’ll get over it,” he says harshly, pulling you along as if you were nothing. As though you weren’t digging your heels into the creaking floorboards below, as if you weren’t resisting him with every fiber of your being.
“Astarion- stop, I’m- I’m not worried about her,” you stutter out, cursing the way your voice falters, tugging against his grip on you, “Gods, why do you do that?”
The question has him halting at the foot of the stairs. The shadows encase the two of you as his eyes glow in the subtle darkness.
“Do what?”
“This.”
You wave your free hand in the space between the two of you wildly, as though that might suffice for explanation. But when Astarion only levels you with a blank stare, you know it won’t. You know it doesn’t.
“You pull me along, you push me away,” you continue, heart still racing wildly, breaths coming out short and fast, “You treat me like something special and then discard me, and the moment I seek out that genuine treatment from someone else, you’re back to collect me as your own personal play toy. I want to know why.”
For all the exasperation you feel, there’s a pride beneath it all. The pride of being able to articulate, the smugness of assuming you’ve left him speechless. You haven’t.
Today is not one of the days in which you can beat him at his own game.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he claims, chin lifting just an inch, eyes flitting towards the ceiling before making their way to the bar scene behind you. Anywhere but you. “I’ve done no such thing-”
“Bullshit,” you spit out, “Bull-fucking-shit. You’ve done it numerous times, Astarion. Do you not recall the night in which Gale had approached me, offering to teach me about the Weave, and how you’d interrupted-”
“Our dearest wizard would have bored you to death. It was a mercy to interject.”
“-or the night of the tiefling party, when Karlach had been on the verge of confessing something that seemed an awful lot like an admittance of liking me-”
“Karlach likes everyone. Have you seen the eyes she makes at Wyll?”
“-And how about the time when Lae’zel openly invited me to share a bed with her, and you’d overheard, and obnoxiously guffawed? Hm? What’s your excuse there?”
Finally, his grip has slackened on your wrist, allowing you to pull both arms tightly across your chest as you glare at him. Chest still heaving, mind still reeling.
He clearly doesn’t have a very good answer as his lips twitch briefly into a pathetic smile, fading quickly as he shrugs, “Well, I simply found the entire image conjured amusing.”
Your heart nearly stops, leaving your chest as empty a cavern as Astarion’s, “You find the image of someone wanting me, wanting to lay with me, amusing?”
And for all he plays dumb, Astarion is not a fool.
He catches the fall in your demeanor, the way your arms slowly drop and your entire face contorts with your frown. Damage has been done.
“No, wait, I-” he tries to begin damage control, but the damage has been done.
“Save it,” you cut him off, “I’m going upstairs now. You can continue on your moping down here in the shadows – I don’t need a babysitter.”
He almost looks as defeated as Shadowheart had when he’d intervened for a second, a second just long enough that you begin taking the long strides up the stairs. You think you’ve gotten the last word, for that eternity of a second. Making it all the way to the first platform, turning to take on the second set of stairs.
When suddenly, your back is flat against the wall behind you, a cold body pressed against the entirety of yours.
“I do not find it amusing,” Astarion huffs, those beady eyes suddenly staring right into yours, lips dangerously close to your own. The defeat has been long forgotten, “The image of you with the others – entranced by Gale’s magic, giggling by the fire with Karlach, on your knees for Lae’zel – is not amusing,” his hands are tight on your hips, bruising grip keeping you pinned with no escape. His body rolls, every inch of his clothed skin beginning to press against your own, “You, laying with anyone else, is the farthest thing from amusing, darling.”
His head tilts in warning, forehead nearly pressed to yours, the end of his nose bumping against yours. You can feel every unnecessary breath he takes. Every huff of his sudden irritation invades your space, and all you can do is attempt to turn your head.
One of his hands is quick to reach up, pinching your chin between his thumb and pointer. You want to look away, but he won’t allow it.
“Would you like to know the truth?”
A loaded question. A ticking time bomb when it comes to this game between the two of you.
You decide to set the fuse aflame when you nod your stiff head against his pinching grip.
“The truth is,” he takes a deep breath, one you know he doesn’t need. He’s sucking all the air out of the room, air he has no need for, before his heavy eyes pour into yours. You’re blinded, all visions of red and smoky warning signs, the chatter of the tavern faded to nothing, “the image of you laying with anyone else absolutely infuriates me.”
Anyone else.
Anyone else.
Anyone else.
You open your mouth to respond, not even sure what you could possibly say to that, but it’s Astarion’s lips on yours that kills all words on your tongue.
There are no witnesses. Not a single soul below can see as he all but devours you, hungry lips melding to yours in desperation. The shadows he had been taunted for haunting for the night now serve as a veil, allowing you to cling to what’s left of your dignity. If anything, it feels as though he might be controlling the shadows, beckoning them to come and wrap the two of you up as his arm sneaks behind your back, pulling your body tightly to his as he chooses to steal the breath directly from your lungs now.
The push, the pull – the coin. The value, it seems, is finally coming to light.
Through the kiss, you can feel the damnation of all the emotions Astarion must have been holding back for the journey. All the want, all the yearning, all the anger, all the confusion – every single emotion you’ve been battling, breaking the surface as his fangs nip at your bottom lip.
It takes more willpower than you’d expected to shove him away.
“Astarion-” you gasp out, taking gulps of air into your burning lungs.
“Tell me to walk away,” he begs, body still aligned with yours, hands still clinging to you, “Tell me to leave you alone, and this time, I’ll obey.”
Your tongue can’t move. The depths of his whispers, his pleads, are ringing in your bones, and you can’t say the words he asks of you.
“Say it,” he presses on, his fingers only digging deeper into your hips. You can’t tell if they’ve gone numb from the chill of his fingers, or from the lack of circulation due to his strength, “Just say it, and I’ll do it. Say anything. I’m yours to command.”
You should tell him to walk away. You should call off the game of cat and mouse. You should save what’s left of your soul for someone else, anyone else, who won’t send your head spinning with a plethora of mixed signals.
“Room. Now.”
Of course, you don’t.
The game was never one-sided. It was never you, a merciful victim of Astarion, always trapped in his shadows. It’s a game for two – and you’ve earned your blame in it all, the same as Astarion.
And you continue to earn it as your hands tangle up in the snowy curls at the nape of his neck, silvery strands slipping between aching knuckles, lips attaching themselves to his porcelain skin as he guides you up that final flight of stairs. You’re not thinking of Shadowheart, not thinking of anything delicate or soft. Harsh clashes of teeth, harsh bites to rebuttal his fangs against you, harsh fingers digging into soft meat, harsh red lines left behind across his skin that fade away too quickly for your liking.
Harsh, harsh, harsh.
All your tensions and frustrations are put into the meshing, and you hardly notice once Astarion’s gotten the two of you through the threshold of the shared room. Everyone else is still downstairs, still celebrating, still cheersing and chatting away. Completely unaware of your demise. Oblivious to what’s about to happen.
Anyone else.
It’s been a long time coming.
You can see flashes of it in your mind as he carries you with him, door locked behind his back before he’s finding one of the vacated beds to lay you down onto. The night you’d discovered his vampiric nature, the night you had been his mirror with his scars, all the times in which he’d blatantly saved your ass during fights. The blurry figure that is your savior, conveniently getting between you and goblins or shadows alike as he buries his daggers to the hilt. Always there, always watching.
Always yearning.
Your heads sing in tune as that tadpole connection comes to life, like an exposed nerve as you feel it all reciprocated from him tenfold. Flashes of yourself, with soft eyes and gentle words. Patient palms and charming smiles. A pulling gravity so grandiose that it sparks sheer fear.
The room is quiet save for your gasps every time Astarion’s lips leave yours long enough to allow for breathing, the ruffling of clothing and bed sheets filling the air soon enough. Just quiet enough you can hone in on that fear, dig your claws into it instead of his back, focused entirely on following it all the way down.
More memories of his overriding yours. His exposure of Cazador, his admittance of his past. All the trust he put into you – all the faith he’d blindly handed over to you on a silver platter, only reminiscing and regretting once he was left to his own devices at the end of the day.
And then came the jealousy.
You’d already felt enough of it through his kisses and movements – the way he pins your body beneath his, the way his fangs graze your exposed neck – but it nearly drowns you once the connection has opened the floodgates.
The image of you and Gale, and a twist in your gut like no other. Incomparable to even vampiric hunger.
The image of you and Lae’zel, and a burn in the back of your throat that drives you beyond reason.
The glimpse of you and Karlach, and the urgency rising in your chest to simply stop it. To pull the brakes, not once considering the consequences.
Every small moment between you and someone else – companions, strangers, those who have helped along the way – is given to you from Astarion’s point of view. You feel all that he has felt; you burn as he has burned.
You feel a glimmer of understanding, a pitiful ounce of sympathy, but then you remember all that you have felt. All that confusion, all that unsureness. Every time you’ve had to question the glances the vampire offers in your direction or double back on his words.
He’d done it to himself. You had to remember that – he’d done it to himself every single step of the way.
“You could have said something,” you whisper out as his lips travel down the path of your neck, sharp tips of his fangs pressing to your pulse but not quite breaking skin, “You could have just told me.”
He’s lithe as a cat above you, each scrap of clothing being removed between the two of you exposing more of your bare flesh to the chill of his. You can feel all those muscles beneath his surface, and you can feel the hesitation as you say this. The freeze – the pause.
“You make it sound so simple.”
The fangs scrape at your jugular as he whispers it, mouth shaking as he uses all his self-constraint to not simply bite down. Taste your sweet blood, let it sing on his tongue rather than this conversation you can tell is setting fire to all his anxieties. He doesn’t want to talk.
You’re not even sure if you want to talk.
But you do, with the weight of him between your hips and his hands dancing along your torso. Your head is thrown back as you sigh, “It could be.”
It could be simple, it could have been simple this entire time, if only he’d allow it.
He’s had you dancing beneath his spell since the moment you’d met him. You had offered yourself over to him, time and time again, knowing all the costs. Despite the warnings from others, and despite all the sirens sounding off in your head every time your eyes had met his, you’d still pined. Still fantasized what this current moment might taste like as you’d lay in your tent at night, still chased after his attention across Faerun. If he had just directly said the word rather than stringing you along, burning in private – you would have been his far sooner than now. He could have had you in the palm of his hands long before he’d ever spotted the Gate of the city.
He has you now, though. Entirely encapsulated, bending to every whim of his fingertips.
A flick of his wrist, and you’re exposing more of your neck. A nudge of his knee, and you’re arching your back to press more of yourself against him. Offering your skin, offering your soul, offering your blood. A silent temptation for him to simply devour you whole; a silent begging to not complicate things more than what was necessary.
You had both been in the wrong. He had sent mixed signals, and you had been complicit in your own silence.
And right now, you weren’t particularly in the mood to rehash and reassign blame.
“Show me how simple it could be,” his voice is muffled against your skin, lips velvet against your pulse. It nearly frustrates you – was that not what you were currently doing? Were you not proving to him just how easily he could unravel you with those cold, cold palms? “Go ahead, darling. Prove me wrong.”
You’re not the one meant to take an action, though. Your hands fly up, fisting at his white curls, and you apply pressure to let him sink deeper into your skin, but you’re not the one who can break the barrier.
It’s him that must – his fangs must do it. The first bite, the smallest of sips.
Your blood trickles past his lips and you let out a sigh. As if this was what you were waiting for, as if this was all that it took. Your vitality draining slowly to invigorate him, your breath becoming his, your heart now beating for both of you.
He must feel it. He must taste it.
The simple entanglement of the living and unliving. How simple it was to become his.
You swear you only allow your heart to race as it does to encourage your blood to pump faster onto his eager tongue. He laps at it, hums at the taste, his grip on you becoming stronger with each pass of the ichor. Each passing second with his mouth glued to the side of your neck isn’t marked with the tick of a clock, but the roll of his hips, and your own desperate legs shaking in those precious moments between, cursed to choose between tightening shut around his hips or spreading wider to encourage more of him to occupy you.
Just as you start to feel light-headed, he pulls back. Wide and vibrant scarlet eyes boring into yours, fangs tinged pink with you poking against his bottom lip.
The tadpole connection has gone silent. Not due to either of you cutting it off entirely, but due to the lack of thoughts transpiring. Both your minds have gone quiet, and all that’s left is the warm buzz of knowing you’re connected. Static that you can feel at the back of your head, running down your spine, all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes.
Simple. Mind-numbingly simple.
You can feel the spark of something snapping after only a few moments of eye-contact, and you know it’s the ember that blazes within him as his next few actions transpire. Messy kisses leaving behind a trail of pink spit along your skin, hands no longer grappling at you mindlessly but with intention. He slips them between your thighs, a finger trailing down your cunt in time with his tongue down your sternum. What might be a memorized dance to him has become an entirely unknown experience to you, body buzzing with the novelty when his fingertip’s cool caress circles your clit before he slips down to your hole. It’s seamless – the stretch, the crook of his knuckle against you as he sinks deeper, the relief in the curl of your toes.
“You’re not another mindless dance,” he murmurs as he sinks deeper and lower, an unnecessary breath escaping him across your lower abdomen.
He’d heard it. He’d heard all of your thoughts at the moment.
You peer down at the ethereal sight of him between your thighs, his hair and mouth seemingly shimmering with all the stars and moon itself, “No?”
“No,” his voice is strong as he lets the tip of his nose press against you, mouth creeping closer to where two fingers now pump within you, “You’re not like the others.”
He doesn’t elaborate, even as the haunting question of who the others might be echoes within you. He completely distracts you as his fingers slip from your cunt and his tongue begins its work, worshiping you with every flick of it. Nose, tongue, breath – they all work in conglomeration as the unraveling truly begins. Every ounce of you is tensing, combating all the relief of having his mouth on you, as he pushes you closer and closer to a precipice you’ve only dreamed of him guiding you to.
The suckle of his lips. The cut of his fangs when he gets a bit too excited. The lap of a tongue like a dog worshiping at your altar. It’s all almost a bit much.
When your hands travel to entangle in his hair, you can feel the hesitation. For a moment, you believe he might reach up to take your touch away. Force you to grasp at the bed sheets, at the edge of the mattress, at the frame above your head. Anywhere but him.
But he doesn’t.
The pause only lasts a few seconds before he’s returning to his mitigations, even more intent than before. Words that could never be spoken between the two of you take the shape of his lips around your clit, sucking almost as hard as he had at your neck. An animal seemingly overtakes him, his mouth not leaving you for the mortal necessity of breathing, but rather for something harsher; he breaks away only for his fingers to slide back within you, and immediately takes to biting at your thighs.
It isn’t like he had done to your neck. This time, he’s not chasing after your blood. Nips and fuller bites, not just his sharpened canines sinking into fletch but his front teeth as well.
These aren’t bites to drink from you. These are bites to claim you.
He lines your legs with them, scattered sporadically as he shifts himself up and down. From the apex of your thigh down to your ankle, there’s hardly an inch of your skin that doesn’t paint with Astarion’s touch. The bite marks, lingering outlines of his hands clinging to your flesh, patient hickies left throughout.
You’re mine.
The message is clear enough whether you had seen it in his actions, or if he had sent it through the bond. You understand well what point he is making.
The point stands stronger and stronger when he works his way back up your body. He offers your hips the same worshiping treatment, leaves his imprints across your chest as well. A few marks brand your shoulders and neck, matching the two pricks that started this entire devourment.
“Do you have any idea of the hold you have upon me?” he sighs out as he holds himself above your body, hovering just close enough that your skin jumps as the skin of his abdomen brushes your own, “Our entire journey, I have been so focused on… on freedom, on abandoning the concept of ever being controlled…” he trails off, and when he looks into your eyes this time, you can see something clicking into place. A fearsome realization. “Only to end up in the thralls of your beck and call.”
You hold your breath and await the inevitable. This is the part where he runs. Where he removes his flesh from yours, where he jumps across the room and surely spits out some sarcastic remark. It’s the time in which he is meant to break all the hope that had been built over the minutes spent alone. He’ll make some nonchalant remark, or a crude joke, and he’ll go make eyes at some other poor fool below. He’ll cast his spell over someone else, anyone else. He’ll leave you, wanting and yearning and hopeless, once more.
His body stays above yours, the thin fabric of space shaking between you two.
With a trembling hand, warm against his skin, you take a chance, “I’m not your master, Astarion.”
You aren’t.
You have no desire to control him the way he describes. You would curse the day should you ever become something even comparable to being a placeholder for Cazador. He isn’t telling you anything new; you’ve known his end goal of this entire journey. Astarion has always wanted one thing and one thing only – freedom.
And you thought you’d been helping him. Following him blindly through the woes, helping him achieve his ultimate goal wholeheartedly. Never for a single second had you assumed the role he’s seemingly given you.
A short laugh escapes him, the smallest of smiles flitting his face, “No. No, you aren’t. And that only enthralls me further.”
His lips descend upon yours in a fervent fashion, even more desperate than before. It feels as if he’s actually trying to devour you whole this time – it feels as though he might actually accomplish melding you into his existence, sinking you right into the marrow of his hollow bones.
When his cock sinks into your heat, it’s ecstasy. Euphoria. Everything you’ve been wishing for. Everything you’d been hoping for. You stretch around him, just as you had his fingers, body eager to take in every last inch of him. The buzz becomes a roar and your entire body feels as though it might be on fire. You want more, you need more, and he’s more than willing to give it.
More, more, more.
His hips roll agonizingly slow against yours, making sure every movement is felt across every nerve ending within your body. Deep within your gut, down along your thighs, all the way up your chest. You feel him everywhere – he makes sure of it.
Centuries, his voice curls through your mind like dark smoke. For centuries, this body has felt tainted. Never quite mine, never quite clean.
His hands are shaking as he lets them caress down your sides, over your hips, clinging for support.
You take that feeling away.
The words are heavy, the press of his chest over you heavier. Your own hands wander, and you make a point to avoid the scars on his back. The ones hardly deciphered, the ones that have tied him to a fate you refuse to let him succumb to. No amount of jealousy, no amount of spite, can reverse that ardent decision within your mind.
You’re not an old coat, Astarion. You whisper it back, along the bond, your physical mouth gaping wide open as you tilt your head back into the pillow, feeling yourself tighten around him. You’re not a worn pair of boots. You’re a person.
A terrible mon-
You cut off his rebuttal, a complicated person. Snarky, indecisive, too flirtatious for your own good. But still a person, and still worthy.
Two simple words, and they send shudders through his entire body. Still worthy. You don’t look at him as something to be discarded or owned; you don’t envision him as a prize or a trophy. And you certainly don’t see only his flaws when you look at him. When his ruby eyes meet yours, both his and your own eyelashes flutter ridiculously as all the pressure mounts, the blush of your blood across his cheeks and running down his throat, you both know. You don’t need to put it into words.
Even when he infuriated you. Even when he made you second-guess his companionship in the beginning. Even when he made you swoon like a schoolgirl only to divert his attention. Never once have you fully faulted him for the mistakes.
He’s done bad things. You’ve all done terrible things. And yet, you still want him.
He’s worth more than the sum of his worst moments, even if he hadn’t bedded you tonight. You would still help slay Cazador. You would still fight tooth and claw for his freedom.
You love him. You hate him. You hate to love him, you love to hate him. It’s all smoke and mirrors at the end of the day when you’re feeling the weight of him collapse on top of you. And it’s mutual. The complicated, infuriating emotions are all reciprocated.
Every inch of your skin stings with the lingerance of his fangs and lips, gasps and mews slipping between your lips as he picks up his pace. His fingers dig into the meat of your thighs and hips in a failing attempt to pull your body back to his, the reciprocation languid in every stroke. Every slap of his skin against yours, every moan of his own – they mingle in the air and spell out the inevitability of this moment. You swear you feel his sharp nails nick you, a bead of blood no doubt bubbling and staining the sheets below.
You don’t care. He doesn’t, either.
Your whine echoes through the empty room right along with a harsh grunt from him. He’s ravaging you. Bruising you inside and out.
“Fuck, Astarion,” you gasp out, giving up using the bond. Your mind has melted far too much for coherent thoughts as both your breaths quicken, both abdomens tightening as you feel him reach even deeper inside your cunt, “Fuck.”
You can feel him letting go just as it feels as though your body might give out. Blissful soreness hidden behind a curtain of pleasure that turns your vision white. You almost wonder if your body had been simply a vessel for his own pleasure this entire time.
You wouldn’t mind if it had been, but he’s made damn sure it isn’t.
You’ve never felt quite as cared for as when his hips stutter, feeling warmth fill your fluttering cunt as his open mouth places random kisses anywhere they can reach. His head falls to the crook of your neck and you can feel his tired lips pressing repetitively over your marked neck, your shoulder. They even graze the original bite mark, and the simple action sends shockwaves through you to join the rest of the residual quakes that keep your legs shaking around his waist.
The bedlinen sticks to your skin from a mixture of blood and sweat as he collapses next to you for a moment, still curling up to you like a cat. Nose running along your bare shoulder, lips still reaching out for you.
It takes you a second, but when you finally catch your breath, you can’t help but ask the dreaded question, “Does this mean you’re officially mine?”
His chuckle is unexpected, vibrating against your chest as he rolls most of his weight off you and lifts his head, “Have I not made that much obvious?”
“I just needed to make sur-”
He cuts off all your hesitation, lifting the entirety of his upper body now, “Allow me to make this very clear to you, darling. I have been yours since the moment you reacted to me holding a dagger to your throat with a damned headbutt.”
You smile sheepishly, “So you’re telling me when I did that… I knocked some sense into you?”
“Never,” he scoffs, waving a hand, the only sign of his own fatigue to match yours being the way he drops back down at your side. You don’t miss the faint smile gracing his lips, “But it was an impressive move. Quite enchanting for this old heart of mine.”
“So now you admit that you’re old?” you joke, prodding at an inside joke that had been ongoing since he’d admitted the entirety of his vampiric nature to you. He’d always pouted like a child at any mention of his age, but he’d always allowed only you to get away with any jabs at it. Your entire group still doesn’t speak of his reaction to Gale trying his hand at one of the jokes, “Goodness, what has gotten into you, my Star?”
He flushes at the nickname, eyes diverting as he slowly creeps his body up the bed, face to face with you now. Your heart tightens a bit when he takes his time replying, swallowing hard, tongue peeking out instinctively as he runs it over his lips and fangs slowly.
You almost believe he won’t look you in the eyes again, but he does. As he says the heaviest words yet, he looks to you as if you’re the only thing in the room for this moment.
“I care for you,” his voice comes out tight, nearly strained. “Deeply. You make me want to be… a better… man, monster, whatever I might be. And if that’s a crime?” he pauses, and takes another one of those pesky deep breaths that you’re well aware aren’t vital to him. A glimmer of the human, the person, beneath the self-proclaimed monster. “Well, I haven’t been much of a rule follower thus far in our journey anyways, have I?”
You pay no mind to his joking tone, seeing the words for what they are. Your hand reaches up, fingers carding through silver waves, and you can’t help your grin when he doesn’t swat you away as he had done Shadowheart for the exact same show of affection the week before.
I adore you, Astarion.
Quiet words. Silent words. Only for the two of you, within the confines of a shared mine.
He clears his throat uncomfortably, “Mind you, I may need some time, given all the memories this wretched city brings-”
“Take all the time you need,” you interrupt. From the second he’d opened up to you, offering that vulnerability in the heat of the moment regarding his body, you’d seen this coming. “I can wait for you, my love. Let’s just focus on surviving all this, yeah?”
He can’t hide his affection. It’s written plainly on his face, it travels clearly across the bond.
“Yes,” he whispers back, reaching for your wrist finally, but only to hold it placid as he turns his lips towards it. You think for a moment he might bite you one final time, and you’d let him, but he surprises you. No fangs appear – only the softest of kisses against the most vulnerable of skin. “Survival. Of course.”
It’s not so much words as it is an image, a promise, that comes to mind from him. The fluttering of a future he sees being possible, the threat of a city burned down should any harm come to you.
“And no more jealousy,” you croak out, trying to not be overwhelmed by his own emotions mixing with yours. “You’re mine, and I’m yours.”
Another kiss to your wrist, this one far quicker, far more habitual than the first. He’s kissing you simply because he can.
You know there’s more behind his smile when he whispers, “Oh, of course, lover.”
And you find out later on the reason for such a mischievous smile, once he’s cleaned you both up and migrated for you two to rest in his claimed bed. When Shadowheart is the first of the group to enter the room, confronted with the image of you curled up on Astarion’s chest as his fingers dance over your aching skin, you don’t even have to wake up properly to see the vision of a smug Astarion through your dreary eyes.
Words are exchanged, but they’re lost to you in your sleepy state. You only catch the ones that matter.
“Astarion! Are those bite marks-”
“Mine?” if you were any more conscious, you would have scolded him. He knows it, too, as he squeezes you closer to him, “Why, yes. Yes, they are, our dearest Shadowheart.”
Shadowheart’s huff of breath tells you all you need to know about Astarion’s smirk. You’ll talk more of jealousy in the morning.
synopsis: In a world where everyone has a soulmate and the markings vary based on each pair, you were stuck with one of the most annoying markings: the unknown. When you find out that your identifying mark is body switching, and your soulmate happens to be the idol Bang Chan, your life gets a little bit more difficult.
Ever the independent (stubborn) person you are, you want to keep your array of problems to yourself. Chan seems determined to change that.
tags: hurt/comfort, eating disorder, anxiety/insecurity, soulmates au
wc: 13,866
part of skz soulmate series
–
In a world where everyone has a soulmate and the markings vary based on each pair, you were stuck with one of the most annoying markings: the unknown.
Some people had their soulmate’s first words to them, some had a countdown. Red string, lost items, colorblindness, shared pain. You had none of the above. You didn’t even have a mental marking, like feeling their emotions or tasting what they ate. No, you had absolutely nothing.
You knew, logically, that many people were the same. It didn’t mean you didn’t have a soulmate, it just meant that your marking was likely something physical. You’d know it when you touched them or when you saw them.
It was frustrating. Sometimes you thought you’d never find your soulmate, since there was nothing actually leading you to them. It was just luck—or, you supposed, fate—if you would meet them.
It turned out that you were wrong. So, so wrong.
When you felt a sudden wave of dizziness and opened your eyes to see that you were definitely not on the couch of your apartment anymore, you thought you were hallucinating. You were exhausted, had been up all night studying; you must’ve passed out on the couch and were having a lucid dream.
You slowly looked around, noting your new surroundings. You were in a living room you’d never seen before, standing behind a large brown couch that faced a flat screen TV. There were a few paintings on the walls, blankets scattered around, and various knick-knacks and trinkets littering the TV stand and tables. It was homey.
You didn’t know why you were dreaming of a room you’d never been in. As you walked around, touching blankets and observing pictures, you thought that this seemed a little too real. You were in grad school for law, not neuro or psych or whatever studied the human brain, but even you knew that lucid dreams weren’t normally this… lucid.
You also felt off. You didn’t know how to describe it. Your body felt different. Taller, maybe. Stronger. As you walked, you felt like you were controlling a body that didn’t belong to you, feeling weirdly uncomfortable in your skin.
(You would soon find out that your description was extremely accurate.)
“Chan?”
You startled, stumbling as you whipped your body around to face the speaker. You hadn’t realized that anyone else was in the room with you or had entered, too caught up in your dream-not-dream.
You now faced a brown-haired man you had no recollection of, but for some reason felt the slightest bit familiar to you. Like you’d seen him before. You briefly remembered something you’d read online—your brain couldn’t come up with new faces—so this must be some random stranger you’d seen on the street or something, here to play a starring role in your incredibly realistic dream.
“Hi?” You asked after a very long pause.
The man—who for some reason reminded you of a squirrel—just stared at you, eyes wide and expressive. He seemed concerned, confused, looking at you like you’d gone crazy. He’d probably seen you earlier, looking at blankets and pictures way too intensely to be normal. Yeah, that made sense.
“Are you– are you okay?”
“I think so.”
“You seem really out of it, Chan. Are you, like, tired or something?”
There was that name again. Why was he calling you that?
“Who’s Chan?”
The man’s face, already concerned, seemed to grow even more worried at that.
“Are you joking? Is this a prank? You’re scaring me, hyung.”
You were starting to get scared, too. Was this actually a dream? It felt way too real. You slowly brought your hand to your arm and pinched yourself as hard as you could. Nothing happened, except for the shock of pain that quickly ran through your arm.
“Wait. This is real? I’m not dreaming?” Your expression mirrored the stranger’s. He stayed silent, apparently too confused or in shock to talk. “What is going on?” You asked again, voice growing louder.
Your conversation drew attention, and soon two more men you didn’t recognize but felt the same familiarity of entered the room.
“Is everything okay?” Asked the one with huge muscles. “We heard you yelling.”
“I think Chan’s gone crazy,” replied the squirrel guy. “That, or he’s playing a really weird prank on me.”
“Who are you? Where am I?” You asked, ignoring their words. You were scared now, very much so, because you were not dreaming which meant somehow you had left your room and ended up in this house being called ‘Chan’ instead of your name.
“You’re at home. In our living room. What the hell is wrong with you, Chan?” Asked the third man, who had the most insane face card you’d ever seen.
“I don’t know,” you said, voice quiet and shaky. “I- I need to use the bathroom.” You quickly rushed past the confused men, down the hallway and through a door, somehow getting to the bathroom on the first try. How did you know this room was the bathroom? It was like your body knew, even though your mind didn’t.
You turned to the mirror, hoping to regain your bearings, but instead let out a yelp of surprise at what greeted you. Looking back at you in the mirror wasn’t you, but a man.
Well, not just a man. The most gorgeous man you’d ever seen. Pink lips, wavy black hair, dark brown eyes, all combining to form a man who, if you saw on the street, would make you stop walking for a minute just to reconnect with reality, because men should not be allowed to look this good.
But that was besides the point. You were in someone else’s body. In someone else’s house. Talking to their roommates. How the fuck did this happen? What was going on?
A quiet knock sounded on the door, and you opened it after hesitating for a second. All three men were standing, worried, in the doorway.
“I’m not Chan,” you blurted, needing to express the situation to someone, no matter how insane you might sound. When they looked at you with blank faces, you continued. “This isn’t my body. I don’t know what’s happening. I was in my room, in my house, and then I looked up and I was here and I’m so confused and I don’t know what’s going on and–” Your rambling was cut off by hands resting on your shoulders, pulling you out of your panic.
It was the buff man, now looking you in the eyes, trying to calm you down. “It’s okay. You’re okay. I think I know what’s happening.”
“You do?” You asked at the same time as the squirrel man and face card man.
“Body switching. It’s a soulmate mark, though it’s really rare. You don’t have some other mark, do you?”
“No.”
“Chan doesn’t either,” face card man chimed in, putting the pieces together. “Oh, that’s crazy! Body, switching, holy shit.”
Well. It seemed your soulmark wasn’t a mystery anymore. And it definitely wasn’t boring, or based on luck—this was all fate.
The boys led you back to the living room, sitting down on the couch. They introduced themselves, and you found out that the squirrel man was Jisung, the face card man was Hyunjin, and the buff man was Changbin. You didn’t know why those names sounded so familiar.
You and the boys talked for a while, growing more comfortable with each other as time went on. Your soulmate’s roommates were really nice, and hilarious. Also, gorgeous. You didn’t understand how all four of these men could be so beautiful. It was unusual.
Not long after, you felt another wave of dizziness wash over you, and you were back on your couch.
–
When Chan suddenly found himself in a stranger's room, alone, he didn’t know what to think. He pulled his phone from his pocket, hoping to check his location or call a friend or do anything to help him get his bearings, but immediately realized that what he held was not his phone.
A quick check in the phone camera revealed a pretty girl he’d never seen before, but then the information registered and he blanched because why was the camera showing him a random girl and not his own face?
After a bit of thinking and a lot of stressing, he finally came to the conclusion that this was his soulmark. It calmed him down, having an answer, but his mind was still reeling. Body switching was an incredibly rare mark, and it was so sparsely documented that he had little idea what it actually entailed. All he knew was that the two of you would keep switching bodies at random until he met you in person.
He didn’t want to invade your privacy, but Chan was also bored and extremely curious, so after a short internal debate, he began looking around your house. It was small, one bedroom, a bathroom, a living room and a kitchen. Not very big, but enough for one person to live comfortably.
It was warmly decorated, with soft rugs, plants on every shelf, ceramic bowls holding random items and various posters brightening the walls. It was very homey. He liked it.
A bit more observation revealed that you were a student—a fact which almost sent Chan into a spiral before he realized, with a wild amount of relief, that you were a grad student—textbooks and notebook paper littered all over your desk and kitchen counter, all heavily annotated.
It was too bad you lived alone. He wished he could talk to someone, a roommate or friend or sibling. He wanted to learn more about you. He sat back down on the couch. Before he could consider doing anything more, the same dizzy feeling came over him and he was back in his own house.
Hyunjin, Changbin, and Jisung were all on the couch with him, looking at him expectantly.
“Are you… back?” asked Jisung.
“Yeah, I’m back.”
His friends broke into exclamations immediately.
“Oh my god-!”
“Can you believe-!”
“-seemed really sweet-!”
“-your soulmate!”
Chan laughed at his friend’s shock. “Yeah,” was all he said. He was happy.
–
“Did you get his number?”
You looked at your friend blankly. It had been a day since your body switching experience, and you were finally able to tell your friend about it. You didn’t feel like it was something to share through text, so you’d forced her out to get coffee with you this morning before class.
She’d freaked out, asked a million questions that you tried your best to answer, and froze. Then, she’d asked this. You stopped. Thought for a second. Then another second.
“Shit.”
“Are you kidding me, [Y/N]? You didn’t get his number? This is your soulmate, for god’s sake, you need his number!” She took a furious sip of her iced latte.
“I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about it. I was so caught up in the moment, at first, and then I was too busy talking with his roommates.”
Yuna looked at you, thinking. “So, just how gorgeous were they?”
You let out a small laugh. You’d only briefly mentioned that part during your retelling, but it seemed she’d come back around to the topic.
“Insanely. Like, they could all be male models. And my soulmate, god, he was just perfect. I can’t believe it.”
“Girl, you’ve got your work cut out for you. If your man really is that gorgeous.”
You didn’t miss the subtle jab at your appearance, but you didn’t take offense. Yuna was right, you really could stand to look a little better. You could be skinnier, put on makeup more often, wear cuter outfits. Your appearance has always been a pretty big insecurity of yours, and this new soulmate thing definitely wasn’t going to help.
You hadn’t told Yuna Chan’s name, some part of you feeling like it was better to keep it secret. You couldn’t ignore the nagging inside you that you recognized it, somehow, so when you got home you looked him up on your computer.
You only had his first name, so it didn’t give you much, but the real shock came when you looked up his and his roommate’s names all at once.
Stray Kids.
Your soulmate was the leader of Stray Kids. The incredibly famous, incredibly talented K-pop group. You didn’t really listen to their music, but you’d heard of them before and seen pictures, which was why all the boys looked so familiar to you.
You spent a lot of time after that researching, finding pictures and reading articles, unable to stop yourself.
Yeah, this was definitely not good for your self-esteem.
–
The second time you switched, it was right before class started. You were sitting near the back of the lecture hall, pulling out your notebook and pens—this teacher didn’t like students using their computers in class—when you felt that same dizziness.
You were in a big, open room, mirrors taking up an entire wall and smooth floors underneath you. It was entirely void of furniture, the only items being various bags and water bottles stuffed against the wall and a single table with a computer and speaker on it.
Also, there were seven boys standing around, staring at you.
You recognized Jisung, Hyunjin, and Changbin from last time, and the rest of them from the looking online you’d done. You still weren’t sure of their names, though.
“Hey,” you said, drawing out the word. “I’m back.”
Jisung’s face lit up into a smile. “[Y/N]?”
“Yeah.”
The four boys you hadn’t met were in shock, all speaking over each other.
“Wait, [Y/N]??”
“Chan’s soulmate?”
“You switched again?”
“Oh my god!”
You let out an awkward laugh. You weren’t used to having so much attention on you. “Yeah, that’s right. It’s nice to meet you all.”
The rest of the boys introduced themselves to you—Felix, Seungmin, Jeongin, Minho.
After you’d gotten over the initial shock of switching again and meeting new people, you realized where you were. The lack of furniture, mirrors, and speaker? This was a dance studio.
You turned to the three roommates with a bone to pick. “Hey, you guys didn’t tell me you were idols! I would’ve appreciated the information, y’know.”
“Sorry, it slipped my mind!” said Jisung.
“Yeah, I didn’t even think to mention it,” added Hyunjin.
Changbin just shrugged.
You huffed, not actually upset.
“I hate to say this, but we do kind of have to practice our dance while we’re here. We don’t have much time in the studio today,” Minho said.
“[Y/N], you should watch,” Felix exclaimed.
“Well, she’s in Chan’s body. Do you think she knows the choreo?”
“Oh, that would be cool!”
“I kind of doubt it.”
You just listened as the group argued over whether or not you would know the dance if they put the music on. It was cute. They seemed like a really nice group of friends. You wished your friends were like this. You didn’t have many, but even the friends you did have weren’t as lively or as fun.
“Well, let’s just see, shall we?” You joined the conversation, feeling bad that you were stopping them from practicing.
After a series of agreements, everyone got into their positions. Minho showed you where to stand, then moved to start the music.
As soon as it started playing, you felt something take over your body. Muscle memory, but on another level. You immediately started moving, not at all knowing what you were doing or how you were doing it but somehow managing to stay in time with the members and hit the right moves.
It was an amazing feeling. You weren’t a particularly active person, spending much of your time studying or going to class, so dancing like this felt… freeing.
You messed up a few times but fixed yourself and kept going until the song ended. When you finally stopped dancing, the muscle memory no longer overtaking you, you looked around and saw everyone looking at you. They seemed to do that a lot. You didn’t like it.
“What?”
“That was amazing!”
“You knew the whole dance!”
You flushed, embarrassed at the praise. “Well, I did mess up a few times.”
“In the exact spots that Chan always messes up,” Seungmin added quietly, more to himself than the group.
“Wait, really?”
“Body switching is so cool.”
You laughed at the boys’ antics. This was fun.
–
Chan was in a class. In school. God, he did not miss this. The professor had been talking for almost an hour about the most boring and incomprehensible thing he’d ever heard. He wanted badly to zone out, or to just leave, but he knew he couldn’t. For your sake, he couldn’t.
When the class finally ended, Chan almost jumped for joy, packing up your bag, very ready to leave. As he exited the lecture hall, he heard a girl yelling your name. He turned, seeing two girls walking up to him.
“[Y/N], hey! How have you been?” One girl asked.
“Yeah, it feels like it’s been forever since we hung out!” The other added.
“Oh, I–” Chan paused. He wanted to talk to your friends, that was true, but he wasn’t sure how close you were to these girls. He didn’t know if you’d told them about the soulmark, or if you even wanted them to know. He figured he wouldn’t risk it. “I’m good. Yeah it’s – it’s been a while. We should make plans soon.” If he couldn’t tell them they’d switched, then he’d just talk to them as you. Easy enough, right?
“Are you free right now? Let’s go to lunch!”
At the question, Chan somehow immediately knew that yes, he was free, and that he didn’t have another class until the next morning. He didn’t know how he knew that. He agreed to lunch, walking with the girls to the dining hall. He felt something else, this time a sense of dread. Weird. He ignored it.
Listening to the girls talk to each other as they walked, he learned that their names were Jiyeon and Nari. They talked mostly to each other, only sometimes asking him questions to let him join in the conversation. Kind of odd, considering they had asked him to lunch.
The three of them bought lunch at the dining hall and found a seat by the windows. Jiyeon and Nari immediately began gossipping about various other people and events that Chan pretended to understand. He couldn’t help but notice how mean they were, though. He really hoped that the girls they were talking about weren’t their friends, because Jiyeon and Nari ripped into them with no remorse, criticizing outfits and new haircuts and talking about situations that they weren’t even a part of.
Chan hoped that you weren’t like this. He didn’t want his soulmate to be as mean as her friends were—if these even were your friends. From how little they included him in the conversation, he was starting to think that maybe you weren’t very close with them. It was an odd dynamic.
When they did say something to Chan, it was usually a poorly-hidden jab or passive aggressive comment that he was beginning to realize wasn’t in good spirit. They made fun of a bad outfit they’d seen, then described it as being similar to a specific piece of clothing you owned. They talked about a difficult class they were taking, then said, “even you wouldn’t be able to get an A.” On the surface it seemed harmless, but the way they said it made Chan feel like they were making fun of you.
Chan was starting to think of these girls as bullies more than friends. He understood now why he felt that sense of dread when he agreed to hang out. That must’ve been a gut feeling from you, who knew how these girls really were.
As much as he hated the way they treated you, it did bring him some relief to know that you weren’t like them. Which he pretty much knew already, from the raving reviews he’d received from his roommates after the first switch.
When he finished his lunch and watched as the girls shared a look with each other about it, he knew it was time to leave.
“Wow, the dining hall food must have been really good today,” Jiyeon said. It would have seemed like an innocent comment if Nari hadn’t snorted quietly in response, clearly at your expense.
Chan put the fakest smile he could on his face. “I actually have to go now. I just remembered I have plans. See you guys later,” he excused himself, quickly throwing out his trash and leaving the premises. He wished he could have defended you more or been a little more direct, but he knew it wasn’t fair of him to do anything in your body that might come back to bite you later. So, he left peacefully. For now.
Chan didn’t like your friends.
–
When you returned to your body, you were in a good mood. You’d had a lot of fun hanging out with the boys. You thought about what Chan might have done in your life today, and immediately your smile dropped. Your class. Shit.
It was an important one—well, they were all important to you, but that was beside the point—so not being actually present in class today to remember anything wasn’t good. This teacher was awful, never posting any notes or reviews online, explaining that it was your fault if you missed class or didn’t pay attention. You could ask someone else for notes, but the only friends you had in that class were Jiyeon and Nari, and there was no way in hell you were asking them for anything. You were not going to open that can of worms.
In the middle of your internal panic, you felt a sudden urge to check your notebook. You didn’t know why, but you listened to it, pulling it from your bag and flipping to the most recent page.
What greeted you was notes, meticulously written, documenting the entire class you’d missed. Well, you hadn’t actually missed it. Chan was there. Chan was there, and he’d taken notes so that you wouldn’t fall behind. Tears welled up in your eyes that you quickly blinked away.
He was so nice. He was gorgeous, and kind, and thoughtful. You didn’t deserve him. Why would the universe pair you with someone so perfect? He was too good for you.
Once you’d gotten over your slight internal breakdown, you noticed something in the top corner of your notes. It was a message from Chan. All it said was ‘text me :)’ with his number written underneath. You broke into a smile. You’d forgotten, yet again, to leave your number for him, but thankfully he hadn’t forgotten.
You added it into your phone, but paused, finger hovering over the keyboard. What were you supposed to say to him? ‘Hi, I’m your soulmate’? Maybe. Simple was probably better. You tried not to overthink it. He was the one who told you to text him, after all.
You typed out a simple ‘hi,’ hitting send before you could regret it. Then, you added, ‘this is [Y/N]!’ Good enough.
You set your phone down, but felt a buzz and immediately picked it back up. Chan sure was a fast texter.
When you looked at the notification, you saw that it wasn’t Chan replying, no, it was someone much worse. It was Jiyeon.
‘Hey girl, you seemed a little off at lunch today. I don’t know what’s wrong, but I hope you feel better! We should definitely do it again soon!’
You stared blankly at your phone. You had lunch today. With Jiyeon. Chan had lunch with Jiyeon. Yeah, that wasn’t good.
The text seemed nice. If anyone else was looking at it, they would think it was sweet, a friend checking in on you. But you knew better. When Jiyeon called you ‘off,’ that meant that you hadn’t done a good enough job at hiding your reactions to her insults. When you were too quiet, your face showed a hint of the hurt you felt, or, god forbid, you actually said something back to her and defended yourself. That was you being ‘off.’
You didn’t know what they’d said to Chan, or how he’d reacted, and honestly you didn’t want to know. You’d rather just forget it happened. You hoped Chan forgot it, too.
So, when he replied to your text a few minutes later with a ‘hey!!’ you didn’t say anything about it.
–
It had been a few weeks since you and Chan had last switched bodies. You’d been texting ever since he left his number, and he had to say, he really enjoyed it.
After the initial period of awkwardness, you’d warmed up to each other, and now texted each other every day. You would text just to talk about random things that happened throughout the day. Chan talked a lot about the kids’ antics, which you enjoyed since you’d met them all. You only really talked about your classes and what you were doing, which was usually just studying or reading.
It made Chan a little sad, that you didn’t seem to do much else. He knew that law school was serious, but that shouldn’t mean that you never got to do anything fun. He hoped that you were doing more fun things than you let on, but you never let a conversation get very far. You seemed like an open book, but the more Chan thought about it, he realized that he actually didn’t know very much about you.
He hoped that you were just shy and still getting to know him; maybe you’d tell him more later. After all, though it had seemed like you’d known each other for a while, you’d only had that first switching experience a little under a month ago.
He would learn more about you soon, anyway. It was hard not to when he was in your body, in your life.
–
You weren’t doing very well. Finals were approaching, and you stayed up late every night to study. You were exhausted, not getting anywhere near enough sleep, and were often so caught up in your tasks that you forgot to eat.
You were also lonely. You didn’t have very many friends, and the ones you did have were just as busy as you. You lived alone, so you didn’t have many interactions throughout the day. The only person you had was Chan. His texts were the only things keeping you going, encouraging you and giving you someone to talk to.
It didn’t help that after finals, you had to visit home for a week. You hated being home. Your eomeoni never got off your back about anything, always finding something to criticize. If you didn’t do well on finals, it would be about your grades. About not being able to make it as a lawyer. Plus, she never let a single visit go by without mentioning that you had gained weight and needed to ‘take care of yourself,’ even if you’d actually lost weight since you’d last seen her. It didn’t matter that you were a full adult in grad school. She was always the same.
So, with all that in mind, you studied even harder, forgot to eat even more, and isolated yourself in your apartment. You wanted to give your eomeoni as little as she could to insult, even though you knew she’d manage to find something anyway.
Still, you made sure to keep your texts to Chan upbeat and happy. He didn’t need to know about this. It was your problem, not his. He probably already didn’t like having you as his soulmate, and this would just solidify that in his mind.
–
Chan was worried about you. You were texting him less often, and although nothing in them implied something was wrong, he just felt… off. Something felt wrong within him, and he thought it had to be traced back to the soulmate bond. Something was wrong with you. He just wished he knew how to fix it.
He was lounging on a couch backstage, waiting for his turn for hair and makeup before an interview, when he felt that familiar dizziness that had eluded him for weeks.
All he could think about before his vision blacked out was that this was not good timing.
He regained his sight to find himself in an entirely unfamiliar location. He was in a bedroom, sitting at a desk with various makeup products in front of him. He assumed you’d been doing your makeup when you’d switched—funny coincidence.
Still, he had no idea where he was. He’d been in every room of your apartment, and this was not it. He noticed some of your items strewn about the room. Were you at a parent’s house, maybe? A friend’s?
As he stood up to get a better look around, a sudden wave of exhaustion and dizziness washed over him, though not the comforting dizziness that accompanied a body switch. No, a terrifying one that had him gripping the desk to stay upright. Why was he so tired, and why did he feel so awful? Were you sick?
A few seconds later, your phone began ringing, violently vibrating against the wooden desk. He picked it up, noticing that it was his number that was calling. Ah, so it was you. He smiled.
“Hey.”
“Chan,” your—his—shaky voice greeted him, quickly dropping his smile.
“[Y/N]? What’s wrong?” He asked.
“Chan, you need to listen to me. Please, this is important,” your stressed tone had him stressed, too, though he still couldn’t help but think how weird it was to hear his own voice over the phone. You two had never called before, only texted, so this was new.
“Okay, I’m listening.”
“Chan, you’re at my parents’ house right now. I’m home for a week over break.” So he’d guessed right. You continued, “my parents don’t know about the body switching. I didn’t tell them anything. So you can’t say anything, okay? Please, I need you to pretend you’re me.”
Chan froze. It had been a month, and you still hadn’t told your parents? “Why haven’t you told them?” He asked. “Is something else wrong? [Y/N], please, talk to me.”
After a moment’s hesitation and quiet, shaky breath, you responded. “Chan, my eomeoni and my abeoji aren’t– they aren’t nice people. They’re not nice to me, so they won’t be nice to you today. I don’t talk to them very often, so I haven't had a chance yet. I was– I was going to tell them this week.” Your voice grew quieter. “But I don’t want that to fall on you. So you need to pretend, please.”
Chan’s heart ached for you. “Of course, I can pretend.”
You let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you. And, please try not to let them get to you. They’re talking about me, not you. And don’t try to defend me, either. It just makes things worse. Okay?”
Chan was getting nervous. What could they possibly be like to preempt this kind of conversation? “Okay. Oh, by the way, you have your work cut out for you today, too.”
“What do you mean?”
“We have an interview today. In, like, an hour. I don’t know where you’re calling me from, but you need to go get your hair and makeup done,” Chan explained. When he received no response, he kept going. “And I’m the leader, so they’re going to expect me to talk the most—you to talk the most.”
“What??” You blanched.
“Yeah. I’m sorry, sweetheart,” the term of endearment slipped from his mouth easily. “The boys will help you. Tell them what’s going on, and they’ll cover for you if you need it. It’ll be okay.” He tried his best to sound reassuring, not wanting to add any more stress onto what he knew you were already feeling.
“Oh – okay. Um, I should go, then. Bye,” you said.
“Bye,” Chan replied, hanging up the call.
He tried not to show it on the call, but your words set him on edge. He had no idea what he was about to encounter when he went downstairs. He needed to prepare himself.
He looked in the mirror, making sure he looked okay. You had been in the middle of doing makeup, so he didn’t want to go downstairs with only half his face done or something. When he was sure that the makeup looked fine and he was dressed in a normal outfit, he left the room. Your phone told him it was ten in the morning.
He entered the kitchen, noticing who he assumed was your mother sitting at the table, reading a newspaper. She looked up at his arrival.
“Oh, look who’s finally up. Really, [Y/N], you need to wake up earlier. You won’t get anything done when you sleep in half the day.”
Wow. What a lovely first thing to hear in the morning.
“Uh– sorry, eomeoni,” Chan replied, using the same word you’d used to refer to your mother earlier.
She barely acknowledged the apology, turning back to her newspaper. After a long minute of silence, she started talking again, not looking up from the paper. “Your abeoji and I are going out with friends today for lunch. You’ll have to fend for yourself. We’re having dinner together tonight, though, so be sure you’re home for that.”
“Yes, eomeoni.”
It seemed that that was the end of the conversation. Chan opened the fridge, looking for something to eat. He was starving. There wasn’t much in there, so he settled for cereal and some fruit.
He felt wildly uncomfortable. This was your parents’ home, and he had no idea how to act. What did you normally do when you were here? Where did you sit, what did you talk about, did you even talk at all? He didn’t want to give himself away, but also had no clue what to do. He should’ve asked, but he knew he couldn’t now. You were busy in an interview.
A bit later, your parents left for their lunch plans. Chan let out a sigh of relief, glad that he didn’t have to be under scrutiny anymore. Not that your parents had even glanced his way or said a word to him since breakfast.
He wasn’t used to this. His parents were kind, he loved his siblings, and their home was always a lively one. It was nothing like this.
He decided to go for a walk. He didn’t know where he was, so he figured a little tour of the neighborhood could be a fun way to pass the time.
He quickly learned that you’d grown up in a small, adorable town. The center wasn’t a far walk from your house, so he’d found it soon into his walk. He went in and out of stores, browsing and talking to the workers and townspeople. They all seemed to know you. Almost everyone he walked by waved or said hi, and some even stopped to chat and ask about law school. He tried his best to come up with vague but satisfying answers.
He got lunch in town, finally returning home hours later. He really liked it here. It was quaint, and very homey. Though he couldn’t ignore how an uncomfortable feeling settled over him as soon as he walked back through the threshold of your house.
He was surprised that he was still in your body. The switches had never lasted longer than a few hours, but it seemed that today was different. Your parents hadn’t returned yet, so he went back to your room and opened the computer that was sitting on your desk. He’d been meaning to do some more research on his soulmark, but hadn’t had a chance. Now was as good a time as any.
Though information was scarce due to the rarity of the soulmark, he still found a few good articles and webpages. Soulmates with this mark would switch bodies at random, starting on a random date and not stopping until they met in person. The longer they went without meeting, the more often the switches would occur and the longer they’d last.
Chan thought about this. Things had been okay so far, but with his job, switches were bound to happen at inopportune times if they became a more common occurrence. Today was just the start of that, with you being forced to do an interview for him. He didn’t even want to think about what would happen if you switched during an exam. He would definitely fail it, and he would never forgive himself. He hoped it didn’t come to that.
He needed to meet you, and soon. He knew you went to a university in Seoul, so you really couldn’t be very far from each other. He just needed to find a time to meet you. He hoped you would be okay with that—you seemed like the type to want to take things slow.
Some time later, Chan heard your eomeoni calling you down for dinner. Time had flown by, it seemed. He’d hoped that you would’ve switched back by now, because he really wasn’t prepared for a whole dinner with your parents. He didn’t know what to say. He took a second to hope that everything would go well, and then walked downstairs.
Your parents were already sitting at the table, so Chan sat in the only available seat left, across from them. Dinner started silently, no one saying a thing as they served dinner onto their plates. Finally, your eomeoni spoke.
“So, [Y/N]. How did you do on finals?”
The information came to Chan’s brain immediately, words coming out of his mouth before he could even think them. “Good, eomeoni. I passed them all. I emailed you all my scores, remember?” Chan was surprised by his own words, but tried not to show it. This must be muscle memory, or something. He liked it. It would definitely help him get through dinner.
“Yes, I did see them,” she replied, tone dismissive. Chan wondered why she would ask if she already knew what they were. “You passed, but that’s it. Really, [Y/N], an eighty-five on Administrative Law? A ninety on Civil Procedure? You can do better.”
Chan had to stop himself from showing the absolute shock he felt on his face. Those scores were amazing, if you asked him. You were in law school in one of the most prestigious universities in the country, and the lowest scores you received on finals were an eighty-five and a ninety? To him, that made you a genius. He didn’t understand why your eomeoni thought they were so bad.
He tried to take your advice to not defend you, but he couldn’t just let it go. “Those are good scores, eomeoni. Much better than most other people in my classes.”
“I don’t care about the other people in your classes, I care about you. And I know you can do better,” she rebutted immediately. Chan had no idea what to say to that. “Work harder next time.”
After a long moment of inner struggle, Chan replied, “yes, eomeoni.” The words came to him so easily, like he’d said them a million times before in a million conversations just like this. That was probably exactly right, he realized, for you.
The conversation continued after that, your mother reminding him very much of your friends, Jiyeon and Nari—she insulted so many people that Chan assumed were her friends or neighbors, speaking scathing comments about things that didn’t seem very serious to Chan. She soon turned her insults onto you, talking about how a friend’s daughter “really needs to lose some weight, and speaking of that, you seem like you’ve changed since last break too, [Y/N].”
She mentioned it casually, but it was clear by the emphasis she put on ‘changed’ and the tone of her voice that she had been looking for a way to bring the topic up.
“Really, honey, what do I tell you every time? That just because you need to spend so much time studying, that doesn’t give you an excuse to stop eating healthy.”
Chan wasn’t sure what to say. He’d heard many conversations like this before, most of them back as a trainee when he’d overheard managers talking to the female trainees. They were harsh conversations, but it was always direct, to the point, and not as passively cruel as your eomeoni was currently being. Also, you weren’t even an idol! Chan disagreed with the dieting culture as a whole for idols, but your mother didn’t even have that excuse. You were just a regular girl, who, by the way, was absolutely just fine the way you were. Chan didn’t think you needed to change anything about yourself.
Still, Chan didn’t know quite what to say to that, and felt something in his head urging him not to reply. Before he could decide what to do, your eomeoni changed the topic. “But really, honey, if you want to be unhealthy and are fine with the way you look, that’s your choice. Anyway, did you see Mrs. Choi’s daughter in town today? She really needs to fix–” Chan stopped listening, your mother’s words becoming a blur in his head as he fumed in anger. His fists were clenched under the table so hard it almost hurt, and he was sure that if anyone looked at him, his feelings would be made perfectly clear by his expression.
He was going to say something. He was. You didn’t deserve to be spoken about like this. He didn’t care that you said not to defend you, not anymore. He opened his mouth to speak—
—and felt a sudden, familiar wave of dizziness. No. Not right now, not now. He tried to fight it, but Chan was powerless to the will of the universe. He opened his eyes and was back in his own body.
–
You had prayed to not switch bodies with Chan while visiting your parents. You begged, pleaded with the universe, not ready for Chan to see that part of your life. You were not listened to.
When you switched, you almost fell into a full-blown panic attack, painfully aware of what Chan was going to encounter in your life today. You couldn’t, though. Not here. Actually, where were you?
Distracting yourself from your inner panic, you looked around. You were in some sort of dressing room, sitting on a couch with Felix and Jeongin, who were both busy on their phones. Lining the walls were small desks covered in makeup products and mirrors with bright lights hanging on the walls in front of them. The room was bustling, staff members running around, yelling things, calling times that had no meaning to you.
You didn’t care. Wherever you were, whatever was happening, it could wait. You needed to call Chan.
You grabbed your phone, jumping up from the couch and slipping out the door, finding a bathroom to hide yourself in. On your way out, you missed Felix and Jeongin’s surprised glances and confused “where are you going”s.
You sunk down on the bathroom floor and unlocked Chan’s phone, extremely grateful for facial recognition. He picked up immediately.
Voice shaky and holding back tears, you were sure you sounded awful, but you didn’t care as you quickly explained the situation. You were thankful for Chan’s hesitant agreement, hoping that he wouldn’t change his mind when he actually met your parents.
You stalled at his mention of the interview. “What??” you said into the phone, already falling back into the panic you’d barely managed to wrench yourself out of. Chan’s assurance that the boys would help you calmed you down a bit, but you ended the call quickly after, not wanting to stress him out too much with your worries.
An interview. That’s why everyone was getting their makeup done and staff was running around like someone was chasing them. You needed to get back.
You returned, relief dawning on Felix and Jeongin’s faces as soon as they saw you.
“Chan! Oh, thank god you’re back. Where did you go? Are you okay?” Felix asked.
“It’s your turn for makeup,” Jeongin said, gesturing to a waiting makeup artist, antsy with impatience.
You felt disconnected from your body, unsure what to do. “Oh, okay,” you said, coming out much calmer than you felt, body on autopilot as you sat down in the empty chair.
As the artist began applying product to your face, you saw realization dawn on Jeongin’s face. “Wait, Chan, did you–”
“Yes,” you cut him off, voice quiet and laced with anxiety.
Felix gasped. “Oh, shit, you swi–”
Minho cut Felix off this time with a harsh glare, apparently having overheard the conversation. “Not here, Felix,” he said, eyes flitting to the various staff members within earshot.
“Right, sorry,” Felix replied. Before he could say anything else, he was ushered away to another chair to get his own makeup done. Minho, seemingly all made-up with nowhere else to be, stayed by your side as you got your own make up done. When your artist left for a minute to find an eyeliner she’d let someone else borrow, Minho immediately began talking to you in a low tone.
“This is an interview about our new album. Have you listened to it?” You nodded, and he continued, “okay, good. Then if someone asks about a song or something, just answer as truthfully as possible. If any of that dance muscle memory works with talking, too, use that. If you look like you need help, we’ll jump in. I’ll tell everyone else. Okay?”
You stared at him for a second, still taking in the barrage of information he’d just relayed to you. Your brain, overwhelmed from everything that had happened in the last ten minutes, was a bit slow on the uptake.
“Okay,” you replied eventually. The make-up artist came back, then, effectively ending your conversation. Minho gave you a reassuring pat on the shoulder before walking off to inform the others.
The next half hour passed in a blur. You were ushered from room to room, finishing your makeup, changing into your interview outfit, getting your hair done. Before you knew it, you were sitting in a comfy chair with the seven other boys, cameras pointed towards you and lights shining bright in your eyes.
A brief countdown sounded, and the interview began.
As soon as the cameras turned on, you felt something take over your body. An unknown force pushed you out of the driver’s seat and you were left to observe, your body acting on its own, just like in dance practice. You answered questions with words you didn’t even think of before you spoke them, yet as you talked you knew it to be true.
You didn’t want to push the limits of whatever this was that was helping you, so you stayed relatively quiet, letting the other members do most of the talking. Still, when a question was directed toward you, you somehow knew exactly what to say, playing the perfect ‘Bang Chan’ role.
The interview finished, and with the sound of the cameras being turned off, you felt yourself come back to your body. Internally, you mused how Chan must have his idol persona drilled into him for it to be able to overtake you so fully when the cameras were on.
The minute you and the other boys were left alone to get changed back, you were tackled into a hug by multiple members.
“[Y/N], that was amazing!”
“You’re a natural!”
“I would’ve never been able to tell it wasn’t Chan!”
You blushed at the praise, unused to so much attention. “Thanks, guys,” you said softly.
The eight of you got unready and then were taken back to the company for the rest of the day’s schedule, which consisted solely of dance and voice practices—no more public appearances for you today, thank god.
When you finally got a minute to yourself on the car ride back to the dorms, you remembered Chan, and where you’d left him today. Your stomach sank. You’d been so busy that you forgot all about it, but now, you were terrified. You hoped your parents hadn’t done anything crazy or said anything particularly mean to him, though you knew that was highly unlikely.
He hadn’t texted you, but that was probably just because he knew you’d be busy. Now that you thought about it, you’d been switched for quite a long time today—much longer than usual. The universe seemed like it was out to get you, switching you today of all days and having it last for the entire day.
The boys noticed you lost in your thoughts and tried to ask what was wrong, but you just gave a vague answer and changed the subject. There was no reason to involve them in your own issues. It wasn’t fair to them.
Seeing that you weren’t going to give them a real answer, they instead decided to just be very rowdy and energetic, all coming back to Chan’s shared dorm at the end of the day. You played video games and had dinner, and you had to admit, it was fun. Chan was lucky to have such good friends.
Still, when the dizziness took over your vision, you almost felt thankful. You didn’t think you could handle all the happiness anymore. You didn’t deserve it. Chan deserved to be having fun with his friends right now, not stuck in your miserable childhood home with your parents.
Your vision cleared, and you found yourself at your parents’ kitchen table, untouched food in front of you. Your mom was in the middle of one of her usual rants, talking about the latest neighborhood gossip—which girl had found a bad influence of a boyfriend, which old high school acquaintance was currently doing better than you in life, the usual. You weren’t even a little bit surprised that your parents hadn’t noticed the switch. You never talked much at dinner anyways.
–
Chan’s concern for you grew by the day.
It had been a week since the last switch. You were back in your apartment now, and Chan felt a surprising amount of relief at knowing you weren’t at your parents’ place anymore. He’d texted you the day after the switch, but you’d brushed him off. You said it was fine, your eomeoni was always like that, it wasn’t that serious, and so on. Chan didn’t believe you.
Chan was worried about a lot of things. He was worried about your friends, your parents, your over-studying, your eating habits, your sleep schedule (if that exhaustion he felt when he first entered your body was anything to go off). He was worried. But he didn’t want to ask you about it, he didn’t want to seem like an overbearing boyfriend. You weren’t even technically dating, since you hadn’t had that conversation yet, hadn’t even met in person, but Chan wondered if being soulmates allowed him to breach those topics.
Still, even being soulmates, Chan never found a time he felt comfortable bringing any of it up. It didn’t help that you primarily talked through text, with calls being few and far between, and text didn’t seem like the right method of communication for this conversation. So he waited.
Chan did the next best thing: he talked to his friends about it. He hated to share your personal issues with them, but they were basically your friends too, he reasoned, and it was important. He was trying to help you.
“Wow, they sound awful,” Jisung said after Chan told them all about his experience with your parents.
“God, no wonder she ran off so fast to call you. She looked really scared,” Felix added, remembering your panicked eyes as you’d jumped off the couch that day.
“I don’t know what to do. Her parents are awful, and so are her friends. Or, at least, the ones I’ve met. I don’t know if she has anyone to lean on, and she won’t talk to me,” Chan explained, defeated. “I don’t know how to help her.”
“You need to see her. In person. Maybe you’d get through to her then,” Hyunjin suggested.
“I really want to, but you know how busy we are right now. I’d need to plan a whole outing, which wouldn’t be able to happen for weeks, and I don’t even know what I’d tell the company,” Chan replied.
“Ah, right. They don’t know,” Changbin said. Chan had decided not to tell anyone but the boys about the soulmark, worrying about what the company might do. Force you two to see each other so the switching would stop and then ban you from seeing each other again? That seemed most likely. JYPE wasn’t exactly the biggest supporter of idol relationships, even if it was soulmates.
The conversation had continued with more suggestions, but it was fruitless. There was nothing Chan could do for you right now. He felt better that the boys knew, though. Maybe next time you switched, they could talk to you for him.
–
You were spiraling. After the week of the cruel and unusual punishment that is your parents’ house, you were finally back at your apartment. You were supposed to be better now that you were back—that’s what you told yourself every day of last week until it was time to come home—but you were failing even at that.
Being back home meant being back at school, so you were immediately back on your grind, staying late at the library to study, or in your kitchen with the lights on late into the night.
You were eating less, too. Much less. You hated to say it, but your eomeoni had gotten to you. The combination of her comments all throughout the week, your friends’ regular digs, and your stress at having Chan as your soulmate broke you. It wasn’t even very difficult, either. You were always in class or studying, so you’d often forget to eat or not notice your hunger anyway.
You were eating less than you ever had before, skipping most meals but always making sure to have just enough in your system to get you through the day. The last thing you wanted was to collapse in front of someone—it was mortifying even to think about.
What spurred you on even more was the encouragement you were receiving. Jiyeon and Nari had stopped you after class again this week, wanting to walk with you and chat, and they both complimented you, saying “girl, you look good!” It was a genuine comment, which threw you for a loop, because you’d never heard an actual compliment from them the entire time you’d known them. Yuna, your closest friend, had also noticed, telling you quite directly that you looked “so skinny, oh my god.”
You were glad. For the compliments, for one, but also for the fact that they didn’t seem to notice the heavy eye bags you tried so hard to cover or the effort it took for you to walk long distances. You were just so tired lately. It was okay, though. Nothing you couldn’t handle.
Chan texted you a lot, which only increased the guilt you felt for putting this on him. You tried your best to brush it off, change the topic, tell him you were doing fine, but he just wouldn’t let it go. You could tell that he was trying to seem unbothered, but the did you eat yet texts every day and the good night, get some rest texts every night gave him away, especially because you knew Chan wasn’t going to bed when he texted you good night. His workaholic tendencies and insomnia kept him up just as late as you, if not later, you were sure.
Chan was so sweet, so caring, and it was getting harder to ignore the voice in your head that told you you didn’t deserve him. It got louder every day, every time he texted you a reminder to eat and you lied that you’d eaten already, every time he asked how your day was and you told him it was great. You were a burden, an exhausted, ugly burden with too many problems and you couldn’t bear the thought of Chan taking them on for you. It wasn’t his job—his job was to be an idol, and he already had plenty on his plate that came with that. You just needed him to stop worrying about you. You could take care of yourself.
–
Last time you and Chan had switched, Chan complained about the timing. Well, the universe must have heard him and decided to one-up itself, because this had to be the worst timing in the world.
He and the rest of the Stray Kids were backstage at an awards show, waiting to perform. They watched in the wings as another group performed. After that, there would be an award and a speech, and then they would go on to perform.
As he stood, half watching and half listening to his members’ whispered conversations with each other, he felt the all too familiar and in this moment, incredibly awful feeling of dizziness that accompanied a body switch.
As soon as he opened his eyes to his new surroundings—the kitchen table of your apartment—a huge wave of exhaustion and hunger and a different, worse kind of dizziness crashed over him, and he was sure he would’ve collapsed to the ground if he weren’t already sitting down.
He didn’t know how long he sat there, hands gripping the table, desperate for something to ground himself while he recovered from and adjusted to the drastic change in feeling. He felt something like this last time you’d switched, but it wasn’t anywhere close to this level. When he’d finally recovered enough for thoughts to get through his head again, he swore. Loud and harsh and unlike him, but he couldn’t help it. He’d messed up.
He tried to get through to you, to talk to you, but you kept brushing him off, saying you were fine. And after a while, he started to believe it. At least a little. He could’ve done more, damn it, he should’ve done more. All he’d done for the past two weeks was ask if you were eating and imply for you to go to bed. And for the past two weeks, you’d clearly been lying to him, sending responses only to placate him, to make him believe that you were okay.
But you weren’t okay. And Chan couldn’t help but think that it was all his fault for not noticing.
He needed to do something. He was in your body, right? So what could he do to help? He got his answer from the loud rumble that sounded through your stomach.
Chan slowly stood up, careful not to fall back down onto the chair, and made his way over to your fridge. He internally wondered how you’d gotten anywhere recently, considering how tiring it was just for him to stand up and walk to the fridge.
The fridge was worryingly empty, only holding some fruit and few, scarce leftovers that he assumed were from meals you didn’t finish. He pulled everything out, heating up some old pasta and washing and cutting the fruit into a bowl. If you wouldn’t eat, then he would have to do it for you.
He ate the pasta quickly, the fruit following soon after. His stomach felt better for a second, glad to finally have some real food in it. Then, it flipped. A sudden but strong wave of nausea shot through him, and he barely made it to the bathroom in time before he was puking out everything he’d just eaten. Fuck.
Of course, he was so fucking stupid. You hadn’t eaten anything substantial in who knows how long, so of course your body wouldn’t react well to a sudden influx of food. He wanted to hit himself for being so dumb.
Once he’d finished emptying his stomach and cleaned himself up, the only thing he had enough energy left to do was stumble to the couch and collapse on it. He didn’t know how long he laid there for until a rush of energy woke his body.
He jerked up, suddenly finding himself standing, back at the awards show (dressing room? he registered sluggishly), surrounded by his friends. He must have been so out of it in your body that he didn’t even feel the dizziness. That wasn’t good.
The complete change in feeling jarred him, again, even though it was a change for the better. His legs wobbled and he pitched forward, managing to catch himself on Changbin’s shoulder. His friend, concerned, quickly moved to help support his weight, letting Chan lean on him until he was able to regain his balance.
“Chan? Are you back? What’s wrong?” Changbin asked.
Chan righted himself, taking a step back to look at everyone. They were all sweaty, out of breath, but glowing—aside from their current worry for him. Chan took stock of his own feelings, finding himself to be a bit tired (though compared to what he’d just felt in your body, he actually felt so energetic he could run a marathon) and adrenaline coursed through him, like it always did after a performance. His eyes widened, remembering.
“Did we perform? Did she perform? How did it go?” He asked instead, in a panic now that he had enough energy to feel anything other than exhaustion.
“Wha- Chan, forget about the performance! What happened to you?”
It was apparently clear that Chan was in a state, but he had no care of how he looked right now. All he cared about was you.
“I’m fine, but [Y/N]’s not. She’s not okay, guys. It’s so much worse than I thought, fuck, it’s bad,” he rambled, unable to stop thinking about how awful he felt for the short time he was in your body, how awful you must have felt for weeks without anyone knowing. “I need to find her, I need to help her. Please, we need to go–”
Seungmin gripped his shoulders. “Chan, calm down. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. Take a breath.”
“No, you don’t understand!”
Another hand came to rest on his back, rubbing slow circles. His friends talked to him, but the words didn’t make it through to his head. His breaths came out fast and shallow, and he slightly registered someone trying to get him to follow their breathing. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, and what he’d just felt.
Eventually, he came back to himself. Everyone looked extremely worried. For him, his brain supplied, because he’d just had a panic attack.
“I’m okay,” he said, ever the leader, because he absolutely was not okay, but he didn’t want his members worrying for him any more. He heard a chorus of relieved sighs, his friends glad he was finally back and lucid. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, Chan,” said Jeongin.
“Yeah, we’re here for you.” Felix.
“Can we do anything to help?” asked Minho. “Tell us what to do and we’ll do it.”
–
You were sitting at your kitchen table trying to study, books and papers spread out in front you, to no avail. You just couldn’t seem to focus, and you knew why. You were tired, dizzy, hungry, and your body protested so much that you couldn’t get anything done. Usually you were okay, you could push through no problem, but today was worse.
You’d had a test this morning, an important one, so last night you’d stayed up studying. You only got an hour of sleep, maybe two, and it was coming back to bite you today. Thankfully, you’d made it through the test and actually thought you did pretty good, but the exhaustion hit you as soon as you stepped out of the classroom. It was probably the relief that did it, the sudden release of tension that allowed all the other feelings you’d pushed away to come back full force.
You pushed the books away from you, giving up. Maybe you should just call it a day and take a nap or something. You could give yourself that, right?
As you decided on what to do, a different kind of dizziness came over you, and your sluggish brain only remembered what that meant just as your vision changed.
You were in a big, dark room, surrounded by people trying to be as quiet as possible. Following the only source of light you could find, you turned to see curtains, and beyond them, a stage.
You weren’t thinking about the connotations of that realization, though, because as soon as the body switch had been completed, a sudden and violent rush of energy crashed into you, feeling more like a bad thing than good with the force of it.
You stumbled but quickly caught yourself, standing still to feel the new energy coursing through your body. It felt amazing. You’d been feeling so bad for the past few weeks that you forgot how it felt to be fully energized, and god, did you miss it. It felt so good that you almost considered stopping your recent habits, but you quickly brushed that thought off. It was working. What you were doing was working, if the compliments you’d received recently had anything to say about it, so you could handle a little tiredness. It was worth it.
You were drawn out of your thoughts as a whispered conversation near you grew louder. You looked back to the stage, finally realizing what that actually meant for you, and paled. You looked down at yourself and found you were wearing very fancy and high-quality clothes. Your hair felt hard, like it had been sprayed in place, and you could feel the makeup on your face.
Oh. Oh, shit.
Your head whipped to look at the people closest to you, which happened to be the ones having the whispered conversation. Seungmin and Jeongin. They saw you looking, and mistook your expression for you being mad at them for being loud. “Sorry, Chan,” Jeongin said, quieting down.
You shook your head. “I’m not Chan,” you whispered, voice barely audible. The boys must have heard you, though, because their eyes immediately widened, surprise and worry clear in their gaze.
“Oh, fuck,” Seungmin said, full volume. That drew the attention of the rest of the members, who came over to see what was going on. “It’s [Y/N],” Seungmin explained quietly once everyone had gathered.
A series of gasps sounded from the group.
“What do I do? What are you even performing?” You asked.
“It’s okay. You have that weird muscle memory thing, right? Won’t you know the dance?” Jisung said, hopeful.
“Oh, yeah! Like in dance practice,” Felix said.
“And the interview,” Hyunjin added.
“Um, yeah, I guess so. I just– I’m not super confident in it.”
The boys tried their best to reassure you, but it was clear they were worried as well.
“Well, there’s nothing else we can do. You have to go on, so just do your best,” Minho told you, ever the voice of reason.
“Yeah. You’re right,” you agreed, taking a deep breath. You could do this. You could do this.
In the background, you heard the voice of someone announcing Stray Kids’ performance. The lights dimmed. You walked on stage with the boys, finding your place, whole body shaking. Fuck, this was scary.
Last time, in dance practice, you’d known the moves but messed up where Chan usually messed up—at least, that’s what the boys said. You only hoped that Chan knew this dance well enough for you to not mess up at all right now.
The lights came up, the music started, and your body moved. You didn’t know what you were doing, but you were moving, dancing, singing, an ‘oh thank god’ ringing in your head as you hit every count. You let yourself get carried away in the dance, ignoring the huge audience that, if you paid full attention to, would probably scare you out of your muscle memory.
When the song finally ended, feeling like it had lasted for years, you quickly excited the stage with the rest of the group, out of breath but glowing. You felt incredible. It probably felt even better than it otherwise might have, given that you felt like exactly the opposite of this constantly in your own body. Maybe… maybe it wasn’t worth it. What you were doing to yourself. You didn’t know.
You followed the group to an empty dressing room, being told that you could change and get ready again before heading back out to sit in the audience. Instead of changing, the boys immediately turned to you, cheering and patting your back at a job well done.
You smiled at their praise, but it faded in your ears, replaced by overwhelming dizziness, and then nothing.
It was quiet. Silent. No one was talking anymore. You lifted your head up, seeing your kitchen table, and winced as your exhaustion slammed back into you. Well, great. You were back now. Yay.
Really though, you were happy to be back, if at least it meant that Chan wasn’t suffering anymore. You didn’t deserve to feel happy and energetic if it meant that he felt like this. You chose to do this to yourself, so you would be the one to deal with it. Not Chan.
You stood up slowly, carefully, and walked to your bedroom. You had done enough today. You’d allow yourself a break, an early bedtime. It was Friday, too, so no classes tomorrow. You collapsed on your covers, falling asleep before you could even crawl under the blankets.
When you woke up, it was to three missed calls and ten messages, all from Chan. Whoops. You scrolled through them, reading them with eyes still bleary from sleep.
Are you okay?
Please call me back
[Y/N], I’m worried about you
Please just answer the phone
Are you sleeping?
Just text me if you’re reading these
I’m here for you
You can tell me if something is wrong
[Y/N]
Please answer
Oh, shit. You checked the time. It was eleven in the morning. Shit, you never slept this late. Thank god it was the weekend.
Chan had called you three times last night and sent half the texts. Then he’d texted the last few at eight in the morning. Fuck, he’d been worried about you all night? You hated that you slept through it all.
You quickly typed out a response, not trusting yourself to be able to keep up the act if you talked to him directly.
I’m fine
I’m sorry, I was asleep. I just saw all of these
I didn’t mean to worry you. I’m okay though
Chan’s response came immediately, like he’d been staring at his phone, waiting for a reply. Honestly, he probably was.
Are you sure?
When we switched yesterday, it just seemed like
Well, I don’t know. You just didn’t seem okay
You almost started crying at how nice he was being. He didn’t need to care this much about you. No one else did. You needed him to stop caring.
I swear I’m fine
You don’t need to worry about me, I can take care of myself
Chan took longer to reply this time. His speech bubble popped up and disappeared multiple times before he finally replied with a simple, okay.
You sighed and set down your phone, feeling relieved but also strangely guilty. You got what you wanted—Chan to stop worrying, stop asking if you were okay, at least for now. But you really didn’t like lying to him. Hopefully if he stopped asking, you’d stop needing to lie.
You crawled out of bed, feeling much better than yesterday after all the sleep you’d gotten. You still felt the ever-present rumble in your stomach, but that wasn’t anything new.
Yesterday was one of your worst days, which was mainly just because of the stress and lack of sleep due to the test you had. You usually were much more functional. You felt bad that Chan had experienced that particular day in your life—it wasn’t a good example to go off of.
You walked to the bathroom, beginning your morning routine. You washed your face, did your skincare, and ate a granola bar for breakfast. You got dressed in comfy clothes, not having the need nor the energy to look cute today. Then, you set off to the library. You needed to find a specific book to help with an essay you were working on.
You brought your laptop to the library with you, thinking that the quiet and calming ambience of the building would help you get some essay writing done after you’d located the book. You were right, and you ended up staying in the library for much longer than you’d planned.
By the time you returned home, bag heavy with your laptop and books—okay, so maybe you’d gotten carried away while looking for that one book—your stomach was growling much louder now, upset at being ignored for so long. You paid no attention to it.
You set your bag down and promptly dropped yourself down on the couch, not quite tired enough to call it a ‘collapse’ but still pretty close. You sunk into the comfort of the fluffy pillows, but your relaxation time was soon ended with a knock at your door.
Your eyebrows furrowed. Who would be knocking on your door right now? Your friends weren’t really the type for spontaneous hang-outs, at least not without texting first. You stood up on shaky legs and padded over to the door, opening it.
You were greeted with a very familiar face.
“Chan?” you asked, eyes raking over his gorgeous frame. Everything you’d seen online and in the mirror when you were him—perfect skin, dreamy eyes, and literally everything else about him because he was perfect, despite the mask and hood he currently wore—was now directly in front of you, and my god was he even more incredible to see in person.
Once you’d finished admiring Chan’s beauty, you started to wonder why he was actually here. He seemed incredibly nervous, his eyes were wide and concerned, and he was here standing in your doorway oh my god what was Chan doing at your apartment? He’d said okay, you thought that meant he’d drop the subject, not find where you live and meet you on a random Saturday!
Chan said nothing, instead stepping forward and engulfing you in the most comforting hug you’d ever felt. You froze for a second, surprised, but quickly melted into it, wrapping your arms around him. He held you tighter, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. You felt the unmistakable feeling of your soulmate bond running through you, especially strong now that you were physically meeting and touching each other. Now that you had met, you two would never switch bodies again.
As you stood in your doorway, wrapped in Chan’s embrace, you allowed yourself a moment of happiness. You felt good in his arms. Safe.
He finally let you go, seemingly less nervous than before. You let him into your apartment, not wanting anyone to walk by and recognize him, or even just wonder why you were hugging a random man outside your door.
When you’d closed the door behind him and stood to face him directly, mask and hood off, he finally spoke.
“[Y/N].” Your name sounded like a prayer on his lips. You stood still, waiting to see what he was going to say. Was something wrong? Did he come find you just to stop switching bodies, because it was such a hassle? Was he going to break up with you, if there was even anything to break? The suspense was killing you. Then, he smiled. “You’re even more gorgeous in person.”
Oh. You were not expecting that.
You let out a startled laugh, a self-deprecating smile forming on your face. “What?” You asked, looking down at the sweatpants and ratty crewneck you’d thrown on this morning. You didn’t have any makeup on, your hair was down but definitely frizzy and tangled, and you were wearing your glasses instead of your regular contacts because, like you’d thought this morning, there was no need to look cute today. You were an insane contrast to the effortlessly beautiful man that stood across from you, so much so that his compliment was literally laughable. You couldn’t keep the disbelief from your voice when you spoke.
Chan’s smile dropped at that, eyebrows furrowing as he stepped closer to you, raising a hand to cup your face. He tilted your head up, making you look at him.
“You’re gorgeous,” he said. “You are.” The look in his eyes as he said it was hard to argue with.
“Oh – Okay,” you stuttered. “You’re also, um. Well. You’re the most handsome person I’ve ever seen in my life, I think,” you rambled out, your nerves making you spew out every thought in your head, no matter how embarrassing or badly worded. Chan just chuckled, murmuring out a ‘thanks,’ but you could tell by the slight flush of his cheeks that he felt similar to you.
“What are you—I mean, not that I’m not happy to see you, because I absolutely am, but—what are you doing here?” You asked.
“I needed to see you,” he replied. “I just – I was worried. About you.” The way he said it made you think there was more to the explanation that he wasn’t saying.
“Chan, that’s so sweet, but I told you. I’m fine, there’s no need to worry,” you told him. “Besides, aren’t you, like, a famous idol? Isn’t there some event or practice you need to be in right now?” You didn’t mean to sound like you were trying to push him out, but you didn’t like him being so worried over you. It was embarrassing, really, that he was so worried about something that was so not serious.
“No,” Chan replied, a tad aggressively. He looked hurt, or like he was hurting for you. “No, [Y/N], I’m supposed to be here right now. I got them to let me come because I’m worried about you. Rightfully. Because you’re not fine,” he said, gaining steam as he talked. You were too shocked at how serious he seemed to be on the matter to interrupt. “[Y/N], what I felt when we switched yesterday—that’s not fine. That’s not normal! I – I’d never felt so bad before, and you – you feel like that all the time? That’s not fine, you’re not fine.”
You stood, frozen, as Chan argued. He was worried, stressed. About you. You felt your heart constrict, some unknown feeling flooding through you. No one had ever cared this much. No one had ever even sent a text to check in when you were sick, much less track you down to find you and help you even after being told you were fine and could handle yourself.
Chan cared about you. The realization hit you like a train. He didn’t think you were ugly, he didn’t loathe the fact that he had a soulmate or that you were his soulmate. He didn’t think you were a burden, he didn’t come find you just so you would stop switching bodies. You’d never even met before, only texted for like a month, and he still cared about you so much that he dropped everything after finding out something was wrong to find and help you.
Tears welled in your eyes, and you didn’t have the energy to try to stop them or blink them away. You didn’t have the energy to do anything. You were so tired, so hungry. You’d been doing such a good job at ignoring all the pain and exhaustion you felt for weeks, but now the floodgates were open and everything was rushing out. All it took was a few sentences from Chan, and everything was coming out.
Chan had been waiting for a response from you, it seemed, because he’d just been staring and looking deep into your expression the entire time you’d stood still, thoughts running rampant in your head. Because of his focus, he noticed the second that tears began rolling down your face. He lurched forward, hands coming up to cup your face and thumbs moving under your glasses to wipe away the tears.
As soon as you felt his skin against yours, you went limp. You couldn’t hold yourself up anymore. You fell into him, and he caught you, hands shooting down to hold your waist, steadying you. When it was clear that you would not be regaining your balance any time soon, Chan carefully picked you up and carried you to the couch.
“It’s okay, baby,” he reassured softly. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’ve got you, you can let it out. It’s okay.” He rubbed circles on your back with one hand, the other brushing your hair from your face as you cried into his shoulder. You were curled into his side on the couch, leaning fully against him with your head buried in between his neck and shoulder.
He held you until your cries stopped and your breath evened out, not saying anything until you lifted your head to look at him with red-rimmed eyes. You didn’t know what to say. You looked at his shirt, which was now damp with your tears. “I’m sorry,” you let out, voice hoarse from crying. You weren’t sure if the sorry was for the shirt or for forcing him to comfort you as you sobbed.
“No, baby, don’t apologize,” Chan replied, and you didn’t know when or why he started calling you ‘baby’ but you’d definitely be lying if you said you didn’t like it. “Are you feeling better?”
“Yeah."
“Good,” he smiled, arm still slung around your back, his hand now rubbing soothingly up and down your arm. You weren’t sure if he even knew he was doing it.
“So you–” you hesitated, unsure. You took a deep breath. “You don’t have anywhere else to be? You can – you can stay?” You weren’t used to being so open, so vulnerable with anyone. But with Chan, you felt like you could be.
Chan hummed in agreement. “Nowhere to be,” he said, “I’m staying right here.”
You gently laid your head back on Chan's shoulder, and he used his arm around you to pull you closer. You closed your eyes, content. You could get used to this.
❛ You think the workaholic doctor with 3 friends is going to be your honey trap? Come on, Christopher. You’re worth more than that.
I think you’re so perfectly my type that it had to be a trap, Y/N. ❜
⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ in which an independent doctor who has forgotten how to trust, meets a tired boxer with anger issues. currently at: 71.4k ( + 34.0k spinoff ) in total. main story is complete, however one shots are being added.
find the playlist here. read on ao3 here.
𖤐 ❛ JUST DON'T LET ME GO # ♡ ➶ SWEAR YOU'LL KEEP ME CLOSE * ⁀➷
♯┆CHRONOLOGICAL MASTERLIST .ᐟ
꒰ westside – 42.3k
♡. summary. as a doctor, you swore an oath. your word was your bond, and when you find yourself mixed up in a world much more dangerous than you’d ever known, that bond was going to be tested.
read part i. part ii. part iii.
꒰ paradise – 4.2k
♡. summary. when an embarrassing secret of yours gets out, but it leads to a fun hangout in the chris castle.
read here.
꒰ nothing's gonna hurt you baby – 8.1k
♡. summary. in which you think you can keep yourself safe without your boyfriend's help, but the secrecy causes a rift between the two of you.
read here.
꒰ wildflower – 12.6k
♡. summary. in which you meet the girl who had chris before you, but hyunjin isn’t going to let you forget who actually won chris’ heart.
read here.
꒰ tko – 4.4k
♡. summary. fighting lessons should be mandatory for every gang leader's girlfriend, right? wrong. christopher doesn't think you need to know all that . . until the sight of you in the ring changes his mind.
read here.
꒰ NORTHBOUND, A WESTSIDE SPINOFF – 34.0k
♡. summary. all you wanted was to get rich and avoid your annoying ex boyfriend. maybe even find a good matcha in this godforsaken city. what you didn’t want was to be dragged into a gang war that was going to cost you your sanity, but we don’t all get what we want, do we? – felix lee x reader.
read part i. part ii. part iii.
please do not copy, steal or translate any of my works, thank you!
comment here if you'd like to be tagged for updates on this au 🩵
Synopsis: When Minho is hired as the head chef of Farfalle, a prestigious Italian restaurant, expectations are high for him to elevate its reputation and bring it to new heights. However, no one anticipates the drastic changes he implements in the kitchen—including his strict rule that that there'll be no women and no romance in his kitchen.
synopsis: you never saw church as something to worship, but something to swear off. there were too many rules, too much to uphold, and you just weren’t made for the straight-laced nature of it all. jeongin was though—made for it, that is. when you slide into the pews some sunday on a drunken dare, you see him for the first time. after that? you make sure you’re the only thing on his mind.
pairings: churchgoer!jeongin x f!reader
genre: smut, a touch of angst (if you squint)
contains: corruption, religious guilt, innocence loss, virgin!jeongin, experienced!reader, smoking (reader smokes cigarettes), semi public sex (church bathroom hehehe), oral (m + f receiving), pet names (jagi, sweet boy, baby), making out, public teasing, panty stealing. there may be some warnings missing, so read with caution
word count: 12.6k
now playing: hot gum - sofia isella
hot gum (sinners). <- part 2 !!
[a/n]: FIRST AND FOREMOST i’ve only been to church like- once. and it was 15+ years ago. that being said, i apologize if anything is blatantly wrong about the church system i’ve set up in this fic?? idk man, i just kinda went with the flow :p enjoy!!
— this has not been thorougly proof read
you don't believe in god, don’t believe in what the almighty supposedly has to offer you.
you do believe in entertainment, though.
that's why you're here, wedged into a polished oak pew that smells faintly of lemon polish and centuries of collective guilt. your best friend, hyora, digs her elbow into your ribs every time you so much as think about checking your phone.
the dare is a simple one: attend one full sunday service without complaint. succeed, and she'd cover your drinks next weekend. easy money, really. there wasn’t much thinking twice before you accepted her challenge.
you'd expected boredom, maybe some off-key organ music and a sermon about loving thy neighbor. the usual.
what you didn't expect, though, was this.
the church is a jewel box of stained glass and incense smoke, light pooling in reds and blues across marble flooring. the architecture demands reverence: vaulted ceilings that swallow sound and spit back echoes, brass fixtures that gleam like they're polished daily by someone's devoted grandfather.
it's theater, you realize. it’s gorgeous, manipulative theater designed to make you feel small and awestruck.
you're not awestruck.
after a while, the choir shuffles in. they’re all white robes and hymnals clutched to chests. they blend into one another, just like they’re meant to.
you're half-listening to the pastor's opening remarks when the singing starts, and that's when notice him. or, really, he makes himself noticed.
third row, second from the left.
dark hair falls just past his eyebrows, jaw sharp enough to cut glass, shoulders filling out his robe in a way that suggests he's broader than the fabric would like to suggest.
it's his face that stops you cold—eyes downcast, expression serene to the point of blankness, mouth forming each word of the hymn with careful precision.
he looks like a painting of devotion, something renaissance masters would've fought over for the chance of having him as a muse.
and just in case his visuals weren’t stunning enough to be cruel—unfair, even—his voice is a painting within itself.
his voice rises above the others, a clear tenor that seems to come from somewhere deeper than his chest. it's earnest and unguarded in a way that makes your teeth ache.
you blink once, twice. you lean forward subconsciously, studying him like he's a puzzle sent for you to solve.
it only takes a moment of your gaze on him for you to decide that god—whomever he may be—took his time with this boy.
"yang jeongin," hyora whispers, following your gaze. "youth group golden boy. voice of an angel, wouldn't hurt a fly, probably prays before meals even when he's alone."
you’re lip twitches. of course, all the pretty ones always have the most… choice hobbies.
"he always look that constipated while singing?"
hyora snorts, trying her best to disguise it as a cough when the woman in front of you turns to glare. you shoot her the most innocent smile you can muster.
"that's not constipation,” hyora whispers. “that's purity."
purity.
the word drops in your brain like a match striking tinder.
you spend the next several seconds gathering every detail you can: the way he doesn't let his gaze wander during the hymn, how his hands grip the hymnal like he fears it may fly away, the mindful space he maintains between himself and the soprano beside him.
it's armor, you realize.
he's wearing his devotion like a shield.
you take a breath, lips curling into something joyful as you continue to watch.
game start.
the service drags on—scripture readings, responsive prayers, a sermon about resisting temptation that feels just a little too on-the-nose—but you're barely listening.
why?
because you're watching jeongin.
you’re watching how he mouths along to the pastor's words. watching the slight furrow between his brows when the sermon turns to sin. the rigid set of his spine, like he's holding himself together through sheer force of will.
by the time the final hymn concludes and people start filing toward the exit, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries, you've made up your mind.
"i'm going to talk to him," you tell hyora, already looking over your shoulder to watch jeongin and his pack of singing good-ol-boy’s walk in the opposite direction of the crowd.
hyora grabs your wrist. "don't you dare-"
"what?” you turn towards her with a raised brow. “i'm just going to ask about the music. it's called being polite."
"you don't have a single polite bone in your body." she retorts, but she's already grinning knowing damn well you’ll do it despite what she has to say. she's already calculating how good the story will be later.
you catch him near the choir room, still in his robe, hymnal tucked under one arm. he's talking to an older woman—his choir director, maybe—nodding so sincerely at whatever she's saying that you have to hold in a laugh.
when she leaves, he turns toward the hallway, and you step into his path.
"excuse me?" you call. you’re batting your lashes like it’s second nature.
jeongin stops short, eyes widening just slightly.
up close, he's even prettier—long lashes, fox eyes, lips that look perpetually on the verge of forming an apology. there's a faint pink flush across his cheekbones, like he's not used to being addressed directly.
"hi," he says softly, polite. his voice is even prettier outside of a holy hymn. it’su warm and a little unsure.
it’s unfair how perfect he is.
"hi. sorry to bother you, I just…" you gesture vaguely toward the sanctuary. "that last hymn? the harmony you did on the third verse was incredible. i don't know much about music, but that was really something."
everything that comes out of your mouth is a load of bullshit. not that he doesn’t sing well, he does, but you have no clue about harmonies or hymns.
you eye him carefully, praying he doesn’t catch onto your fib.
to your upmost enjoyment, the soft rose flush of his cheeks deepens. he ducks his head, and you catch the smallest smile tugging at his mouth.
good. you have an in.
"oh. thank you. that's… thank you. it's just, uh, it's a traditional arrangement, so I can't really take credit-"
"you sang it, though.” you cut him off. “that counts."
he looks up at you properly for the first time, and you watch him try to categorize you. you're not dressed for church—skirt that doesn’t go past your knees (sinful), shirt stretched tight enough to become a hint translucent (provocative), boots that click too loudly on the tile (disruptive). you can see the moment he decides you're an outsider. not a threat, maybe, but not safe.
not one to follow the faith.
"are you new here?" he asks. the question seems to burst from his lips, sudden and a little unsure.
cute.
"just visiting. friend dragged me." you tilt your head, letting your smile sharpen just a fraction. "might come back, though. the music's worth it."
his lips twitch, smile faltering. "that's... that's great. it's always nice to see new faces."
the words are automatic, youth-group-script perfect. his body language, on the other hand, screams please leave.
he shifts his weight, angles himself toward the exit, clutches the hymnal a little tighter.
you let the silence stretch just long enough to be uncomfortable, then step aside.
"anyway, i won't keep you. thanks for the show."
he blinks. "show?"
"the singing," you clarify, all innocence. "what else?"
you don't wait for an answer.
you turn and walk away, boots echoing down the hallway, and you don't need to look back to know he's still standing there, frozen, trying to figure out what just happened.
you wonder if he asks god for an answer.
outside, hyora is waiting by her car, scrolling through her phone. she looks up when you approach, eyebrows raised.
"well?"
you mimic her arched brow. "well what?"
"did you get his number? ask him out? scar him for life?"
you slide into the passenger seat, grinning. "i complimented his singing."
hyora turns the key to to ignition and the start of the engine is the only thing filling the silence between you. she waits for you to carry on, and when you don’t she asks “that’s it?”
"that's it."
hyora stares at you for a long moment, then groans. "fuckin’ hell, babe. you're going to be weird about this, aren't you?"
you let out a huff of laughter. "i have no idea what you mean."
but you do. you absolutely do.
because the look on his face when you said show? the split-second of confusion and something sharper, something almost like fear? that look is going to keep you up tonight. you're going to replay it again and again and again. dissect it. figure out exactly what it means and how to make it happen again.
hyora pulls out of the parking lot, shaking her head with something between a laugh and a disapproving scoff. "you're a menace."
"yeah," you agree, still smiling. "i know."
you reach for the pack of gum tucked in your bra—your only hope of a pocket due to the lack of such in your skirt—and pull out a back of bubble gum.
the sweetness of stick floods your tastebuds. it reminds you of him.
you don't mean to go back.
really, you don't.
the dare is over, hyora owes you drinks, and you've got better things to do than hanging around a church waiting for a pretty choir boy to notice you. but…
three days later, you're walking past the building on your way to nowhere in particular, and you see the side door propped open. voices drift out—harmony, laughter, someone counting off a beat.
choir practice.
you should keep walking.
you know you should keep walking.
but your feet carry you to the low wall near the entrance. you pull out a cigarette, leaning against the brick like you've got all the time in the world. and in this moment? you do. the smoke curls up toward the stained glass windows, and you think about hymns and halos and a particular flavor of forbidden fruit.
about ten minutes later the door swings open wider and people begin trickling out.
you spot jeongin immediately—button-down shirt rolled to his elbows, hair slightly mussed, choir folder tucked under one arm. he’s beautiful. he’s beautiful and he's laughing at something someone said and the sound is so genuine it almost makes you feel guilty.
almost.
he doesn't see you until he's halfway down the steps. when his eyes land on you, and his entire body goes still. you take a slow drag from your cigarette, holding his gaze, and blow the smoke out in a thin stream.
"hey," you call.
he glances around, like he's hoping you're talking to someone else. when it's clear you're not, he approaches slowly, the way you'd approach a stray dog you weren't sure was friendly.
fuck. he was adorable.
"hi," he says. he eyes your cigarette, then, almost apologetically: "we’re not supposed to smoke on church property."
we’re. an interesting choice of wording—he’s grouping you in with the rest of them.
"sorry." you're not. you drop the cigarette and crush it under your boot anyway, watching his shoulders relax a fraction. "didn't realize. i was just passing by and heard the music."
"oh," he shifts his folder from one arm to the other like he needs something other than you to focus on. "we practice most wednesdays. if you're interested in joining, you could talk to mrs. choi—she's the director-"
"i don't sing."
"oh," he says again.
the conversation has nowhere to go. you can see him calculating his exit.
before he can make an excuse, you smile. "you're jeongin, right?"
his eyes snap up to yours. "i- yes. how did you—"
"lucky guess."
it's not. hyora told you, but watching him try to puzzle out how you know his name is too entertaining to correct. he opens his mouth, closes it, gives himself a moment to think, then settles on a polite, confused smile.
"i should get going," he says. "it was nice seeing you again."
you tilt your head to the side, not dissimilar to a curious cat. you dig a stick of gum out of your back pocket and feed it past your lips. with a smile that’s all innocence, you let the wrapper fall to the concrete.
his eyes catch on your lips for a second long enough to be noticeable. wen the wrapper hits the floor he glances to it, pained.
"you too, jeongin."
you say his name like it's a secret, and he flinches. not much, just a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. but you catch it.
he turns and walks toward the parking lot and you watch him go, already planning your next move in the game he didn’t even know he was apart of.
because this isn't over. not when it’s just begun.
it becomes a pattern.
every wednesday, you find yourself outside the church. you lean against the same wall, lighting the same brand of cigarettes you don't even particularly like.
it’s boredom. it’s curiosity. it’s entertainment.
jeongin notices. how could he not? the third week, he doesn't even look surprised when he sees you there—just resigned, maybe a little wary, like you're a test he hasn’t studied for.
"you're here again," he says, but the undertone of it carries like a question.
you blow smoke away from him this time—a concession you don't examine too closely. "how was practice?"
"it was... fine." it’s a stalled response. you make him uncomfortable, it’s visible.
it makes you smile.
"just fine?"
he shifts his weight. "we're preparing for easter service. it's a lot of material."
"easter's months away."
"we like to be prepared."
of course they do. your lips curl around your cigarette. "very responsible."
he doesn't know what to do with that—with you, really. you can see it in the way he stands there, caught between politeness and self-preservation.
eventually, he clears his throat. "do you... need something?"
the question is so earnest it almost makes you laugh. "no. do you?"
"i don't-" he stops, thinks about what to say. it’s like watching a computer reboot—slow and strangely satisfying. "i should go."
all you do is hum.
you don't stop him. you never do.
as you watch him walk to his car—a modest sedan, probably a hand-me-down—and you catch the way he glances back before getting in. just once. just long enough.
hook, line, sinker.
the fourth week, jeongin brings you a pamphlet.
"i thought you might be interested," he says, not quite meeting your eyes as he holds it out. "there's a young adult group that meets on fridays. it's casual. just discussion and... fellowship."
you take the folded sheet. the glossy paper is covered in stock photos of diverse twenty-somethings laughing over coffee. you actively have to fight down a groan. "fellowship," you repeat, the word leaving an unpleasant taste on your tongue. "that sounds very churchy."
"it's not like... i mean, it's welcoming. to everyone. you don't have to be, uh..." jeongin trails off, clearly realizing he's about to say something potentially offensive.
"a believer?"
his ears go red. "i just meant- you've been coming by a lot, so I thought maybe you were curious. about... stuff."
you're curious. just not about what he thinks.
"that's sweet of you, jeongin." you purr, folding the pamphlet to tuck it into your jacket pocket, right next to your cigarettes. "i'll think about it."
His face does something complicated—relief and disappointment and something else you can't quite name. "yeah, okay. good. that's... good."
the silence stretches. you wait, expecting him to make one of his usual ‘i need to leave’ excuses.
he doesn’t. instead:
"can I ask you something?" he says finally.
it takes you a moment to respond, surprised. jeongin doesn’t ask you things. "uh, sure?"
"why do you keep coming back?"
there it is. the question you’ve been expecting for weeks. you could lie—tell him you like the music or the architecture, maybe some bullshit about finding yourself.
instead, you hold his gaze and smile. "maybe I like the company."
jeongin blinks. processes. you once again compare it to a computer—watching it buffer. "the... company."
you’re eyes sparkle as you watch him try to piece things together.
you watch the realization dawn slowly, like sunrise through stained glass.
his lips part slightly. the folder in his arms shifts, and he clutches it tighter, like it might protect him.
"i-" he stops. starts again. “i don't think…"
"relax," you laugh, pushing off the wall. "i'm just messing with you."
you're not. you're absolutely not, but he looks so close to bolting that you throw him the lifeline.
"right. of course. i knew that." he definitely didn't. cute. "i should really-"
"go on, golden boy," you pull out another stick of gum, unwrap it slowly. "see you next week?"
jeongin doesn't answer. just nods once, stiff and uncertain, and practically flees to his car.
you pop the gum in your mouth and taste artificial sweetness. cherry, the package says. you say him apply cherry chapstick a week or two ago and promptly ditched the bubble gum.
hyora thinks you're insane.
"he's clearly not interested," she chides over drinks that friday. "or he's too scared to be interested. either way, you're wasting your time."
you take a long sip of your drink, letting the alcohol wash down any agreement that may have been climbing up your throat. "i'm not wasting anything."
hyora scoffs. "you're going to a church every week! for a boy who flinches when you smile at him-" she gives you a look. "that's not your usual style."
she's right, and you both know it.
her perception on the situation pisses you off for some reason you can’t name.
usually, you like easy—people who know the game, who flirt back, who don't require this much effort. but there's something about jeongin's skittishness, his earnestness, the way he looks at you like you're a riddle he's not allowed to solve.
it’s intoxicating, better than any high you’d ever experienced.
"maybe I'm branching out," you mutter against the brim of your glass with a small pout.
hyora’s laugh is singular and dismissive. "branching out into what? corruption??bery on-brand for you."
"i'm not corrupting anyone."
she snorts into her drink. "babe. you're literally trying to seduce a choir boy. if that's not corruption, i don't know what is."
"i'm not trying to seduce him."
"yet."
you pretend to ponder the possibility for a moment before you let your lips curl upwards.
"yet," you concede with a grin.
hyora shakes her head, but she's smiling too. "just... be careful, okay? guys like that?” she sighs like she’s remembering a love one long passed. “they don't recover easy."
you think about that later, alone in your apartment, scrolling mindlessly through your phone.
they don't recover easy.
hyora had said it like you're a natural disaster—a hurricane with a taste for innocence.
maybe you are…
maybe that's the point.
the fifth week, he's not there.
you tell yourself it doesn't matter, that you weren't really expecting him anyway. but you wait longer than usual, cigarette burning down to the filter between your fingers, eyes on the door that never opens.
when practice ends and the others file out—laughing, chatting, normal—you stop someone at random. a girl with gold-rimmed glasses and a cross necklace.
"jeongin, where is he?" it’s a little curt, brutally forward.
the poor girl looks surprised to be addressed. "oh- he's sick, i think. he texted the group chat earlier."
a group chat? if jeongin had been the one telling you about his church choir group chat, you would’ve laughed. coming from someone else, though? it felt like a cruel dig.
"right. thanks."
You let your cigarette fall from between your fingers and crush it under your boot.
sick. or avoiding you.
probably avoiding you.
that shouldn't bother you as much as it does.
week six: jeongin’s back.
he looks tired—shadows under his eyes, hair less carefully styled than usual. when he sees you on the wall, his step falters, but you don’t notice the flicker of fight-or-flight in his eyes. progress, maybe.
"you came back," he says, like he's surprised, like part of him hoped you wouldn't.
you smile at him, offering no response other than the tilt of your head.
jeongin stares at you like he’s expecting something. then, unexpectedly: "can i ask you something?"
there’s something in his gaze that makes your lips pull upwards. "you always ask me that before asking me things." you reply with ease, trying to not let his lingering eyes fuel your ego too much.
there’s definitely been progress.
"i-" a flicker of a smile, gone too fast. you wish it had stayed longer. "fair point."
you watch him, waiting for him to voice whatever was on his mind.
it takes a few long seconds, but eventually he gets there.
"why me?" he asks quietly. "if you wanted... company, or whatever, there are other people. people who'd actually-" He stops himself, colors rising. "I just don't understand why you keep... why me."
it's a good question. an honest question. and maybe he deserves an honest answer.
you won’t be the one to grant it to him, though.
no. honesty can be granted to him by his pastor once he’s found himself kneeling in the confession booth. honesty isn’t your job. your job is to poke and prod and tease until his eyes don’t shine with the purity of someone who’s never experienced fun.
you push off the wall to close some of the distance that seems to stretch between the two of you.
"because you're pretty when you're uncomfortable,” you don’t try to hide the up and down you give him. “watching you try to figure out if wanting something makes you a bad person is the most fascinating thing i've seen in years."
jeongin’s breath catches. you see it—the moment your words land, the way his eyes widen slightly, pupils dilating. fear and fascination in equal measure.
you take a precious second to admire how good it looks on him.
"i don't want anything," he whispers. you can’t tell if he’s trying to convince you or himself. maybe it’s a bit of both.
"i know."
"then why-"
you take a step closer. jeongin mirrors the movement, taking a step back.
"i think part of you wants to know what it feels like to break the rules, to want something you're not supposed to have."
he's frozen now, knuckles white around the folder in his grip, eyes locked on yours.
"i'm not-" his voice cracks. "i'm not like that."
you have to fight off a snort. "okay."
"i'm not."
"i believe you." you don't. neither does he—you see it in the way his gaze wavers.
the silence between you is heavier than it’s ever been. it’s charged, dangerous. you can see his pulse jumping in his throat. you wonder if he can hear how fast your heart is beating.
finally, he takes another step back. "i should go."
you purr, more than pleased. “you do that.”
but he doesn't move. not yet. he just stands there, looking at you like you're something terrible and beautiful all at once—like he knows exactly how this story ends and can't stop reading anyway.
"next week?" you ask softly.
jeongin swallows hard, nods once, and turns to walks away.
you don't go to the youth group that friday.
or the one after that.
it's not strategy, exactly—more like testing a theory. if jeongin thinks you're losing interest, will he chase? or will he breathe a sigh of relief and go back to his carefully ordered, prayers and halos lifestyle?
the answer comes on a wednesday when he finds you in your usual spot.
"you didn't come," he says without any other greeting.
you look up from your phone, feigning surprise. when in doubt, play dumb. "to what?"
"the group. you said you'd think about it." there’s a pout in his voice. you like the way it curls around the syllables.
"i did think about it."
"…and?"
you tuck your phone away to give him your full attention.
he's wearing a navy sweater today, sleeves pushed up to bunch around his elbows. there's something almost desperate in the broad set of his shoulders.
fucking adorible.
"and I decided it probably wasn't my scene."
"but you didn't even try-"
"are you disappointed?" he question comes out more as a tease than something you actually want an answer to.
he hesitates, eyes narrowed with what you can only assume is an internal conflict. "yeah. i am."
that surprises you enough that you any quick retort you could’ve had is lost. jeongin takes advantage of the silence.
"this friday," he says, rushed, like he's afraid he'll lose his chance to speak if he doesn’t act with haste. "just... just come once. if you hate it, you never have to come back. but give it a chance.” jeongin’s eyes are wide, like a child begging for one more taste of something sweet. quietly, he tacks on a little “please."
it’s just that which does it for you. that soft, earnest please that sounds like he's asking for something far more important than your attendance at some stupid church function.
"fine," you hear yourself say. "once. that’s all you get from me, yeah?"
his whole face lights up, and you realize this may have been a terrible mistake.
friday evening finds you in the church’s basement—because fucking of course it's in the church’s basement—surrounded by inspirational posters and folding chairs arranged in a some poor attempt of a circle. there are maybe fifteen people, all around your age—late teens, early twenties. they're all friendly in that aggressively wholesome way that makes you want to check for exits.
you’ve been here for two minutes, and you already want to leave.
jeongin spots you near immediately. the relief that floods his face is almost comical.
he excuses himself from whatever conversation he’s caught in and crosses to you in four long strides.
he’s damn near beaming when he welcomes you. "you came."
you don’t share his enthusiasm. "i said I would."
“i know, but i thought-" he stops himself and shakes his head, trying to shake off the words he’d almost uttered. "never mind. i’m glad you're here. come on, i'll introduce you."
he doesn't touch you as he guides you towards the circle—wouldn't dare—but he stays close as he rattles off names you immediately forget. everyone's nice.
too nice. it sets your teeth on edge.
the session itself is... fine. boring, mostly. they're discussing some book about finding purpose or god's plan or something equally abstract. you don't contribute much, just watch the dynamics—who defers to whom, who's trying too hard, who's genuinely invested versus who's here out of obligation.
and you watch jeongin, because how could you not? he’s why you’re here, after all.
he's different here—more confident, more articulate. it doesn’t take much for you to realize that this is his element, the faith and the fellowship and the fitting in.
he references bible verses from memory, offers thoughtful commentary, makes the others laugh with some self-deprecating story about his childhood. you can see why they like him. why he's probably everyone's favorite—the golden choir boy with a voice touched by god himself.
he's good at this. he’s good at being good.
you’ve never wanted to put someone on their knees so badly in your life.
after holy conversation that you vaguely consider as your own person hell, there coffee and cookies, because of fucking course there is.
you're halfway through planning out your grand escape when jeongin materializes at your elbow.
"so… what did you think?" he sounds genuinely hopeful. you find it a tad bit pathetic.
you try for something positive. "it was... enlightening."
jeongin sees through it instantly.
"you hated it."
"i didn't hate it,” you correct with a lie. “it just wasn't really my thing."
"but you came. that's what actually matters." he's smiling now—that soft, hopeful smile that does dangerous things to your resolve. when he starts again, that hopeful undertone to his words seems to triple. "maybe next time-"
"there won’t be a next time."
that pretty smile falters. "oh."
"i came because you asked, but this-“ you gesture vaguely at the room. "it's not me. you know that." it comes out a little sharper than you mean it to. you watch the words hit him like a punch to the gut.
"i- i know, i just thought that-" his voice breaks off, frustrated. "i don't know what i thought."
there's something raw in his voice, something that makes you soften despite yourself. against your better judgement, you try your best to console him, to get that stupidly unfair smile back on those equally unfair lips.
"hey- i appreciate the invitation, really. i'm glad i got to see you in your natural habitat."
"my natural habitat," he echoes with a weak laugh.
you hum a small confirmation. “you're good at this—the whole... community thing. Faith, or whatever." you pause just long enough to eye him. "it suits you."
jeongin looks at you like he's trying to figure out if you're mocking him. you're not, for once. it's the truth. he seems to gather as much and mutters a small “thanks”
before the conversation can carry further, someone calls his name from across the room. jeongin glances back, then at you, clearly torn.
"go," you tell him, head dipping in the way of the man who’d called his name. "i'm fine."
he shifts his weight, unsure, and that's when you notice it—his collar. the left side is folded under, crooked, probably from when he pulled his sweater on. it's such a small thing, barely even noticeable, but it bothers you more than it should.
"you're crooked," you catch him by the wrist before he can fully turn away, gesturing to his collar.
jeongin reaches up automatically, fumbling. "where?"
"here. hold still…"
you step into his space—close enough to smell his soap, something clean and faintly herbal—and reach for his collar. your fingers brush the warm skin of his neck as you straighten the fabric, smoothing it down carefully, far more carefully than you should.
jeongin goes very, very still.
"there," you murmur, but you don't step back. neither does jeongin.
instead, you glance over his shoulder, then over your own. no one’s looking. you feel something instinctual curl up your spine like a snake, unholy and undeniable.
you let your hand drift lower—slow, deliberate—smoothing down the front of his sweater. over his collarbone. down his chest. jeongin’s heart hammers beneath your palm, wild and frantic, and you pause there, right over it, feeling every rapid beat.
his breath hitches audibly. you exhale heavily through your nose.
you look up at him through your lashes as your hand continues its descent over his sternum, his ribs, down toward his stomach. that's when his hand shoots up, catching your wrist. his grip is tight, bordering on painful. when you look up his eyes are wide and dark, pupils blown. if you didn’t know any better, you’d say it was something close to dazed. panic tinges the edges of it, sure, but there something deeper in his gaze.
"please-" his voice is wrecked, barely more than a whisper. "don't."
you freeze. "don't what?"
"this. whatever-" he swallows hard, adam's apple bobbing as he tries he damndest to compose himself. "i can't- i can't do this."
"i'm not doing anything," you say softly, which is technically true and completely dishonest.
"yes, you are." his fingers tighten around your wrist. "you're- god…” the lord name in vain sounds so good coming from jeongin’s lips. you want to eat him alive. “you're looking at me and touching me, and i—" his voice breaks again, eyes wide in something closely related to terror. "i can’t do this.”
his hand leaves yours then, jerking away as if burned. you watch as his gaze darts nervously over the room, desperately frantic to ensure his peers caught no wisp of the interaction the two of you just exchanged.
he swallows again, raising a hand to tug at the collar of his shirt. it makes you feel better to know you aren’t the only one overheating.
when jeongin looks back to you, his expression shifts in a way that’s a little hard to describe—it’s subtle but firm, a wall built high with hopes of keeping that glint in his eye hidden.
it doesn’t. but hey- it’s the effort that counts.
jeongin says nothing. he stares for a few moments, bewildered and frightened and—dare you say—a little turned on all at once. he blinks twice, exhales sharp through his nose. for a moment you think he may actually say something, but instead he turns on his heel and walks off, his shoulders visibly tight beneath the fabric of his sweater.
progress whispers the little devil perched all pretty on your shoulder. you can’t help but agree.
the following week, you’re back. not just back to your usual spot—posted up outside on wednesdays waiting for choir practice to let out—but back back.
by the time sunday rolls around, you find yourself once again perched in the lemon-scented pews.
it isn’t for you, but you have to admit that the church itself is a work of art. though you’ve only been in once before, the thought of the architecture and, more specifically, the stained glass has crossed your mind many times since.
as you glance around the open space, you feel a pair of eyes on you almost like it’s physical. it takes a second to realize who’s eyes they belong to.
jeongin spots you almost immediately—standing in perfect line with the other members of the choir.
you watch his eyes widen from across the sanctuary, how his lips part in surprise mid-verse. he recovers just as quickly as he stuttered, but his gaze keeps finding you throughout the service, nervous and searching.
when the choir finishes their opening hymns. the congregation settles, and you watch as the choir members are dismissed to find their seats. jeongin's gaze immediately falls on you again, but there's a moment where he hesitates, visibly torn between sitting with his usual group and doing what he clearly (to you) wants to do.
want wins.
jeongin crosses the sanctuary with measured steps, trying not to look too eager, too obvious. when he reaches your row, he murmurs a quiet "excuse me" to the elderly couple beside you and slides into the space at your side.
"hi," he whispers, not quite meeting your eyes.
"hi yourself." you let your gaze drag over him—the crisp white button-down, the navy slacks, the careful way he's arranged himself to maintain a respectable distance. something hot licks at your spine.
“i wasn’t expecting to see you here.” the way he words it is a statement, but the undercurrent of his tone is questioning, nearly suspicious in the way it lands. his cautiousness is fair—you hadn’t told him you were planning to appear for service, and you are far from the type of person to show just because.
"i wanted to come.” your response earns you first real glance of the day, jeongin’s eyes narrowed just so as he tries to work out what’s going on in your pretty little head. "what? is that not okay?"
it takes him a second to reply. he only does so once his eyes have focused back on the pastor. "it's more than okay."
the service begins in earnest. prayers are recited, scripture is read, the pastor launches into a sermon about faithfulness that you can’t bother to keep up with. you're too aware of jeongin beside you. he sits too straight, too proper, with hands folded neatly in his lap. his throat bobs when he swallows. you also catch the way his eyes keep darting toward you and then away again like he's afraid to look too long.
it’s cute, a note of entertainment in a room brimming with boredom.
fifteen minutes in, you shift slightly, adjusting your position so your thigh presses against his. it's subtle. innocent, even. but jeongin goes rigid beside you, his breath catching in a way that makes satisfaction curl warm in your chest.
you wait. let him settle. let his guard slip just enough.
then you move your hand.
it starts innocently enough. you let your hand rest on the pew between you, fingers splayed across the polished wood. then, with a slowness only made to tease, you slide your fingers up and onto his knee.
jeongin's entire body tenses. his eyes stay fixed forward, but you see his jaw clench from the corner of you eye. his hands tighten in his lap. he doesn't move, doesn't push you away. in fact, he doesn't acknowledge it at all.
so you let your hand linger there, thumb tracing a small, idle circle against the fabric of his slacks. it’s innocent. friendly. nothing anyone would notice if they looked over.
but jeongin notices. oh god, how could he not? his breathing has gone shallow, barely controlled, and when you glance at him from the corner of your eye, his face is flushed, jaw tight with tension.
you wait another minute or two, letting the anticipation build. it’s only after your satisfied with how jeongin forces his breath to even out that your fingers press higher by another inch. and then a second.
jeongin’s hand twitches before it moves, fingers wrapping around your wrist with a strength that catches you a little off guard. his grip is tight, bordering on painful, but he doesn't pull your hand away. he just holds it there, frozen mid-thigh, like he can't decide whether to stop you or let you continue.
in hopes of prompting an answer, you lean in slightly, words nothing more than a soft breath. "tell me to stop."
his throat works. his fingers tremble around your wrist. but he doesn't say it—doesn't tell you to stop. instead, after what feels like an eternity, his grip loosens. just slightly. just enough.
permission.
that’s what you take it for, at least.
your hand slides higher, moving in slow, torturous inches that make his breath hitch audibly. his thigh is firm under your palm, muscle tensing as you trace mindless patterns against the fabric. you can feel the heat of him through his slacks, can feel the way he's trying so hard not to react, not to shift, not to make a sound that might draw attention.
when your hand creeps towards the top of his thigh, dangerously close to where you can see the fabric beginning to strain, jeongin makes a sound—quiet and choked and desperate.
you’re mouth waters. you’re thighs press further closed than they already are.
his hand covers yours again, but this time it's not to stop you. his fingers lace through yours, holding your hand there like he's afraid you'll pull away. his head drops forward slightly, shoulders rising and falling with each labored breath that he’s trying so hard to hide.
"please," jeongin whispers, so quiet you almost miss it over the pastors voice. you're not sure if he's begging you to stop or to keep going. you're not sure he knows either.
you lean closer, lips brushing his ear with each spoken word. "come with me."
"what-" his voice cracks. "where?"
"bathroom." it’s said so simply that it causes jeongin to double take. understanding dawns in his eyes, followed immediately by panic.
"we can't. not here. not during-"
"then tell me no." you pull your hand back, watching him bite back a sound of protest. his fingers move too, twitching forwards in hope of pulling you back before thinking better of it. "tell me you don't want to. tell me to leave you alone."
his silence echoes louder than only scream could. his eyes close, jaw working like he's physically fighting with himself.
"jeongin." your voice is soft but unforgivingly firm. "yes or no."
he opens his eyes to look at you. it’s in that moment that you see the exact instant where his composure not just fails, but collapses.
"yeah-" he’s breathless. “yeah, okay..”
your eyes track to where his throat bobs, and you have the urge to get your mouth over his adam’s apple.
you stand first, making a show of smoothing your clothes, nodding apologetically to the people in your row as you edge past them. jeongin waits exactly thirty seconds—you count them—before following, mumbling something about needing air even though no one asked, looking flushed and unsteady in a way that anyone paying attention would absolutely notice.
you don't go far. just back through the hallway, around the corner, and into the single-stall bathroom at the end of the corridor. the halls echo with the sound of your shoes against the hardwood, jeongin’s not far behind you.
you've barely closed the door before jeongin slips in behind you. you give him about three seconds of air before you're turning, raising your hands to his chest and pressing him up against the door.
"wait-" he starts, but you're already there, fingers winding in his button up, pushing up on your toes to close the distance.
you kiss him before he can get another word in.
he freezes.
jeongin goes completely still, hands hovering uncertainly at his sides like he doesn't know what to do with them. like he's never done this before.
because he hasn't.
you realize it all at once—the way he's not kissing back, not because he doesn't want to, but because he doesn't know how—this is his first kiss. his first.
the thought sends a thrill through you that's almost dangerous.
"relax, jagi" you murmur against his lips, pulling back just enough to meet his wide, startled eyes. he looks at you like your his salvation and his downfall wrapped in one.
the thought entertains you. maybe once you were heavenly, maybe that’s why this all called to you in a way that’s so difficult to ignore. whether or not you could be considered holy in your past, the undeniable truth was that now you were fallen.
if there is one truth to be taken from this though, is that misery loves company.
pandora opened a box, eve bit an apple, you were kissing a church boy.
you kiss him again, softer this time. slower. your hands slide up to frame his face, thumbs stroking his jaw, coaxing him to loosen up, to let go. and slowly—so slowly—he does.
his lips part under yours, hesitant and unpracticed, and when you tilt your head to deepen the kiss, he makes a sound low in his throat that's pure need. his hands finally move, coming up to grip your waist like he's afraid you'll disappear if he doesn't hold on.
you press closer, pinning him against the door properly, and his grip tightens. one of your hands slides into his hair—soft and perfect and completely wasted on someone who probably uses two-in-one shampoo—and you tug gently. the action results in the prettiest gasp you’ve ever heard. you swallow the sound and kiss him harder.
jeongin’s a quick learner. his lips grow bolder, more confident, tongue sliding against yours in a way that's clumsy yet boyishly enthusiastic. his hands roam your back, your sides, touch growing more desperate as he loses himself in it.
"god," he pants when you break away to breathe, but he doesn't let you go far. he chases your mouth, kisses you again with a hunger that feels like it's been locked away for years. "we shouldn't- this is-"
"do you want to stop?" you're both breathing hard, lips swollen and red.
"no." it comes out anguished, broken. "no, i don't- i can't—" jeongin kisses you again, messy and desperate, cutting himself off only to pull away again a moment later. "this is wrong. we're in a church. during a service. i'm supposed to- i shouldn't—"
"but you want to." you bite his bottom lip gently and he shudders. "you want this. want me."
"yes." the confession tears out of him so fast that it makes him wince. "yes, i want you. i've wanted—god, i can't stop thinking about you. every time i close my eyes, every time i pray, every time i try to focus on anything-" his voice breaks and his head falls back against the door. "what are you doing to me?"
your eyes immediately zero in on the column of his throat. "nothing you don't want me to do."
with the new skin granted to you, you switch tactics and attach your lips to where his adam’s apple sits. you’re tug drags over the curve of it, teeth scraping against the skin just enough to leave it reddened.
jeongin’s body is ran through by a shiver as you work your way up his throat, his hands sliding lower to pull you flush against him. you can feel how affected he is, the evidence of his want pressing against your hip, and when you shift against him in a way that’s anything but accidental he makes a sound that's half-moan, half-whimper.
"please," he gasps, and this time you do know what he’s pleading for.
when you do kiss him again, he’s frantic, less controlled. one hand tangles in your hair while the other grips your hip hard enough to bruise. he's losing himself in this, in you, all that careful control you’ve seen him uphold comes spiraling apart.
from somewhere distant, you hear the muffled sound of the congregation singing. the service continuing without you. without him. reality pressing in at the edges.
jeongin must hear it too because he tenses, pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. his lips are kiss-swollen, his face flushed pink, hair a complete mess from your hands.
he looks wrecked.
"we have to go back," he says, but his hands are still on you, still holding tight.
"do we?"
"people will notice. they'll—" he swallows hard. "i can't- everyone will know. they'll see."
"see what, baby?"
"that i-" his voice drops to barely a whisper. "that i'm not... who they think i am."
you trace your thumb along his jaw and smile at the way he leans into the touch despite himself. "and who do they think you are?"
"good." the word comes out bitter. "pure, faithful, someone who would never…" his gaze drops heavy to your lips, his tongue darting over his own mindlessly. "someone who wouldn't do this."
"…is that who you want to be?"
"i don't know." when jeongin’s eyes meet yours again they're dark and conflicted and so painfully honest it makes your chest ache. "i don't know anymore. i'm supposed to want that. i'm supposed to be that. but when i'm with you, i—" he stops, jaw clenching. "i don't want to be good. i want to be this."
you kiss him softly, just once. "then be this."
"i can't." but even as he says it, his hands tighten on your waist. "i can't. my family, the church, everyone would—they'd never forgive me. i'd lose everything."
"would you?" you pull back enough to look at him properly. "or would you just lose the version of yourself you've been pretending to be?"
the question hangs between you, heavy and unavoidable. jeongin stares at you like you've just asked him to choose between breathing and drowning.
"i don't know," he whispers finally. "i don't know."
the singing outside grows louder—the final hymn echoing off the walls. the service is ending. you have maybe five minutes before people start filtering into the hallways.
"we need to go," jeongin says, but he doesn't move. doesn't let go.
you don’t moved to step away either. "i know."
"they can't- we can't let them see."
"i know."
but neither of you move. you just stand there, foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air, existing in this stolen moment that you both know can't last.
finally, reluctantly, you step back. jeongin's hands fall away slowly, like it physically hurts to let go. you watch as he tries to compose himself—smoothing his hair, straightening his collar, attempting to calm his breathing. it's useless. he still looks completely undone.
"you go first," you tell him. "i'll wait a few minutes."
he nods but doesn't move toward the door. instead, he looks at you with something raw and desperate in his eyes.
"will you-" his voice catches. "are you coming back? next week?"
you should say no. you should let this be what it is—a moment, a mistake, a memory. but when you look at him, at the hope and fear warring in his expression, you find yourself nodding.
"yeah," you whipser. "i'll be here."
the relief that floods his face is almost painful to witness. he reaches for you one more time, cupping your face in his hands, kissing you with a tenderness that feels nothing like the desperation from moments before. this kiss is soft. careful. like a promise neither of you should be making.
and then he's gone, slipping out the door and back into the world where he has to be good, be pure, be everything you're slowly teaching him he doesn't have to be.
you wait for a couple minutes before following, emerging into a hallway full of people spilling out of the sanctuary. no one looks at you twice. no one notices.
but when you round the corner and spot jeongin standing with his choir group, perfectly composed except for the barely visible flush still coloring his neck, he looks at you. just for a second. just long enough for you to see the truth written all over his face.
this isn't over. whatever this is, whatever you've started—it's just beginning.
and you both know it.
the two of you didn't even make it through opening prayer.
you were there on time—same pew, same hymnal in your lap that you wouldn't open, same deliberate eye contact across the sanctuary that makes jeongin's voice crack on the second verse.
you stood during opening prayer, when everyone's heads are bowed and eyes are closed. when the only person who's watching is jeongin.
you were already walking towards the back hall when you look over your shoulder to mouth a singular word: come.
he was on your heel in seconds.
the bathroom is the same as last week—sterile white tile, the faint scent of industrial soap, a lock that clicks with finality. you're checking your reflection, reapplying lip gloss you don't need, when the door opens.
jeongin slips inside like a guilty thing, all wide eyes and shallow breathing. the lock clicks behind him and for a moment you just look at each other.
"hi," you say.
"hi." his voice is barely there. "i told myself i wouldn't do this again."
"and yet?"
"and yet." he laughs, sharp and humorless. "you're… i don't know what you're doing to me. i can't think straight anymore. can't sleep. can't pray without thinking about—" he swallows the rest of his words, jaw clenching. "this is wrong."
"you keep saying that." you step closer and he doesn't back away. another wordless act you take as permission. "do you actually believe it? or is it just what you're supposed to say?"
"i don't know." his eyes track your movement, dark and hungry despite the conflict written over every inch of his expression. "i don't know what i believe anymore. i just know that when i'm near you i-" he stops. swallows again. "i can't help myself."
"then don't." you close the distance between you, reaching up to loosen his tie—blue today, perfectly knotted, already slightly askew from his nervous fidgeting. "don't help yourself. don't be good. just be here with me."
jeongin’s breath catches as your fingers work the knot free. "what are you doing?"
"shh." the tie slides free and you drop it on the counter. your hands go to the top button of his shirt next. "you trust me?"
he should say no. you can see him thinking it, weighing it, trying to find the strength to lie. but what comes out is: "yes."
"good." you pop the first button. then the second. his chest rises and falls rapidly under your hands, his pulse jumping at the base of his throat. "because i want to do something for you. something that'll make you feel good. but you have to tell me if you want me to stop. okay?"
"okay," he whispers. then, quieter: "what are you going to-"
you kiss him instead of answering. he melts into it immediately, hands coming up to cup your face like he's been waiting all week for this. maybe he has. you kiss him thoroughly, deeply, until he's pliant and wanting and making those soft sounds in the back of his throat that you've been replaying in your head for seven days straight.
you start walking him backwards, crowding his space until his back hits the door just as it had the week before.
jeongin goes willingly, lets you arrange him how you want, doesn't protest when your hands slide down his chest, his stomach, tracing the lines of him through his clothes.
"you're so pretty," you murmur against his mouth. he makes a sound akin to a whine. "do you know that? so pretty when you sing. so pretty when you're trying to be good."
"i'm not-" he gasps when your hand drifts lower, palm pressing against the front of his slacks where he's already hard. "oh god—"
"so pretty when you're like this, too." you press a little harder and his hips buck involuntarily. you’re going to eat him alive. "when you're honest about what you want."
"please," it comes out strangled. his hands clutch at your waist like he needs something to hold onto. "please."
"what do you want, jeongin?" you work his belt buckle open slowly, each word leaving your mouth a cruel purr. "use your words."
"i want—" he squeezes his eyes shut. "i want you to touch me."
"i am touching you."
"more." it's barely a whisper. "please. more."
you smile against his throat, taking a patch of skin between your teeth. "good boy."
the praise makes him shudder. you file that information away for later as you finally work his belt free. your fingers find his zipper and drag it down with agonizing slowness. he's breath comes in short, sharp gasps.
jeongin presses a hand over his mouth to muffle the sounds he's making. you smack it away damn near instantly, not even entertaining the idea of him playing quiet.
"move your hand," you snap, eyes narrowed as you watch him. "i want to hear you."
"but, someone might—"
"the service just started. no one's coming." you palm him through his boxers and his hand falls away from his mouth on a broken moan. "there you go, baby. let me hear you."
you work him out of his boxers, wrapping your hand around him properly, and the sound he makes is devastating. he's already leaking, painfully hard, and you wonder how long he's been like this. since he saw you? since this morning? since last week?
"have you touched yourself?" you ask, stroking him slowly. "thinking about me?"
your gut twists at just the thought of it—of jeongin laid out over his bed, hand moving quick and guilty as he thinks of no one but you. it’s a perfect scene, angelic and holy in it’s own right.
his face flushes deep red. "yes. i tried not to but i… every night. i'm so sorry—"
your eyes widen at the admission. every night??
fuck.
fuck.
"sweet boy, don’t apologize." you kiss him quick and filthy. "that's so hot, jeongin. fuck… tell me what you thought about."
jeongin’s response is quick, breathless. "your mouth," the words are a gasp. "your hands. the way you- the way you looked at me." he breaks off on a moan when your thumb swipes over the head of his cock, gathering the pearl of precum on the pad of your finger to work it over his length. "oh fuck—"
"such language," you tease, lips making their way down his neck again. "what would the pastor say?"
jeongin freezes. his muscles pull so tight that you watch his skin shift. he gulps down something unsaid, eyes squeezing shut as if that can erase the situation he’s in. "don't joke. god, i can't think when you- oh."
before he has too long to overthink (or regret) anything, you drop to your knees.
the realization of what you're about to do hits him like a physical blow. his eyes fly open, wide and shocked and so dark they're almost black.
"wait," his voice cracks. "you don't have to-"
"i want to." you look up at him from your knees, taking in the sight of him—all debauched and desperate yet still trying to be oh so polite. jeongin looks back like you’re something sacred. "do you want me to?"
"yes." it tears out of him. "yes, please, i've never—no one's ever-"
"i know, baby." you press a kiss to his hip bone. he trembles, priests and prayers long forgetten. "i'll take care of you. just relax."
you start slow, trying to lead him into a false sense of security. well, as much security that can be had while getting head in the church’s bathroom.
you kiss along his length, soft and teasing, trying to the shape of him.
jeongin’s shaking above you, one hand braced against the door, the other hovering beside your head like he wants nothing more than to touch but lacking the commitment to actually thread his fingers through your hair.
every breath he takes is ragged.
when you finally take him in your mouth he makes a sound like he's been shot.
"oh. oh god," his hand flies to his mouth again, muffling himself, and his hips stutter forward involuntarily before he catches himself. "sorry. i’m sorry, i didn't mean-"
you pull off just long enough to say, "c’mon sweet boy, you can move.” you press a kiss far to sweet to his “you won't hurt me, promise"
you take him deeper then, the feeling of it forcing his head to fall back against the door with a soft thunk.
he tastes clean, a little salty, maybe, but it’s human in the way that makes this feel real and raw. you work him with your mouth, your hand pumping at his base, finding a rhythm that has his breath coming in sharp gasps.
jeongin’s hand finally lands in your hair—gentle, tentative, like he's afraid he'll break you.
"is this," he can barely get words out. "am i- is this okay?"
you hum your approval around him and his whole body jerks. the vibration makes him curse again, low and filthy, and you catalog every sound, every reaction, learning what makes him fall apart.
it doesn't take long. he's too keyed up, too pure, too overwhelmed. you can feel him getting close, the tension building in his body, his breathing going ragged and desperate.
"i'm…" the tug he gives your hair is sharp, a little shaky. it serves as the warning that his words can’t seem to put together. "i'm gonna- baby, i can’t-"
you don't pull away, why would you?. you take him deeper instead, and the realization that you're going to let him finish down your throat breaks him completely.
"oh fuck." his hips stutter, his hand tightening in your hair. "i can’t, i can’t- please."
his cock twitches heavy on your tongue and then he’s coming with a choked moan, head thrown back, every muscle in his body going taut. you work him through it until he's trembling and oversensitive, until he's gently pulling you off with trembling hands.
for a moment the only sound is his harsh breathing. then you stand, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. you allow yourself a moment to really admire how fucking gorgeous he his.
jeongin looks wrecked—hair a mess, shirt hanging open, face flushed and slack with a mix of pleasure and something that might be religious ecstasy. that, or just some damn good head. his eyes are glazed, unfocused, like he's not quite back in his body yet.
"hey." you touch his face gently, thumb grazing over his puffy bottom lip. "you okay?"
jeongin blinks slowly, trying to resurface. "yeah. yeah, i'm…" he pauses. jeongin just stares for a long time, eyes dazed and half lidded. the next sound he makes is a laugh. it’s humorous. slightly hysterical. "i'm going to hell."
"probably." you kiss him softly and, though it takes a second, he kisses back, lazy and sated. "but at least you'll have good memories."
he makes a sound that's half-laugh, half-sob and pulls you against him, burying his face in your neck. you let him hold you, feeling the aftershocks still running through him, the way his hands grip you like you're the only solid thing in the world.
"i don't know what you're doing to me," he whispers against your skin. he inhales deeply, breathing you in like his favorite drug. "i don't know who i am anymore."
"maybe that's not a bad thing." you run your fingers through his hair. "maybe you're just figuring out who you actually are instead of who everyone wants you to be."
"that's terrifying."
"yeah." you pull back enough to meet his eyes. "but it's also kind of beautiful."
jeongin pulls back to study at your face. he looks at you like you've said something profound, like you've given him permission for something he didn't know he needed. then he kisses you again, slow and deep and grateful.
"we should go back," he says eventually, but he makes no move to let you go.
"probably."
"they'll notice."
"probably."
"i don't care." he kisses you again. "i don't care anymore."
that's a lie. it’s a lie and you both know it. he does care. he cares so much it's eating him alive. but for this moment, in this stolen space, he can pretend he doesn't. and that's enough.
you help him get dressed again—tucking him back into his boxers, zipping his slacks, re-buttoning his shirt. your fingers linger on each button, taking your time, and he watches you with dark eyes that promise this isn't over.
the tie goes back on last. you knot it carefully, perfectly, making him presentable again. making him look like the good church boy everyone thinks he is.
but you both know better now.
"next week?" he asks as you reach for the door.
you look back at him, at this beautiful broken thing you're slowly unraveling. "next week."
he nods. then, quieter: "thank you."
"for what?"
"for—" he gestures helplessly. "for this. for seeing me. for not—" he stops. starts again. "just thank you."
you reach for him, kissing him one more time, soft and sweet. it’s nothing like what you just did for him on your knees. "anytime, baby."
then you slip out, leaving him to collect himself, to find his way back to the pews, to pretend for another week that he's still the person he was before you walked into his church.
you know he won't succeed. the mask is cracking. and you can't wait to see what's underneath..
this time it's jeongin who finds himself on his knees.
the realization hits you somewhere between his mouth on yours and your back hitting the bathroom door. this sunday is different. jeongin’s different.
it started the way it normally does now: you walking into the sanctuary, scanning the pews, checking the choir loft. but he wasn't there. the other tenors were warming up, the pianist running through scales, but jeongin's spot stood conspicuously empty.
you'd felt it then—a pull low in your stomach, half concern and half something you didn’t want to name. disappointment, maybe. you didn’t think about it.
the same instinct that's kept you coming back week after week led you down the hallway, past the sunday school classrooms and towards the bathroom at the end of the hall.
the door was unlocked.
inside you’d found jeongin, restless hands carding through his hair. the moment you stepped in and the lock clicked behind you, he looked at you with something wild in his eyes—something hungry and desperate and finally, finallyunashamed.
"i couldn't sit up there," he'd said, already crossing to you. he looked wrecked already, sounded worse. "i couldn't sing. i couldn't even think. all week—" his hands found your hips, pressing you back against the door. "all i could think about was you."
and then his mouth was on yours and it was different from every other time—more urgent, more confident, like he'd spent the week rehearsing this moment in his head and now that you're here he can't waste a single second.
"jeongin," you’d managed between kisses, but he swallowed your words, one hand sliding up to cup your jaw while the other pulled you closer by your waist. it was feral. as feral as a pretty choir boy could be
he broke away just long enough to breathe, his forehead pressed to yours. "please. i need to…" his palm smoothed down your side, tentative but intentional. "can i? please?"
the question hung between you, loaded with meaning you both understood. this wasn't about him getting off this time. this was about reciprocation. about him proving something to himself, maybe. about wanting to give instead of just receive.
"you don't have to—" you started, but he cut you off with another kiss, this one almost frantic.
"i want to." his voice was rough, strained like the fabric of his pants. "i've been thinking about it all week. please. let me, let me make you feel good. please."
the desperation in his voice sent heat pooling low in your belly. this boy—this sweet, repressed, trying-so-hard-to-be-good boy—was begging to go down on you in a church bathroom ten minutes before sunday service.
you have a vague thought about winning the absolute “innocent” boy jackpot.
"okay," you whispered, and felt him shudder against you. "yeah, baby. you can."
the relief that washed over his face was almost comical. he kissed you again—messy and grateful—before dropping to his knees like it's the most natural thing in the world.
and you suppose that, for him, it may just be. jeongin had spent his whole life swaddled in worship. the only difference was that now that divine attention was directed at you instead of some fuck all god.
it was fitting for him.
here—with knees pressing into the cool bathroom tile, face pink and eyes wide in what could only be described as complete adoration—jeongin looked like he belonged.
his hands are shaking slightly as they slide up your thighs, pushing your skimpy, totally inappropriate for church dress higher. you can see him trying to remember everything, trying to figure out the mechanics, and something about his earnest concentration makes you want to laugh and cry at the same time.
"tell me what to do," he says, looking up at you with those dark eyes, and fuck, the visual alone might kill you—him on his knees, your dress bunched in his fists, looking at you like you're something holy.
you thread your fingers through his hair. "start slow. pay attention to what i like. i'll tell you if you need to adjust."
he nods, solemn as a prayer, and then his hands are hooking into your underwear and pulling down. you step out of them and he tucks them into his pocket—and that’s going to live in your head for fucking days—before his hands return to your thighs.
"you're beautiful," he murmurs, almost to himself. then, softer: "i can't believe you're letting me do this."
"jeongin." you tug gently at his hair, a shit eating grin on your lips. "stop being reverent and start being useful."
he huffs a laugh against your inner thigh, and then—finally, finally—he leans in.
the first touch of his tongue is tentative, exploratory. he's learning you the way he learned his hymns—carefully, methodically, with intense focus. it's not perfect but it's enthusiastic, and there's something incredibly hot about his obvious inexperience paired with his desperate eagerness to please.
"like this?" he asks, pulling back slightly, and you have to bite back a whine at the loss of contact.
"yeah," you manage. "that's- yeah. maybe a little more—“ you words evaporate on your tongue as his presses flat against your clit. “there. there."
he makes a pleased sound and doubles his efforts. one of his hands slides up to grip your hip, steadying you, while the other stays on your thigh. his tongue works over you with increasing confidence, and when he finds a rhythm that makes your breath hitch, he stays there, consistent and focused.
"my sweet boy," you breathe out. "that's so good, baby. you're doing so fucking good."
the praise makes him moan against you—actually moan—and the vibration sends a shockwave up your spine. your fingers tighten in his hair and his grip on your hip tightens in response.
then he does something with his tongue that makes your knees buckle slightly, and he catches you, strong hands keeping you upright. he pulls back just long enough to look up at you—pupils blown wide, lips slick, hair a fluffy mess from your hands—and says, "please don't fall. i'm not done yet."
the absolute audacity—
"help me out then," you shoot, and he seems to understand immediately.
his hand slides down your thigh and then he's lifting, guiding your leg up and over his shoulder. the new angle makes you grab for the door to steady yourself, and suddenly you're opened up to him completely, vulnerable and exposed and entirely at his mercy.
"better?" he asks, and the smugness in his voice is new.
new and completely unfair.
"jeongin-"
whatever you were going to say dissolves into a moan as he dives back in with renewed vigor. the angle lets him work deeper, lets him use his whole mouth, and he's a devastatingly quick learner. every sound you make, every time your fingers tighten in his hair or your hips roll forward, he pays attention and adjusts accordingly.
your head falls back against the door with a soft thud.
one hand stays tangled in his hair while the other grips the door handle for dear life. the leg he's holding over his shoulder is starting to shake but he holds you steady, strong enough to support your weight, determined enough to ignore the strain.
"you taste so good," he murmurs against you, and the words coupled with the feeling nearly undo you on the spot. "can't believe—can't believe i get to do this—"
"stop talking," you gasp out, and he laughs—actually laughs—against your cunt before doing as you ask.
he's getting bolder now, more confident. his tongue moves with purpose, finding patterns that make you gasp and moan and forget where you are. at one point he looks up at you—makes direct eye contact while his mouth works over you—and the visual combined with the sensation makes you cry out louder than you should.
"shh," he says, but he's smiling, the bastard. "service is starting. someone might hear."
"then you better—oh fuck—you better make this quick."
he takes that as a challenge. his hand on your hip slides down and then his thumb is there too, working in tandem with his mouth, and suddenly you're not sure how much longer you can last.
"jeongin," it comes out strangled. "i'm close-"
if anything, that makes him more determined.
jeongin adjusts his angle slightly, finds that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyelids, and stays there. it’s all consistent pressure, perfect rhythm, and when he moans against you again—like he's the one getting pleasure from this—you feel yourself tip over the edge.
it hits you like a wave. your whole body goes taut, thighs clenching around his head as well as they can, fingers probably pulling his hair too hard.
jeongin can’t be bothered.
you bite down on your free hand to muffle the sounds trying to escape as pleasure rolls through you in pulses.
he works you through it patiently, gently, until you're shaking and oversensitive and trying to push him away. only then does he lower your leg carefully back to the ground, his hands steadying you as your knees threaten to give out.
for a moment you just stand there, breathing hard, trying to remember how words work. jeongin stays on his knees, looking up at you with the most satisfied expression you've ever seen on his face—pride and wonder and something almost smug.
"how was that?" he asks, and there's a new confidence in his voice that wasn't there before. like he's proven something to himself. like he's discovered a new talent.
"you," you have to stop and catch your breath. "are a very quick learner."
jeongin grins wide and genuine and so unlike the shy boy from a few weeks ago. he shrugs a shoulder before saying, "i had good motivation."
you pull him up by his collar and kiss him, tasting yourself on his lips. he kisses back eagerly, hands settling on your waist like they belong there.
"we really need to get back," you murmur against his mouth, but neither of you makes any move to separate.
"i know." he kisses you again. "one more minute."
that minute turns into several.
by the time you finally pull apart and start making yourselves presentable, you can hear the opening hymn starting in the sanctuary. jeongin's hair is a disaster, his lips are swollen, and there's a dazed look in his eyes that he probably couldn’t hide even if he tried.
he doesn’t offer you back your underwear. you don’t ask.
"you look thoroughly debauched," you tell him, and he laughs—bright and unburdened.
"good." he leans in for one more quick kiss. "let them wonder."
that's definitely new.
the old jeongin would've been horrified at the thought. this version—the one who just spent fifteen minutes on his knees in a church bathroom and loved every second of it—seems almost pleased by the idea of people noticing.
you smooth down your dress while he attempts to fix his hair in the mirror. it's a losing battle. he looks exactly like what he is: someone who just gave head for the first time and is riding the high of doing it well.
"next week?" he asks as you reach for the door, echoing his same words you’ve exchanged every week before.
you look back at him—at this transformed version of the boy you met months ago. "next week," you confirm. then, softer: "you really are a quick learner."
his answering smile is pure sin. "i've got a lot of catching up to do."
you slip out first, making your way back to the sanctuary. a few minutes later, jeongin appears in the choir loft, sliding into his spot just as the first hymn ends.
the choir director gives him a look but doesn't comment.
from your seat in the back pew, you watch him through the service. watch him sing with the same devotion he always has, except now you know what that devotion looks like when it's directed at you instead of god.
and when he catches your eye across the sanctuary, the heat in his gaze promises that next week can't come soon enough.
[a/n]: this is the longest fic that i’ve ever written T-T i’m not super used to writing out such long stuff that actually sees the light of day. i apologize for any and all inconsistencies that popped up in my writing, this was genuinely a bitch and a half to get finished, and i know damn well there are parts of this that aren’t really up to par. thank you for reading all the way through, though!! i respect your commitment and hope you enjoyed the ride :3
Hi I've just come across your Valentines challenge and I love it! My request is Fake Dating and Loki. Please!
PRETENDING
⤷ LOKY LAUFEYSON
ᯓ★ Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x fem!reader
ᯓ★ Genre: romance, some angst and some fluff
ᯓ★ Requests status: open (only by asks)
ᯓ★ Story type: one shot
ᯓ★ Word count: 10k
ᯓ★ Summary: when your father tells you about the marriage he has arranged for you you are already coming up with a plan to escape it, and you might need the help of your dear friend, the God of Mischief.
ᯓ★ TW(s): someone stabs someone else with a poisoned knife and the injuried one goes into a coma (I wrote it like this to not spoiler anything lol)
ᯓ★ Love is in the air - Valentine's Day special game
ᯓ★ My Masterlist
ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special
ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!
ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)
ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo
ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language
The golden spires of Asgard stretch into the endless sky, bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun. You stand on one of the many ornate balconies of your father’s estate, the heavy folds of your gown brushing the marble beneath your feet. From here, you can see the Bifrost bridge shimmering in the distance, but the breathtaking view offers no comfort. Not when the weight of your father's latest decision hangs over you like a storm cloud.
“Y/n,” he had said only this morning, his voice firm with the kind of authority that leaves little room for argument, “Lord Eirik is a wise and wealthy man. The union would benefit our house greatly.”
Lord Eirik. The name alone makes your skin crawl. You’d met him once, years ago—a man older than your father, with cold eyes that roamed far too freely. And now, your father expects you to marry him, all for the sake of strengthening alliances and preserving the honor of your house.
You grip the balcony railing tighter, your knuckles turning white. There has to be another way.
The soft sound of footsteps pulls you from your thoughts, light and calculated, as if the person approaching enjoys the art of making an entrance without announcing it. You don’t need to turn around to know who it is.
“Pouting over arranged marriages? How very traditional of you,” Loki’s voice is smooth, laced with amusement, but there’s an undercurrent of curiosity.
You sigh but can’t help the ghost of a smile tugging at your lips. “I’m not pouting.”
Loki steps closer, leaning against the railing beside you. His emerald-green robes flutter gently in the evening breeze, and his raven-black hair, perfectly styled as always, catches the last rays of sunlight. Mischief dances in his eyes, but there’s something softer there too—something he hides well.
“Then what would you call this brooding display?” he asks, gesturing vaguely at your stiff posture.
“Desperation,” you mutter, before you even think to stop yourself.
Loki arches a dark brow, his curiosity piqued. “That bad?”
You finally turn to him, your chest tightening. Of all the people in Asgard, Loki is the one you can trust, even if trusting him sometimes means falling victim to elaborate pranks or being roped into schemes you didn’t sign up for. But he’s been your friend for years, since you were both barely more than children running through the palace halls, and now he’s the only one you can think to turn to.
“I need your help,” you say, the words tasting heavier than you expected.
Loki straightens, his playful smirk faltering just slightly. He crosses his arms, studying you. “Now this is interesting. Usually, people only seek my help when they’ve truly run out of options.”
“I have run out of options.” You let the frustration bleed into your voice, feeling the weight of it. “My father is going to marry me off to Lord Eirik. I can’t—” You stop, the bile rising in your throat. “I won’t do it.”
Loki’s expression shifts, the humor fading. There’s a flicker of something deeper—concern? Anger? It’s hard to tell with him. “I assume your father isn’t one for simple persuasion?”
You scoff. “Not when it comes to alliances. He’s set on this, Loki. The only way he’ll back down is if he believes I’m already… involved.” You hesitate before forcing the rest of the words out. “With someone more powerful. Someone he wouldn’t dare cross.”
Loki’s sharp mind picks up on your meaning instantly. His smile returns, slow and deliberate. “And who better than the God of Mischief himself?”
You meet his gaze, your heart pounding. “Will you do it? Pretend, I mean? Just until my father calls off the arrangement.”
He leans in, closer than necessary, his breath brushing against your cheek. “Darling, you wound me. Of course, I’ll help.”
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, a wave of relief washing over you. But before you can thank him, he adds with a wicked grin, “Though I must warn you, I’m an exceptional actor. You might fall in love with me for real.”
You roll your eyes but can’t help the warmth that blooms in your chest. “In your dreams, Loki.”
He chuckles, but there’s something else beneath his laughter—something softer, hidden deep. If only you knew how close to the truth his teasing really is.
The next morning, it begins.
Loki arrives at your family’s estate in a flourish of green and gold, his entrance nothing short of theatrical. His presence alone commands attention, but today, there’s an extra layer to his performance. His smile is softer when he sees you, his touches more lingering, every gesture calculated to sell the lie.
Your father watches from the grand hall, seated on his ornate throne-like chair. His expression is unreadable as Loki approaches him, your hand securely tucked in the crook of his arm.
“Lord Y/f/n,” Loki begins, his voice carrying a practiced charm, “I believe you and I have much to discuss.”
Your father’s gaze flickers between the two of you, his jaw tightening. “Does this have something to do with my daughter?”
Loki’s smile widens, and he draws you subtly closer. “Indeed. You see, we’ve been… involved for quite some time now. And I thought it best to make our intentions clear before any unfortunate misunderstandings arose.”
There’s a heavy pause, the kind that seems to stretch across the entire hall. Your father’s eyes narrow, and for a moment, you think he might call the bluff.
But then, he speaks. “I see.”
It’s hard to tell if he believes it, or if he simply recognizes the delicate politics at play. After all, Loki is the prince of Asgard, brother to Thor, son of Odin—if your father openly challenges him, it could mean far more than just a personal insult.
He exhales slowly, leaning back in his chair. “I assume you intend to treat her with the respect she deserves?”
Loki dips his head in a mock bow, though his voice is sincere when he says, “Of course. Y/n is… precious to me.”
Your heart stutters at the way he says it, but you quickly remind yourself that this is all part of the act.
Later, as you walk through the palace gardens, away from the prying eyes and heavy expectations, you turn to him. “That was… convincing.”
He offers a playful grin. “Did you doubt me?”
“Not for a second.”
You both fall into an easy silence, the kind that only comes with years of friendship. Yet now, there’s something unspoken between you—a tension you can’t quite name.
“Thank you,” you say softly, breaking the quiet.
Loki stops walking, turning to face you fully. There’s something in his eyes, something deeper than mischief. “Anything for you, Y/n.”
You feel your breath catch, and for a fleeting second, you wonder if this is still just part of the act.
But before you can dwell on it, he smirks again, the moment slipping away. “Now, shall we make this charade more convincing? I believe a few stolen glances and lingering touches are expected.”
You laugh, swatting at his arm. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet, here you are, fake betrothed to me.”
What neither of you says is how easily this charade could slip into something real.
For Loki, it already has.
And for you? Well, only time will tell.
The next few days in Asgard unfold like scenes from a grand play, each one more elaborate than the last. It doesn’t take long before whispers ripple through the golden halls, carried on the breeze like wildfire.
You hear them everywhere—soft-spoken words trailing behind you as you walk through the palace gardens with Loki, your arm laced in his, your smile painted carefully onto your face. The stories grow with every passing day, stretching the truth in ways only Asgardians could manage.
“Did you hear? Prince Loki and Lady Y/n have been secretly involved for years.”
“I always suspected something. Did you see the way he looked at her during the last feast? Like she was the only one in the room.”
“I heard he challenged Lord Eirik himself, told him to stay away from her.”
“That’s not all. Someone said he plans to propose soon. Imagine that—a royal wedding!”
You try not to let the gossip get under your skin, but it’s impossible not to hear it, impossible not to feel the stares following you everywhere you go. Loki, on the other hand, thrives in it. He walks beside you with the ease of someone who has spent a lifetime performing for an audience. He basks in the attention, offering charming smiles and knowing glances to anyone bold enough to meet his eyes.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” you murmur one afternoon as you pass a group of noblewomen who pretend to be absorbed in a conversation but clearly hang onto every word between you and Loki.
“Immensely,” Loki replies without missing a beat. He leans in closer, his lips brushing your ear. “Though, I think I could convince you to enjoy it more if you’d play along a little better.”
You pull back to glare at him, but the twinkle in his green eyes disarms you. “I am playing along.”
“Hardly. You still stiffen every time I touch you.”
“I do not.”
“You do.”
You huff in annoyance, but the truth of his words gnaws at you. Despite the charade, despite the time you’ve spent with Loki over the years, something about the closeness now—about what it means—makes it harder to pretend. Because pretending means noticing things you’ve tried not to notice before. Like the way his fingers linger at the small of your back, or how his gaze softens when he thinks you aren’t looking.
Still, you manage a smile for the sake of your audience and link your fingers more tightly with his. “I’ll try harder.”
“Good.” He grins, triumphant.
But the real test comes sooner than you expect.
Loki approaches you late one evening in the palace library, where you’ve sought refuge from the endless gossip and prying eyes. The tall shelves lined with ancient tomes offer some comfort, but not nearly enough.
He strides in, his dark green cloak billowing behind him, and you know immediately that something is different.
“What?” you ask, setting the book aside.
He leans against the table, his fingers drumming against the polished wood. “We’ve been summoned.”
Your stomach twists. “Summoned?”
“To see my parents.”
The words hang heavy in the air. Odin. Frigga. Meeting the All-Father and the Queen wasn’t something you’d fully thought through when you first begged Loki for help. But of course, it was inevitable. If the story was going to hold, you’d have to convince them as well.
You try to steady your breathing. “When?”
“Tomorrow.”
You swallow hard. “And… what do we do?”
Loki’s usual confidence falters for a moment, so brief you almost miss it. But then he straightens, slipping back into the role as easily as breathing. “We do what we’ve been doing. Pretend.”
You stand, nerves knotting in your chest. “It’s Odin. And Frigga. They’ll see right through us.”
He steps closer, his expression softening. “Frigga might. But Odin… well, he’s been fooled before.”
There’s a flicker of bitterness in his voice, quickly masked, but you choose not to push. Instead, you take a deep breath and meet his gaze. “Then let’s make it believable.”
The next morning arrives far too quickly.
You wear a flowing gown of deep emerald silk, chosen carefully to match Loki’s signature color. Your hair is braided elegantly, delicate gold threads woven through it—Frigga’s tastes are well-known, and you hope to make a good impression.
Loki meets you outside the grand hall, looking every bit the prince in his regal Asgardian attire. He offers you his arm, and when you hesitate for just a moment too long, he smiles softly. “It’ll be fine.”
You place your hand on his arm, feeling the tension beneath his cool exterior. “You’re nervous too.”
“Of course. I’m about to introduce my supposed beloved to the All-Father and the Queen. They’ll dissect everything you say.” He pauses, then adds more quietly, “But you’ll do fine.”
The heavy doors of the hall creak open, and together you step inside.
Odin sits on his throne, his golden armor gleaming beneath the grand beams of the hall, Gungnir resting at his side. His one good eye fixes on you and Loki as you approach, his expression unreadable. Beside him, Frigga sits with her usual calm grace, her blue robes flowing around her like water, though her eyes are sharp and knowing.
You bow low, as does Loki, though his is more casual, a prince bowing to his own parents but still observing the formality.
“Mother, Father,” Loki begins, his voice smooth but carefully measured, “I bring Lady Y/n before you.”
Odin’s gaze lingers on you, heavy and powerful, and you feel the weight of his scrutiny. “We have heard whispers,” he says finally, his deep voice reverberating through the hall. “Of your… intentions.”
Loki nods, the barest hint of a smile on his lips. “Indeed. Y/n and I have been… close for some time now. I thought it best you meet her.”
There’s a beat of silence.
Frigga speaks next, her voice gentle but firm. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Y/n. I’ve long heard of your family’s standing.”
You straighten, trying to hide the nervous flutter in your chest. “The pleasure is mine, Your Majesty.”
Her smile is kind, but her eyes are sharp. She sees more than she lets on.
Odin leans forward, his knuckles tightening around Gungnir. “And tell me, Lady Y/n, what is it about my son that draws your affections?”
Your heart pounds. This is it—the moment that could unravel everything if you don’t answer carefully.
You glance at Loki, who watches you intently, his usual smirk absent, his jaw tense. And in that moment, something shifts. You think of all the times he’s been there—the years of friendship, the whispered secrets, the laughter, the mischief, and now this.
You meet Odin’s gaze. “Loki has been my friend for many years. He is… brilliant, clever, and fiercely loyal to those he cares for. Beneath his mischief, there is kindness—more than most people see.” You pause, swallowing. “And he makes me feel… seen.”
The hall is silent. Odin watches you carefully, but Frigga’s expression softens.
Loki clears his throat, breaking the tension. “As you can see, Father, I chose wisely.”
Frigga’s smile returns, more genuine now. “It seems you have.”
Odin leans back, still unreadable. “We shall see.”
The meeting ends shortly after, but the tension lingers as you and Loki leave the hall.
You exhale deeply once the heavy doors close behind you. “Well. That was… terrifying.”
Loki chuckles, though it’s quieter than usual. “You did well. Even I almost believed you.”
You arch a brow at him. “Almost?”
He smirks, but there’s something softer in his eyes. “You were… convincing.”
As you walk through the palace, you notice more than ever how the whispers have grown. You catch snippets—your name, Loki’s, theories about how long the two of you have been secretly involved, about whether wedding bells are on the horizon.
It should feel overwhelming, but strangely, it doesn’t. Not with Loki walking beside you, his arm brushing against yours, his warmth grounding you.
But what lingers most is the look on Frigga’s face when you spoke—the knowing softness in her eyes, as if she could see right through the lies to something else, something truer.
You wonder if she saw the same thing you’re beginning to feel. Something deepening between you and Loki, something you didn’t expect.
And as Loki glances at you, his smile softer now, less forced, you can’t help but wonder if he feels it too.
The calm that settles over Asgard after your meeting with Odin and Frigga is short-lived. For a few brief days, you feel the weight lifting, as if the worst of it is behind you. The whispers in the palace grow louder, but now they carry a different tone—gossip laced with excitement rather than judgment. People speak of your so-called love affair with Loki as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
But the feeling of safety is fragile, thin as glass, and it shatters the moment Lord Eirik returns to the city.
You first hear of his arrival from one of the palace maids, who finds you in the gardens where you and Loki had spent countless hours perfecting your act. She approaches nervously, her hands clasped in front of her, eyes wide.
“My lady,” she whispers, glancing around to ensure no one overhears. “Lord Eirik has returned. He rode through the gates this morning.”
The news strikes like a physical blow, the breath catching in your throat.
“Already?” you manage to ask, your fingers tightening around the edge of the marble bench you sit on.
She nods quickly. “I heard he was… furious.”
The words hang in the air long after she departs, leaving you alone in the garden’s silence. You stare at the carefully trimmed hedges, your heart racing. Of course, Eirik wouldn’t take this lightly. His pride, his status—it was all tied to the alliance your father had promised him. And now, with you publicly attached to Loki, that promise had crumbled before his eyes.
A shadow looms over you before you even hear the approaching footsteps.
“I heard,” Loki says smoothly as he sits beside you, though there’s an edge to his voice, something darker than his usual playful tone.
“Of course you did.” You sigh, your shoulders sagging. “What do we do now?”
He leans back on the bench, looking up at the blue Asgardian sky, but there’s tension in the set of his jaw. “We keep pretending. And we let him come to us. I’m sure he will.”
You glance at him, worry swirling in your chest. “Loki, Eirik isn’t like the nobles who whisper behind fans and silk curtains. He won’t just let this go.”
A sharp smile curls at Loki’s lips, but there’s no warmth in it. “Then let him try something.”
You know that tone. It’s the same one he uses when he’s plotting something dangerous, something reckless.
“Loki…” you start, but he cuts you off.
“I won’t let him lay a hand on you, Y/n.”
It should comfort you, but all it does is make the knot in your chest tighten.
You don’t have to wait long before Eirik makes his move.
That evening, as you walk the palace corridors alone—something you now regret—his voice cuts through the stillness.
“My lady.”
You freeze before turning around.
Lord Eirik stands at the end of the corridor, dressed in deep burgundy robes lined with fur, his gray-streaked beard groomed perfectly, though his sharp eyes burn with fury.
You swallow, trying to summon the courage you’d had when speaking to Odin. “Lord Eirik,” you say as calmly as you can, though your heart pounds in your chest.
He strides toward you, each heavy step echoing off the marble walls. “I had expected a different welcome upon my return. Perhaps one from my betrothed.”
You straighten your shoulders, meeting his gaze. “I am not your betrothed.”
A muscle in his jaw ticks. “That was not your decision to make.”
The air between you thickens with tension, heavy and suffocating.
“My father agreed to the arrangement, yes,” you say carefully, “but I never did.”
His eyes narrow, and for a moment, you see the true depth of his anger, barely restrained beneath the surface. “And yet, now you belong to Loki? Do you think I don’t see this for what it is? A ruse. A desperate attempt to escape a future you did not want.”
You flinch, but refuse to look away. “If you see it so clearly, then why bother?”
“Because,” he hisses, stepping closer, his voice dropping into something low and dangerous, “I do not take well to being made a fool of.”
Your heart races, but you stand your ground. “I made my choice.”
Eirik’s hand twitches at his side, like he’s considering reaching for you, but before he can make another move, a familiar voice slices through the corridor, smooth and laced with venom.
“I suggest you step away from her, Eirik.”
You turn just as Loki appears from the shadows, his tall figure tense with restrained fury. His usual playful demeanor is gone, replaced with something far more dangerous. His green eyes burn as he closes the distance between the three of you, his steps slow and deliberate.
Eirik sneers. “So, the prince emerges. Tell me, Loki, how long do you expect this little performance to last?”
Loki stops at your side, his presence a solid wall between you and Eirik now. “Long enough for you to realize that she is no longer available to be traded like livestock.”
Eirik’s face reddens, his fury bubbling beneath his carefully constructed facade. “You think you can embarrass me like this? Ruin what was promised to me?”
Loki steps forward, the air around him crackling with restrained magic. “I think I just did.”
For a tense moment, you think Eirik might draw his weapon, might be foolish enough to challenge a prince of Asgard right here in the palace. But he doesn’t. Instead, he sneers, spitting his next words.
“This isn’t over.”
And with that, he turns on his heel and storms down the corridor, his heavy footsteps echoing until they vanish into silence.
You exhale sharply, your knees feeling weak beneath you.
Loki turns to you immediately, his hands resting gently on your shoulders. “Are you alright?”
You nod, though the adrenaline still courses through you. “I’m fine. I didn’t expect him to… I thought he’d just walk away.”
Loki’s jaw tightens. “Men like him never walk away quietly.”
You meet his gaze, seeing the worry beneath his sharp features. “Thank you. For stepping in.”
His fingers brush against your cheek, softer now, his anger replaced with something gentler. “I told you I wouldn’t let him touch you.”
Your heart stutters in your chest at the closeness between you. You’ve spent so much time pretending, weaving this elaborate lie, but this moment doesn’t feel like an act at all.
“Loki…” you start, unsure what you even want to say, but he shakes his head slightly, his eyes never leaving yours.
“We need to be careful. Eirik won’t take this humiliation lightly.”
You know he’s right, but part of you still lingers on the way his fingers brushed your cheek, on how his anger burned so fiercely on your behalf.
Over the next few days, the tension in Asgard thickens. The gossip shifts once more, no longer idle talk of romance and secret affections. Now it’s filled with sharp edges—talk of Eirik’s fury, of how the nobleman had been made a fool, of the confrontation in the palace corridors.
“He’ll retaliate,” you hear one nobleman whisper at a feast, his voice low but urgent. “Men like Eirik don’t take humiliation lightly.”
“He won’t dare cross Loki,” another responds, though even he sounds unsure.
You sit beside Loki at the long table, his hand resting casually on yours, playing the part still, though now there’s an undeniable tension beneath his touch.
“Everyone’s waiting for him to strike,” you murmur, sipping your wine.
Loki’s jaw tenses, but he keeps his smile in place for the crowd. “Let him. I’m ready.”
You glance at him, the flickering torchlight casting shadows across his sharp features. There’s something more beneath his calm exterior, something darker brewing.
“Don’t do anything reckless,” you say softly, but he only offers that same infuriating, knowing smile.
“For you, I’d do anything.”
The words are playful, but there’s truth laced in them—a truth you’re not sure you’re ready to face yet.
But in the pit of your stomach, you know Eirik’s next move is coming. And when it does, it will shatter the fragile facade you and Loki have built, forcing both of you to face the deeper truths you’ve been hiding behind the mask of your lie.
The days following Eirik’s return pass in a haze of tension and whispers, every corner of the palace echoing with fragments of your story. What started as a desperate act to avoid a loveless marriage has spiraled into something far more elaborate—something neither you nor Loki fully anticipated.
You thought the hardest part was convincing Odin and Frigga, but now you see how naïve that was. The entire realm buzzes with the news of your supposed love. And there’s no way to retreat from it now.
The decision comes swiftly, a conversation you’re not even a part of.
One morning, you’re summoned to the royal chambers, your heart hammering in your chest. You half-expect it to be Odin demanding the truth, but when you step into the vast room, it’s Frigga who greets you, her gentle smile doing little to soothe your nerves. Loki stands near the window, his hands clasped behind his back, his posture stiff. He avoids your gaze.
“Lady Y/n,” Frigga says, her voice kind but measured, “we’ve been discussing the future.”
Your throat tightens. “The future?”
She nods, her hands folded elegantly in front of her. “Yours and Loki’s.”
You glance at Loki, but he still won’t meet your eyes.
Frigga continues, “Asgardian tradition holds that public declarations of love, especially from royalty, carry a certain… expectation. The people are watching. Your families are watching. There will be pressure.”
The word hits you hard. Pressure. That’s all this has been—a tight, suffocating cage you’ve been trying to escape, only to find yourself deeper inside it.
“I… I understand,” you manage to say.
Frigga’s smile is patient, but you see the knowing glint in her eyes. “Odin believes the most honorable course now is marriage. It will solidify the alliance between your family and the royal house. It will… legitimize what has been said.”
The room seems to tilt beneath you.
Marriage.
You’d known it was a possibility—this was the path you chose the moment you begged Loki to fake this relationship—but hearing it spoken aloud makes it real.
You finally look at Loki, and this time he meets your gaze. His green eyes, usually so full of mischief and confidence, are unreadable now, guarded.
“This is what needs to happen,” he says quietly.
The words sting more than they should. You know he’s playing the part still, but a small, fragile part of you had hoped… for something else in his tone. Something warmer.
Frigga, ever observant, watches the silent exchange between you. “There will be time to prepare, of course. But the arrangements will begin immediately. The people will want a grand wedding.”
You can only nod, your heart beating too loud in your ears.
As you leave the chamber, Loki falls into step beside you. Neither of you speaks for a long moment, the weight of what just happened hanging between you like a storm cloud.
Finally, you break the silence. “So. We’re getting married.”
He exhales through his nose, the faintest trace of a smile curling at his lips. “Seems so.”
You try to laugh, but it comes out hollow. “I thought the whole point was to avoid being married off.”
His smirk deepens, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “At least this time it’s your choice.”
Is it? You want to say, but the words catch in your throat.
Instead, you glance at him, searching his face. “You don’t mind?”
Loki slows his steps, considering. “I’ve had worse fates.” He glances sideways at you, his green eyes softer now. “And it’s not as though I find the idea unbearable.”
Your stomach twists at his words, at the quiet honesty behind them.
He clears his throat, brushing past the moment. “We should… prepare. I’m sure the palace will be overrun with wedding plans soon.”
And it is.
Within days, Asgard buzzes with preparations. Nobles flock to the palace, eager to be part of the grand event. Silk merchants arrive with bolts of fabric shimmering in the sunlight. Jewels from realms beyond Asgard are presented as offerings for the bride-to-be—each more ornate than the last.
You’re swept into it all, barely able to catch your breath. Tailors drape you in rich fabrics, court advisors debate over seating charts, and Frigga herself insists on helping you select flowers from the royal gardens.
At first, it all feels like a dream—distant, surreal. You go through the motions because you have to, because this is what the story demands. But somewhere, amid the chaos, things begin to shift.
It starts when you see the temple where the ceremony will take place—its high arches carved with ancient runes, golden light pouring through the stained glass. You picture yourself standing there, before the entire realm, with Loki at your side.
You imagine the moment Odin will declare you husband and wife, the vows you will speak, the ring that will slide onto your finger.
And, unexpectedly, your heart flutters.
You try to brush it off at first. It’s just nerves, you tell yourself. The weight of everything happening so fast.
But it becomes harder to ignore when you catch glimpses of Loki in the quiet moments—when he thinks no one’s watching.
Like when you find him in the palace library, flipping through old texts on Asgardian wedding customs. You approach silently, watching as his brow furrows in concentration, his long fingers tracing the pages.
“Studying?” you tease, breaking the silence.
He startles, then chuckles softly. “I suppose I should know what I’m getting myself into.”
You smile, but the warmth in your chest lingers longer than it should.
And then there are the times you catch him staring at you during fittings or dinners—when he isn’t wearing his usual smirk but something softer, more vulnerable.
It’s in those moments that you begin to realize the truth you’ve been avoiding.
You care for him.
No—more than that.
You love him.
The realization hits you one evening as you stand on the palace balcony, watching the stars blink into existence above Asgard. The city glows beneath you, but all you can think of is Loki—the way he’s been by your side through all of this, protecting you, helping you.
He didn’t have to say yes when you begged him for help. He didn’t have to throw himself into this charade so completely.
But he did.
And somewhere along the way, pretending stopped feeling like pretending.
You press your hands to the balcony railing, your heart racing.
You love him.
But before you can even begin to unravel what that means, a new threat looms—darker and more dangerous than the whispers of nobles or the expectations of the court.
Eirik.
Though he has remained out of sight since his confrontation in the palace corridors, you know better than to believe he’s simply accepted his defeat.
And you’re right.
In the shadowed halls beneath Asgard, Eirik plots.
The slight against him, the humiliation he endured—it festers like a wound, growing deeper with each passing day. He cannot stand the thought of you standing at Loki’s side, wearing a crown that should have elevated his own status.
And so, he makes a decision.
If he cannot have you, if he cannot claim the future that was promised to him, then no one will.
Whispers reach his ears—servants who are easily bribed, guards who turn a blind eye. He learns of the wedding plans, the route you will take to the temple, the secluded chambers where you rest.
He plans his revenge carefully, methodically.
A poisoned blade. Swift, silent.
He imagines it easily—how the chaos would erupt if the bride-to-be were found dead on the eve of her wedding. The scandal, the shame, the grief. It would tear through the palace like wildfire.
Loki would suffer.
And that, more than anything, is what Eirik desires.
But what he doesn’t anticipate is how fiercely Loki watches over you.
Late one evening, as you sit in your chambers, going over the endless lists of preparations, Loki slips inside silently.
“Can’t sleep?” he asks, noting the candle still flickering beside you.
You smile tiredly. “Too much to think about.”
He crosses the room, sitting beside you. There’s something different in his demeanor tonight—tense, alert.
“You should rest,” he says gently. “The days ahead will be… intense.”
You glance at him, your heart aching with the weight of your unspoken feelings. You want to tell him—about the realization on the balcony, about how this no longer feels like an act to you.
But before you can speak, Loki’s expression shifts, his eyes darkening as he glances toward the window.
In an instant, he’s on his feet, his dagger appearing in his hand as though conjured from thin air.
“Stay here,” he orders, his voice low and sharp.
You barely have time to react before he vanishes into the shadows, leaving you breathless, fear curling in your chest.
Something is coming.
And this time, it’s not just your heart that’s at risk.
The tension that had filled the room moments ago lingers like a fog, even as Loki returns from the window, dagger still gripped tightly in his hand. His sharp eyes scan the corners of your chamber one last time, but there’s nothing—no shadowy figure lurking in the darkness, no threat waiting to strike. It had only been a flicker, perhaps a trick of the moonlight or the frantic pounding of both your hearts playing tricks on you.
Still, Loki doesn’t lower his weapon.
“It was nothing,” you whisper, though your voice shakes.
“Perhaps,” he replies, but the edge in his voice remains. “But I won’t take chances with your life.”
Your chest tightens at the words, at the sheer intensity of the way he looks at you, as though the thought of something happening to you is unbearable. You realize then how deeply this act—the lie you both started together—has woven itself into something neither of you can ignore.
“Loki,” you begin, but the words falter on your tongue. There’s so much you want to say, but the lump in your throat threatens to choke you.
He steps closer, lowering the dagger and reaching out, his hand brushing lightly against your cheek. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he repeats, softer this time, but the weight of his promise feels heavier now.
The moment lingers between you, thick with unspoken confessions, but before either of you can cross that fragile line, he pulls back.
“You should rest,” he says, though his voice sounds strained, as if he’s fighting against something inside himself. “We both should.”
And with that, he slips out of the room, leaving you alone with the racing of your heart and the realization that the feelings you’ve buried for so long can’t be hidden much longer.
The following day—the day before the wedding—passes in a blur. The palace buzzes with preparations, the air filled with the scent of fresh flowers and the soft hum of music as musicians rehearse for the grand ceremony. Nobles flit about like jeweled birds, discussing everything from the seating arrangements to the color of the tapestries.
But none of it feels real.
Not to you.
Your mind is elsewhere, trapped in the heavy weight of what you need to say. The feeling that’s been growing inside you—quiet at first, then louder, unstoppable—can’t be ignored any longer. The thought of standing before all of Asgard tomorrow and binding yourself to Loki in a marriage that had begun as a lie is unbearable if he doesn’t know the truth: that it’s no longer pretend for you.
You find him that afternoon in the palace gardens, beneath the towering silverleaf trees where the two of you had so often sought refuge from court life. He stands with his back to you, hands clasped behind him, staring out over the shimmering pools that reflect the afternoon light.
You take a deep breath, summoning every ounce of courage, before stepping forward.
“Loki.”
He turns, the faintest smile touching his lips. “Y/n.”
But his usual mask of mischief and ease falters when he sees the seriousness in your expression.
“I need to talk to you,” you say, your hands twisting nervously in front of you.
His brow furrows, and he gestures for you to sit on the bench beneath the trees. “Of course. Is something wrong?”
You sit, the cool stone beneath you grounding, though your heart still races. “No. Well, yes. I—Loki, I can’t keep pretending.”
His entire body stiffens. “You want to call it off?” he asks, but there’s something vulnerable in his voice, hidden beneath the careful nonchalance.
You shake your head quickly. “No. That’s not—” You exhale, frustrated with yourself. “This started as a lie, yes. A way to avoid being forced into a marriage I didn’t want. But somewhere along the way…” Your throat tightens. “I stopped pretending.”
His eyes widen, the green depths shimmering with something fragile and raw.
“I love you, Loki,” you say, the words finally spilling out, freeing you from the cage they’ve built inside your chest. “I don’t want tomorrow to be a lie. I want it to be real.”
For a moment, there’s only silence. The soft rustle of leaves, the trickle of water, and the loud thundering of your own heartbeat.
And then Loki moves, swiftly, closing the space between you and pulling you into his arms. His hands cradle your face as he searches your eyes, as if trying to determine if you’re telling the truth.
“You love me?” he whispers, his voice filled with disbelief, hope, and something else—something deeper.
You nod, tears pricking your eyes. “I do.”
A smile breaks across his face then, the most genuine one you’ve ever seen. “I’ve loved you for so long,” he confesses, his voice cracking slightly. “Since before all of this. I never thought—”
You don’t let him finish. Instead, you press your lips to his, soft at first, tentative, before he deepens the kiss, pouring all the emotions you’ve both kept hidden into that moment. It’s everything you hoped for and more—electric, grounding, and undeniably real.
When you finally pull back, both of you breathless, he rests his forehead against yours.
“Tomorrow,” he says, “will be real. I swear it.”
You nod, your heart full in a way it’s never been before. “Tomorrow.”
But happiness, it seems, is always fleeting.
That night, after the palace has quieted, after you’ve retreated to your chambers to rest before the wedding, a darkness lingers—one that neither you nor Loki can sense.
Eirik.
He’s been watching, waiting, hidden in the shadows of the palace where no one dares to look. His fury has only grown, twisted into something vile and dangerous. And now, with the wedding hours away, his plan is set into motion.
You lie in your bed, staring up at the ornate ceiling, unable to sleep. The events of the day replay in your mind—your confession to Loki, his to you—the way your heart had soared with hope for the first time in so long.
But that hope shatters the moment your chamber door creaks open.
You sit up, expecting it to be Loki, but the figure that steps into the moonlight is not him.
It’s Eirik.
Before you can scream, he’s on you, pressing a hand over your mouth, his blade gleaming in the moonlight.
“I warned you,” he hisses, his face twisted with rage. “I told you this wasn’t over.”
You struggle beneath him, panic clawing at your chest, but he’s too strong. His blade plunges forward, piercing your side. A sharp, searing pain rips through you, followed by a coldness that spreads quickly.
The blade is poisoned.
But then—another voice, fierce and filled with rage.
“Get away from her!”
Loki bursts into the room, his magic already crackling around him. A blast of green energy slams into Eirik, sending him flying across the chamber. Loki is on him in an instant, his dagger pressed to Eirik’s throat, but his eyes flick to you, wide with horror.
“Y/n!”
You clutch your side, blood seeping through your fingers, your vision already blurring.
Loki knocks Eirik unconscious with a swift blow, then rushes to you, cradling you gently in his arms.
“No, no, no,” he whispers, his hands trembling as they press against your wound, trying to stop the bleeding. “You’re going to be fine. Do you hear me? You’re going to be fine.”
But the poison is already coursing through your veins. You can feel it—cold and heavy—pulling you under.
“L-Loki…” you whisper, reaching for his face, your fingers barely able to brush against his cheek.
“Stay with me,” he begs, tears slipping down his face. “Please, Y/n. I can’t lose you.”
You try to smile, but it’s weak, your strength fading fast. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he chokes out, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “More than anything.”
Your vision darkens, your body growing heavier. The last thing you see is Loki’s tear-streaked face before the world slips away.
But you don’t die.
Not yet.
Loki lifts you in his arms, his magic flaring wildly as he races through the palace toward the healers, his mind filled with one thought: he will save you.
No matter what it takes.
The palace, once alive with wedding preparations and buzzing excitement, now stands in eerie silence. The vibrant flowers meant to line the temple aisle wilt in the morning sun, untouched. The music that had echoed through the golden halls has fallen quiet, replaced by whispers and hurried footsteps. Word spread quickly—faster than anyone could have expected. By dawn, all of Asgard knows what happened.
You lie motionless on the grand bed in the royal healing chambers, your skin pale against the deep emerald sheets. The faint rise and fall of your chest is the only sign of life, but even that seems fragile, as if it could slip away at any moment. The wound at your side has been cleaned, the poison drawn out as much as possible by the royal healers, but the damage is done. You’re trapped in a deep, unnatural sleep—a coma—your body caught between life and death.
Loki sits by your bedside, his hand tightly wrapped around yours, refusing to let go even for a moment. His knuckles are white, his jaw clenched so hard it aches, but he doesn't care. All that matters is you.
It’s been hours since the attack. Hours since he carried your limp, bloodied body through the palace halls, screaming for help, his voice raw with panic. The healers had done all they could, but the poison had been crafted with dark intent—designed to kill slowly, to make sure the victim suffered. And now, you lie here, untouched by time, your face serene, while the people who love you crumble around you.
Frigga stands in the corner of the room, her hands folded tightly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She’d tried to offer comfort to Loki, but he had brushed her off, his grief too raw, too consuming. Odin had been there too, though he had left after ensuring the healers were doing everything in their power. His anger at Eirik had been palpable—a rare sight, even for Odin.
But it’s your father who breaks the tense stillness. He storms into the healing chamber, his ornate cloak billowing behind him, eyes wild with rage and grief. Seeing you there, pale and still, strips him of all the formality he’s known for. The weight of his noble status means nothing now.
“My daughter…” he chokes, rushing to your side, but stopping just short of the bed as if afraid that touching you will break what fragile life remains.
Loki stands abruptly, his protective instincts flaring. “This happened because of him,” he spits, his voice low and venomous. “Eirik did this.”
Your father’s face hardens, his grief shifting into something darker. “I will see him executed for this.” His voice trembles with fury.
“Good,” Loki snaps. “Because if you don’t, I will.”
Frigga steps forward, placing a gentle hand on Loki’s arm, but even her touch doesn’t soothe the rage coursing through him. His magic swirls just beneath the surface, green tendrils flickering around his fingers.
“We will ensure justice is done,” Frigga says softly, her voice filled with grief but calm. “But right now, Y/n needs us. She needs you.”
Loki swallows hard and looks down at you again. Your hand remains limp in his, your skin far too cold. He sinks back into the chair beside your bed, brushing his thumb over your knuckles.
“I should have been faster,” he whispers, guilt lacing every word. “I should have stopped him before he touched you.”
Frigga shakes her head, her voice gentle but firm. “You saved her life, Loki. Without you, she would be gone.”
But her words feel hollow to him. Because you’re still not awake.
In the depths of the palace dungeons, Eirik sits shackled, his once-pristine robes torn and bloodied from his scuffle with Loki. His face is bruised, his lip split, but his expression is one of seething hatred—not regret. He glares at the guards stationed outside his cell, their spears crossed tightly over the iron bars.
He knows what fate awaits him. Attempting to assassinate the future princess—on the eve of her wedding, no less—is a crime punishable by death. There is no path out of this, no clever words or noble connections to save him now.
But that doesn’t stop him from holding onto his bitterness.
“They’ll kill me for her,” he mutters under his breath, his hands tugging at the heavy iron chains around his wrists. “All for that witch and her liar of a prince.”
The guards ignore him, standing stiff and silent, but their disgust is evident in the way their grips tighten on their spears.
Above, the court gathers in the throne room. The news of the attack has stirred Asgard into chaos, and the nobles demand justice. Odin sits on his throne, Gungnir in hand, his face a mask of fury barely held in check. Frigga sits beside him, her usual calm replaced by cold, regal anger. Your father stands at the base of the dais, his voice thundering as he calls for Eirik’s execution.
“This man,” your father spits, “attempted to murder my daughter—the future princess of Asgard. There is no trial needed for such treachery. His fate should already be sealed.”
Murmurs ripple through the assembled nobles. Some nod in agreement, while others exchange uneasy glances. Eirik’s family—once powerful and influential—stand to the side, their faces pale with shame and horror. Their name will be tarnished forever.
Odin raises a hand, silencing the whispers. “There will be justice. But we are not barbarians. Eirik will face trial tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Loki’s voice cuts through the hall like a blade. He storms into the throne room, his cloak billowing behind him, his face twisted in fury. “Y/n lies in a coma. She may never wake, and you speak of trials?”
Frigga stands, reaching for her son, but Loki brushes past her, his eyes locked on Odin. “He deserves nothing but death.”
Odin’s jaw tightens, but his voice remains calm. “We will uphold Asgardian law. Even now.”
But Loki shakes his head. “This isn’t about law. It’s about her. About the woman I love lying on her deathbed while her attacker sits comfortably in the dungeons.”
A hush falls over the court at Loki’s words. Love. There had been whispers, of course—rumors that the engagement was more than a political arrangement—but to hear him say it aloud sends a ripple through the room.
Frigga moves to her son’s side, her hand resting on his arm. “Y/n would not want you to lose yourself to this rage.”
But Loki can’t stop. Not now. “She trusted me to protect her, and I failed.” His voice cracks then, the weight of his guilt finally breaking through. “If she dies…”
“She won’t,” Frigga says gently but firmly. “The healers are doing everything they can.”
But the uncertainty remains. Because no one knows if you will wake.
In the healing chambers, your father sits beside you now, his large hands dwarfed by your delicate ones. He’s silent, tears glistening in his eyes. For all his strength, for all his power as a nobleman, he is just a father now, grieving for his daughter who may be lost to him forever.
“I promised your mother I would keep you safe,” he whispers, his voice trembling. “I failed her. I failed you.”
He presses a kiss to your knuckles, his tears falling onto your cold skin.
Loki returns a short while later, his steps heavy as if the weight of the entire realm rests on his shoulders. Seeing your father there, he hesitates at the door, unsure if he’s welcome. But your father lifts his head and meets Loki’s eyes, something raw and real passing between them.
“She loves you,” your father says, his voice hoarse.
Loki swallows hard, his throat tight. “I know.”
“I didn’t want this for her—the court, the power plays, the danger. I wanted her to be happy.” He looks down at you, his voice cracking. “I never thought… this would be the price.”
“I’ll fix this,” Loki says, stepping forward. “I swear to you, I will.”
Your father doesn’t argue. He sees the grief in Loki’s eyes—the guilt—and knows it mirrors his own.
“Then bring her back.”
That night, Loki doesn’t leave your side. He sits by your bed, your hand still wrapped tightly in his, his magic thrumming just beneath the surface. He knows Asgardian law, knows that Eirik will be brought to trial and likely sentenced to death, but it doesn’t bring him peace. Because none of it matters if you don’t wake.
He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his fingers trembling. “You promised me tomorrow,” he whispers, his voice cracking. “You said we’d make it real.”
He swallows hard, tears burning his eyes. “So don’t leave me. Please, Y/n.”
For a moment, there’s nothing—just the soft sound of your breathing.
But then… the faintest twitch of your fingers in his hand.
Loki’s heart leaps, his eyes snapping to your face, but your eyelids remain closed.
Still, it’s hope. And it’s enough.
“I’m not letting you go,” he vows, his magic flaring around him, filling the room with soft green light. “No matter what.”
The days following the attack pass in a haze of tension, fear, and fragile hope. The palace remains silent, weighed down by the uncertainty that lingers in the air, but within the healing chambers, where you lay trapped in your poisoned sleep, life begins to stir.
Loki hasn’t left your side since that night. He’s there when the healers come and go, carefully checking your pulse, your breathing, the wound on your side that has started to heal. He sits by your bed, your hand cradled in his, whispering words meant for you alone—confessions, promises, and prayers, though he’d never admit to praying. Sleep comes to him only in short, restless intervals, his head often resting on the edge of your bed, his fingers still intertwined with yours, unwilling to let go even in his exhaustion.
It’s in one of those moments, when he’s dozed off, that it happens.
Your fingers twitch—small, faint, but undeniably real.
Loki jerks awake, his heart pounding as he lifts his head, eyes wide. For a moment, he thinks he imagined it, that his mind has finally broken beneath the weight of waiting. But then, your hand twitches again, this time more deliberately, your fingers curling slightly against his.
“Y/n,” he breathes, his voice trembling as he leans closer. “Y/n, can you hear me?”
Your brow furrows, your eyelashes fluttering against your pale cheeks. It’s as if your body is fighting its way back to him, clawing through the darkness that held you prisoner. Then, slowly, your eyes open, hazy and unfocused at first, but unmistakably alive.
Loki’s breath catches in his throat.
You blink, struggling to focus, your body feeling impossibly heavy. The room is blurry, but the first thing you truly see is him—his tear-streaked face hovering above yours, his eyes filled with so much emotion it makes your heart ache.
“L-Loki?” you whisper, your voice hoarse, barely more than a breath.
A choked laugh escapes him, mingled with a sob he doesn’t have the strength to hold back. “I’m here. I’m right here.”
His hand cups your cheek so gently, as though you might shatter if he touches you too firmly.
You try to speak again, but the effort drains you, your eyes threatening to close.
“Don’t push yourself,” Loki says, brushing your hair back from your damp forehead. “You’re safe now. You’re going to be okay.”
You feel the warmth of his hand, the tremble in his voice, and despite the pain and weakness coursing through your body, you find a fragile comfort in his presence.
“W-what happened?” you manage.
His jaw tightens, the memory of that night flashing in his mind. “Eirik. He… he tried to kill you.” His voice is bitter, filled with venom, but when his eyes meet yours again, they soften. “But I stopped him. You’re safe now.”
You swallow hard, the fog in your mind slowly clearing as you recall the moment—the cold blade, the burning pain, his voice calling your name as you slipped away.
“Thank you,” you whisper, your fingers weakly squeezing his hand.
His lips curl into the faintest smile. “You scared me, Y/n. I thought I’d lost you.”
“I came back,” you murmur, the corners of your mouth lifting, despite the pain. “For you.”
Tears fill his eyes again, but he lets them fall, not caring who sees. “And I will never let anything happen to you again.”
Your recovery is slow, but each passing day brings more strength. The healers, though amazed you survived the poisoned blade, constantly warn you to rest, but it’s difficult with Loki hovering by your side like a watchful hawk.
He refuses to leave the room for more than a few moments at a time, often bringing books, flowers, or enchanted lights to keep you entertained. You tease him for it, your humor slowly returning, but there’s a comfort in having him so close.
Your father visits daily, often staying silent, simply holding your hand and whispering soft apologies. He blames himself for what happened—for nearly forcing you into a marriage with Eirik, for not protecting you. But you forgive him. In truth, there’s nothing but relief in his eyes now when he sees you alive.
The trial for Eirik had been postponed multiple times, each delay issued by Odin himself. No one had wanted to move forward with it until you were awake, until you were strong enough to face what had nearly destroyed you. And now, weeks later, you finally are.
“I want to be there,” you tell Loki one morning, sitting up in your bed, your strength finally returning enough to hold yourself upright without his assistance.
He frowns deeply, his arms crossed. “Y/n, you’re still recovering. You shouldn’t push yourself.”
“I need to see it through,” you insist, your eyes filled with determination. “I need to see him pay for what he did.”
Loki’s jaw tightens, but he knows he can’t deny you this. “Then I’ll be at your side the entire time.”
“Always,” you say, smiling softly.
“Always.”
The grand hall is filled with nobles and soldiers, all gathered for Eirik’s long-delayed trial. The tension is palpable, whispers flowing like water as you make your entrance, draped in flowing Asgardian silks, your posture regal despite the lingering ache in your side.
Loki is at your side, his hand on your arm, guiding you gently but firmly through the sea of eyes. The crowd parts for you, many bowing their heads in respect—though some, you notice, can’t help but stare. You are a living ghost to them; no one had expected you to survive.
On the dais, Odin sits with Frigga, her eyes soft but fierce as they settle on you. Your father stands near them, his face hardened with the weight of what’s to come.
Eirik is brought forward, shackled and bruised, though his expression holds no remorse. He glares at you, his lips curled in disdain, but Loki steps forward, his presence towering, his magic subtly crackling in the air. One wrong move, and Eirik wouldn’t leave the hall alive.
The trial is swift. The evidence is undeniable—Eirik’s confession to guards, Loki’s eyewitness account, and the poisoned blade recovered from your chambers.
But the moment that stills the hall is when you stand, your body trembling from exertion but your voice clear.
“I stand here today,” you begin, your eyes fixed on Eirik, “alive despite your cowardice. You took from me my safety, my peace, and nearly my life. But you didn’t take my strength.”
Eirik sneers but says nothing.
“I will not let you break me,” you continue, your gaze never wavering. “Nor will I let your hatred poison what I have with Loki.”
Loki steps closer, his hand slipping into yours, anchoring you as Odin rises from his throne.
“Eirik,” Odin’s voice booms, “for your crimes against the crown, against Y/n, and against Asgard itself, you are sentenced to exile from this realm. You will be banished, stripped of your titles, your magic bound, and never permitted to return.”
A mix of gasps and murmurs ripple through the crowd. It’s a merciful punishment—perhaps too merciful—but Odin’s decision is final.
Eirik’s face twists with rage as guards drag him away, but you feel no satisfaction watching him go. Only relief that it’s over.
Weeks later, as the palace slowly returns to its usual rhythm, you and Loki begin to speak of the future. This time, without lies or politics or necessity.
The marriage that had once been a facade is now something else entirely—something real.
Loki brings it up first, in the gardens beneath the silverleaf trees where you had first confessed your feelings.
“We never did have a proper proposal,” he says, his voice soft, his eyes filled with warmth.
You smile, brushing your fingers over his. “No, we didn’t.”
He steps closer, reaching into his pocket to pull out a delicate ring—an emerald stone set in gold, shaped like twisting vines. “Then let me do this properly.”
Your breath catches as he lowers himself to one knee, his expression both nervous and overjoyed.
“Y/n,” he says, “will you marry me? Not because of duty, not because of lies—but because I love you, more than I ever thought I could love anyone?”
Tears fill your eyes, but your voice is steady. “Yes, Loki. A thousand times yes.”
When he slips the ring onto your finger and pulls you into his arms, the world seems to fall away, leaving only the two of you.
This time, the wedding is planned with care—not rushed, not clouded by politics. The palace buzzes again, but this time it feels right. Frigga oversees the arrangements, often pulling you aside to discuss flowers or gowns, her joy clear in every smile. Odin, though still stoic, offers his blessing, and your father—though still protective—gives his approval, seeing the happiness that radiates from you.
The day of the wedding dawns bright and golden, the skies clear, the air sweet with blooming flowers. You stand before Loki in the temple, draped in flowing silks, your heart full in a way you never imagined possible.
Loki looks at you as though you are the only thing in the universe, his smile soft, his hands trembling as he takes yours.
When you speak your vows—real vows, honest and pure—there is no trace of the fear or pain that once loomed over you both. There is only love.
And when he kisses you, sealing your bond, the palace erupts in cheers, and you know—truly know—that this was always meant to be.
Tags: fluff, first meeting, first kiss, strangers to lovers
Summary: When the power goes out while you’re in an ATM vestibule, you come to realize you’re stuck inside until the police come to open the door. But there’s one problem, you don’t speak a lick of Korean, and the man inside doesn’t seem to speak an ounce of English.
———
A/N: Please note that sentences that are Italicized are meant to be in Korean and sentences that are regular text are in English.
‘How are you?’ - English
‘I’m fine thank you, and you?’ - Korean
—————————————————————————
Luck was not on your side today.
It’s not like you’re an unlucky person as a whole, no, that’s not it. Today was just one of those days that when you say ‘How could this get any worse?’, the universe takes it as a challenge.
Perhaps you should’ve just kept your mouth shut after you spilled coffee on your blouse this morning. But, you’ve always been such a ‘glass-half-full’ sort of person that you tried to take every inconvenience in stride. Everyone has their limit, though.
Before you came here on a business trip, you had heard about the Korean Monsoon season.
Everyone and their mother told you about how much it would pour, how it would feel like the skies suddenly opened up. But, you didn’t take anyone’s warning seriously. You would wave them off with a scoff.
“It’s just rain,” you thought. “How bad could it be?”
You’re eating those words now as you run through the streets in your nice, newly-soaked, professional heels. Your slacks are sticking to your legs, making the fabric ten times heavier. With your bag held over your head, you look around frantically for the bank.
It doesn’t help that it’s close to 10 PM and visibility is already horrible at this time. Yes, you should have gone earlier, but you were distracted!
Where is it? Where is it?
There!
You spot the glass doors and practically sprint up to them, grab the handle, and rip the door open.
A giant sigh of relief comes out of your lips as you step inside the tiny vestibule.
The only other man inside the place jumps a bit at your noise. He glances over his shoulder at you, but immediately turns back to what he’s doing at the ATM. You pay him no mind as you shake the rainwater off of your bag.
It’s after hours at the bank, meaning the only thing open and available is one ATM inside the room between the bank itself and the streets of Seoul.
Soft beeping comes from the ATM as the other man presses a few buttons. There’s an umbrella on the floor at his feet.
After brushing the water off your jacket, you bring your bag in front of you and start fishing out your card. Countless items inside your bag are now completely soaked.
Ugh, there goes all those business cards you collected at the meeting. Most of the ink is bleeding off the cardstock. Maybe, if you try really hard, you can make out the phone numbers on the cards.
Is that a 6 or an 8?
Or maybe the email addresses will be easier to understand. Surely, it just their names and their company’s–
There’s a bright flash of lightning followed immediately by a booming clap of thunder at the same time the lights in the ATM vestibule flicker and go out completely.
You fight the yelp that bubbles in your throat. The man in front of you seems to lose the fight against his reactions and lets out a tiny yip.
His shoulders come up and he seems to bristle like a cat.
“You’re kidding,” you mumble, looking up at the lights. It was almost pitch black inside now, save for the tiny emergency lights that kick on on either side of the glowing Exit sign.
The man lets out a grumble and a sigh.
You look over and see that the ATM has completely shut off. Figures.
The storm must’ve triggered some sort of power outage. Great. Now you’ll have to find some other ATM.
Why, oh why, did the restaurant that your boss wanted to take you to tomorrow morning have to be cash only?
Whatever, there should be a bank a few blocks from here.
Your heels click on the tile as you make your way to the door. When you grab the handle and pull, it doesn’t budge.
There’s a beat.
You try again, really putting your back into it this time.
“Am I stupid or what?” you whisper to yourself, trying the other door and pulling equally as hard.
“They’re not going to open,” the man behind you says. “The fail-safe locks probably kicked in once the power went out. It’s a security measure.”
You turn around and look at him with a blank look on your face. “Oh, ah, um… s-sorry, no… no Korean.”
The man blinks at you. “You don’t speak Korean?”
You blink right back at him. “Um…” All you can do is shake your head with wide eyes and a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry,” you repeat.
Another series of blinks are exchanged.
“No… Korean?” he asks slowly. His English sounds so unsure.
You nod. “No… no Korean.”
A tiny, exasperated sigh comes from his lips and he looks around, as if anything inside this tiny little room would be able to help him communicate with you. Meanwhile, you turn back to the door and give it another sharp tug to no avail.
“No,” he says firmly, drawing your attention back to him. He motions down to the door handles and then shakes his head.
“No?” you repeat, a bit confused.
“No.”
Honestly, the primitive conversation between the two of you would be somewhat laughable if you didn’t feel frustrated beyond belief.
“Why?” you ask, becoming annoyed. Obviously, he knows something that you don’t.
The man blinks at you and shifts around nervously on his feet. His hands motion around as he tries to conjure up a sentence in English. “N… No. Closed?... Closed.” He nods, saying the word rather confidently.
Yes, you know the door is closed. But, why?
After a second, he sees that whatever he said evidently isn’t good enough, so he points back to the ATM, to the light that is now off due to no power, and then to the locks. You follow his pointing and the cogs in your brain start turning slowly.
“Fail-safe locks,” you state and then finally release the door handles.
“Fail… Fail-safe locks,” he repeats slowly. “Fail-safe locks.”
“Fail-safe locks?” you parrot his Korean back to him and he nods.
A small hum comes from your chest and you take a step back from the door finally. “How long do you think–” you cut yourself off when you look over at him. The man is staring at you, not following a word you’re saying.
Your hand comes up and you brush some wet hair off your forehead and then scratch the back of your head as a nervous tick. There’s no point in even asking the question, he won’t be able to understand anything you’re saying.
If you were in his shoes, you’d probably be a bit annoyed too. But at the same time, he’s already been kinder than most would be in this situation.
He’s locked in an ATM vestibule with someone who doesn’t speak the same language as him– in his own country. He’s been more than kind. Most people would just wave you off and forget trying to communicate at all.
But here he was, talking slowly and making sure you can understand what he’s saying. He’s going so far as to point around the room to make sure you understand.
The man notices you give up and he lets out a tiny sigh, turning to then peer out the glass doors at the streets of Seoul. There’s basically no one out there, everyone has taken shelter from the squall.
“We’ll have to wait until the police come to open the door.” He pats at his pockets, searching for his phone.
Even with how terrible your Korean is, you still pick up on a few words. “Police?” A beat. “Police?”
“Yes,” he answers in English, taking his phone out and tapping the screen a few times before holding it up to his ear. The man continues to look through the glass doors, watching all the different cars drive by, none of them police cars.
You decide to turn around, walking around the tiny room.
All of the lights are off except for the emergency lights. They cast a dull glow through the entirety of the vestibule. There's barely enough light to see from one side of the room to the other.
Rain starts hammering against the glass as the man speaks into his phone. “Yes, hi, hello. I am currently trapped with another woman inside the ATM vestibule of Metrobank Seoul… Namdaemunno… Yes, that one.”
Your ears perk up when he mentions the name of the bank and the address. Ah, he must have called the police. His face pulls into a slightly annoyed look, but he doesn’t speak with a hint of it through the phone, at least, not that you’re really able to tell.
The man says a few more words into the phone before he hangs up with a sigh. He runs a hand through his hair and then down his face in an exasperated fashion before turning to look at you. His mouth opens to say something, but he thinks better of it and he grimaces even more.
Your own features pull into a sympathetic expression and you look away, slightly embarrassed. Should you have learned more of the language before coming here? Absolutely. But at the same time, you didn’t have much time to prepare once you were told you had to travel here for business.
He shuffles from foot to foot and looks around, shoving his hands in his pockets and desperately trying to remember every English class he took in school.
“Police…” he says slowly, thinking through every word he wants to try and say. “Police are… busy.”
“Busy?”
“Yes. Busy. Busy with… car…” He brings both of his hands together and claps and then makes an explosion noise with his hands.
“A car accident?”
He snaps his fingers and points to you, as if you’re a team during a game of charades.
“Car accident,” he says in Korean.
“Car accident,” you repeat and he nods.
Despite the reality of the situation, you smile. The humor in all of this does not escape you. You decide to try and meet him halfway, even with your butchered pronunciation.
“Police… time… long?” Your head cocks to the side and you point to your watch. He shakes his head and shrugs in exaggerated movements.
Scoffing, you roll your eyes. The accident was that bad, huh? No wonder the power went out then, the car must have smashed into electrical lines after that loud clap of thunder. This probably means all of the traffic lights and such are out too.
The police are most likely directing traffic and making sure no one gets injured; two idiots stranded in an ATM vestibule are the least of their concerns. Honestly, you can’t be in a safer place. Well, unless this guy is a murderer, but you haven’t gotten a harsh vibe yet.
You sigh and lean against the wall near the corner across from the ATM. Your body slides down to the floor and you stare straight ahead. It seems like you’re going to be in here for a while then.
The man takes one last look outside the doors before walking in your direction. He leans against the adjacent wall and takes a seat on the floor with you. His shoes almost touch the side of yours. It’s at this time that you let yourself take a moment to really look at him.
He has to be around your age; older than a college graduate but younger than someone settled into their career. Something that definitely doesn’t escape your attention is how… pretty he is. His skin is near perfect and so is his hair. Everything, down to the clothes he’s wearing, is absolutely flawless– and he’s only in sweatpants and a zip-up hoodie!
Next to him, especially in your current drowned rat state, you probably look like something worse than a hot mess. You quickly comb your hair off your forehead once more and pull at your soaking wet clothes sticking to your skin.
The man’s lips purse for a moment and he opens his mouth as if to say something, then promptly stops, opting for a grumble of frustration.
After a moment, an idea flickers through your mind and you hold up one finger to him to say ‘one moment’. You reach down into your pocket for your phone and take it out, tapping at a few screens and bringing up the Translate app.
‘What’s your name?’ you type into the phone and it immediately translates it into Korean below it. You turn your phone around and hold it up to him.
The man looks at you, then your phone, and his eyes light up. If you’re not mistaken, you even see a little bit of relief flash over his features. A tiny smirk pulls at one corner of his lips before he looks back at you.
“Minho,” he answers and motions to you.
“Y/N,” you reply. “Nice to meet you, Minho.” You hold your hand out for a handshake.
Minho looks at your hand and his smirk gets wider before he grabs your hand and shakes it gently. The skin on his palm is so soft. “Nice to meet you, Y/N.”
After shaking his hand, you bring your phone back up to your face and type another sentence into the translate app.
‘I’m very sorry for not knowing Korean, I’m here on business.’
Minho looks at your phone, reading the statement before shaking his head and pulling out his own phone. He types away and then holds it up for you to read.
‘No need to apologize. With my line of work, my English should be better. It’s a very hard language to learn.’
A little laugh huffs from your nose and you nod and type.
‘Try learning Korean.’
Minho laughs with you and his smirk grows into a playful smile. Jesus Christ, this man is gorgeous. He looks down and taps a bit on his phone and then he holds it up to you. With the way his smirk pulls at his lips, it almost reminds you of a devious little cat.
‘I could tell you were a foreigner when you first came into the bank.’
Your eyebrow raises. “Oh, really?”
He’s chuckling when he brings his phone back to type more and then hold it up for you to read.
‘You don’t have an umbrella.’
Laughter leaves your lips when you read that and your head tilts back to rest against the wall. The wetness from your clothes is beginning to seep into your bones. Plus, the feeling of the fabric sticking to your skin is starting to become overstimulating.
But, you try and keep it together. You don’t really have another option at the moment.
You type a message back to Minho.
‘People tried to warn me about the Monsoon Season. As you can see, I didn’t listen.’
He reads your message and sucks his teeth with a smirk. Minho shakes his head and motions to the glass doors, as if to say ‘Look!’.
“I know, I know!” you laugh and look outside at the sheets of rain pouring from the sky. Puddles have turned into small ravines flowing down the sides of the road. Any car that passes by creates a huge splash as they pass through them.
Every once in a while, the sky will light up and thunder will follow it quickly.
Minho laughs with you. “Next time… you listen.” He nudges your leg with his foot.
You look over at him. “I will, trust me.”
A long look is shared between the two of you. There’s this tiny nagging feeling at the back of your mind, it’s that same feeling you get when you see someone in public that you swear you’ve seen before. Maybe he just has one of those faces?
No, you definitely haven’t met him before. You would remember if he was someone you shook hands with in the last few days. A man that gorgeous would never slip under your radar, you’re certain.
Minho stares back at you, eyes flitting about at your soaking wet hair matting to your skin. It looks like his one hand twitches for a moment and then he shifts in his seat.
Back to the app.
The two of you type away on your phones and hold them up at the same time with the exact same question on them.
‘What do you do for work?’
‘What do you do for work?’
Again, the two of you let out little huffs of laughter and he motions to you as if to tell you to go first.
So you do, you type down on your phone a little answer for him.
‘Right now, I’m only the assistant to a CEO for a huge company. Wherever he goes, I go. I write all his contracts; everything he does goes through me first. I’m more of an administrator than an assistant, though.’
Minho reads your answer carefully and then types out a small response with a tiny crease in between his brows.
‘Why do you say ‘right now’?’
A sad smile spreads on your face as you look down at your phone to type out a response.
‘I studied hard and have a Mathematics degree. But no matter where I apply, they say I don’t have enough experience. Back in America, the job market is absolutely horrible. So, I’m stuck.’
Minho’s eyes scan through your message and a frown pulls at his lips. He looks back up at you, meeting your eyes and then back to your phone before he begins to type his own message.
Your silent communication warms your heart a little bit. The glow from his phone lights up his features and you study him carefully. His teeth poke out from his top lip– it’s absolutely adorable.
He seems to think for a long moment before his thumbs fly over his screen.
Rain is coming down in sheets outside the door, it’s the only other sound inside the room besides the light clicking of the haptics on his phone.
You reach back and once more run your fingers through your hair– it seems to be drying now, but not in a good way. The humidity of the rain is apparent in the way it's starting to frizz up.
Minho turns his phone around after a moment of typing.
‘I’ve heard about how hard it is to get a job in America, I’m very sorry it’s so unfair. For what it’s worth, I think there’s nothing wrong with the job you have now. Hard work is hard work no matter if it's an assistant or a scientist.’
His words strike a chord within your heart, they tug at your chest and at the corner of your lips which twitch into a wistful smile on your face.
“Thank you,” you say to him in Korean, looking directly into his eyes. Minho smiles back at you when he hears it.
“You are welcome,” he answers in English.
His smile seems so warm for a stranger. He looks at you as if you’re an old friend, not like a woman, still soaking wet from the rain, sitting on the floor with him inside an ATM vestibule. He’s so genuine.
After a few seconds of just looking at him, you bring your phone up to type once more.
‘Your turn. What do you do?’
Minho stares at your phone for a long time, seemingly reading the sentence over and over again. His bottom lip pulls between his teeth and he seems to weigh something in his mind.
His brown eyes flick to yours, then back to the phone, then back to you again before he looks down at his phone.
You never realized how much just body language alone can convey.
He types slower, his thumbs not moving as quickly as before. Why does he seem so apprehensive?
Eventually, he turns the phone around.
‘I’m an idol.’
“Oh,” you say softly. Your shoulders shrug a bit and you cock your head to the side. “Like a K-pop idol?”
Minho nods in response. “Stray Kids.”
The name rings a bell, it’s just one you’ve heard floating around for a few months now. You think one of your friends is into them, but you can’t remember. She’s into so many different groups, it’s hard to keep track anymore.
You type in your phone.
‘I’ve heard the name before. Weren’t you guys at the MET Gala?’
With a breathy chuckle, he nods. A smile spreads across your face.
‘Wow, I’m trapped in a room with a celebrity then. You know, people write stories like this.’
Your joke definitely lands because he snorts a huff of laughter as you type on your phone a little bit more after that.
‘Don’t worry, I won’t take pictures and post them all over Twitter or anything. This will just be a funny story for me to tell my friends when I get back home to America.’
“Thank you,” Minho says softly with genuine gratitude in his voice. God, you can’t even imagine what it’s like being an idol. There probably wasn’t a single place he felt safe going to anymore. There are always cameras just waiting to take his picture.
‘When do you go back to America?’
‘In a few days. My boss loves to extend his business trips at the last minute. So, I could be here three more days or seven more days. It’s very hard to pack to come on these trips.’
A bittersweet expression settles on his handsome face.
You think for a long moment before typing away at your phone and showing it to him.
‘Have you ever been to New Jersey? That’s the state I’m from.’
Minho’s lips purse as he thinks for a long few moments. Very slowly, he nods, almost unsure. He types in his phone, then thinks for a moment, then types again.
‘I think we’ve been there twice. Is Newark in New Jersey?’
Excitedly, you nod. “Yes, that’s up in North Jersey!” You’re so excited that you forget to type down on your phone. “Oh!” you say with a laugh, looking back down at your phone.
‘Yes, that’s in the northern part of the state, about an hour or so from my hometown. I grew up in the central region, right on the beach. It only takes ten minutes to get to the beach from my house.’
Minho’s smile widens and he looks at you with a slightly envious look in his eyes. You giggle in response.
‘Two other members love the beach, but they’re from Australia.’
‘Australian beaches are probably not that different from American beaches. But I’ve never been to Australia. Have you?’
Minho nods and you see him close his translation app and switch over to his camera roll. His fingers quickly begin scrolling up through the countless amount of photos he has on his phone.
Not wanting to invade his privacy, you look away from his phone and out the doors in the vestibule once more. Not a single soul is walking– or running– along the sidewalks anymore.
Due to the power outage, there’s not even street lights illuminating in the puddles, it’s almost eerie looking. But, surprisingly, you don’t feel uneasy at all. Especially not with Minho sitting at your side.
Said man hums to get your attention, shuffling closer to you, and you look down at his phone. The picture is absolutely gorgeous.
It’s a photo of the beach, you’re assuming in Australia. The red sun is peeking above the horizon and painting the sky a beautiful wash of reds, pinks, and purples, all of the colors melting into one another. The clouds are wispy and glow in the morning sun.
The ocean seems so beautifully blue, even the foam at the crash of the waves is beautiful.
In front of the ocean is a gaggle of boys, it looks like there’s about seven of them. Each of them have bright, beautiful smiles on their faces reaching their eyes.
You’ve never been able to feel joy radiating from a photo like this, it seems to be contagious since you find a smile pulling at your own lips.
“This photo is beautiful,” you whisper, not taking your eyes off of it.
Minho hums, maybe he understood what you said. His thumb moves and he scrolls to the next picture where two of the boys have taken one of the others by his legs and arms and seem to be pretending to toss him into the surf.
A soft giggle comes from your lips and you find yourself leaning towards him a bit to get a better look at the photo. Truly, you didn’t even notice your shoulders brushing against each other, and by his lack of reaction, it seems Minho didn’t either.
“Friends?” you ask him in your choppy Korean.
Minho looks over at you, his face closer to you than before. His eyes widen a bit at your proximity, but he doesn’t back up at all.
“Family,” he corrects you in his soft English.
An even warmer feeling spreads through your chest and you look back down at the photo. They must be his band members, but they just look so much closer than that. It reminds you of all of your friends back home.
Before you can even think twice, you’re opening your own camera roll, scrolling through an endless sea of memories before finding one specific morning you woke up to go watch the sunrise on the beach.
A tiny, awe-struck noise comes from Minho when he looks down at it.
“Sunrise,” you say and then think for a moment. You’re not sure of the Korean you want to say. “Favorite… time.”
He’s so patient when you speak, it absolutely melts your heart. There’s a different air about his softness with you too. He’s not treating you like a child just learning how to speak, no, he’s just being… nice. He’s being sweet and genuine and it speaks volumes about his character.
“Sunrise,” he says in Korean.
“Sunrise,” you repeat, looking up at him. His eyes were already trained on your face by the time you looked up. A tiny dusting of pink covers your cheeks. How long has he been looking at you?
A happy smile spreads over his lips, the edges curl up playfully. He nods. “Sunrise. Sunrise.”
“Sunrise.” Your voice says softly once more before looking back down at your phone.
Swiping through a few more pictures, you show him the boardwalk that runs down the beaches by your house. Everything from shops, to amusement park rides, to lemonade and ice cream stands litter the entirety of the shore.
He points down at the ferris wheel and shakes his head. “No,” he says simply.
“No?” you ask with a laugh. “Why not?”
“No… no high,” he shakes his head and motions his hands around to emphasize his point.
“Best picture,” you giggle holding your hand up in the air to emphasize the height aspect, then you’re swiping to the next picture taken from the top of the ferris wheel. This time, it was sunset. “Sunset.”
“Sunset.” A pause. “My… My… favorite time.”
A soft hum bubbles up in your throat. He loves sunset whereas you love sunrise. How cute.
“Sunset is beautiful,” you say slowly. Your eyes are still on your phone when you swipe to another photo.
“Beautiful,” Minho whispers softly.
Humming, you nod. “Yes, beautiful.”
A soft puff of air comes out of his nose and fans out over your cheek. When did he get this close? You look up at him and almost bump his nose with yours.
Minho’s head flinches back a bit at your sudden movement, but he makes no move to get further away from you.
He sighs softly, his eyes flitting all over your face, taking in every one of your features. “Beautiful,” he murmurs.
Your eyes widen, that pink blush making its way back to your face. You can’t even help the tiny, giddy giggle that bubbles in your throat. You look down shyly, biting your bottom lip.
Tender, gentle fingers lift your chin back up. Truly, you didn’t notice how cold your skin was until his warm touch spread on your skin.
Is this really happening?
A shiver races down your spine and a soft shudder comes out of your lips. Minho’s eyes look down at your lips and then down at your arm where goosebumps begin to raise.
He pulls away gently, making your brows furrow. Did you do something wrong? Maybe you misread his–
He’s shrugging off his hoodie.
Oh, he thinks you're cold.
Before you can even think to tell him you’re okay, he’s pulling your shoulder forward a bit so he can drape it over your back, bundling you up in such a pleasant, soft warmth. With small, fussy movements, he’s closing the hoodie around your body.
Perhaps you didn’t even notice how cold you were until you were suddenly surrounded in a warmth that can be compared to the fuzziest blanket you own. Not to mention the absolutely delightful scent that wafts upwards into your nose from the fabric.
It’s such a clean, cozy, calming scent. It’s like you buried your nose into the Mahogany Teakwood candle at Bath and Body Works.
Your eyes stay trained on his face while he bundles you up tightly. His hands gently grab your arms and rub up and down a few times to create even more warmth.
“Better,” he murmurs, finally looking up to meet your eyes.
How is it that a stranger has wormed himself into your heart like this? His tender gaze makes your soul feel calm, like those pictures of the morning surf under the sunrise.
“Thank you,” you whisper back to him. Your hands come up to grab at the hoodie, curling into the fabric.
Minho smiles back at you, you can see how his smile grows as he watches you relax into his clothing. There’s no space between your shoulders as you rest against adjacent walls, your two bodies have melted into the corner.
There’s a clap of thunder outside, but neither of you move. Your feet shuffle on the floor as you bring your knees closer to your chest. His legs adjust around yours, feeding them under your bent knees and tangling your limbs up further.
It’s so hard to break Minho’s eye contact, but you do it slowly, looking down at your phone and opening up the translate app once more. His soft breathing hits your cheek with every exhale.
‘You’re too nice to a stranger.’
Minho hums, almost in agreement. He picks up his phone and types back.
‘I’m usually not.’
You read the statement and then look at him, your head cocked to the side. Your brows furrow in confusion, but he types more before you can even ask another question.
‘I don’t know why I feel drawn to you.’
The text looks right back at you. Your heart flutters in your chest and you know that your cheeks get redder and redder by the second. Still, you can’t contain the giddy laugh that makes its way past your lips.
You bite the inside of your cheek to try and hide the smile, but it only makes Minho smile wider. His hand slowly comes up towards your cheek. Right before he’s able to make contact, he stops, hovering over your skin and gazing into your eyes.
A silent question is asked through his eyes. It’s a language that you don’t need any sort of app for. An answer is communicated right back.
Soft, tender warmth spreads over your cheek, radiating all throughout your body in the most gentle glow. His thumb caresses over your cheek bone, swiping gentle strokes back and forth.
You feel the same as him, that’s the strange part. There’s something so alluring about him that you just can’t put your finger on it. He’s pulling you in like a magnet and you don’t even want to fight against it.
There’s so many words sitting on the tip of your tongue, but you know that each and every one of them would fall on deaf ears. Nothing that you can say in the moment would make sense to him.
Exhales are shared and mingled together in the minimal space between your faces,
“Beautiful,” he whispers for your ears only. Not like there’s anyone else to hear it except the ATM sitting dormant in the corner of the vestibule. Not even the mice in the walls would have been able to hear his murmur.
Love at first sight was something you always gawked and scoffed at. You always thought that it was such a Hallmark invention, that there was no way you would be able to just look at someone once and immediately fall head over heels for them.
But here you were, sitting on a dirty floor, feeling your heart beating faster and faster in your chest. Letting your face be cradled by a man you didn’t know two hours ago. By the man who patiently worked with you to communicate.
How is this even possible?
You can count on one hand the amount of things you know about one another.
Minho, who is a famous idol in Korea, who loves sunset and hates heights, who has the most expressive brown eyes you’ve ever seen.
Minho, who did whatever he could just to talk to you when he could have just as easily sat in silence on the other side of the vestibule.
His hand slowly drags down your cheek, each finger gliding down your skin towards your jawline to lift under your chin.
Another silent question passes through both of you in the one language you seem to both be fluent in.
Your eyes flick down to his lips and he hears you loud and clear.
Minho leans in slowly, his lips brushing against yours in a featherlight touch. But, despite how soft the kiss is, heat spreads through your body in a grand wave, rushing through your fingertips and into your toes.
The first press is long and sweet, the two of you simply melting into the sensation of being locked together.
He pulls away only for a moment, his eyes gazing down at your lips before he swoops in again, this time his movements a bit quicker.
His hand returns to your cheek, guiding your head to tilt to the side to gain better access to your lips.
A soft sigh leaves your nose and your own hand travels up to grab at his shirt gently, just needing to hold onto him in any way possible.
Minho responds to your sigh, his lips moving a bit faster against yours. Both of your lips part and close, moving like mirror images of one another. Every few kisses, your noses brush against one another, but it doesn’t deter you from your actions at all.
Slowly, your hand travels from his shirt up to his neck, running up the side of his flushed skin. He feels feverish to the touch and it only spurs you on to keep moving. At the contact on his own body, Minho lets out a tiny grunt against your lips, his kisses stutter for a moment but he’s back to kissing you after just a moment.
Up, up, up, your hand travels over his moving jaw, to his cheek, then moving back to thread in his soft, brown trusses of hair. God, everything about him is just so perfect. It’s like you’re combing your fingers through the softest of cotton.
His kisses are getting deeper, little sighs come from both of your mouths as the passion continues on. Minho’s body turns towards yours a bit more, his knees canting up and almost forcing your legs onto his lap.
Tentatively, you feel his tongue poke out from between his lips, licking gently at your lower lip. You don’t even hesitate to give him access to your mouth. A gentle moan claws its way up your throat as his tongue licks into your mouth.
The hand on your cheek grips you a bit tighter, holding your face to his– as if you would want to try and move away from Minho and his addicting kisses.
“I just can’t help it,” he whispers in Korean against your spit, soaked lips before capturing them once more. “I don’t know what you’re doing to me, Y/N.”
All you catch is your name and it sends a shiver down your spine. You don’t even need to know what else he said, his tone says it all. The way it comes out in a breathy exhale is enough to send your mind reeling.
“Please,” you murmur into his mouth before he presses his lips to yours once more with the same amount of passion and need in his actions.
More and more rain hits the glass doors, becoming the only sound that can be heard in the room except for your shared exhales, pants, and breathy moans.
Slowly, the kisses begin to calm down. Minho pulls away for a moment to take a long breath. His thumb moves to brush against your lower lip like a butterfly landing on a flower.
His eyes open just a crack, gazing down at your mouth with a hazy look in his eye. As he slowly catches his breath, he presses his forehead against yours, his fingers brushing along the heated skin on your face.
“Forgive me, I didn’t do things in order,” he whispers. “I should’ve taken you out first.”
Your eyes open and you look at him in confusion. “Hm?”
His jaw clenches before he swallows and he takes another long moment to look over your face, his features soft and welcoming.
There’s some movement as his other hand blindly pats around his lap for his phone. He can’t physically tear himself away from you long enough to even look down.
Another tiny laugh comes from your lips.
Your fingers move out of his hair to come around and gently run over his features, brushing against his jawline, to then trace up to his lips and up the length of his nose, memorizing each and every detail.
Minho melts into your touch, his face moving closer to your touch, seeking you out.
His hand finally finds his phone and he grabs it blindly, flipping it around in his lap and tearing his gaze away from your face to glance down at it.
Thumbs are flying across the screen to type at his translate app. He’s typing so quickly on his phone that you can't help but laugh a bit.
Before he’s able to turn the phone around, there are a few sharp knocks against the glass of the vestibule. The two of you practically jump out of your skin and your heads whip over to the doors.
Red and blue lights are flashing outside and it looks like two police officers are standing outside, peering in at you both. They wave when they see they’ve caught your attention.
Minho looks at the police officers, then to you, then back to the officers, and then back to you once more. His mouth opens and closes a few times and he tries to form a few words but you’re untangling your limbs from one another.
In a moment, you’re both on your feet as the officers work on unlocking the doors from the outside.
Minho gently grabs at your arm and you look down where he’s touching and your heart sinks a little. His eyes look a little questioning and desperate.
“Oh,” you say sadly. You shrug off his jacket, and hand it back to him. Minho’s eyebrows pull together and his lips part. He looks down at the jacket and then up at you.
“No,” he says firmly.
“Are you two alright?” The police officer calls inside in Korean.
“We’re okay,” Minho responds without breaking eye contact with you. He puts a hand on his jacket still dangling over your arm and pushes it back towards you.
“Minho?” you ask, looking at him and then at the officer approaching you both.
“We apologize for the delay, but we knew you two were safe, so we had to prioritize,” the officer says.
You blink at him blankly for a moment before then looking back at Minho.
“She’s a foreigner,” he says to the officer, finally looking away from you. “She doesn’t know Korean.”
“Ah,” the officer responds. “My apologies. You can tell her that she’s free to go.” He nods at the two of you and motions towards the door. You take his hint and slowly begin follow him.
Once again, Minho tugs on your arm and you pause, turning around to look at him. He’s holding his phone up to your face with a pleading look in his eye.
‘Can I please buy you a drink?’
A wide smile spreads across your cheeks and you can’t deny the relief that you feel inside your chest. The moment your lips twitch upwards, Minho immediately mirrors it.
“Yes,” you respond. “I love to go.”
He chuckles at your choppy Korean once more before taking his jacket out of your hands and wrapping you inside it once more. This time, he grabs the hood and pulls it up over your head.
With a satisfied hum, he nods and laces your fingers together.
you have a crush on him, he feels nothing. you’d do anything as long as you get to spend time with him, he takes it for granted. but even those who have feelings for someone can reach their limit, and hyunjin is the only one to blame.
↬pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader
↬genre: social media au, angst, fluff, pining, unrequited love, slow burn, college au, dance major hyunjin, art major reader
↬warnings: eventual written parts (w), mentions of sex, mentions of alcohol, +18 content (minors dni!!)
↬status: completed
↬playlist
↬a/n: if you’re interested in being part of the tag list, send me an ask! all i ask for if you wanna be in it is some feedback in return as the story goes on, since that is what gives me motivation to keep it going. i hope you guys enjoy!
Series Summary: You move to a small town in the middle of Texas to escape your past and start over. You don't expect to fall for the town's handsome sheriff.
Series Warnings: no outbreak AU, language, angst, slow burn, smut (18+ MDNI), domestic violence (mostly just talked about or implied, nothing too descriptive, i will put a big warning on those chapters), implied SA (nothing descriptive), jealousy/possessiveness, alcohol use, drug use (not by Joel or reader), technical infidelity - more warnings will be stated for each chapter but these are the biggies
Series Summary: A fall on patrol causes you to lose your long term memory, forgetting the identities of your friends and loved ones. You have to learn all over again how to survive in a post-apocalyptic world, and you learn things about yourself along the way.
-or-
Joel has to make you fall in love with him all over again.
Series Warnings: smut MDNI (18+), post outbreak, language, angst, hurt/comfort, graphic depictions of violence, amnesia, slow burn, minor infidelity - more warnings will be stated for each chapter
Status: complete
I started a notifications blog in lieu of a taglist: @punkshort-notifs
Chapters:
1: the beginning
2: the journal
3: the accident
4: the others
5: the dinner
6: the fight
7: the week
8: the return
9: the end
Extras/BTS/Inspo:
Floor Plan
Pregnancy Scare headcanon
Drabbles/Requests:
Never Enough - a day in the life pre-accident
Before - the morning of the accident
Jealous - you finds out about Angie (the first time)
Stubborn - the night Joel convinces you to make things official
It didn't mean anything - Joel finds out about your history with Ben for the first time
Three Words - You remember another memory, this one more special than the rest
no-outbreak!AU, no-Ellie!AU (😞), (basically it's pretty much devoid of anything canon, I'm sorry 😭 I just was desperate to see Joel as a fisherman.)(also don't ask what time-period this is set in i have no clue)
pairing: fisherman!Joel, soft!Joel x afab!fem!Reader
content: arranged marriage, angst, fluff, smut.
summary: The free-spirited Reader is arranged to marry a divorced Fisherman named Joel Miller. And although she protested this at first, she soon wonders if maybe she could be happy with her new husband.
word count: 28.2k (yeesh)
warnings: NSFW 18+ - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. mentions of death, age-gap (reader is 27, Joel is 48), smut - oral (f receiving and m recieving), fingering, unprotected p in v sex, reader is inexperienced (meaning loss of virginity), lovesick Joel, and not beta'd! (if i left anything out please let me know :))
(oh and an obscene use of Y/N bc i write in third person 😩)
Ao3 Link
A/N: Hiii~!!! so usually I write fics for a completely different realm of content. but I haven't been able to continue my most recent fic bc this idea has been stuck in my mind for fricken weeks!!! and it wouldn't get out of my head until i actually wrote it down. TLOU has just been on my brain constantly these days i guess 🙄 (🥰). anyways i thought i'd write it, post it here, and then disappear back into my usual corner of the internet, never to be seen again 😈. i hope you enjoy my story!! ILY <3
Far out from the rainy coast of the Pacific Northwest, sat a small island, always caught in the throes of an aimless sea. It was called the Isle of Ardor. Named after the burning passion of love. It was a peculiar name for the island, as it was always embedded within dark, curling swirls of stormy rain clouds; As well as the sour emotions that came with the storm— provided, of course, by the residents of this Isle. So the island was often left without the feeling of love. Neglected, for lack of any other words. Far from the symbol of love that was known by the world.
Sure, there was the love that was bestowed by marriage, when a man first sets his sight on his arranged lover dressed in white. Or even love passed between a parent and a child, when a mother first hears the first laugh that tumbles out of her sweet childs lips. Or the fumbling platonic love that creates itself in whispered secrets during sleepovers between friends. But none of it was burning. None of it was passionate. It was a simple form of love. A perfect representation of the simple life that was often led on the Isle of Ardor. Despite its exciting name.
A more fitting name would perhaps be something more simple. Unembellished. Basic. Ordinary. Sturdy. Something to match the uniform march of the adults in this town, as they traveled along the cobblestone roads in early morning light. Headed towards their humdrum jobs that kept the economy of this island churning like a slow cog in the machine. Meanwhile, the children were taught about this monotonous life in school. Sat rigid in their seats, the stiff collar of their uniform scratching at their necks. Forced to listen, forced to learn that there was only one path for them to take. All signs pointed, roads led and everything suggested that these children— Just as their parents, and their grandparents— were destined for a life of simplicity.
It was the exact opposite of what Y/N wanted. She abhorred the idea of simple. She wanted excitement. Yearned for passion. Craved the burn of love that left scars on your heart and bruises on your lips.
Her wants and desperate needs were proven in the way she grew up. There wasn’t a day that went by where she wouldn’t step out of line. Her wrists would be sore from the snap of her teacher's ruler. Her ears would grow tired of the constant reprimand from her father. And her knees would bleed freely from the times she would escape the horrid monotony of life, out into the nature beyond. But the island was small, and her feet could only take her so far, so she would always easily be caught. She would return home with her sore wrists, tired ears and bloody knees, and sit by her bedroom window, hoping for something greater to take her away.
It never came.
Eventually, she grew older. She matured, and she learned how to stay in line. For the most part. But as she aged, her tongue grew sharper with wit, and she soon often got in trouble for using words that could rival a sailor’s. By the time she was of marriageable age, no one on the island wanted anything to do with her. This all of course was to the dismay of her father. Who at this point thought that he would never be rid of his rambunctious daughter.
He loved her with all of his beating heart, of course. But on the Isle of Ardor, all fathers wanted the same thing for their daughters. By the age of eighteen, they wanted their girls to find a satisfactory suitor to take care of them so that the fathers didn't have to worry as they faded into their old age.
By now, all of Y/N’s classmates were already married. While at the age of twenty-seven due to her wild nature, no one had brought any offers to their household for her hand in marriage. Her father grew weaker and weaker as worry settled into his bones.
Y/N on the other hand was ecstatic by her lack of prospects. Being a spinster meant she didn’t have to worry about some silly husband, wife or partner she didn’t truly care about. If people thought she was crazy? So be it. It was all worth it for the price of her freedom.
And now as she had no other burden brought on by school or a job, she would oftentimes be found by the raging ocean. Her toes deep in the blackened sand, skin salted by the sea and her hair tangled by the mischievous winds. And this is exactly where she was the minute she found out about the news that would tear her world apart.
Her father had found her a suitor.
The news was brought to her by the young messenger boy who would carry the most recent word of mouth with him on his rusty bicycle. Her father had flagged him down, offering a bill or two to find his daughter and bring her home immediately to meet the man she was destined to marry.
The poor boy. He didn’t deserve to be met with the rage of a mad woman, but that was what he stumbled across when the news of her arranged marriage escaped from between his lips. At the sight, he suddenly understood why she was considered the town spinster. She was angered and chaotic, screaming into the wind when his words finally registered. She looked like a feral animal, the way she gnashed her teeth, yelling about the unfairness of it all.
Him being no older than ten years old, couldn’t really understand why she was so upset about this news. She mumbled a few things— Something about her loss of freedom and self expression. But it was all very strange. He was used to the usual reaction from young women whenever they heard the news of their engagement. They were always… ecstatic. Squealing like pigs as they clutched onto their nearest friend, family member or even just a stranger. Or if they were unhappy with the prospect of marriage— just as Y/N was now— they were always able to hold their tongue until they were alone.
Her reaction was all just very… strange. Very different.
And different, it was. She now sat, stewing in her anger, refusing to even spare a glance towards her future husband.
A celebratory dinner, made carefully and happily by her aunt, sat on the wooden table stretched between them. It was all the distance she needed to ignore the man she was meant to be betrothed to. But even though she could avert her gaze, there was no getting past listening in on the conversation that flitted between this man and her family members.
She had learned that he lived on the other side of the island. So now it made sense that she didn’t recognize his surname when the messenger boy first told it to her. She barely got to know the names of her neighbors, let alone those on the windward side.
He was known as Joel Miller, only learning his first name when her father greeted him at the beginning of the evening, with a sturdy handshake at their front door, the casual name falling from his tongue as they exchanged niceties. As she stood behind her father’s shoulder, she refused to look at him even then, her eyes steady on the toes of her boots.
Now at the table, the topic of his occupation also arose during the conversation. He spoke of his adventures out at sea, and what he encountered in his life as a fisherman.
Typical. A fisherman. The most sought out job on this island as they were mainly considered as gods since they provided the island with prosperous amounts of food and good fortune. The people that held the title of ‘fishermen’ were always the most sought after when it came to marriage. Y/N wondered how her father was able to find a man like that for her.
But as the dinner went on, the secret was soon revealed. Because she soon learned that his wife had left him. Many years ago, late in the night as a stowaway on a cargo ship headed towards the mainland. The only thing worse than a spinster was a man whose wife had left him. And now the puzzle pieces were fitting together.
They were a match made in heaven. The crazy woman and the unwanted man.
Y/N felt nothing but sympathy for his first wife. Surely, she was just the same as she. The only reason a woman would leave her partner was if she yearned for freedom beyond the tassels of marriage. Maybe eventually, Y/N would make the score two for two. Leave him behind just as his first wife did. The thought brought an overwhelming onslaught of anticipation that burned within the girl's core.
But she had to be patient. She couldn’t just leave him when all eyes were narrowed in on their engagement. The whispers on the street all revolved around her, and how she was finally able to snag a man after all these years. Even more speculation was offered when they found out who the man was. Apparently these two were a circus act around the Isle of Ardor. A horrific accident that none of the residents could tear their eyes from.
Maybe that’s why their wedding was so crowded.
A few weeks had past, and she had yet to grant the man with her gaze. All she knew of his looks was the quick glimpse of silver she saw scattered amongst the brown in his hair, and the hard set of his jawline, clenched in an anger that seemed to always be present. So as she walked down the aisle, her fingers clenched around a wilting bouquet of daisies, she kept her eyes pointed towards the horizon that lingered in the distance.
Traditional Ardorian weddings were always held in the same place. On the cliffside, hanging over the tempestuous sea that always danced near the shores of the Isle. The same clergyman, performed the same ceremony, spoke the same gentle words every single time. She has been to countless versions of this very same wedding throughout the duration of her life. Though, she never thought that it would be her who was forced to stand under the wedding arch. Especially in her late-mothers wedding gown, in front of the entirety of the small town that sat on the coast of Ardor.
The most surprising part of it all was when she exchanged her ‘I do’s’ effortlessly and without any complaint.
Maybe that was what also surprised most of the wedding-goers, as they began to whisper to one another. The crowd seemed disappointed, almost as if they expected a spectacle from the woman they deemed a recluse. From the rumors they’ve already heard through the grapevine, maybe they were expecting her to grow reckless with abandon. To stomp her feet and scream out to the gods. So when they were met with this quiet, timid version of the woman, who spoke her vows with no contradiction, they all stood and left the wedding. Completely missing out on the part when the man was told to kiss his bride. Which he didn’t even do.
A very strange wedding indeed.
It all came to a head when the man called Joel finally brought his new wife towards the threshold of their (used) marital home. It was a few hours after the ceremony, and usually this part of the evening was paired with bright, eager smiles as newly-weds were finally allowed to consummate their love. However, as we already know with this couple, the night went very differently than the norm that is usually presented.
As soon as he had unlocked the door for his established home, the woman stormed through the front entrance, her eyes darting around each corner as she took in each aspect of her new home. Trying to find something to dislike. But it was an agreeable home. Comfortable and cluttered with trinkets that must’ve meant a great deal to the man. It was… interesting. So after finding nothing she could truly complain about, and be the disastrous wife she planned to be, she whipped towards him in an unexpected flurry, her arms folding across her chest.
Her eyes finally landed on him for the very first time. And she stilled.
He was older. Much older. But she already knew that from the information she learned from her father. What she didn’t know was how good age looked on the man. He was handsome... And so much larger than she had thought. His shoulders were wide, emphasized as he stood in the doorway. His hands looked strong and calloused, obviously capable of working against the aggression brought forth by an unforgiving sea.
Then there were the features she had only caught glimpses of, but yet she was overly familiar with— due to the flashes of her memory that blared across the dark of her eyelids whenever she tried to sleep. His brown curls were unruly across his forehead, despite his attempt to manage them with gel, most likely trying to look put together for the wedding. They were painted with faint hues of gray, evidence of the twenty-some years he had against her.
Her eyes tugged towards his familiar jawline. Strong— just as she remembered. But it wasn’t clenched in anger, or anything else of the sorts. His features were molded in a form that looked to be like curiosity. Maybe this was the first real look he had of her as well…
That’s when she met the deep brown irises of his eyes. The sight of which was a drastic contrast of anything else she had known of him. They were almost… warm and forgiving, bordered by the faint outline of crows feet, formed over the years. His gaze was soft in the way he considered her features and dragged over the curves of her body. So different from the harsh lines of the rest of his body.
She held her arms tighter against her form. Feeling vulnerable under his stare.
“I don’t know what you’re expecting to happen…” Y/N finally spoke the first words she ever said to the man who was considered to be her husband, “But I can assure you that it’s not what you’re thinking.”
The man simply stared at her, his eyebrows raising at her words. She took a step back as he took a step inside, but felt foolish as he only did so to turn around and shut the front door behind him. The familiar sea breeze now lost to them.
When he turned back around, he spoke the first words he ever said to the woman who was considered to be his wife.
“I wasn’t expectin’ anything.” He replied, his sentence simple and his accent faded.
She had heard his voice before. When he was speaking to her father and reciting his vows. But now that it was directed towards her, it finally dawned on her how deep it was. How it rumbled through his chest in such a way that it settled deep within Y/N’s bones.
She was perturbed by the sensation. So much so that her next argument was lost on her tongue.
“Follow me.” He said, in the absence of her words.
Since there wasn’t much left to do, she did just that. The small house shifted under the weight of their footfalls as they ascended up the creaky stairs. Y/N’s eyes were trained on the sight of his broad back, taking up so much space as he ventured through the hallways of this two-story home.
Her eyes were soon torn away from his form as she took in the decor of the rest of his— their house. It matched what she saw downstairs. Everything was nautical themed, something common within the homes that littered this island. But the way this house was decorated was different. Instead of the manufactured ocean aesthetic that Y/N was used to, everything about this house was… natural. The way she felt in this house felt exactly how she felt on the beaches that ringed around this tiny island. She never thought she’d ever meet anyone who was able to capture the essence of the natural world so effortlessly. She began to soften, similar to what she felt when she saw that look in his brown eyes.
She squared her shoulders against the thought, forcing her resolve back to the forefront of her mind. This was the last place she wanted to be. She had to remind herself of that.
“This is your room.” Joel muttered in that deep voice of his, stopping at a door sat at the end of the hall. His large hand twisting the golden doorknob, it swung open as he pushed against the wood.
“My room?” Y/N questioned, as she stood on her tiptoes, staring into the confines that were now revealed from over Joel’s shoulder. She took in the sight of a wrought-iron bed, a vanity and a wardrobe built out of dark-stained wood. Furniture to call her own for the first time.
“Your’s.” He nodded in confirmation. And then he stepped aside, letting her venture further into the room. She breathed in the fresh air that was granted by the windows that still stood open against either wall, crickets calling through the crevices, seeping in from the dark of the night.
She ran a hand over the handmade quilt that covered the mattress, cool against her palm, unslept in for months— maybe years.
The floorboards squeaked under her feet as she turned quickly towards where Joel was standing. But the doorway was empty. Her words of gratitude fell flat against the air now that there was no one to direct them to.
He must’ve snuck off as she was admiring the room, assuming she wanted to be left alone. Which she did. But no one had ever respected her privacy before. She definitely wasn’t expecting the courtesy from the man she was forced to marry.
A weird feeling wormed its way into Y/N’s heart, one she had never felt before. She chose to ignore it as she plopped onto the mattress, springs squeaking under her weight, staring at the vacant space where Joel once stood.
~
Weeks passed by, and neither one of the newlyweds tried to make any contact with one another as they resided in their separate bedrooms.
Since Y/N was now destined to be a doting housewife, no one had any expectations for her beyond the household she currently lived in. And since Joel was avoiding her just as much as she was him, it was easy to dismiss his heavy footfalls that rang out against the house in the early hours of the morning. All she had to do was wait until they faded off the steps of the front porch, and then she was free to roam the house that was now half hers.
Though after her exploring was finished, most of her days were spent in the garden, overgrown from lack of maintenance, but Y/N happened to like it that way. She was elated to find it, as she stood on the precipice of the backyard that very first morning. And now Y/N could be found curled on the antiquated porch swing that sat among the weeds, a book cradled in her lap, stolen from the office she also discovered on her second day of living with her new husband.
However, as she relaxed in the garden, sun shining over every inch of her exposed skin, guilt would soon riddle her bones. It was another feeling she wasn’t used to. But now that she was married and now that she knew that Joel wasn’t the horrible intrusive husband she thought he would be, she decided he deserved to come home to a warm meal. So eventually— after a few of her days spent basking in the sun, the guilt becoming too much— she would one day venture to the market nearest their marital home and pick up ingredients to make the man some dinner after his long day at the docks.
She would never actually eat with him, of course— only leaving the homemade food in a ceramic pot stationed in the middle of the kitchen table. But she hoped her gesture proved enough that she wasn’t exactly angered by his newfound presence in her life.
Despite the fact that she still planned on her escape.
It was obvious that Joel wasn’t a bad husband. And of course, that brought pause to the woman. She wondered what exactly it was that drove his first wife to leave him when he wasn’t nearly as bad as she thought. But the mystery still couldn’t counter with the fact that Y/N was desperate for her freedom, and desperate for a love that would set her heart on fire. Surely she couldn’t find that sort of thing on this tiny insignificant island. She had to escape. Didn’t she?
The topic stayed constant on her mind as she perused the books in Joel’s tiny library (library being a generous term, it was actually just one shelf tucked in the corner of his office). One day, in the living room, she even stumbled upon a great big atlas that Joel had left behind, turned open on a page that showcased an image of the world. All the little squiggles and lines that made up the map of their great big earth, her soulmate must have resided within one of those faraway places. He couldn’t have been so close, on the tiny dot that represented the Isle of Ardor, it seemed impossible.
Now lost in thought about chances and percentages, the young woman paid no mind to the time that passed as she flipped through the large pages of the atlas. The sun was dipping low beneath the horizon, painting the skies with pinks, and oranges. She had yet to even make dinner when Joel had walked through the front door.
She stood quickly from her spot on the couch. As a habit, her tongue fumbled through the words that would leave her mouth whenever her father would return from work.
“Welcome home.”
Joel paused in the doorway. His brows furrowed in confusion since by this time the woman was usually found locked in her bedroom. And typically, when one welcomes you home, you’re supposed to reply with some form of gratitude, at least this was custom to the Isle of Ardor. But Joel was at a loss for words. To have his new wife, ready and expectant of him was unfamiliar. Especially since she had granted no interest in him for the past few weeks.
“I forgot to make dinner.” She told him, seemingly desperate to fill the silence. Her tone was soft with apprehension, she looked like a timid little rabbit. “I’m sorry.”
Taking in her words, and the sight of her— chest heaving as she stood by the couch, almost as if she were caught in the act of something despicable— Joel soon realized that this was all an accident. He wasn’t meant to find her like this. She had only gotten lost within whatever activity she was currently indulging herself in.
He caught sight of the atlas he left on the couch late last night. It was there since he was currently making plans for his upcoming fishing trip, but it was quickly forgotten once the threat of sleep had forced him to make his way back towards his bedroom. Was that what she was looking at? His lips parted with even more realization, if that was the case. He had a sneaking suspicion why she would be interested in a book like that. But he wasn’t about to ask her any incriminating questions.
“That’s alright.” He breathed, shutting the door behind him and foregoing any accusations he could potentially throw her way. “I can make something.”
“No, please.” She begged, as if guilt forced her back into the role of a doting wife. “You’ve had a long day. Allow me.”
She moved through the small living room of the house in long strides, headed towards the kitchen. She was determined to be the good wife she promised to be when she made her vows. Even if it was a lie at the time. Even if it still was as she planned for her escape.
As she brushed past Joel, her wrist was suddenly encased in a pool of unexpected warmth. His calloused fingers were wrapped firmly against her skin. In the month that they had been married, this was the first time he had ever touched her. Her heart lodged itself in her throat. Her gaze shifted so that she was staring wide-eyed up at her husband.
“Let me help you.” He murmured, his own eyes pleading her for something she was unsure of.
“Okay.” She whispered, nodding her head slightly, since there was nothing else she could do.
Now here they were, standing in their humble kitchen, stove hot and burning as they both stood over the swirling pot of spices, vegetables and fish. This form of intimacy was unfamiliar to them. It was the closest they’ve been in weeks, and it felt far more vulnerable than it did when they stood across the aisle as they spoke their vows. Joel’s hand was gripped harshly against the wooden spoon as he stirred the contents of their stew. Y/N’s fingers were latched onto the salt shaker, her eyes trained on the little grain of bitter crystal that was lodged in one of the holes.
“Here.” Joel practically whispered, holding up the spoon for his wife to taste. She glanced up at him through her lashes, hesitantly, before slowly leaning forward.
Her supple lips formed around the wood as she slurped at its contents. Joel shivered at the sight. He knew that his new wife was pretty, but seeing as she took his requests so willingly, was a sight to behold. Her lips seemed so plush, and the way her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks as she blew cold air across his offered taste, almost had him down on his knees. His adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed harshly against his dry throat, mind littered with filthy innuendos.
“How’s it taste?” He asked, his voice strained, forcing away the provocative thoughts that forged to the front of his mind.
Her brows furrowed in concentration as she held the flavor on her tongue. But soon a small grin flickered across her features. Joel’s stomach dipped at the sight. A feeling he hadn’t felt in years— maybe decades... maybe ever.
“It’s good.” She replied, wrapping her own smaller fingers around Joel’s hand as she brought the spoon up for a second taste. The touch of her hand was a shock, to say the least. It was only their second instance of skin contact and yet it was so much different than before. Only because it was her that was touching him. Willingly— no, purposefully. Embarrassingly enough, the surprise of it all was somehow too much for the older man. The spoon slipped from his grasp, clattering against the tile, splashing stew across the lower half of the surrounding cabinets, as well as the long hem of Y/N’s skirt. Joel took a large step back, the heat of shame licking up his neck to the tips of his ears.
“Sorry— I— Sorry.” He stammered, finishing his words somewhat lamely. He felt like a shy little school boy, he couldn’t even meet her gaze. It was humiliating.
That was until he heard the sound of her laughter. Soft and tinkling, with no hint of malice. She wasn’t laughing at him, she wasn’t even laughing with him. It was more like she was laughing at the entire situation, or maybe at nothing in particular. He finally braved a glance up at her, to see those supple lips curled into a bright smile. His heart lurched at the sight.
She didn’t say anything. Didn’t acknowledge his fumbling apology, instead she shook her head slightly, rolling up the sleeves of her sweater, a smile still apparent on her face as she got to her knees and began to clean up the mess. She didn’t even worry about the splotches of blooming red that was scattered across the white fabric of her pretty skirt. She let it stain. Lasting proof of the very first dinner they shared as man and wife.
He served it up in heaping spoonfuls. Steam lazily swirling up from the hot meal, confined in ceramic bowls that Joel had pulled from the cabinets. After Y/N’s laughter had faded from the air, the only sound that graced their ears was that of spoons scraping against the stoneware as they savored their last bites.
No words were spoken as they sat at the kitchen table. And the woman couldn’t decide if it was awkward or not. She was never one to be deterred by the presence of silence, but she was curious if the man who now sat across from her was.
Not that he was a man of many words. He was silent in the very way he lived. His actions were always careful and well thought out. Maybe that’s why she hadn’t heard of him before their betrothal. You don’t turn the cogs of the rumor mill if you keep to yourself. Which is what Joel seemed to do.
So maybe he liked the silence. Y/N decided she did as well.
Though it was finally broken when they stood at the kitchen sink, Joel was washing the dishes while Y/N dried— All serenaded by the sound of running water and clanking utensils. That was all it was until his words filtered in through the white noise.
“I’m leavin’ tomorrow.” He told her, eyes trained on the tiny soap bubbles attaching themselves to the skin of his hands. They were iridescent in their color. The distraction of it left the furrow between Y/N’s brows unknown. She wondered where on earth he could possibly be going. But the question was soon answered as he continued.
“It’s the first fishin’ trip of the season. Gonna be gone for a week or two.” He explained. Her mouth formed around a silent ‘ah’ as understanding dawned on her.
Fishing expeditions were always a big spectacle in this little town. Caught in glimpses on her way to school, Y/N always observed the teary-eyed farewells passed between the fishermen and their families. Hands up in the air in enthusiastic waves of goodbye as the ship drew further out to sea, becoming a small insignificant dot and then turning into nothing against the horizon.
She liked the return days far better. They always seemed much happier when loving arms wrapped around trembling shoulders, a warm embrace to signify how grateful the fishermen were to be brought home safe and unharmed. It was one of the few times this island lived up to its name.
And now the woman was left wondering if Joel expected her to become one of the teary-eyed family members waiting down by the docks.
“What time are you leaving?” She asked, carefully setting down the bowl that resided in her hands, it clinked against the wooden countertop.
“Early.” He replied, his large fingers hooking around the faucet lever, shutting off the constant stream of water. In its absence, the silence was louder and the same could be said of that deep voice of his. “Don’t worry. I’ll try not to wake you when I leave.”
So now the question was answered. He didn’t expect anything from her. Just like he said that very first night. It was still a foreign concept for her. She wasn’t sure if she truly believed it.
Though the belief finally found her when she woke up late the next morning, the sun deep in the sky, shining bright over her bed and warming her skin. She laid there for a minute, staring up at the ceiling as she considered the quiet state of the house. It was silent now more than ever. Left without the sound of Joel’s familiar footsteps as well as a final goodbye.
~
The time spent alone in the little house was surprisingly dreary.
At first— once the realization that she had the house to herself settled in, the woman was ecstatic. She had never been left to her own devices before. Usually she would have to cheat her way out of the ever-present company of her family, just for five minutes of precious solitude. Now she had hours of it— days of it. It was exhilarating. It was freeing. It was… lonely.
And maybe just a little bit scary, as she curled under her sheets at night, unable to explain away the creaks that filtered in from under her door now that Joel was gone.
Joel.
The absence of him presented Y/N with the unexpected discovery that he was a form of comfort that surrounded the walls of this house. Almost as if he were the protector of this hearth. And now that he was gone, the little noises she heard at night shifted into dark threatening creatures within the confines of Y/N’s overactive imagination.
She cursed herself for her sudden lack of backbone.
However, the daytime was somehow worse. Because at least during the night, her fear would soon subside once the calming tendrils of sleep coaxed Y/N back into her dreams. But during the day, when she was sitting on that squeaky porch swing, boredom would be the next thing to burden her. And there was nothing she could do to alleviate herself from it.
There were only so many books in Joel’s collection. Only so many rooms that were left to explore (excluding the master bedroom of course). And only so many activities that she could think to do to distract herself. So as she sat there aimlessly, swinging back and forth under a late afternoon sun, it dawned on her that she was most entertained when navigating this new delicate life that she shared with Joel.
Which eventually brought her to the greater realization that it wasn’t fear or boredom that caused the ache that burned low in her stomach. No, it was the fact of the matter that she had simply missed Joel. One might describe that ache as yearning. But Y/N would definitely not be the one to do so. So she ignored the feeling.
She ignored it until it was replaced with the growing buzz of anticipation when the day of Joel’s return finally arrived.
Excited whispers were passed from mouth to ear as everyone spoke about the ship's return. Y/N had caught a conversation while perusing the pitted-fruits at the market, relaying the information that the boat was set to dock later that evening. And as she quickly returned the contents that resided in her basket— replacing it with enough ingredients for a meal made for two rather than one— Y/N wondered if she was perhaps sharing in the excitement that took over the small island.
Which would be very odd, for she never once felt united with her fellow townspeople, and she could hardly believe that she was excited to see the man she was forced to marry. Though the oddest thing was, (and this was still unbeknownst to the young woman herself) was that she hadn’t thought of her underlying desire to escape, whatsoever. Not even once while she was left alone for the past two weeks, which by all means would have been the perfect time to plan her getaway. But the notion was completely lost to her mind as she hurriedly made her way back home so that she could start on dinner.
It was a sight to behold.
Later that evening, as Joel stood in the entranceway, limbs overtired from his harsh venture out to sea, he thought he was hallucinating. The last thing he expected when he walked through that door was to be met with the image of his wife, looking oh-so pretty in a light blue dress, waiting eagerly by a table full of food. The whole scene of it was washed in a golden light from candles set across the room. It was set to look like a dream. Was he dreaming?
He had thought their dinner the night before he left would be the last one. In fact, he had thought that would be the last time he'd ever see her.
Joel wasn’t an oblivious man. He knew how she felt about this whole arrangement. It was obvious in the way she would avoid looking at him when they had first met. And even if he couldn’t see the hatred she harbored for him within her irises, the woman wore her heart on her sleeve. He could see her indignation in the way she huffed around the house and stomped her way into the garden. Which was all made much more confusing when she started leaving him hot meals after his work was finished by the dock. He didn’t anticipate such a kind gesture from her.
She was a mystery. But he supposed she leaned more towards the side of completely hating his guts as she was still bent on avoiding him those first couple of weeks into their marriage.
Not that he could blame the woman. He only said yes to her father’s proposition because the man looked so desperate. He was practically down on his knees. And Joel couldn’t say he wasn’t enticed by the idea of not having to return to an empty home any longer.
But Joel wasn’t attached to the idea of their marriage.
So if she wanted to avoid him, he would grant her the space she needed. If she wanted to huff at him in anger whenever their paths did cross, he would take the onslaught. And if she wanted to escape into the night, never to be heard from again, who was he to try and stop her?
In the meantime, he would enjoy the meals she left for him.
Then came the night when she decided to share it with him. Sure, it was an accident. And the entire encounter was fumbling and awkward. But it sparked a small bout of warmth deep within his chest.
He supposed that feeling was hope. Or at least that was the conclusion he came to as he was rocked to sleep by the ebbing waves underneath his ship. He had felt hope before, it’s been a long time, but he knew what it was. That’s all it could ever be. But what was he hoping for?
Hope that this could be something more than a marriage certificate? Hope that she would stick around, at least for a few more weeks? Hope that he would see her face amongst the crowd as their ship pulled back into the dock?
When he didn’t see her, the warmth was lost to him. And in its absence that’s when he knew that’s exactly what it was. Without that flame of hope, he was now shrouded in darkness just like he knew his house would be when he returned under the setting sun.
So he was not expecting this. Not at all.
“You’re here.” He said, the words tumbling from his lips before he could stop them. A little line appeared between her two brows as confusion riddled her features.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” She asked, head tilting with the question.
“I don’t know. I just… thought that maybe you’d be gone.” He replied, shaking his own head slightly as he admitted his suspicion out loud.
Busted.
Y/N’s shoulders tensed as the words hung in the air between them. She should have known that he’d catch on to her plans, she wasn’t usually the type to be subtle with her grievances. But there was a twinge in her stomach at his admittance. The one thing he expected of her was exactly the one thing she wanted. And he would’ve let it happen. The hidden honesty in his words coerced the same thing from her own lips.
“I thought the same thing.” She confessed, a small bashful smile forming on her lips. The corners of Joel's mouth twitched up into a fleeting smile. It was gone within seconds. But the gleam of it still shone within the depths of his brown irises.
Then he offered her a small understanding nod. And that was all that was needed. The flame of hope flickered on.
They both took their seats and ate the homemade dinner in comfortable silence.
~
The same fragile routine had now taken place every night since then. As soon as Joel would return home from the docks, he would be greeted by the sight of Y/N chopping up the chosen vegetable for that night. If he came home early enough, there would still be certain tasks that needed to be finished, and she never complained when he would step in beside her with freshly washed hands— the sleeves of his flannel rolled further up his forearms— ready to help.
He liked those times the most. There was something serene in the way they moved around the kitchen together, as if they were living proof of perfect harmony. So most days, Joel would finish the menial tasks at work as quickly as he possibly could to return home before she finished cooking. He was greedy for more of these interactions to hold under his belt. And he would always be slightly disappointed whenever he found the table already set. Though that grievance wouldn’t last long as he was soon greeted by Y/N’s smile, that seemed to be getting brighter with each passing day.
Unfortunately for Y/N, she was not granted with the same reassurance.
As it turns out, Joel was a brick wall of a man, which was a fact he was completely unaware of. So his expressions of contentedness were lost on the woman. She wasn’t observant enough to notice how he would return home from work earlier and earlier each day. Or to catch on to the way his eyes would linger on her while they silently ate their dinner.
What she did notice was how he never smiled. It was as if he never learned how to. Maybe he had been a sad little baby from the moment he was born. Or perhaps he did know how to smile, and he just never had a reason to. Not even now. Not even with her.
Which, to be honest, was a punch in the gut for the young woman, since she had been finding so much joy during the times they shared together.
She tried to be rational, because Joel had always been a very unemotional man. But Y/N’s brain always kicked into overdrive whenever she was left alone with her thoughts, and it always boiled down to the conclusion that perhaps Joel just didn’t like her very much.
Oh, how the tables have turned. One minute she detested the man she was betrothed to and in the next she lapped up any attention he had gifted her like a small pathetic puppy. She was desperate to know more about the man. What was it that made him smile? Who was he? What were his interests? What was he like as a child?
And why on earth would his first wife ever leave him?
She had found out the answer to that— as well as caught her first glimpse of the surprising range of his emotions— all in the same night.
There was a storm that evening. Dark and unrelenting as the onslaught of rain pounded against the roof of their quaint little house. Big bolts of lighting hung low in the sky, illuminating the world in small fractions of time. The thunder rolling deep on its heel.
Joel was hours late. The dinner that sat on the table was ice cold. Though that fact was unnoticed by the woman, as she paced the distance of the kitchen, her bones wracked with worry. This was the perfect example of how her mind kicked into overdrive in times of distress. She assumed the worst.
She imagined Joel dead, left unbreathing, body lost under treacherous waves.
Panic quickened the beat of her heart. Any efforts she made to calm herself fell flat. Reason and rationality were lost to her completely. All she could do was to keep moving her feet.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
Until her feet took her further. Soft footsteps rang out against the floor of the living room and then up the stairs. They paced the length of the hallway a few times until the woman found herself stationed in front of the door to the master bedroom.
Her hand had somehow found itself gripped around the cool metal of the doorknob.
When she twisted it, the door swung open with ease.
It was easy for Y/N to dismiss her worries when it was replaced by a burning curiosity. She stood at the precipice of his bedroom, eyes flickering over every surface.
There was a large bed that sat in the middle of the room, left untidy by the man who stumbled out of it early that morning. The image of his large form tangled in the sheets flickered to the front of her mind, before she forced herself to focus on the next part of the room.
There was a bay window, looking out over the back garden. The bench underneath it was adorned with countless throw pillows, a detail that must have been added by his previous wife. Joel didn’t seem to be the type to appreciate that type of decor. A weird surge of jealousy was added to the other emotions she was already riddled with that evening. It burned bright behind her sternum.
But then her gaze roamed over the bookshelf that towered over the rest of the room. It resided next to a door, but what could potentially be hidden behind it wasn’t what had her feet moving deeper into the room. (Since it was most likely a bathroom, anyways.)
It was a picture.
Sat on one of the middle shelves of the bookshelf. It was framed in an intricate engraved pattern of gold-painted wood, a happy memory captured in black and white.
Frozen in time was the image of a young girl— most likely not even reaching double digits in her age. Her smile was bright and somewhat stubborn as she grinned up at her from the frame. She had dark skin and soft eyes that reminded the woman of Joel. Her hair framed her face in disorderly curls, tousled by the seabreeze. Y/N smiled softly at the wild look that sparked in the girl's irises, as if ready for any adventure that would be thrown her way. She ran a finger over the smooth glass, like she could caress the girl's face in her own hands.
“What are you doing?”
It wasn’t the words themselves that caused the woman to drop the picture, but rather the rage that was intertwined within them. Her eyes snapped up to find Joel standing in the door, backlit from the light in the hallway. His brown hair was matted against the skin of his forehead, soaked by the heavy rain. The rest of it dripped off of his clothes as they clung to his skin, creating a puddle around his boot-clad feet.
The glass of the frame shattered once it hit the floor.
“Who told you, you could come in here?” He seethed, reaching her in just a few long strides. She cowered against the bookshelf in his advancement but the collision never came. He bent towards the ground, large hands shifting through the broken glass.
“I-I’m sorry.” Y/N stammered, dropping down to help him. He pushed her hands away.
“Don’t.” He snapped.
“Why would you do this?” He then added, his words were harsh. He looked up at her, his eyes were dark with his wrath. A small pathetic sound squeaked out of her throat, she shook her head, unable to find the words.
And then the next thing she knew, she was running. Was it the anger that caused her to run? Or perhaps her own embarrassment. She didn’t know. But the sudden invasion of his unconventional display of emotion had become all too much. The same feet that carried her towards the master bedroom brought her out into the garden.
Y/N barely realized where she was until she registered the harsh rain that bombarded her skin, her hair and clothes instantly soaked as she ventured out among the overgrown weeds. Her legs didn’t stop until her palms wrapped around the familiar wood of the porch swing she spent so much of her time with. Her shoulders shook with shame, cursing herself inwardly for her intrusiveness.
And then… Somehow, through the howling wind, Y/N had heard her name.
She whipped her head towards the house to see that Joel had followed her. He charged through the storm, through the vegetation that whipped wildly in the wind, until he reached her. She expected more of his anger.
Instead she was met with two large hands cupping her cheeks.
“Are you hurt?” He asked over the raging of the storm, before she could make any questions of her own.
“I— what?” She faltered, her hands instinctively moving up to caress the skin of his wrists.
“Are you alright?” He repeated himself with new words, his brown eyes flickering over each feature of her face, as if he was making sure each part of her was still there.
“It’s only rain. Of course I’m alright.” She answered, a bit impatiently. Did he really think so little of her and her competence?
“You certain?” He asked, and that’s when Y/N took notice of the panic that resided in his brown irises. His breathing was dissonant and in a sense, frightened. This was something else entirely.
“Joel.” She said her tone shifted drastically from annoyance to something much softer. But his movements were still frantic as he searched her for any injuries.
“Joel!” She said again, louder this time, hoping to gain his attention. When she didn’t, Y/N tightened her grip around the wrist of his right hand, and shifted it towards her beating heart. She hoped he could feel the proof of her life that thrummed against the skin of her chest.
The evidence of her heartbeat calmed Joel down, his breathing evened out.
“I’m fine.” She murmured, tilting her chin to kiss the palm of his left hand. She was unsure of what brought her to do it, but it seemed to help as Joel then pulled her into his chest, his strong arms wrapping around her shoulders. He sighed once he felt her weight against him.
“I’m alright.” She reiterated into his soaked flannel. His arms wound tighter around her.
And then they were back inside. To her objection, he had made her take a shower, to extinguish any chill that the rain might have instilled in her bones. She almost got away with not taking one until her chattering teeth proved her otherwise. He had given her such a demanding look that she had no other choice but to do as he said.
So once she was showered and dressed in warm pajamas, (and once he did the same). They were now sitting in the living room. Her knees were curled up to her chest as she sat on the couch, Joel’s feet were solid against the patterned rug that sat beneath them, in an armchair angled directly in front of her. Their usual silence had found them again. Was it comfortable or not? Y/N had yet to find out. Joel broke it before she could.
“I’m sorry.” He told her, his cheeks pink with shame and his eyes averted to the ground. She shook her head in defiance to his apology, even though she knew he couldn’t see her.
“No, it was my—” She tried to counter. But he pursed his lips, causing her to promptly keep her mouth shut.
“I shouldn’t’ve yelled at you like that.” He said after a brief pause.
“It was well deserved.” Y/N admitted, lifting her shoulders in a shrug. “I shouldn’t have entered your room.”
Joel shook his head the same way she did, only slightly, but Y/N caught it.
“It was about time, anyways.” He commented. She resisted the urge to pry for more, cause she knew that eventually he would indulge in her curiosities. And he did.
“She was my daughter.” He murmured, knuckles white from his grip on the arms of the plush leather chair he was sitting upon.
“The girl. In the picture.” Joel clarified when he was met with her silence. But Y/N already knew that. Her silence to his explanation was due to the word he used. Was.
She repeated it out loud, in the form of a question.
A sigh escaped Joel's lips, he leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees. He still wouldn’t meet Y/N’s gaze.
“Do you remember that storm twelve years ago?” Joel questioned, his palm running over his forehead as he prepared himself to tell this story. Y/N responded with a soft ‘yes.’ It was a horrible, outrageous storm that caused so much damage to their little town. So much loss and heartache that hung over the island, even to this day. She was fifteen years old. The fear of it all was still present in her memories.
“Well, my daughter… Sarah. She…” His voice cracked, he dragged in a shuddering breath. “Somehow she got outside. Debris from the old farmhouse across the street was picked up by the wind. Pierced right through her—”
A sharp sob interrupted his sentence. Y/N wasted no time. She pushed up from her spot on the couch and was on her knees, sitting in front of him in a moment's notice. Her hands were splayed across his own thick thighs, she squeezed her digits around the muscles in reassurance. He didn’t need to say anything more. The picture was painted.
“She was nine years old.” Joel whispered into the hand that was still hiding his features, finding the courage to speak more about it once he felt her touch through the fabric of his pajama pants. “Nine years old, and she lost her life.”
And now everything was clear. It made sense why he was so scared for her life out there in the garden. He had experienced a loss like that before. A cruel twist of fate that took the life of his daughter. Right in his front yard.
“I wish every day that it was me instead of her.” He admitted, more sobs wracking through his body, large shoulders shaking.
It was peculiar to see him like this. Usually he was such a vision of strength, but now that these emotions were presented to Y/N, everything made so much more sense. He was hiding himself. Scared of more loss, if he opened his heart up to anyone else. This was only more confirmed as he continued.
“My wife— My first wife, she couldn't handle the loss of our daughter.” Joel relayed, “I don’t think she was happy with me. Not until Sarah was born. And once she was gone… She didn’t have a reason to stay…”
His words died in the air after that. But yet again there was no need to continue. Y/N understood. And all she could do was shift her hands so that her arms were now wrapped around his neck. She pulled Joel in as close as she could, her waist now fitted between his thighs. He clutched onto her in return, fingers gripping into her nightgown. His head resting in the crook of her neck, mouth pressed against the tendon.
“I won’t leave you.” Y/N whispered into his hair, still damp from the recent shower.
She wasn’t exactly sure what brought her to say those words, but once they were hanging in the air she knew them to be true. And she knew he did too once she felt his lips form into a distinguishable kiss against her skin. It was faint, but the spark of it lingered, and it changed everything.
~
A few months had passed since the night of the storm and a lot had changed for the woman, at least inwardly. But their routine? It was all the same. They would make dinner, share in their comfortable silence (sometimes punctuated with lighthearted conversation) and then they’d return to their separate bedrooms. Every. Single. Night. Nothing more, nothing less.
It was a bit frustrating to say the least.
And then he would leave every few weeks, on a venture out at sea. Where he would be gone for days at a time. And of course, she would miss him terribly. But would Y/N accompany him to the docks whenever he would leave? No. Would she ever be there to greet him home? Also no.
So it was safe to say that the blame was partially on her. Which frustrated the woman even further, because now she couldn’t even rely on the fact that the indifference was all one sided. Her actions apparently proved otherwise.
But what was it that she wanted to change? Maybe she expected their conversations to be much lengthier now that they had crossed the boundaries of hidden grievances. Or maybe she expected him to extend an invitation to sleep in his bedroom, now that they had participated in small instances of physical touch. Whatever it was, Y/N only knew one thing.
It had seemed they were still stuck at square one.
And with every one step forward there were three steps back. Not so long ago they were so close, lips against skin in the quiet of their living room. Safe in each other's arms as the storm raged on. But now? There was nothing.
She resented the fact that she was falling into the wants and desires of the common Ardorian townsman. It all seemed very mundane against the aspirations she held close to her heart before she was married. But as she stewed in these feelings— especially during the times that Joel was away— she wondered if these desires were just part of the human experience. Perhaps they were even the desires that came with the burning passionate love she yearned for…
Now that she knew what it felt like. It all seemed so natural. You meet the one who befuddles your heart and soul and all you want is… more, more, more.
Would she ever get what she was hoping for?
Maybe she could, if she was brave enough.
The opportunity presented itself the eve of Joel’s next expedition.
He had gotten home early that day, so he was around to help finish up dinner. Y/N remembered being unable to look away as his large hands sliced each potato that needed to be added to the pot. He was attentive with his actions, just as he always was. She was jealous of the knife that resided gently in his grasp. Heat burned under her cheeks at her desperation.
Of course every detail of her wants and needs went unnoticed by Joel. Everything about their usual marital customs went off without a hitch, why should he think anything different could happen?
They ate their meal in silence. They cleaned up after themselves, as always. And then they slowly made their way up the stairs, just like they did every night.
Joel stopped on the landing at the top. Y/N followed his actions. This wasn’t unusual, the same thing happened on every eve of his long departures. He stood, towering above her, she looked up at him with hopeful eyes.
“I’ll be gone before you wake up.” He told her, his voice gruff. She nodded, once. Simple and to the point. Just like always.
Joel nodded back in confirmation and then turned to go, like a captain dismissing his subordinate. It was all very formal. Almost passionless, which was such a great contradiction to what the young woman was feeling inside of her chest. She was just about ready to burst. So even though she wasn’t exactly intending on doing so— she wasn’t surprised when her hand shot out to clasp her fingers around his wrist, stopping him before he disappeared into the secret confines of his bedroom.
“You okay?” Joel asked, once he was facing her again. His eyebrows were furrowed in concern, but that wasn’t the way she wanted him to look at her. She shook her head, but it wasn’t an answer to his question. It was more like she was trying to tell him that that was the wrong thing to ask. Or rather, the wrong thing to do.
“What’s wrong?” He inquired.
As it turned out, Joel was not a mind-reader. And since Y/N was too afraid to speak out loud about any of her desires, she did the next thing she could think of.
Her hands moved to grasp firmly against the lapels of his flannel. The floorboards beneath her creaked as she shifted onto her toes. She pulled Joel closer— closer than he’s ever been. She squeezed her eyes shut— almost like she was terrified when really this was all she wanted— and then before either of them knew it, she slotted her mouth against his own in a fervid kiss.
Joel stilled under the soft touch of her lips, surprised by the action, heart thrumming in his chest as he wondered if this was real. But the hesitation only lasted a split second before he reciprocated her kiss, leaning into her. The eagerness of which had caused their bodies to shift so that Y/N’s back was against the wall. She gasped against his lips, the grip on his shirt loosening.
He pulled away, but only slightly. His nose brushed against hers as he searched her eyes for any protests. He only found her pupils blown out with lust, paired with an indiscernible nod, a concession to keep going.
In an instant, his large hands were now cupping her face, calluses rough on her skin but she didn’t mind— in fact she relished in it. Her fingers twisted into his shirt once again as he traced her bottom lip with his tongue, pulling another soft gasp from her. He used that to his advantage, slipping his tongue against hers. She whimpered at the taste of him, earning a groan that rumbled deep in Joel’s chest, each of her sweet sounds causing an involuntary twitch from behind the zipper of his pants.
Joel was becoming more eager, selfish for more of that saccharine sound, his hands started to inch downwards. Smoothing over the curve of her neck, following the path of her shoulders, trailing down her arms, until his hands rested near the small of her back. He pulled her in closer, away from the wall. His fingers clutched onto the fabric of her dress. In a haze, he gathered more and more of the cotton within his hands, unknowingly exposing Y/N’s skin as he did.
She shivered as the back of her thighs met the frigid air, and soon almost the curve of her ass. It brought more attention to the heat that was pooling between her legs— A more intense version of a feeling that she’s only felt a few times before. It was harsh and greedy and it only grew stronger as Joel detached himself from her lips.
A whine spilled over her tongue at the loss, but all was forgiven when he began to press ardent kisses to the skin of her neck. She arched her back into his large frame, bringing notice to her nipples pebbling under the lace of her bra, another moan escaped her lips. He returned the noise with his own grunt of pleasure as his beard scratched against her supple skin. Suddenly she was aware of every single part of him.
His lips sucking softly at the skin just below her jawline. His flannel-clad chest was strong and solid underneath her hands, heartbeat pulsing into her palms. His own larger hands pulled her closer between every groan that vibrated through his throat. And then there was the hard heat of him pressed against her lower stomach.
The sign of his arousal had caused an ache so deep within her core that it shocked her. It was new and exciting, but it was overwhelming and it made her afraid of the strength that her desires possessed. The burn of shame licked white hot against her skin.
Joel— unaware of her inner turmoil as his lips kissed against the tendons in her neck— was given quite a shock when her hands pushed him away with surprising strength. He stumbled backwards, back hitting the other wall of the hallway. His eyes were wide and fearful that he did something wrong. Cheeks splotched a pretty color of pink and his lips swollen from her kiss.
Y/N covered her face with her hands, embarrassment and immense arousal caused her shoulders to tremble.
“I’m sorry.” She squeaked between her fingers, “Um, Thank you for… that, but I should…”
She backed away as she spoke, her sentence unfinished as she quickly escaped through the door to her bedroom. It slammed shut, abrasive in the action itself.
Joel stood with his back flush against the wall and a harsh strain against his zipper as he stared dumbfounded at the wood of her closed door.
~
Her humiliation kept her within the boundaries of her room the entire morning that next day, refusing to step even one foot out into the rest of the house until she knew Joel was gone. The sounds of his footsteps came and went just like they did every time he left for the docks. But Y/N’s dread seemed to have projected itself into the way time moved.
It felt like ages before he was actually gone, almost to the point where it felt like he was dragging his feet, hesitating to go. Like he was waiting for something to happen.
But that couldn’t have been the case, because Joel had his morning routine down to an art. So Y/N was convinced it was her own hallucination that caused time to move at such a snail’s pace.
Once the sound of the front door swinging shut rattled the foundation of their home, Y/N finally allowed herself to breathe. Just his very presence within this house— even separated by walls and other rooms— had such a strong effect on her that she couldn’t let herself recount the events of last night until she was certain she was completely alone.
And once those images returned to the forefront of her mind, she immediately pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes.
Though that only made the memory of it stronger through the stars that burst behind her eyelids from the hard press of her hands. A frustrated whine escaped her lips as she squirmed in her sheets. The movement of it caused her to take notice of the slick pooling in her panties, ever present since the first touch of Joel’s lips.
She rubbed her thighs together, trying to relieve some of the ache (though of course her efforts fell flat).
How was this at all possible? How was Joel able to pull such aggressive lust from just one single heated interaction?
Maybe it was because no one had ever touched her like that before.
The awkward, clumsy kisses she had shared with others in the past couldn’t hold a candle to what Joel had done to her. Forgotten was the memory of her very first kiss, which was frail and timid like a wounded bird. Or those later in life which were nice and gentle, but nothing special. Those moments of her past were now replaced by a roaring beast of want and desire. Joel had made her feel like the world had shifted on its axis, that he shifted it himself with his own two calloused hands. Just for her. And that was only with the touch of his lips. What else was he capable of doing?
The sheets rustled under Y/N’s weight as she quickly sat up in bed, regret stirring deep in her belly. She just realized— what with the way she reacted last night— she may never be able to find out. It was such a monumental milestone for their steady forming relationship and she had ended it by pushing him away and leaving him behind in the dark shadows of the hallway. She hadn’t even spared a glance in his direction, his reaction to her abrupt dismissal will remain forever unknown.
Or at least until he returns home.
But that wouldn’t be for another three days. Sure, luck was on the girls side since it was on the shorter side of his usual expeditions. But seventy-two hours left a lot of room for her overactive imagination to run rampant.
And she was now stewing on the outlandish conclusion that based on her reaction Joel would never want to touch her again. The frustration of that notion followed her throughout her morning.
It prickled at her skin as she stood in the shower, the hot water not doing enough to wash it away. Her skin was practically rubbed raw by the time she stepped out into the steamy bathroom, her hopes to scrub away her humiliation going down the drain, along with the lavender scented soap bubbles.
It caused her hands to shake, as she tugged the soft green fabric of her favorite dress over her head, the skirt of it swirling around her ankles as it fell into place. Y/N had thought if she wore her favorite clothing item that she might feel better about the whole situation.
But it didn’t help.
In fact, none of the aspects of her usual morning routine had helped her calm her beating heart, or her racing mind, or even the arousal between her legs— that, yes, was still there despite her forcing away any reminder of how it felt to have Joel’s lips on her skin.
She now stood at the kitchen counter, her eyes clenched shut as she begged her brain to conjure up any other image. But that just brought up a confusing mixture of childhood memories intertwined with the heavy sound of Joel’s breathing in her ear. Which made her feel shameful as she felt so much more different than the young restless girl she was back then. Was this the loss of her innocence? She supposed it was.
But then again, she was married to Joel. And these feelings were quite expected for a wife to feel towards her husband. There was no reason for her to feel ashamed by these thoughts, especially if they seemed reciprocated— brought forth by the evidence she felt last night pressing against her stomach.
The reminder brought heat up to her cheeks and that very same ache deep in her core when she had first felt it.
Y/N breathed in the air around her, dragging it into her lungs, pushing it out in a heavy wistful sigh. A flash of Joel’s hands flitted across her mind. Goosebumps littered her skin as she recalled the way his fingertips felt on the skin between her neck and shoulder.
Subconsciously she brought her own fingers to that very same spot. Tilting her head, she dragged her fingernails over her skin in slow circles, causing shivers to run up and down the length of her spine. She imagined how Joel’s hand was soon replaced by the soft touch of his lips, and her hand moved to her collarbone, a place she wished he had discovered with his tongue. Another sigh left her lips as her imagination replaced her hand with Joel’s. Her eyes were closed again, softer this time as she conjured up the fantasy.
Lips against skin. Hands wandering. Breathing heavy.
Though the tantalizing image soon vanished into the air like a bubble popping, when the sound of the front door slamming shut rang out through the tiny house. A gasp slipped from between her lips as she whipped around towards the intrusion. Her palm flush against her chest to calm her beating heart.
The sight of Joel standing in the doorway knocked the air out of Y/N’s lungs. It was as if her improper thoughts had manifested him to be standing right there in front of her. The curls of his hair were askew, as if he had been running his fingers through it, over and over. His large chest was heaving with slow heavy breaths, the same way her own chest was moving.
He swallowed, the adam's apple in his throat bobbing. He shook his head slightly, his brows furrowed, and then he looked back towards the door he just walked through. As if he hadn’t realized where he came from or what he was doing.
“Joel?” She questioned, her tone was breathless, desperate for something to fill the silence and tension that was slowly forming between them.
“’m sorry.” He breathed, when he turned back to her, his eyes shining with something that Y/N couldn’t quite place. Was it surprise? Curiosity? “Didn’t mean to scare ya.”
“What are you doing here?” She asked, somehow feeling brave enough to take a step forward. “I thought you were leaving on your trip?”
“I was— or I am.” He stumbled through the words. “It just got delayed for a couple hours. There were some last minute repairs needed on the ship…”
“And you had enough time to come back?” She questioned.
Joel paused, swallowing again. His eyes scaled over Y/N, taking in the look that resided behind her irises, the way she was breathing heavily, and how that green dress caressed her curves. She looked like she had just been caught in the act of something inappropriate, despite her just standing in the kitchen. An endeavor that was innocent in and of itself. But— god— the look of her, standing there in the golden light streaming in from the window above the sink, she looked downright sinful. Or maybe that was his own lust taking control and projecting itself onto her.
A lust that had kept him on edge this entire morning. Throughout the night too, when he was restless in his bed— remembering what happened between them— tossing and turning like the ocean tide. It never relented, so much so that when Tommy told him they had a few extra hours, Joel’s feet were already moving back towards his truck so that he could spend that time with Y/N. In this house. And even though he told himself to behave when he walked through the front door, It persisted. Even now as he stood in front of her, taking in the sight of her blown out pupils, eyes darkened with what he hoped was that very same lust.
“I forgot somethin’” He then said, as he realized she was still expecting an answer. “Had to come back to get it.”
“Oh… alright.” She replied, blinking as if she were just pulled from a trance. “What was it? I can help you look for it.”
Joel shook his head, deliberately this time. He took a step forward, the tension growing thicker as he did. His brown eyes held her stare. “I know where it is.”
His words were soft as they rolled off his tongue, causing an involuntary shiver to forge its way through Y/N’s bones. It was much more forceful than what she had felt under her own touch, only a few minutes prior. Joel must have taken notice of the effect that his voice had over her body, as he dragged in a low shuddering breath.
He took another step forward. And then another. And another, until he joined her in the kitchen, standing right in front of her, their chests only centimeters apart. Y/N had to tilt her head up to be able to look him in the eye. Which she was shocked she was brave enough to do, considering how he looked like he wanted to devour her.
“What are you doing?” She whispered, her eyes flicking down to his mouth as Joel dragged his tongue over his bottom lip. The sight of it was magnetic, pulling her in so that her chest was now brushing against his with every breath.
“Tell me to stop.” He said, his voice in that same hushed tone. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”
Y/N, defiant in her own nature, replied. “What was it that you forgot?”
“I didn’t forget anythin’.” Joel told her, honestly, his fingers moving to pinch at a piece of her flowing skirt. As if the small action would keep her right there in front of him. Where he was desperate to have her. Hoping that it would keep her in place instead of having her running away like last time.
“It’s more like…” He continued, tilting his head down so that his forehead rested against hers. She gasped at the skin contact, relief flooding her form as she quickly realized his touch wasn’t lost to her like she had feared. “Somethin’ I regret not doin’.”
“And what do you regret, Mr. Miller?” She murmured, her eyes averted to the floor beneath their feet. The surname fell out of her mouth unexpectedly, as if garnering his respect would grant her the knowledge of his secret.
“Well, Mrs. Miller…” The reminder that she shared that very surname with him by holy matrimony caused a jolt of surprise to coarse through her veins. But it was replaced with satisfaction soon enough. She marveled at the fact that she wasn’t exactly bothered by the concept, in fact she almost relished in it. And then Joel said his next words.
“I can show you exactly what that is… if you’ll let me.”
She didn’t have it in her to speak. Any reply that she could’ve had was lost in the back of her throat. All she could do was to nod eagerly, any shame she could’ve had at her desperation was tossed out the window.
“I need you to use your words.” Joel said in response to her movements, his voice hoarse as if he were holding himself back and the action of doing so was terribly difficult.
“I— Yes… please, Joel.” She whispered, her breath fanning across his cheeks. “I want you to show me.”
This time, Joel was the first to bring their lips together in a zealous kiss. The green fabric that resided between his forefinger and thumb was soon shifted to be gripped by his hands as he pulled her in. Their bodies were now flushed together. The softness of her breasts pushing into the solid form of his chest. Simultaneous sighs of relief intermingled on their tongues when they finally let themselves melt into one another.
Y/N gasped into his mouth when his teeth nipped at the plush skin of her bottom lip. She had already known how brash he was with his movements from their kiss last night, but now it seemed as if all of his inhibitions were lost to him, his hands now smoothing over the curve of her ass. Joel’s fingers gripped at the supple flesh through her dress, pulling her waist into his own.
She moaned at his touch, as well as the sign of his arousal digging into her hip. Her arms shifted to wrap around his broad shoulders, her fingers digging into the muscles on his back, urging him to move closer, if that were even possible.
And in this instance, she wasn’t disappointed by the loss of his lips, because he was quick to replace them somewhere else on her skin. It was as if he had to kiss every inch of her before he moved on to undiscovered territory. Joel’s lips were kissing at the corners of her lips, and the apples of her cheeks before he moved down to her jawline.
Though this was where he became more selfish in his actions, nipping at the skin so he could hear the sweet little whimpers that would waver from between her lips. Then he would lick over the bruised skin, soothing her of the slight pain he might’ve caused, heart hammering at the soft sighs of satisfaction she gifted him. Joel groaned at the sounds she made, relishing in the glory of every moan, whine and sigh. He could feel as he grew harder against the strain of his pants, the pain of it almost too much to bear. But this wasn’t about him. Instead, it had everything to do with the woman arching into his lips.
Thick fingers curled around the square neckline of Y/N’s lovely dress, knuckles brushing against her sternum as he tugged down at the fabric. A sharp gasp rang out into the air as her sleeves slid down her arms, allowing the exposure of her nipples to cold morning air, already hardened by her arousal to the man committing these actions. The flesh of her breasts bouncing slightly from the momentum in which he moved.
Joel pulled his mouth away from her, eager to get a look.
Y/N could feel herself flush under his stare, suddenly shy as he drank in this new image of her. She wanted to look away and hide in her self-consciousness, but she couldn’t take her eyes off of his dilated pupils and the endearing shade of pink that tinted his cheekbones. A burning need was flashing across his brown irises, the sight of it sparking an odd sense of confidence in the woman. She straightened her shoulders, letting him look at her. Because he would be the only man who would ever get to see her like this.
He groaned again, at the sight of her perked nipples paired with her newfound boldness.
“S’ pretty.” He mumbled, smoothing a large hand up over her breast, he could feel the pebbled skin pricking into his rough palm. She hummed at the compliment as well as his touch. Though a second later it was replaced with a harsh ‘ah’— pulled from her lips when his hand shifted so that he could pinch at her nipple.
It was the most torturous form of pleasure she had ever felt in her life. That was until he guided her body until she could feel the kitchen table digging into her lower back. His free hand gripped at the flesh under her ass, lifting her up and making it so that she was now sat against the surface. With her now stationary on the table, he was able to bend over, lips finding purchase on the nipple that wasn’t trapped between his fingers.
A high pitched moan was ripped from her throat as she subconsciously spread her legs, Joel’s hips fitting perfectly in the space between her thighs. Her hand splayed out on the wood behind her as she arched into his tongue that was now currently swirling lazy circles around the sensitive bud. And though she had never done anything like this before, her hips started to move in the only way that seemed natural. The only way that seemed to relieve the ache that pulsed between her legs.
Y/N rolled her hips up into Joel, the hardness of him firm against her clothed center, soaked from her constant arousal since their first kiss. She wondered if she would make a mess of the pants he was wearing, but the thought was fleeting once Joel pulled away from her skin.
“Fuck.” He stammered, resting his forehead in the valley of her breasts, his brown curls tickling her skin. “D-don’t do that, darlin’.”
Y/N stilled. “Why? Did I hurt you?”
He laughed breathlessly, the air of it fanning over Y/N’s chest. “No, nothing like that… Just feels t’ good.”
“Oh.” She said, a bit bashfully, but a small smile tugged at her kiss-bruised lips. Pride started to swell deep in her stomach at the admission that she made him feel just as good. And that idea was too precious to pass up on. “Then maybe I should keep doing that.”
She grinded her hips against him again, forcing him to remove himself from her chest, sucking in a harsh breath. His hand shot out, gripping onto the supple flesh of her inner thigh, now exposed as the skirt of her dress had shifted during their hectic movements.
“Please, sweetheart.” Joel begged, his nails digging into her leg. “You gotta stop.”
“But I wanna make you feel good.” She pouted, hips stilled by the brace he instilled upon her. Joel released a shaky breath, moving his forehead to rest on Y/N’s once more. His gaze was averted to the green fabric bunched up under her breasts, his brown eyes lost to her.
“You have no idea how much I want that— how long I’ve wanted that.” He murmured. “But I came back here for a reason.”
His voice sounded more determined by the end of his sentence. In doing so, it made the woman’s tone that much smaller, but she was still quite the contrarian to his words.
“I thought this was the reason.” She countered, sliding her hand up behind his neck, fingers toying with the curls at the base of his hairline. This time it was him shivering under her touch.
A soft smile curled upon Joel’s lips, he shook his head against her forehead, in slight laughter. “No. It’s close to what I was picturin’... but not quite.”
“Then what were you picturing?” She asked.
Joel leaned back, finally gracing her with the sight of his eyes, He didn’t answer her question, only holding an excruciating form of eye contact with the woman. And then, the once rough fingers that had tugged at her clothing and groped at her flesh were now trailing soft patterns into the skin of her thigh. Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat as they started to move closer to the spot between her legs. The ache she felt for him was now burning with great white heat.
Her own hands were gripping in their respective areas, meaning one was tugging at Joel's hair, pulling satisfied groans from his lips, while the other was locked around the edge of the table. Her hips jutted forward by their own accord when his fingertips skirted around the edge of her panties.
“Joel.” She whined, frustrated by his featherlight touch, though strangely enough also reveling in his gentle caress.
“I know.” He whispered, dropping his head onto her shoulder. “I know… I’ll give you what you want— just let me…”
He splayed his large hand onto her thigh, pushing against it so that she’d spread out wider for him. There was no resistance from her, only eager relinquishment. There was a harsh twitch of his cock at the thought that she would let him do anything with her, along with the idea that her body was all his for the taking. A covet he never thought would come into fruition.
“Please, Joel.” She urged again, and Joel realized right then that he was just as much hers as she was his. He would do anything for her. His body ached to give her exactly what she wanted.
So he did.
Y/N gasped when his thumb pressed firmly against the darkened spot on her panties, a similar gasp falling from Joel’s lips when he finally learned how wet she truly was. And it was all for him.
He moved his digit at an agonizing pace, moving in slow circles around the most sensitive part of her, not even sparing a fleeting touch to the bud of nerves. The torture of it all was exquisite. Y/N’s head fell backwards as she moaned, the tendons of her neck stretched out in front of Joel, the sight of it too enticing for his own good. He leaned forward, touching his lips against her skin.
Now having to focus on two things at once, his movements against her core became sloppy, and his touch harshened, slipping over Y/N’s clit. An embarrassing squeal forced its way from her throat as she jutted her hips fiercely into Joel’s thumb. He grinned against her skin.
“Oh, you liked that, didn't you?” He chuckled, placing more kisses down her neck, his beard scratching her skin as he moved. Y/N had a response to his teasing tone, perhaps it was even quick-witted, but it was stolen from her lips and replaced with another desperate moan when his tongue swirled around her nipple.
It was all becoming too much with every tiny ministration he committed on her skin. She felt as though she could burst into flames. Little did she know that it would all come to a head when Joel would kiss his way down her body, heavy knees dropping to the floor. There was no patience left within him when he practically ripped Y/N’s panties off of her body, hands roughly pushing her thighs apart.
“J-Joel, what are you doing?” She questioned, forearms braced against the table, being pushed back further up the furniture as Joel started nipping at her inner thigh, goosebumps following in his wake
“‘m doin’ what I came here for.” He mumbled into her skin, teeth grazing the malleable flesh. She was about to ask exactly what that might be, but the question was answered when he licked a long stripe through her slick folds.
Curses tumbled out of Y/N’s lips as he used his mouth on her. Never in a million years would she imagine that he would do something so… obscene. And she never would have anticipated how much she loved it. Her eyes were wide as she marveled at the sight of him. His brown eyes were staring back up at her from over her mound, drinking in every little reaction he spurred from her. His hair was wild, the look of it brought on by Y/N’s fingers as she ran them through the tendrils, forcing him closer and closer. And then there were the noises of him slurping and groaning and relishing in the taste of her.
At the beginning, Joel was slow with his actions, his tongue going up and down the length of her slit. Again he would frustratingly avoid touching her clit, tracing big circles around the bud, building up anticipation deep in Y/N’s stomach. But as he continued, every so often he would flick over it pulling more whimpers from Y/N’s throat. He would moan against her folds in satisfaction, the vocalizations causing slight vibrations to run through her entire form.
Y/N’s head fell with a soft thump against the table, her back arching up into the air, squirming under Joel’s actions. A hand snaked up from Y/N’s thigh, placing itself on her sternum. His palm was rough against the skin between her bare breasts, holding her down and keeping her in place.
Finally, seemingly deciding that the woman had been through enough torture, Joel wrapped his lips around her clit, sucking on it harshly. She all but screamed at this new sensation overcoming her, her right leg slipping over his left shoulder, unknowingly trapping him in place. They were locked in a heated tryst, his hand still braced on her chest, her calf pushing into his back and Joel’s mouth and tongue were still unrelenting.
She couldn’t help but to twist her fingers into his hair, tugging him closer against her cunt, she grinded her hips into his face, any tribulations that she might be hurting him lost in her pleasure. But if only she knew how much Joel adored her desperate nature as she chased after her high on his tongue. In fact he had never been this hard in his life. He could feel himself dripping inside of his pants, making a mess of his boxers as precum spilled from his tip with every twitch of his cock. His hips were thrusting into the air beneath the table in his own desperation. The seam of his zipper was rubbing firmly against the length of him. Joel honestly would not be surprised if he ended up cumming without even having to touch himself.
And as it turned out, eventually he would.
Joel’s name was now falling freely from between Y/N’s lips in broken fragments. The movements of her hips were becoming clumsy, stuttering as Joel continued to lick at her clit, groaning everytime she pulled at his hair. The heat burning low in her stomach began to grow hotter and more incessant. And with one more deliberate move of Joel’s tongue against her clit, it all began to burst.
The sight of Y/N cumming was the prettiest thing Joel had ever seen. Her head was thrust back against the table, supple lips drawn open as more of her moans escaped into the air, along with the sound of his name. Her whole body was tensing and shaking as the waves of her orgasm washed over her body. Joel’s mouth was ruthless on her cunt, drinking anything she had to offer him as the proof of her orgasm splashed over his tongue. The sight of her, as well as the taste of her, was all too much to bear as his own hips involuntarily jutted into nothing, the confines of his pants working against him in a way that had him finishing. He shuddered at the sensation, his shoulders trembling as he could feel his own cum spill into the fabric of his underwear. He whimpered into Y/N’s cunt, breathing sharply out of his nose, still trying to coax her down from her own orgasm as her body became limp and her breathing heavy, until finally everything started to slow down.
Searching hands groped around until they finally found purchase on Joel’s shoulders. She tugged at his shirt, forcing him away from her oversensitive core and out from between her legs.
She was met with eyes blown out with lust and a fading orgasm, red lips parted in amazement and beard shining with her cum. His clothes were askew and his brown curls were all over the place. He looked completely out of it. Though she probably couldn’t say she was much better.
And Joel admired the image of it as he stood above her. She blinked up at him, leaning back on her elbows, a look of pure wonderment painting her features. Her green dress was bunched around her middle, nipples still perked in the cool air of the kitchen, her chest stuttering with every breath. He smiled softly at her, leaning to snake a hand around her waist, pulling her up into a sitting position, her hands instinctively looping around his broad shoulders.
“You alright?” He asked gently as he stood her on shaking legs, the skirt of her dress now falling back in place. She shivered when she felt the touch of his knuckles on her chest once again as he shifted the top of her dress back in its proper position.
“I— um… yeah.” She said breathlessly, words lost to her in her post-orgasmic state. Joel couldn’t help but grin at her flustered demeanor, bringing a hand up to her cheek. She was grateful for his touch, leaning into his hand as he caressed her cheekbone with his thumb. He leaned down, placing a gentle kiss to her lips causing Y/N to taste herself upon his skin.
“Did you… get what you were looking for?” Y/N questioned, once they pulled apart. Earning soft laughter deep from within Joel’s chest. The sound of it quirking up the corners of Y/N’s lips in a shy smile, pride swelling in her belly since she was the one who caused it.
“That I did, sweetheart.” He smiled, running a hand over her hair, his eyes sparking with contentment. Her shy smile morphed into that of a bright grin, pulling him back in towards her to share a deeper kiss. He groaned into her lips, unexpected for the both of them as another surge of lust sparked between them, seemingly unsatisfied by what they had just finished. She whimpered back into his mouth as tongues started probing and teeth nipping once again. At a particularly boisterous moan from Y/N, Joel had to pull away.
“W-wait.” He breathed, “I— We can’t, we don’t have time. I have to go back.”
Y/N deflated at his words, but ultimately nodded her head in understanding. She took a step back from him, needing the distance to quell her need to melt into him once more. Though Joel’s fingers quickly wrapped around her own, stopping her from moving away any further.
“You’ll still be here when I get back, yeah?” He asked, the question causing Y/N’s heart to drop down to her stomach. As she looked at him she found insecurities scrawled across his features. Maybe she hadn’t done enough to convince him that she wasn’t going anywhere. Or perhaps this was leftover from pain he endured in the past. She brought his hand up, brushing her lips across his knuckles in a sweet kiss, and then covered that spot with her free hand.
“I promise.” She whispered, her gaze locked on his searching eyes, flickering over her features, trying to find the truth. When he found nothing but her earnest smile he felt brave enough to go, but not before leaving her with one more breathless kiss.
Y/N had watched silently as he got ready to leave, washing his face with the bar of hand soap left on the side of the kitchen sink. She didn’t say anything as he readjusted his clothes and threw his bag over his shoulder. And she didn’t beg him to stay when he finally placed that final kiss upon her lips. All she did was sink further and further into the throes of missing him, despite the fact that he was right in front of her.
It only grew stronger as he whispered more promises of continuing when he returned three days later. She held onto that promise, close to her chest like a dying flame, watching as the view of his truck disappeared over the horizon.
She prayed to the gods above that time would fly quickly.
Though perhaps she should’ve been praying for something else entirely.
Because later that night and hundreds of miles out from the shoreline, a little ship bobbed at sea. The workers on deck scrambled in preparation. Worry stiffened their brows. Prayers to Poseidon fell from their lips. A soft pattern of rain began to sprinkle over their heads, it was unassuming in its very nature. But that was just the first sign of the oncoming danger as they headed into the eye of the storm.
Three days came and went.
Joel had yet to return home.
Y/N knew that the life of a fisherman was dangerous and unpredictable, she had heard many stories, most of which when she was younger, whispered to her by her classmates as they relayed the most gory details from the sad news of a shipwreck. Some were overheard at the local pub, traumatic events recounted around a bottle of brandy as fishermen tried to top each other's stories.
Frankly, these stories hardly bothered the young woman like it did to others in town. She couldn’t indulge in the disturbance of it all because the way these stories were told, relayed like an unattainable fairytale. It was all folklore in her mind. She was certain that nothing like that could ever affect any aspect of her life.
She was eating her words now.
It was on the sixth day that Joel was gone when she heard that it was a storm that delayed their ship, knocking it off its course.
The information was brought to her front doorstep by her very own father, who in his old age made the trek across the island to do so. This left Y/N’s stomach unsettled, for he would never go to such great lengths unless something truly terrible had occurred.
She was reminded of the day her mother died. He adorned the same face that painted his features now. Eyes downcasted, lower lip trembling, hands twisting around his patched cap. He was sitting on one of the wooden chairs strewn around the kitchen table. Y/N was leaned up against the counter, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.
“We didn’t get the message until early this morning. Radio was down, they barely got it workin’ when they reached us...” He said quietly, to the toes of his boots.
“And?” Y/N urged, knowing her father had more to say.
“They lost a few men.” He said quickly, as if he couldn’t stand to have the words left on his tongue. Y/N sucked in a breath. She turned around, facing the window over the sink. She braced her palms on the counter, vision blurring as tears pricked the corner of her eyes.
“Did they say who?” She asked, words choked between her tightening vocal cords, constricting from her tears.
“No, couldn’t keep the signal for long enough.” He murmured, she could hear him stand, the legs of the chair squeaking against the tile. “But they did say they’ll be returning by this evening.”
Y/N whipped around at that, her features twisted in vexation. The lead buried so much deeper than it needed to be. She would have to keep her annoyance left unsaid, however, as now there was no time to waste.
She brushed past her father hastily, ignoring the way her name was called after her as she staggered around the living room, clumsy in the way she tugged her boots over her feet. Her jacket was long forgotten on the hook by the door as she hurried outside, the thought of it only coming once the cool winds whipped at her exposed arms and cheeks. But she wouldn’t turn back for it. Her adrenaline kept her warm, anyways.
It was a two hour walk to get to the docks. Beads of sweat ran down her spine, blisters pinched at the heels of her feet, her breathing was labored as she pushed her anxiety out of her lungs. Though none of that mattered. All she knew was that she had to get to the docks. She had to get to him. If he was even there…
She swiped angrily at the tears that now carved pathways down the skin of her cheeks. Never in her life had she ever been able to keep her emotions at bay, she was always willing to scream at the sky and cry til her throat was raw. That fact was unchanging even as she grew older. So she let her tears fall. They didn’t distract from her current mission, anyhow. Her eyes were set on the small town that appeared over the horizon.
The whole town congregated at the docks. Passersby stood on the cobblestone streets, their inherent nosiness ill-concealed by their feigned looks of concern. Whispers flitted between them as if this were all just a dramatized show to keep them entertained. Y/N let no apologies slip through her lips as she pushed her way through them, knocking into their shoulders and earning glares as she did.
When her footsteps rang out on the wood of the dock that's when she was surrounded by the people like her. Family members worried for their loved ones lost at sea. They all stood silently as their eyes were set towards the ocean, hands clutched in prayer, whispering hopes that it wasn’t their spouse, parent or child who lost their life to an unrelenting sea. Y/N was too impatient to do the same. She just stood and waited for any kind of sign that Joel would be home soon.
It came only thirty minutes later. When a small boy at the front of the dock screeched in anticipation, pointing out a small dot wavering in the distance. Y/N’s stomach swooped down in a mixture of hope and apprehension. She was terrified to learn the truth of what happened.
But twenty minutes after that, the truth had arrived as the ship pulled in with the tide. Everyone advanced closer to where the fisherman would eventually unboard. Y/N stayed behind, her feet frozen to where she stood. Maybe she was trying to delay the inevitable.
Relieved cries and overjoyed calling of names soon swirled into the evening air as loved ones were reunited. Warm embraces and fervent kisses were exchanged between them. But it was all backtracked by the ones who received news of a death, heartbreaking wails mixing in with the sound of reunion.
It was an unsettling cacophony of sounds. The way love and loss intertwined within one another. Two sides of the same coin. And Y/N still had yet to know which one she was on.
Her hands were shaking. Her sight was restricted by the many heads that stood in front of her. She scanned each face, none of them holding the warm brown eyes she’s grown accustomed to. Her stomach sank deeper and deeper, her throat started to constrict again, a sob threatened to burst out from between her trembling lips.
She couldn’t hold it back once she registered a mess of brown and gray curls making its way through the crowd. The sob released itself, though not in anguish as she had thought, it was instead paired with the most intense form of relief she had ever known. Her feet started to move by their own accord.
His name fell desperately from her lips.
Joel stilled once he heard the sound of it. Brown eyes wild as he searched frantically for where it was coming from. When they found her through a split in the crowd, Y/N was met with the same look of relief she knew was apparent within her own irises.
His stride lengthened as he worked fast to cut the distance between them. As she drew nearer, he registered the tear stains on her supple skin, fresh ones following the same path. His heart lurched at the sight, the overwhelming need to hold her burning his skin. Burning hotter as she drew nearer. Setting him ablaze when she was right in front of him.
He tossed his bag to the side in favor of wrapping his arms around her. He relished in the way she sank into his arms, curling into his chest. He felt how her heartbeat pounded against her ribs, beating in the same pattern as his own. Joel held onto her even tighter.
“You scared the hell out of me.” She cried, tone muffled by his cable knit sweater as she hid her face in his warmth. A large hand smoothed over the back of her head, bringing her in even closer if that was even possible. His nose dropped down into her hair, the scent of her invading his senses, comforting him. He was back home. Safe. And she was here waiting for him.
“I know, baby, I’m sorry.” He murmured, the nickname falling freely in his solace.
She didn’t seem to mind.
They returned home just as the sun dipped below the horizon, losing the orange hues of the sunset to a dark velvet sky littered with stars. The journey was much easier on the way back now that they had Joel’s old truck that was waiting for him down by the docks. As well as the fact that the reassurance of Joel’s return replaced the heavy feeling of fear that had haunted Y/N for the past three days.
They were greeted by a homemade meal, left behind by Y/N’s father. A gift either of consolation or celebration. She was grateful it was the latter.
And once their bellies were full and the pain of the day was washed away in soothing streams of hot water, the two of them stood in the hallway once again. Y/N was unsure of what to do. Less than a week ago they had crossed a boundary she hadn’t even dreamed of. Now they were standing at the precipice of something even greater. And since Joel was safe at home once again, the anticipation to act on it was dripping from the walls.
Was she ready for such a feat? Was Joel expecting something like this to happen? Nerves brought a tremor to her hands.
Meanwhile, Joel could feel the tips of his ears burning at the memory of what happened the last time they were alone together. Her moans had him weak in the knees, her skin was soft to the touch, things he only knew since Y/N had made the first move in this very hallway. A bolder woman than what stood in front of him now, as her eyes stayed glued to the floor, her breathing fragmented from timidity.
His gaze softened as he took in the sight of her.
“I don’t know what you’re expectin’ to happen...” He breathed, a soft smile turning up the corners of his mouth, “But I can assure you it’s not what you’re thinkin’...”
Y/N’s eyes flickered up at the teasing lilt to his words. She was met with a mischievous gleam in those brown eyes as he repeated the very first thing she ever said to him. She couldn’t help her own grin that bloomed across her lips.
At her smile, he felt brave enough to bring a hand up to her cheek.
“You have nothing to worry about, darlin’” He then murmured, stroking his thumb over the soft skin. She leaned in his touch, peering up at him through her lashes. “We don’t have to do anythin’.”
“I want to.” She whispered back, her words causing his breath to hitch in his throat. “Eventually… but tonight…”
He nodded, removing his touch from her face. “I understand.”
The floorboards creaked as he took a step back. But surprise shot up his spine when she moved to clutch his fallen hand with both of her own.
“But tonight could you just lay with me?” She quickly added.
She looked up at him expectantly, the plush of her bottom lip dragged between her teeth. He let out a low labored breath.
“Y-yeah.” He nodded, the word weak on his tongue. He was afraid that if he spoke any louder he might scare her off. Though the grip of her fingers locked around his palm proved to him that she was there to stay. A reassurance he was always grateful for.
Y/N tugged at his hand, urging him to follow as she guided their way into her bedroom. It was an odd choice, considering the master bedroom was just right there and the bed was bigger. But to be invited into her private sanctuary was an opportunity he would never pass on. So his feet followed eagerly.
It was dark in the room when they entered and it stayed that way as no one made a move to turn on the light. Unfortunately, what she had done to make the bedroom her own was lost to his eyes, but that regret was soon forgotten as he heard the squeak of mattress springs and the shuffling of blankets.
As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he found Y/N’s form on the bed in front of him, he stood on the side, basking in the glory of this moment.
“Come here.” Her whisper found him through the dark. His stomach swooped at the sultry sound of her voice. But he ignored any provocative thoughts that wormed its way into his brain. Instead, he obeyed her command, the mattress dipping as he slid under the covers beside her.
In an instant, his senses were invaded by her scent as well as her warmth. There was only an inch or two of distance between them. Both lying on their backs, staring up at the ceiling, afraid to move, afraid to breathe.
A sharp intake of breath rang out from Joel when the touch of her fingertips smoothed over his open palm in the space between them. Naturally, his own digits curled around hers. He heard as she sighed happily from his reciprocation.
And somehow— despite how fast his heartbeat was when he had her writhing under his tongue only a few days prior, it was nothing compared to the small gentle act of holding her hand.
~
Joel was up before the sun.
As was the case every morning, since his body's internal clock was intune with the demanding schedule his occupation thrusted upon him. So he was used to opening his eyes to a darkened world, not yet warmed by rays of sunlight.
Though today was slightly different. He wasn’t woken by the natural fluttering of his eyelids as his dreams from that night slipped away; Instead it was the press of another person’s form against his body, an arm draped over his torso, legs intertwined between his own, head resting on his chest.
He stiffened once he remembered where he was and who it was.
Y/N.
She was warm through the fabric of their pajamas. So much so that Joel didn’t even miss the warmth of the sun like he usually did during these dark and frigid mornings. A deep contented sigh pushed through the structure of his chest, Y/N’s head moving in time with his breathing. The movement elicited a small whine from her lips.
The sound had his heart racing yet again, reminding him of the other noises she was capable of making.
Those noises had been replaying over and over in Joel’s mind ever since he was blessed to hear them— even better, to create them with the touch of his own hands and lips. He brought the memory with him when he was on that small boat, miles out at sea, restless in his cot as he ached to return home to her.
When they were caught in the throes of that storm all he could think about was her. The drive of it kept him alive throughout the chaos.
Now here he was, sharing in her warmth, despite the awkward navigation of their newfound forms of intimacy. Anticipation surged through his muscles, pulling away the last dregs of sleep that had plagued his limbs.
Joel cursed under his breath as something else began to stir to life.
This was a young man's game. He was in over his head with the feelings she evoked from him. Never in his life had he experienced anything quite like this. The way every part of his body begged for every part of hers. Everything he’d felt for those before her was just a crude imitation of what he felt for her at this very moment. It was almost an insult to compare. Nothing could ever compare..
And he had no idea what he was supposed to do.
Which was funny. Because this woman was his wife. She was the one person he should feel this for. But with the way they had started Joel wasn’t sure what he was allowed to take what he wanted. Was he allowed to be selfish the way he wanted to? Everything surrounding the two of them was delicate. And Joel was terrified of breaking it with his large and clumsy hands.
For now he would just have to hold himself back. Be gentle in the way that he navigated this unknown territory. Which meant he had to do the hardest thing in the world.
He had to get out of this bed.
Slowly and cautiously he detangled his limbs from the woman beside him. He trained his eyes on her face, searching for any sign that his movements were waking her up. The line between her eyebrows showed itself when her cheek lost the firm foundation of his chest, but that— and a few incoherent mumbles— was all that occurred as he slipped himself out of her bed. Luckily, she seemed to be a sound sleeper as she curled up into herself without Joel’s warmth.
Joel stood above her, almost caught in a trance from how disgruntled she looked now that he was gone, proof of the effect he had on her as well. A small smile danced on his lips. And then he allowed himself one indulgence as he leaned over to brush a faint kiss over her forehead. He felt her features smooth under his lips, seemingly content with his departing gift.
~
To wake up alone in a cold empty bed was not what Y/N had expected that morning. There were a few instances during the night, when her dreams took a pause that she would wake up, eyes blinking in the dark. And she quickly grew accustomed to the strong presence that Joel was. The soft steady sound of his snores was a comfort to the girl’s ears as they rumbled through his chest. At some point in the night his strong arms had encircled around her waist, pulling her into his warmth.
That very same warmth, having been taken away from her, was now sorely missed. She stretched an arm out over the expanse of her bed, fingers groping at where Joel once lay.
She supposed she should’ve expected to wake up like this, considering how early he left every morning. But she would have thought she would’ve woken up when the time came. At least long enough to spare a goodbye before he headed off to work.
Disappointment sat heavy over her form like a stormy rain cloud. Y/N tried not to dwell on it, but as always her feelings were too strong to contain, so throughout the whole rest of the day she moved about the house wistful in demeanor. Yearning for Joel despite the fact he would be home in a few hours time.
Was this usually how it happened when you start to feel this way towards someone? Like your whole world stops turning when they aren’t near? Whatever the case, she knew that these feelings were not to be taken lightly. There was a rarity to them that made her heart much more precious to the woman. She felt like she needed to keep it safe, deep in her pocket where no harm would find it, and no one would be able to see the extremities of her feelings.
And that’s where she kept it as her restless feet wandered into town.
But as she walked, something funny happened. Everywhere she looked, everything seemed so much brighter. The people who passed her by greeted her with warm ‘hello’s’ and ‘how are you’s’. Kids were laughing as they played in the street, laughing. There were lovers in front of shops holding hands and exchanging stolen kisses. Birds were singing. The sun was… shining? Everything that used to be dreary about the island, everything that Y/N hated, had somehow flipped to be the exact opposite of what it used to be. Or perhaps… it had always been like this and she just hadn’t noticed, too caught up in her own pretension and desperate need to escape.
Perhaps this island really did live up to its name.
Why was it that she had just noticed this now? What had changed?
She thought of her beating heart, hidden in her deepest pocket. And then froze in her tracks.
She was reminded of something. Something she had only heard in the old sea-shanties her father used to sing while he cooked. In the stories her mother used to whisper to her at bedtime. And that used to worm her way into her dreams late at night, planting the idea that she had to escape in the first place. She had to go find it.
It was love.
And it hit her like a ton of bricks.
Well, not the love part, that made sense to her as the loose ends were finally tied together. What surprised her the most was that she didn’t have to travel to the furthest reaches of the earth to find it. It had been on this very island the whole entire time. And it was fated to be shared with the man she was hell-bent against marrying.
Incredulous laughter began to bubble out of her throat. So much so that she had to brace herself on her knees as she gasped for air. She was definitely living up to her reputation as the crazy woman, earning strange glances from passersby. But she didn’t care. She never cared. All she really cared about was burning passionate love, that’s what she had been yearning for all her life. And she was almost too stupid to realize that it was right under her nose.
Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong!
The clocktower in town was chiming at the start of the new hour. Five o’clock… It pulled Y/N out of her unexpected fit of laughter. Joel would be on his way home right at this very moment. And without thinking twice, the woman began to run.
~
Joel returned to an empty house. This wasn’t entirely unusual, as there were some days Y/N would be out in the garden, lounging on the porch swing she loved oh-so much, having lost track of time. He would always find her, caught in the middle of a fascinating passage, one she couldn’t tear her eyes from. The idea of dinner would not have crossed her mind, as it was often lost in the clouds.
He never minded that, though. In fact, he quite liked finding her like that because then it meant that he would get the chance to be by her side while they made their meal together. And he also couldn’t lie about the fact that he enjoyed seeing the image of her, so carefree, with her knees tucked beneath her, skin glowing underneath the evening sun. He would always take a moment to stop and watch her, drinking in the sight of her peace before having to force her out of it.
A small smile spread across his lips at the thought he’d catch her like that now. His heavy footfalls rang out into the quiet household as he crossed the floor towards the back door. His anticipation flickered deep in his stomach once more, excited to see her.
But he was left in disappointment and slight worry when he was greeted with the sight of an empty porch swing. It looked so much sadder without her presence, the loss of her making obvious the peeling white paint and rusted chains that made the furniture what it was. Lackluster without her. A feeling now all too familiar to Joel as he searched the rest of the house, finding empty room after empty room.
He had seen this before. Lived through it. Deja vu in the form of his ex wife whittled its way into his brain. He recalled the day he found her missing. How he felt when he realized she wasn’t coming back. This was so much worse. Because now it was Y/N.
The woman he had unexpectedly fallen for, head over heels. The woman who promised him she wouldn’t do the same and that she would stay right here with him in this house.
It must’ve been too much to ask for. Joel must have wanted too much. Taken too much. She must have come to her senses and realized the potential she was wasting in a marriage with an old man like him. Dread was quick to overtake him, he knew that much. But he had never been a lucky man. Everything he ever loved was always lost to him. Why would anything change now?
Joel found himself sitting on the front step of his porch, head clutched in his hands. He wasn’t exactly sure what it was that brought him out there. Maybe he needed the fresh air to rid the panic in his lungs. Or maybe it was that flicker of hope that still burned within his heart. Maybe she would return home to him. If his hopes weren’t for nothing.
“Joel?”
His head snapped up to find Y/N standing in front of him. She was out of breath, a sheen of sweat covering her skin, causing her to glow brighter than she usually did. Her irises sparked with worry as she took in the sight of his hunched form on the porch. Though once he registered that she was really there, standing in front of him, he shot to his feet.
“Y/N.” He replied, his voice riddled with a confusing tone of surprised awe, eyes thick with relief. The girl’s brows furrowed. He took the remaining two steps down to where she stood, his hands bracing themselves on her shoulders.
“Where were you?” He questioned, somewhat angrily, though through that she could see a form of desperation hiding behind it all.
“I’m sorry I was— I just came from town.” She answered, having not yet fully caught her breath, the words were hushed between her overworked lungs.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He practically begged out the question. “I could’ve brought you home.”
“I’m sorry.” She said earnestly, wrapping her fingers around his wrists. “I didn’t think of it. I was in a hurry to get back.”
“Why?”
She looked down at the ground between their feet, the distance between them small, soon to become even smaller, she was sure. A bashful smile crept up onto her lips.
“I wanted to see you.” She murmured, eyes still averted as a slight heat pinched at her cheeks. Somehow it was much harder to face him, now that she had put a name to what she had been feeling.
Surprise stiffened her shoulders when Joel let out a harsh breath of relief, his head dropping into the crook of her neck, arms looping around her waist. She soon softened under his embrace, her fingers tangling within his sea-breeze tangled hair.
“I thought you left.” He mumbled into her skin. Y/N’s stomach dropped at the hidden fear behind his words. She now understood completely where this strange new demeanor was coming from. She quickly shook her head, knowing Joel felt as she did when her cheekbone brushed against his ear in time with the movement.
“No.” She whispered. “No, I would never.”
His hold on her tightened with the words spoken. Y/N smoothed her hand over the back of his head, hoping it brought some form of comfort to the man. As his shoulders began to relax, she knew that it did. She continued her reassurance.
“I’m sorry.” Y/N tilted her head towards him, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “I wasn’t thinking clearly. I should’ve come down to the docks.”
“Why didn’t you?” He asked, pulling back from his hiding spot, eyes searching for the answer.
Y/N drew in a deep breath, the heat in her cheeks burning fiercer than before. She averted her gaze towards the gravel pathway, taking a step back so that possibly she could find her words within the created distance. Nerves, fairly quickly, took over her form.
“Well… to start, I think— pretty early on in our marriage you must have realized that I wasn’t exactly ecstatic about the whole ordeal.” She rambled as she began to pace, wild with her movements the way she was erratic with her words.
Joel opened his mouth to confirm, but she was speaking so fast that he never had the chance. So he watched on, almost incredulously, eyes following her as she paced back and forth in front of him, avoiding his gaze.
“I mean… I don’t think you were totally happy with it either, considering how we were at the beginning… —Anyways, none of that matters now.” Y/N waved her arms, trying to get rid of any more unnecessary words.
“The reason I was so unhappy— at first— was because I was so desperate to fall in love.” She continued, the last word ringing familiar in Joels ear. A smile perked up the corners of his mouth as realization dawned on him, patiently waiting for the girl to finish her rant.
“And I didn’t think an arranged marriage could have any possibility of that.” Y/N glanced quickly over at Joel, finding him nodding along in exaggerated understanding, strong arms crossed over his chest.
“But then a funny thing happened, when I was walking into town and I suddenly realized…” She stopped moving, facing the man head on as she said her peace. “I think I may be in love with you— No… I know that I’m in love with you.”
As he considered her— standing in front of him, with begging eyes and shaking hands— he bit back a brighter grin. With this onslaught of information he wasn’t exactly sure how he should say what he wanted to say. If the girl would even give him the chance to do so.
“And that’s why I didn’t meet you at the docks.” Y/N finished, quite lamely, hands raised out from her sides as if offering him the floor. Though, her arms flopped back down to their original position quickly after.
“So…” Joel started slowly, killing the woman with every second his pause dragged out. “You didn’t come to the docks… because you’re in love with me?”
“It would seem so.” She confirmed, her voice small with apprehension. “Do you have anything to say on the matter?”
“Just one thing.” He breathed, before taking a step forward, he looped an arm around her waist pulling her against him. A gasp fell from her lips at the eagerness in this action, her hands impulsively landing on his chest. Joel's other hand moved to rest on the side of her face, guiding her lips to slot against his in a deep-seated kiss.
It was as if the entirety of her being were in her lips, like there was nothing else in the world as he pressed soft kisses to the plush skin. Kisses that somehow conveyed the entire range of how he felt towards her. The passion showed itself as he nipped at her bottom lip with his teeth. The tenderness shown in the gentle caress of his tongue. The love being presented as he pulled back, resting his forehead against hers, it shining in the deep brown of his eyes.
“I love you too.” He confirmed what she saw within his irises, her heart swelling that she wasn’t on her own in feeling this way.
“I didn’t realize that’s what it was until I thought you were gone.” He told her, “I think I might’ve…”
His words trailed off, replaced with a deep breath as he pulled her in closer, as if making sure she was really there in his arms.
“I think I might’ve felt this way for a really long time.” He ended. Y/N smiled warmly up at him, tilting her head to brush her nose against his own.
“Me too.”
And neither one of them really knew exactly when that could have been. Perhaps it was the very first time they laid eyes on each other. Or during one of their many shared meals as they sat across from one another in comfortable silence. Or the distance that kept them apart by raging seas. Maybe it shifted with the constant storms that would rain down over their house. Or maybe it was written in the stars, destined to happen. Whatever the case, it didn’t really matter to them now as they melted back into each other, lips crashing in a great crescendo portraying exactly the burning passion this island was supposed to be known for.
Their next movements were like a white blinding light as they forged through the front door of their home, shoes left behind,— the excitement that should’ve been present on their wedding night was now following them through the living room and up the creaky stairs. Y/N’s grip on Joel’s hand was strong as she pulled him down the hallway towards the master bedroom, but she still wasn’t strong enough to keep him moving when he stopped abruptly. She turned to face him.
“Wh—?” Her question was interrupted when he pressed her against the wall, his lips finding hers once more. A small squeak of surprise from the young woman was muffled by Joel’s kiss, swallowing it down. His hands were firm on her waist, fingers slipping under the hem of her shirt. Her skin was hot to the touch.
“Joel.” She moaned against his lips, the touch of his thumb rubbing slow circles into her skin sending bolts of electricity straight to her toes.
His name sounding like that coming from her was enough to have Joel’s entire being on fire. He could feel himself harden with every moan she gifted him, as well as his resolve weakening, patience wearing thin.
Shifting his grip, his hands were now clutching at the back of Y/N’s bare thighs (since she had miraculously had the good sense to wear shorts today). On instinct, using the leverage of Joel’s grasp, she jumped into his arms, legs wrapping around his waist. The momentum of their bodies coming together had Joel stumbling backwards, back hitting the other wall. The artwork hanging on aging nails rattled in their frames, threatening to crash to the floor as they shook from the collision. Neither husband or wife paid this any mind as they clutched onto each other, lips still vehemently attached, moans and grunts being traded within their kiss.
Soon, Joel’s feet were moving once again, carrying Y/N over the threshold of his bedroom. Like a man was supposed to do with his bride, finally given the chance to do so. Though his grip almost slackened when she pulled her lips away from his, replacing them on the skin below his ear. He cursed under his breath as she began to suckle against a sweet spot he never even knew existed.
Against all odds, he made it to the bed, falling backwards against the plush surface, springs squeaking under their combined weight. Y/N was not at all deterred by this new position, her forearms bracing themselves on either side of Joel's head as she kissed her way down his neck, hoping she was even half as good as Joel was at this sort of thing.
She supposed she wasn’t half bad as his breathing was soon labored under the touch of her lips, thick fingers twisting into the fabric of her shirt. She smiled against his skin, especially so when she finally lowered her hips down over his own, the sign of his enjoyment pressing harshly into her inner thigh. Y/N rolled her hips into him, hoping for that very same reaction she had gotten the first time she did this. With no surprise at all, she prevailed.
“Shit—.” He hissed, hands darting to grip at her hips. “Wait.”
Somehow he was strong enough to still her movements. Or maybe Y/N couldn’t help but obey the words said by this man. In either case, time began to slow down, their frantic movements ceasing. Y/N pushed up on her hands, sitting back on her heels so that she could meet his gaze. Joel’s hands found their home on the skin of her thighs, thumbs instinctively rubbing those soothing circles once again.
He drew in a breath, staring up at her with soft brown eyes. “Have you ever done this before?”
A shy look flitted across the woman's pretty features, her bashful smile weakened as her bottom lip was tugged between her lips. She shook her head, eyes trained to the top button of Joel’s shirt.
He swallowed against a newly dry throat as he realized she was willing to give him everything. Pink swelling up into his cheeks when his cock convulsed at the thought. Surely she had to have felt that, the gasp slipping from her lips proving that she did.
“I… I don’t wanna rush you into doing anything you’re not ready for.” Joel murmured, “We can take it as slow as you need.”
Y/N offered him a sweet smile at his words, her fingers toying with that button she had her eye on. They were trembling slightly, not out of fear but instead a steady form of anticipation.
“We’ve been married for almost a year now.” She responded, her tone soft. “I think we’ve taken it slow enough.”
“Alright then.” Joel responded in that same tone, a small smile matching her own, his heart lurching at what was to come next.
And he could have easily slipped back into the pace they had set when they had crashed into the room. His desires were certainly begging him to do so. But this was their first time indulging in this act as a married couple— her first time at all. So despite the protests of his aching body, Joel would take his time, offer every part of himself to her and hope she would offer the same.
He smoothed his hand up her thigh, carving his way up to rest his fingers behind her ear, thumb against her cheek. Without much force at all, he guided her gently until their lips were touching once again, this time in a slower kiss. She relaxed against him, chest resting on his. A small whimper escaped the back of her throat at the tenderness of it all.
The small noise spurred Joel into rolling Y/N onto her back, flipping the preexisting roles, covering her with the shadow of his form. His hands were braced on the plush surface beside her head, holding his weight above her. His knee was positioned between her thighs. She was a whimpering mess, grinding up into him, desperate to relieve the ache between her legs. Joel couldn’t help the smirk that appeared over his lips. The bold woman who was kissing down his neck just a mere few minutes ago was long gone. A dark part of him took pleasure at the sight of her like this, desperate for him. It didn’t help how pretty she was splayed underneath him, eyes darkened with lust, bottom lip trembling, hips rutting towards the thigh that was too far away from where she wanted him.
He wouldn’t give it to her. Not yet at least. He was going to take his time. He set his hand against her hip, forcing her to stop her movements, holding her in place.
Lowering himself towards her, he brushed his lips across Y/N’s in a quick kiss. He placed another on the apple of her cheek. Another on her temple. And again at the corner of her mouth. He was moving so slow that she could feel the flutter of his eyelashes tickling her skin. She sighed at each kiss, relishing in his attentiveness.
She was cold when he removed himself from her, standing up at the side of the bed. Even more so when his hands lifted the hem of her shirt, pulling it up over her head. Her nipples were pebbled against the white lace of her bra, made more obvious as she leaned up on her elbows. His darkened eyes roamed over her body, no inch left undiscovered. His fingers continued to do their work of revealing more, when he popped open the button of her shorts. The garment soon discarded on the floor with her shirt.
All that she was left in was her undergarments, grateful she had put on a matching set that morning. Joel stood fully clothed in front of her, on unequal ground but somehow the thought excited her. She could feel herself flush behind the skin of her cheeks, turning her head so she could hide behind the back of her hand.
“Don’t hide from me, darlin’” He whispered, catching her in the act, fingers clasping around her wrist. She complied letting the limb fall back to its original position. She dared herself to meet his strong gaze as he continued, another gasp swirling into the air when he spread her thighs, the wetness between her legs more obvious once the cold air contrasted with the heat of her arousal.
“Look at you…” Joel groaned, toying with the hem of her panties where her thigh met her center, the fleeting touch of his fingers causing her hips to twitch up towards him. He watched her restlessness with slight amusement, though he granted her some form of relief as he dipped his pointer finger into her soaked panties. Though he only did so to pull the fabric away from her burning heat, and a second later he let it snap back down, the sound louder than expected as it smacked against her folds.
“Don’t do that.” Y/N whined, squirming under his teasing.
“What? You don’t like it?” He did it again, causing the girl to jolt up further on the bed. She whined once, but she didn’t exactly have any words to argue with him. She sort of did like his teasing. But impatience was taking over her.
“I— I think I’m ready.” She breathed heavily through her nose as his fingers continued to play around with the fabric of her panties.
“Ready?” He questioned, brows furrowed.
“Ready for you to— for your…” She stammered, embarrassment flooding her senses as she couldn’t find how to put it.
“For my cock?” He finished for her. She squeaked at the unexpected harshness of his words, but was pleased by the sharp ache that probed at her core.
“Mhm.” She nodded, shutting her eyes, almost as if bracing herself.
They shot back open at the sound of Joel’s soft laughter filling the room, she was greeted with the sight of his bright smile, his head shaking.
“What?” Y/N asked, slightly perturbed at the fact he was laughing at her. He only shook his head, bending to loop an arm around her waist, shifting her body with ease so that she now lay properly on the bed, head sinking into the plush material of his pillows. She huffed in annoyance, lifting herself up back on her elbows so that he could feel the full force of her glare.
“You’re not even close to ready for me, sweetheart.” He told her, a strong knee propped on the bed. His fingers were working on the buttons of his dark green shirt, revealing a smattering of hair that was once hidden by its confines. Y/N paused as she hungrily drank in the reveal of his skin, but was soon disappointed when he stopped at the third button down. Any complaints she had were lost on her tongue when he swung his other leg onto the bed, trapping the woman between his knees as he sat above her.
He looked like a god in this position. Skin shining under the sunlight that slid into the room in its golden hour, the shadows of his strong features accentuated. She wasn’t sure if she should cower under his might, she was more grateful to be bestowed with this sight of him. Ready to sacrifice anything to him.
“I feel ready.” She murmured up to him, “Want you inside of me, Joel.”
An unanticipated shiver shot up the length of Joel's spine at her admission, his erection growing harsher within the limits of his underwear. He sucked in a deep breath, shaking his head as if he had to deliberately make the move to hold himself back.
“I want that too, baby.” He mumbled, shifting to smooth his hands down the expanse of her stomach, needing his hands on her in some shape or form. “But ‘m too big for you.”
“Too big?” Y/N parroted her eyes widening. He nodded.
“Have t’ get you ready for me.” He relayed, “Especially since you’ve never had anythin' up there before.”
“Yes I have.” She countered, her tone becoming more defiant. Joel stilled at her words, knowing that could only mean one thing.
“Your fingers?” He swallowed against the words. Y/N’s shy demeanor returned, she looked away.
“Yes.” She said, her voice small.
Joel held back a groan threatening at the back of his throat, the image of her playing with herself, cumming around her fingers, forcing its way to the forefront of his mind. He could feel as more precum leaked out of his tip, slicking against his skin. His heartbeat was ringing in his ears.
“It’s not gonna be the same.” He strained, shaking his head.
“Will it hurt?”
“A little… at first.” He told her honestly, “That’s why I need you to be ready for me. It’ll hurt you less and I… just wanna make you feel good.”
Y/N softened at the earnest look in Joel’s eyes as he spoke, her heartbeat hammering in her chest with how much care he was providing for her.
“Okay.” She relented, her hands moving up to grasp at the bottom of his shirt, tugging him towards her. He followed her movements with no resistance, leaning down to kiss her, deep and steady.
“Make me feel good then.” She whispered into his lips.
“As you wish.” He replied, in the same hushed tone.
Joel sat back on his heels, admiring her in the golden light for just a second longer before he started. They held each other’s stare, the love they confessed blooming in the air between them, warming their bones, making their hearts beat in time.
His touch was light as he slid her panties down her legs, losing the piece of fabric somewhere on the bed behind him. He placed a featherlight kiss across her collarbone as he unclasped her bra, her back arching into him so he had the room to remove it. He tossed it in the same aimless direction. And when he sat back, she was bare to him.
“Beautiful.” He mumbled, tracing his knuckles down her sternum to her belly button, she shivered under his touch, or maybe from the compliment.
Then he placed himself gently on the pillow beside her. He brought a large hand to her chin, tilting her head to the side so that she’d meet his gaze. Kissing her lips gently, he slid that same hand down the length of her stomach until his fingers were pressing into her pubic mound. He pulled away from her lips, so he could see every little reaction that she had for him.
Her pretty lips fell open when he dipped his fingers lower, collecting the wetness that was pooling at her entrance. He hummed at how wet she was, the slick covering his two fingers when he brought them back up to rub circles into her clit. A moan was instantly pulled from her, her body jolting at the sensation, breasts bouncing as she did. Joel drank in every minute of it.
And once he knew she was completely ready, he finally slipped a finger inside of her.
Y/N sucked in a harsh breath, she wasn’t expecting his finger to feel so large inside of her. But it was nothing to what she had felt before when she tried something like this on her own. She felt so full with just the use of his finger, stretching her out so resolutely, that she wondered how it would feel once it was the real thing. She was whimpering once again due to Joel’s actions, her hands shot up to grasp at Joel’s bicep, his shirt taut over the flexing muscle.
“You want another finger?” He asked into her temple.
“Y-yes.” She breathed, already wanting more from him. And he wasn’t going to deny her of what she wanted. So he added the second finger, the obscene sound of it squelching into the air. He changed the position of his hand, as well, his thumb now prodding at her clit whenever he thrust his hand back into her.
Y/N’s hips moved in time with each of Joel’s movements, even as he sped up, the sound of his palm smacking against her wetness growing louder and louder. Her moans were now tumbling over her tongue at a constant rate, her head thrown back against the pillow.
Joel’s eyes were still watchful over her, he gaped at how beautiful she looked, coming undone with only the use of his fingers. He couldn’t stop from grinding himself into her hip, moving at the same pace as his fingers, too turned on by her to try and hold back.
His own moans were muffled when he started kissing at her neck, and then down the soft flesh of her breasts, until he flicked his tongue over her sensitive nipple.
That was the beginning of Y/N’s breaking point. Him curling his fingers inside of her, probing at a small spongy spot hidden deep inside of her, was the end.
Her orgasm ripped through her like a freight train, her cum splashing itself onto Joel’s palm. Her legs couldn’t stop shaking, even when he pulled his digits out of her. He chuckled softly as he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her into his chest. On instinct she curled into him, fingers clutching at the lapels of his shirt, her body still trembling as she floated back down from the sky.
“How was that?” He questioned, holding her tighter against him. She could feel her own slick on his fingers as they pressed into her lower back.
“Good.” She said into the crook of his neck, voice shaky, earning another laugh from the man.
“We can stop now, if you want.” He told her, lips pressed into her hair.
Y/N pushed against his chest, freeing herself from her previous hiding spot. She looked at him with furrowed brows and found nothing but honesty and adoration flickering across his irises. God, he really would stop for her, if she asked him too. In fact, the look he was giving her told her that he would do anything for her. She let out a frustrated breath, surely he wasn’t so stupid to think that she wouldn’t do the same for him.
“I don’t want to stop.” She said, genuine with her words. Maybe a bit too forceful as she sat up.
“O-okay.” Joel relinquished, eyes wide at her eagerness, following her in the action of sitting up, his back now straightened.
“It’s slightly unfair, you know.” Y/N then said, placing a hand to the center of his chest, pushing lightly so that he would rest against the headboard. There was no resistance, he did as she said.
“What is?” Joel inquired, his breathing quickening as Y/N sat on her knees beside his hip. His eyes were trained to the crease between her thigh and waist, relishing in her every curve. It was a cruel reminder of his hardened cock trapped in his pants, twitching at the sight. He didn’t even notice as her hands started to unbutton his shirt. That was until she started kissing at each newly revealed piece of skin. He sucked in a harsh breath at the touch of her lips.
“You always get to see me like that.” She said between kisses. And he could’ve argued that it had only ever been twice, but he didn’t want to know what would happen if he interrupted her wrath. “And yet you always hide from me.”
“I don’t hide from you.” Joel countered, his knuckles white from his grip on the sheets beneath him. “You’re just not the opportunist like I am.”
A surge of pride spread out under Joel’s skin as Y/N’s sweet laughter bubbled into the air. The sound of it doing as much to him as her moans did. He loved hearing her laugh. Like it was proof that she was actually happy with him. Though he supposed the proof was right in front of him, as she continued to leave loving kisses across his chest.
Joel’s shirt was finally discarded, granting Y/N the sight she had been desperate to see for so long. A beauty to behold. He wasn’t exactly all hard lines and jagged edges. But he was strong and large, and soft in the places he needed to be. His skin was tanned and taut over muscles that could only be carved by the waves of a raging sea. But there were scars left behind, probably a result of tragedies endured on his countless journeys. Y/N left a soft kiss over each one.
And then her hands were soon preoccupied by a new task, the metal parts of his belt clanking against each other as she removed the constriction.
Joel waited with bated breath. He had to force himself not to ask if she was really sure about this. Because if she wasn’t, she definitely would not be slowly sliding open the zipper to his pants. Or then tugging them down his thick thighs, revealing the black fabric of his boxer briefs. And she definitely would not now be palming at the bulge between his legs. Which she was.
A groan fell from his lips once she had her hand squeezing at his erection. His hips jutted forward into her palm, his need for her touch too obvious for his own good. His eyes flickered up to find a look of pure wonder on the woman’s features, maybe she was surprised she could elicit such reactions from him.
“Feel’s s’ good, baby.” He reassured, the words falling from his lips between soft grunts of pleasure. Y/N’s eyes snapped up to meet his. He stared back, lids hooded over darkened eyes overblown with lust. His hips were now rolling up into her hand, over and over, unable to stop.
“Really?” She squeaked.
“Yeah.” He grunted out, any coherent sentences lost to him as lust overtook him. Especially when her fingers hooked around the hem of his underpants, pushing them down to follow the path of his pants.
He gasped when the cold air hit his burning erection.
She gasped at the sight of it.
His cock sprang up once it was finally free from its confines, the tip hitting his lower belly, leaving behind a splotch of precum against his skin. And Joel was right… he was big. It was thick, just like the rest of him, with protruding veins running up the side. The head of it was red and angry, shining with the proof of his arousal.
And surprisingly, despite the aggressive look of his erection, the woman wasn’t scared like she thought she’d be. Instead she was drawn to it. Drawn to him. Because she was drawn to every part of him. So there was no time wasted when her smaller hand wrapped around his length.
Joel cursed under his breath, head falling back against the headboard with a dull thud. Just the touch of her hand already had him weak, ready to unravel. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to last once he finally felt the tight confines of her cunt fluttering around him. So for now he enjoyed the soft touch of her hand, closing his eyes as her thumb spread his precum over the tip with gentle touches.
She was slow with her movements, which was alright by Joel. It granted him time to breathe, as well as the fact that this was the first time she’s ever done anything like this. He didn't need to move any faster than this if she didn't want to. His arousal sat low in his belly, happily waiting in the anticipation.
Though, his blood spiked when he felt the wet touch of her tongue against the head of his cock.
“W-what are you doin’?” He asked, head snapping up to find her crouched down at his waist, hands splayed out on his thighs. She looked up at him through her lashes, tongue still unyielding against him. It was a sight he had dreamt about and longed for, but he never expected her to do anything like this tonight.
“You did this for me, right?” Y/N said between the tiny kitten licks she administered, “‘m only returning the favor.”
“You don’t have to do that.” He replied, shaking his head slightly. He brought a hand to her jawline, ready to pull her away from his erection, “You don’t owe me anythin’.”
“Okay… Well then it’s because I want to.” She countered, ignoring the presence of his hand and dipping her head downwards again. This time she wrapped her moistened lips over the entire tip.
“Fuck.” He hissed into the air, his hand moving from her cheek to her hair. He tried to be gentle with his grip, knowing she was new to all of this, but it was increasingly difficult to do so. Especially when she hummed in pleasure around his cock, seemingly relishing in the slight pain of having her hair pulled. She swirled her tongue around him, pulling a stuttering whimper from his lips.
She looked up at him at the sound. His head was thrown back once again, a thin layer of sweat coating his skin, he was breathing harshly through his nose, his handsome features twisted with euphoria. And it was all because of her.
Y/N felt as more wetness pooled between her legs and dripped down her inner thighs, she squirmed slightly as her arousal increased once again. As it turned out, she seemed to like having Joel like this, writhing under her in immense pleasure, whimpering from the touch of her tongue. She wondered if this is how he felt when he did the same thing to her. If he was this hard in her mouth because he gained pleasure from her pleasure. The thought spurred her on, moving her mouth further down his length.
Another deep groan rumbled out from his chest, eliciting a sound of affirmation from the woman, the vibration of her vocal chords shooting electricity through his body. He glanced back down at her, watching as she took him in as deep as she could.
“God, you look s’ pretty like that.”
And she did. Her mouth around his rigid cock, tears filling her eyes as he pushed deeper down her throat, her pupils blown out with need for him. He could cum to that sight. No— he was going to cum at the sight. He could feel the coil deep in his core about to snap as she continued. But he wasn’t going to let it end here.
“W-wait. Please, darlin’, you have to stop.” Joel said softly, as he gently pulled her off of him, Y/N’s features held a look of confusion and disappointment.
“Did I do something wrong?” She asked as he pulled her into his lap, his burning shaft now pressing nicely against the curve of her backside. He could feel how wet she was as she pressed her center into his lower abdomen, soaking the coarse hair spattered across the skin there.
“No.” He shook his head, “No, you were absolutely perfect, sweetheart. I just… I want to be inside you before I finish.”
“Oh.” Y/N smiled shyly, her head dipping down in slight embarrassment. “Okay.”
“Do you think you’re ready for me?” He asked tenderly, placing kisses onto her cheeks. She closed her eyes against his kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck and nodding her head.
Soon she was on her back, head surrounded by Joel’s fluffy pillows. The sun had slowly dipped further down towards the horizon, only leaving a little bit of light left in the room. It was soft and gentle, caressing the two of them in dimming shades of blue. Joel braced himself over her, bicep flexing when he lowered himself to leave a kiss against her lips.
“I’ll start slow.” He whispered to her afterwards, leaning his forehead onto hers, a large hand smoothing over her outer thigh. The pressure of his fingertips were somehow soft within his guiding grasp, positioning her leg over his hip. A shock of pleasure erupted in Y/N’s core as she felt the length of Joel’s cock nestle in between her folds at this new position. Joel’s shoulders trembled, breathing growing heavy, his reaction to the same thing.
Y/N’s own breath hitched in her throat as Joel’s hands snaked between them. He wrapped his calloused fingers around his shaft, guiding the tip through Y/N’s slit and brushing it lightly against her clit. Simultaneous gasps intermingled in the air between their lips as they relished in the sensation.
“Joel.” Y/N whimpered, the unsaid words begging for more. He only nodded in return, his attention locked on the space between their hips, slowly growing smaller as he finally pushed the head of his cock inside of her.
Y/N could immediately tell the difference between this and his fingers. Before was barely anything compared to this. Now she was finally full, finally complete. And it was only the beginning as Joel slowly pushed himself deeper.
She whined at the stretch of him, fingernails scratching over his back. Joel wasn’t any better, hiding his face in the crook of her neck, releasing the most sinful of moans as he was slowly sucked in by her tight, wet warmth. The feel of her around him was more incredible than he imagined. So much so that he pushed in faster than intended, earning a sharp gasp from the woman beneath him. He stilled, immediately.
“Are you okay?” He asked, pulling away from her neck to gauge her true reaction. Her eyes were shut, bottom lip tucked between her teeth.
“‘m alright.” She replied, her heavy breathing causing her sensitive nipples to brush against Joel's chest, another spark of arousal surged through her bones. Another harsh moan was released from the man above her.
“Shit— baby, don’t do that.” He gritted his teeth.
Unknown to Y/N, when that bout of pleasure had traveled the length of her body, she had clenched around him at the sensation. The instance of which made Joel feel as though he might burst into flames. His cock jerked inside of her, the coil returning, slowly starting to unravel.
“Think you can take any more?” Joel questioned, once he could calm his beating heart as much as he could have.
“There’s more?” She stammered, confused since she already felt so full.
“Y-yeah there’s more.” Joel told her, trying his hardest not to move an inch, the task becoming increasingly difficult. Y/N released a shuddering breath.
“Yeah.” She nodded, “I can take it.”
“That’s my girl.” Joel chuckled airily, the affirmation causing a nice pool of warmth to settle in Y/N’s belly. But the feeling was soon replaced by the head of Joel’s cock as it moved deeper inside of her, the length of him making her believe he was truly proding into her stomach.
Slowly but surely the rest of him was sheathed inside of her, proven by the soft tickle of his pubic hair against her inner thighs. Joel let himself rest inside of her, allowing her to adjust to his size, his breathing deep and heavy as her walls squeezed around his cock.
She started squirming beneath him, desperate for him to do more.
“Please Joel.” She whimpered, “Move.”
“You want me to move, sweetheart?” He murmured, nipping at her earlobe with his teeth, her desperation causing something wicked within him to start teasing.
“Y-yes please, Joel. I need you.” She breathed, squeezing around him again. “Want you to fuck me.”
Joel’s entire body lurched at the words that slipped from her tongue. His heart hammering against his ribcage as it was completely unexpected. It caught him off guard, but he regained his bearings quickly, shaking free from the surprise as he took enjoyment from her dirty language.
“You do, huh?” He mumbled back, feeling her nod into his shoulder. “Is that what you want? For me t’ fuck you?”
“Yes.” She whined, a bit impatiently, more soft chuckles tumbled out of his lips.
“Okay, sweetheart.” He answered, “Anythin’ for you.”
And then he started moving. Slowly, so torturously slowly, sliding out until it was just his head that was left inside of her. Then, just as slowly he would sink all the way back in. He did that over and over again, causing an onslaught of pleasure to rip through the girl as the grooves of his cock carved into her walls so deliciously. She was a mess beneath him, shuddering and gasping with each slow movement he made.
Y/N arched into him, hands grasping at his back as he dipped his head, placing a kiss to her shoulder, moaning softly into her skin. Pleasure radiated throughout her body at every point of contact his skin had with hers, burning the brightest where the two of them connected. Even more so as Joel started to gradually speed up, still making long deep thrusts, but a little faster each time.
The bed started creaking beneath them, mixing in with the sound of their sensual moans as well as their skin slapping together in time with Joel’s thrusts. A cacophony of pleasure swirling around the room and serenading this moment as they finally connected in the way they always wanted to.
The sting of Joel’s size was now long forgotten as Y/N savored in the pleasure of him. Her arms were wound tightly around his neck, holding his head into her shoulder. She could feel his lips pressing into her skin, leaving deliberate kisses after each thrust. Her legs soon followed the same pattern as her arms, looping around his waist, pulling his body in close. Now there was no part of them left untouching.
His own arm soon snaked around her waist, drawing her in even closer if that was possible, her clit now firmly pressed against his pelvic bone. Y/N threw her head back with a deep moan, Joel’s lips attaching to her neck in record time. The heat low in her stomach returned from before, signifying that everything soon would come crashing down in a crescendo.
Joel’s cock twitched inside of her as he felt her walls fluttering around him. His own impending orgasm weighing heavy in his chest. He pulled his lips away from her skin.
“Look at me.” He said softly, despite the fact that his thrusts became sloppier by the second, his pace staggering as he involuntarily thrusted harder inside of her.
Y/N— despite struggling under the onslaught of her own oncoming orgasm, opened her eyes for him, meeting his soft brown gaze as they chased their highs. It was strange to see that gaze in this context, especially since the first time she saw it she would have never guessed this is where it would bring her. But now that she was here she couldn’t ask for anything she wanted more.
Except for one thing.
“Kiss me.” She said in return, and since Joel couldn’t deny her of anything, he did just that, bringing their lips together in a tender kiss. The touch of it sending Y/N over the edge.
Joel felt as she came around his cock, squeezing onto him like a velvet vice, her cum gushing out around the base of him, soaking his skin. He moaned deep and heavy at the sensation, his own orgasm on the precipice. He placed his thumb on Y/N’s clit— hoping that will be enough to help her down from her high— as he pulled himself out of her.
He grunted with each spurt of cum splattering itself onto Y/N’s stomach, his free hand tight around his shaft, the length of it jerking in his hand. His thighs tensed as his orgasm shot out from his hips, shoulders trembling from the pleasure of it all, his heart racing.
Then, as the euphoria began to fade, his legs were weak as he sat back on his knees, chest heaving as he looked down at the mess he made on his beautiful wife.
His cum was shining white against her skin, the gleam of it reflecting in the moonlight as her stomach moved up and down with each passing of her shallow breaths. Her limbs were limp against the mattress, eyes hooded as exhaustion took over her form. He smiled softly at the sight of her, sliding a hand underneath her to bring her up to his level. He pulled her into his lap, holding her flush against his chest— not caring that his cum was now smeared across his own stomach.
“You did so well, sweetheart.” He whispered to her, stroking his knuckles across her cheekbone, she leaned into his touch, humming in content. Joel leaned forward, placing a kiss on her forehead.
They sat like that for a minute, savoring the silence between them and the embrace of their lover. But it didn't last too long as Joel spoke once more.
“Come on.” He abruptly said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, taking Y/N with him as he did. She whined when she realized she was being pulled away from the comfort of a warm bed.
“What? Why? I wanna sleep.” She argued when her feet hit the wooden floor beside his own, moving to dive back under the covers. He caught hold of her before she could.
“We gotta wash up.” Joel countered, pulling her towards the door that sat in the corner of the room, the mystery (that was not so mysterious) soon to be revealed.
“And then we can go to bed?” She questioned, as her shaking legs became more willing to follow him
“Not quite.” Joel grinned, guiding her into the shower. When she offered him a look of confusion at his words, he answered the question written on her face.
“We still have to make dinner.”
And soon, after all the proof of their passion was washed clean from their skin, underneath swirling puffs of cedar-scented steam and occasionally interrupted by stolen kisses, the two of them made their way down to their kitchen. And an hour later, as they sat across the table from one another, under the golden glow of their kitchen light. They divulged in their carefully prepared meal, sharing shy smiles and fleeting glances between each bite. The sight of them alone contradicting any statement that the island they resided on didn’t live up to its name.
~~~
A/N: honestly this fic was born because of the smut scene in the kitchen, i can't lie 😩 and then i rewatched the music video for adore you by harry styles so i wanted this oneshot to be something romantic and whimsical in it's nature, so i hope that came across. Is it corny? yes! but I had so much fun writing this so i hope you had fun too!!! thank you so much for taking the time to read my work !! and now i'll be leaving, goodbye forever!! <33
Summary: you have a crush on a certain co-worker but are too shy to tell him. so someone does it for you.
Word count: 2.6k
A/N: THIS WAS A REQUEST BUT WHEN I TRIED TO REPLY TO IT IT DIDNT LET ME AND DELETED IT INSTEAD (also jean is a meddling little shit in this and u just gotta accept that)
You watched him from across the hall greedily, eyes drinking in his panting form, the sweat coating his chest and back, the strained muscles underneath his wife beater tank top. Logan was a sight for sore eyes on a normal day, but when he was working out? He had you practically rabid for him.
You were sitting on one of the benches, a forgotten book in your hand you hadn’t glanced at in ages, preferring to treat yourself to the image of Logan Howlett hot and sweaty while working out. There were a few other X-men exercising alongside him, and others on the bench with you hanging out so you weren’t too out of place, but everyone could see the way you looked at Logan.
Everyone but Logan himself.
You’d joined the team a few months ago- 5 to be exact- after whispers had gotten to you of a safe space for mutants. Having hidden your true genetic code from everyone else in your life, you jumped at the chance of not having to hide anymore. With your unique skill set too- the ability to formulate and present illusions- you were an exceptional addition to both the X-men and the teaching staff.
You thrived at the X mansion. The kids loved you, you got along well with your fellow teammates, and you had suggested and helped act on several improvements to both the school and the team. You were a good addition, and the other mutants were grateful to have you there.
You’d just had one problem when acclimating to the school. Your teeny, tiny, incredibly small crush on your fellow professor, Logan Howlett. At first you really had thought it would be no big deal. Just a co-worker you had noticed was slightly attractive. That’s all. Other mutants had told you he was hard to talk to, and had a gruff, moody personality, so you’d thought the attraction would soon fade.
Unfortunately it had only grown. The first time you’d realised, shit, this might actually be a problem, was when you’d gone to get a glass of water in the middle of the night and found Logan leaning against the kitchen counter, shirtless, with a beer in hand.
You’d been so flustered, eyes continuously betraying you and straying to his chest that you’d blurted out the first thing that came to your head, “how’d you get beer in here?”
Logan had chuckled, observing you as he brought the beer bottle to his mouth for a sip. “Why? Want some Sweetheart?”
You’d felt heat rise to your face at the nickname, shaking your head. “No, I was just curious.”
Logan stared at you a second longer, eyes trailing your figure appreciatively before shrugging. “Your loss. And unfortunately I can't tell you how I got it. Gotta keep it a secret lest Xavier finds out.”
You were too flustered to argue so you’d just nodded, mumbled a quick goodbye, and quickly walked back to your bedroom. You hadn’t even gotten your glass of water.
There had been other similar instances over the past few months. Logan just had a way to get under your skin, to cause your heart to go into cardiac arrest every time he looked at you, which made it hard to conceal your ever growing crush on him from literally everyone. Even your students knew about it, or at least had their suspicions, and you prayed they were too intimidated by Logan to ask him any questions about it. The last thing you needed was to get humiliated and have to pack up all your things and leave the home you had just created for yourself because you could no longer look any of your co-workers or students in the eyes again.
Especially Logan.
Things had escalated until you could barely look Logan in the eye anymore, and actively avoided him at all costs. The last thing you wanted to do was embarrass yourself in front of him, and though it was unpleasant you’d decided the best course of action was just to steer clear of him altogether.
Still, you allowed yourself some enjoyment, like watching Logan workout from afar while in a room full of people. The onlookers weren’t the best, but it was better than being alone with him when who knows what would happen.
“Like what you see?”
Storm’s voice dragged you out of your ogling, and you turned to her with a sheepish expression. “Maybe.”
She gave you a knowing look, raising her eyebrows. You ignored it, because you’d heard her suggestions many times before and found they didn’t align with your own interests.
“Go and tell him how you feel.”
And embarrass yourself when he inevitably rejects you? No thanks. You were more comfortable with keeping your feelings suppressed, continuously shoving them down, building a brick wall between them and you, to permanently keep them out. Yet for every single brick you added somewhere below you could feel three more being punched out, slowly destroying your barricades bit by bit.
Your eyes strayed back to Logan, like they always did, yet surprise striked you when you couldn’t find him. Your eyes scanned the room like a man on a mission, only to realise too late Logan was heading towards you, a towel in his sweaty grip.
He greeted Storm with a nod before his gaze zeroed in on you, and you mentally added another brick to your shield, determined to keep him out this time.
“Y/n,” he greeted, eyes never straying from your face.
You looked down, fidgeting with your hands. “Logan,” and, because you were incredibly weak willed- “did you have a good workout?”
You swear as you looked back up at him you saw the remnants of a smile on his face, but it was gone in the blink of an eye so you couldn’t be completely sure. You don’t think Logan had ever smiled at you, and you felt the bricks within you start to wobble.
“It was alright,” he said curtly, ever the man of few words. He lingered though, as if debating to say something, when it came out anyway. “I’d like it if you joined us next time.”
You felt your heartbeat increase. You felt the jump and the rapid incline as you processed what he said, your mind swimming.
“Me? But I just do illusions… I don’t have a fight worthy mutation.”
“Which is exactly why you should workout. Build your strength so you don’t need to rely on others and can trust your own body to do the job, regardless of mutations.”
It was the most you think Logan had ever spoken to you all at once, and you were suddenly feeling very dizzy. Logan wanted you to workout with him, to spend time with him. Could you imagine? Standing alongside him while he panted. Sparring and ending up underneath him, his entire body weight crushing you between him. It was almost too much to think about.
You cleared your throat, trying to clear your mind of unhelpful distractions, and found your eyes glued to Logan as he brought the towel to wipe the sweat from his throat, his muscles straining right in front you as he reached behind the back of his neck, wiping the sheen of sweat from his body.
You were staring, you knew that, but you just couldn’t find it in you to look away. It was a godly sight, Logan in front of you, sweaty and staring right at you. How were you supposed to look away?
“Uhm,” you mumbled when Storm stepped on your foot. If she’d noticed your ogling Logan certainly must have, and you felt heat rise to your face at the thought. “Yeah, maybe. I’ll think about it.”
Logan looked at you again, really looked at you, before nodding, slinging the towel over a shoulder. “I hope to see you there.”
And with that he walked away, and you felt the bricks tumbling, clattering away inside you, and you could do nothing to stop it until you felt bare and vulnerable, watching the man walk away with the realisation this might be more than just a silly crush.
You couldn’t let that happen. Couldn’t let yourself go too far, even though you could already feel yourself falling. You needed stronger defences, more barricades and walls. And if that meant more space between you and Logan, more avoiding and distance, well, you’d do it. You couldn’ let yourself go past the point of no return with him. You couldn’t.
Your avoidance of Logan had continued ten-fold. Whenever he entered a room you would exit. You would no longer spend time watching him workout or teach or do anything, really. You stayed as isolated from him as possible, and when you couldn’t you stayed silent, eyes fixed ahead of you rather than on him.
Others had noticed. You heard the rumours, whispers of a fight, a break up that occurred between the two of you. It was laughable, the idea that you and Logan had ever been together in the first place.
It was working though, or so you thought. You could feel your shields and barricades strengthening each day, and you continued to build them higher and higher, in the hopes you would eventually not need to avoid Logan, for he would no longer have any effect on you.
Until then you were determined to avoid Logan and spend as little time with him as possible. Unfortunately Logan did not share that sentiment.
You’d just finished up a class, instructing your students to have their homework prepared for next lesson and watched them all file out the door when Logan entered. It was so unexpected you hadn’t a chance to leave before he was upon you, his figure towering over your frame. His arms were crossed and he watched you with a frown on his face, yet you weren’t afraid of it anymore. Sure, you had been originally, but soon you’d discovered behind the frown was usually no ill intent, so you weren’t nervous.
Well you were, extremely so, but not about that.
“Oh, Logan,” you managed, swallowing thickly. “What are you doing here?”
Logan crossed his arms. “We need to talk.”
You winced. “We do?”
He let out an aggravated huff. “LIsten, I don’t know what I did to make you so pissed at me but it can’t be this bad-”
You interrupted him, confused. “Wait, what?”
He sent you a look. “You. Being mad at me. I don’t know why.”
“I’m not mad at you.”
Logan paused, looking at you with a scrutinising gaze. “Yes you are.”
You scoffed at him wrongly telling you how you felt. “No, I’m not.”
“So why are you ignoring me? And don’t say you haven't-” Logan said, noticing you’d opened your mouth to defend yourself. “I know you are. You have been avoiding me for weeks, and if you’re not angry at me I can see no other fathomable reason for why you’re acting like I have the plague.”
I frowned. “You noticed that?”
Logan scoffed. “Of course I noticed it. You don’t even come to training anymore, not even to watch like you used to. Why?”
You shifted uncomfortably on your feet. You obviously couldn’t tell him the real reason, otherwise all the hard work you’d done would be for nothing because you’d end up humiliated and rejected anyway, but you knew Logan could tell when someone was lying from their pulse spiking, and yours certainly would if you lied about this.
You grappled for something to say, anything, to shake him off your trail. “I have to prepare for another class-”
“You’re not preparing for shit until you tell me what’s wrong,” Logan practically growled. “I can stay here all day Bub.”
Well shit. You didn’t really have another choice. You were going to have to tell him about your feelings for him. Literally anything else would have been better. Anything else.
At that exact moment Jean walked into your classroom and relief bloomed in your chest. You were saved, you were safe. You could use Jean as an excuse and-
“She was avoiding you because she has the hots for you, Logan. Something every single person in this school knows except you.”
Well, not anything else apparently.
Logan let out a noise of surprise and looked at you, but your eyes were glued to Jean, horror and betrayal painted on your face. She mouthed ‘your welcome’ and left. What the fuck? Was that the only reason she entered, to butt into your private conversation?
“Y/n. Was what Jean said true?”
You opened your mouth and then closed it, looking like something akin to a gaping fish. “Define truth.”
Logan narrowed his eyes at you, not at all amused, and his silence forced you to continue.
You sighed, preparing yourself for the inevitable heartbreak to come. “Yes, it’s true, alright, but I never intended to act on it and I won’t act on it so you’re fine-”
“Who said I didn’t want you to act on it?”
You started. “W-what?”
Logan took another step until your chest was suddenly pressed against his. “Did I stutter?”
You felt like you were going to stutter if you said anything, so you sort of just… stood there. Waiting. For what exactly, you weren’t sure. Some clarity maybe?
Certainly not Logan grabbing you by the waist and kissing you, so firm and confident you couldn’t help but melt into his embrace. His hands were grabbing your waist, finding the dips in your curves and squeezing there, grabbing them and tugging you towards him.
His lips dragged across yours, adding an air of desperation to the kiss. You couldn’t help but bring your hand up to cup his cheek, thumb stroking his bearded jaw as he kissed you deeper, seeming for all the world like he was never going to stop. You were powerless to stop it, and you found you didn’t even want to. Your walls were crumbling and you gladly let them if it meant you could continue kissing this man.
Logan hefted you up onto your desk and you let out a gasp, muffled by Logan’s lips. He smiled into the kiss anyway, amused by your surprise, and placed his hands on your knees to part them so he could get between your legs.
You immediately wrapped your legs around his waist, something he liked if the pleased grunt from his throat was anything to go by. His kissing became more fevoured, like he wanted to devour you, and you gladly let yourself drown in him.
That was until the school bell rang, startling you both out of the kiss. Or rather, just you, because Logan seemed content to move to your neck when your lips stopped responding.
“Logan,” you murmured. “I have a class to teach.”
Logan made an angry grunt and continued placing open mouthed kisses to your collarbone. You laughed and gently pushed him away, causing the man to growl and look at you with such irritation you’d think you interrupted his wedding or something.
“I’m busy here,” Logan said.
You had to physically swallow the breathless sigh threatening to escape your lips, instead saying, “we can continue this later.”
“We will continue this later.”
You smiled, almost shyly, which was ironic considering he was still between your legs. “Yeah?”
Logan moved forward so he could whisper into your ear. “Now that I have you Bub, I ain’t ever letting go.”
He pulled back and your smile widened, making a mental note to thank Jean when you next saw her. “I can live with that.”
hi! I love the way you write and I’d love to see some Daniel Ricciardo or Oscar Piastri content!! Older brother’s best friend and something including model!reader or figureskater!reader. I also cannot begin to describe how much I love your Taylor song based fics. I was hooked on Style and Dress, thank you, have a wonderful day :)
𝐈 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 .ೃ࿐
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: you don't have much in common with oscar piastri other than three things: you're both rare talents, you know each other through your older brother, and that, unknowingly, you both really like each other.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: older brother's best friend trope! (although not heavily enforced), suggestive but nothing crude, poor ice skating knowledge, mentions of the spa track, crashing and DNFing, reader likes to blame things on alcohol, lily (oscar's current gf) is his ex (oops), slight diss of tsitp, jealousy!!!, scene of harassment and a creepy man, a physical altercation in which oscar gets physically hurt, attending the wounded scene! (sobbing rn), a cute and horribly cheesy, fluffy ending!
𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: oscar piastri x figureskater!fem!reader, arthur leclerc x reader
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 5k+ (um srry hehe)
𝐀/𝐍: i wanted to this was oscar but since he's kinda young, i did a one year age gap bc the territory of 'the older brother's best friend' for piastri is alarming to say the least. i also assumed it was a female reader due to my other works, hope that and this whole piece is okay!!
𝐏.𝐒: if you couldn't tell, it's loosely based off of taylor swift's 'i can see you' bc i ended up losing track lmao. sorry for taking FOREVER but coming back from holiday, going straight back into uni, and having writer's block is the worst combo 🤧 as usual, poorly proof read!
𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
⋆ •°. 。 .°• ⋆
In a world of billions, quite strangely yet only logically, there were many talented people across the globe. But very few were be a World Champion let alone the opportunity. You were part of this few. The Youngest World Champion in figure skating in history, a two-time World Champion and the 2022 Olympic winner.
You were a living legacy in your town.
Of course, you couldn't do it without the support of the people you loved. Your parents attended all your competitions. In fact, your father was the one who had brought you to the ice when you were three. And your brother, no matter how much of a menace he was, he was your number one fan. Despite all the things he had to do, he was always there for you.
Your brother was one of those Australian boys who had turned their passion for dirt biking into a career for motorcross racing.
Naturally, he had found a friend who was also very interested in racing. However, instead he loved driving a open wheel single-seater formula racing car at crazy speeds. That friend was Oscar Piastri. A childhood best friend of your brother's and a sort of acquaintance slash family friend of yours.
It worried you two see some of the most important people in your lives risk death almost every day but you enjoyed watching them do something they loved.
You could see it in their eyes when they raced. It was the same passion you had for the ice. The slivers of ice that occasionally touched your skin thrilled you was the same excitement that coursed through the two Aussies when they felt their engines rev.
It was odd. You could've sworn a few days ago, you were all kids playing in the backyard of your house; your brother riding his toy bike while Oscar raced him on foot and you commentated in Oscar's favour to piss your brother off. And now all three of you were leading your careers: you were a competitive figure skater, your brother was slamming the MXGP and Oscar was one of the best rookies introduced to F1 in a while.
Where time had gone... you could not even begin to wonder. Heck, once upon a time you were staring down Oscar in the school hallways because for some reason you could only talk to him outside of school. And now... well, it was complicated to say the least.
You had always liked Oscar. It was difficult not to. He was always around you. The boyish charm, the small smiles, the puppy brown eyes, his offers to help you with your homework, you visiting him when he raced... everything had built up inside you. It was festering.
But that's how you liked it. You didn't want to cross any lines. As heart-racing and flustering as your crush on him was, you could not bear the idea of telling someone who was brotherly to you that you liked him.
It was repulsing.
And as far as his dating history could went, Oscar didn't like you. Oscar wasn't a player but he definitely didn't like being single from what you could tell.
To be honest, considering you didn't see him that much due both of your schedules, nothing between the both of you would've ever happened if you're annual family holiday hadn't happened.
Your family and the Piastri's took time out at least once a year to relax together. And this year, your brother and Oscar's breaks overlapped, and you had persuaded your coach for two weeks off. That was all the both of your parents needed before booking a trip to Greece. Everyone wanted to go when they were younger and now they could finally go.
Two weeks... not much could happen. At least so you thought.
The moment you saw Oscar in Greece, your heart thumped against your chest like it had never before and you knew you were screwed. It was ridiculous. How after all the time did you still like this stupid driver? He was the root cause of your lonely love life. Which for most figure skaters was not a big deal... you had prospect lovers falling left and right. Especially the guys in pair skating. But no... you were head over heels for Oscar out of all people.
With the firm boundaries you had made, you ventured to not make a big deal about what you were feeling and pushed it to the side. But the thing about pushing things away, they have a funny way of coming back up.
━━━━━━━━━━━
On the first night of your much needed vacation, you had found one of the most popular restaurants in Santorini while endlessly browsing through social media and decided to get everyone out of the lovely AirBnB you had rented. Upon arriving, your parents and Oscar's were cooped up on one side of the dining table, leaving the 'kids', as your mother calls you three, on the other.
You released a sigh of content, feeling the crisp breeze dance past your skin in the warm summer evening air while your sip of assyrtiko (Greek white wine) slipped past your throat far too easily. Thank God you had chosen an outdoor restaurant tonight. Every time you were on holiday, you couldn't be more grateful to get away from all the stress. If you could live like this every day, with the warm breezy evenings and the amazing architecture, you would.
"So," your mother started, her voice hitting your direction. You flickered your gaze over to her, raising a brow. "How are my kids' love lives? Are you getting down?" She waggled her eyebrows behind her glasses.
A wave of heat pricked your skin at your mother's words. "Mom!" You hissed out in disbelief while your father and Oscar's parents chuckled.
"What? You guys never tell me anything anymore! I used to be the holder of all your secrets and now... now I am an old woman!" Your mother cried, wiping an invisible tear off of her cheek.
You and your brother blankly looked at her and then towards each other. To say your mother was a character was an understatement. She enjoyed her theatrics far too much for anyone's liking, more specifically you're liking.
Oscar grinned, reaching out his hand to hover over hers. "You could never be an old woman. Always young in my heart."
Your brother snorted at Oscar's cheesiness. After you and your brother, Oscar was your mother's son and Oscar was a suck-up. He liked being in the good books, especially that of your mother's.
"Of course," Your mother chuckled softly, patting Oscar's hand gently. She sucked in a sharp breath. "What happen to you and Lily? I heard you two broke up? I thought you liked her a lot?"
You could see Oscar tense at the mention of his ex, your own body rigid. It wasn't a surprise to you but you actually hated hearing about Oscar's love life. Unrequited feelings were already a bitch and you didn't need to make it any worse.
Oscar cleared his throat, a small smiling tugging at his lips. "I thought I did too..." He trailed off, falling into his own trance momentarily. Suddenly his eyes flickered around his surroundings before they landed on you. "I guess I just saw something I else I liked a lot more."
A slight shiver crept down your spine and your heart travelled towards your ears. You pressed your lips tightly together, furrowing your brows.
What the fuck?
You snapped your eyes away, firmly placing them on your empty plate that suddenly held your entire world. Oscar had never ever looked at you like that. Any time you looked into those puppy browns, they were usually some mix between happy, anger, annoyance, sadness, humour, and the God forbidden 'I-see-you-as-my-sister' type love.
But this... this was something else entirely. The softness of his gaze, his words, the timing of it all; a perfect execution of sorts... it was a first.
Maybe you had taken one too many sips of the wine. It was the only reasonable explanation behind your obvious hallucination.
Sooner or later, the sun would set, a main reason behind your picking of the restaurant. The parents and your brother were at the front of the house, arguing about who paid for tonight's dinner. You were more than happy to wait it out on the balcony and revel in the last few rays of light, eyes closed and the breeze dancing across your skin.
"Well don't you look happy," Oscar voice stated, nearing you.
You opened your eyes, slightly turning your head to the side only to look back a few second later. Oscar and sunsets... you enjoyed that combo far too much for your liking.
"That's because I am. Sometimes being off the ice is refreshing," You told him, taking in a breath of the fresh evening air.
Out of your peripheral vision you could see Oscar tilt his head, eyes raking over you with a small grin tugging at his lips. You ignored the pace of your heart as he nodded at your remark, settling in next you with his hands on the balcony bar, a mere inch away from your own.
"I hear that," Oscar sighed, looking out at the horizon.
You forced yourself to look over at him, trying to read his mind after hearing the burdened sigh he released. "Oscar... I hope you know you're doing well in F1 right now. You're doing pretty good compared to Lando's rookie year."
Oscar smiled gently. You knew him far too well. "I know. I just... I feel like everyone's expecting so much more of me. Podiums... race wins... like everything else I've done. And then Spa came along."
You winced at the mention of the track. Oscar had collided with Carlos on the very first lap. Carlos said Oscar was too optimistic about making that turn and Oscar said that he didn't even know what Carlos doing; that the Spaniard turned as if he wasn't even on the track. Nevertheless, the collision resulted in both of them DNFing.
You snorted. "Spa is a shit track," You dismissed Oscar's current pessimism with a wave of your hand.
Oscar chuckled at your crudeness. He couldn't disagree with you. Spa was one of those tracks which felt auspicious to any driver. The one where you hoped you at least passed the finishing line. It didn't matter what your position was... as long as you passed it, you were okay.
"Guys come on! We've finished paying," Your brother called out.
The both of you turned around. Oscar pushed himself off of the bar, heading towards your brother. "Who won this one?" He asked in amusement, hands gliding past his waist. Ever so gently, in his walk, he teetered towards you, letting his hand brush past your own, sending a tingle down both of you.
You gulped at the racing feeling, immediately pulling your hand closer to yourself. This hairs of your body stood straight and your fingers felt numb. Heck, you felt numb.
Damn, you thought, this is some crazy good wine.
━━━━━━━━━━━
The thing about your inclination to blame everything on the alcohol you consumed was that it only actually worked if you consumed alcohol. You were lucky if you could extend to the remaining bits by a day with the claims of a hangover.
But right now, you were sober as hell.
An unfortunate event, to say the least.
"Y/N, wake up," Oscar's voice pounded against your blanketed, muffled ears.
"Ugh, no" You groaned, cocooning yourself into your blanket and pressing your head further into your pillow, savouring the warmth.
You always had such early mornings when you trained, waking up at ungodly hours only to workout before heading to the rink. Being on the ice was the only thing you loved. Your fans were sweet but everything else after that, the press, the workouts, the food, sucked. So you cherished the late summer morning in Santorini. And no person, let alone a boy who announced his F1 team to you by saying "I'm driving for a papaya", was going to ruin this for you.
Oscar put his hands on his hips, eyeing you with a twitch in his eye. "But breakfast is ready. I cooked!"
You laughed into your sheets lightly. "Oh boy, that's even worse!"
Oscar looked at your peeking head and humoured eyes blankly. "That," he started to say as he began to literally pull you out of your bed by your arms, "is very very rude thing to say to the chef."
"Oscar, no! Let go!" You begged, hands flailing to attach themselves to anything. Falling on the hard cold floor was not the ideal morning for you.
At least not alone.
You jutted out your leg, nudging Oscar's to the side, making him stumble over his steps. As he quickly realised he was losing balance, he threw his body under yours, creating a soft landing for you as you both fell to the floor.
You were laughing too hard to realise Oscar's one hand had even moved to your waist and the other to your head, as if it was to protect you from getting hurt.
"Oh my God! You should've seen your face! It was like–" You turned to mimic his expression but you couldn't find the words. All the air around you had been seized, your throat was dry and you were breathless.
When had Oscar's face become so close to yours?
You couldn't remember the last time you were this close to him. Probably as a child. He was cute back then as well. But growing up changed the both of you. The most apparent reminder of how old you were was the tiny short hairs from his chin that he always tried to shave off. His eyes were still as brown as ever, less big because he grew into his face. And his lips... they were kissable.
His face was also littered with freckles here and there. You didn't even realise your finger had shot out to play connect the dots with them until you could feel his faint warm breath from how close you were.
Your eyes trailed up his face to find his gaze firmly planted on yours. Suddenly you could feel where his hands were and your skin burned at his touch. The current heatwave in Europe had left you in some thin pyjamas. You didn't regret it last night but you definitely regretted wearing them right now.
Hypnotised, you found yourself leaning in naturally. Oscar's head also nudged forward. Your lips were barely a centimetre away from each other. You could hear your name slip out of Oscar's lips as the faintest whisper. Like it was a struggle to say your name because he couldn't think.
His woody and amber scent engulfed you and for a second, you couldn't think.
Not until you could hear your brother scream both of your names from the kitchen, demanding you to come to breakfast.
You blinked, falling out of your trance as quickly as you fell in.
Oscar felt you jerk in his arms suddenly, pushing yourself out of his hold and attempting to stand up. "Y/N, I–"
No. God, no.
You weren't ruining a friendship over this.
You could pretend. Yes. Pretend. You can't see him.
"We're coming!" You yelled back, feeling your cheeks redden with embarrassment and annoyance; both vexing feeling for yourself.
God, what a day to be sober.
━━━━━━━━━━━
Honestly how this holiday had gone from zero to a hundred was beyond you.
Pretending like nothing had happened in your room was harder than you thought. Not when Oscar looked at you with these burdened eyes and like he had something to say to you, right on the tip of his tongue.
You considered avoiding him. But doing so on a family trip was easier said than done. Besides, it would've been pretty obvious to everyone else and knowing your family, they would've made a big deal out of nothing. Because that's what it was: nothing.
But alas, you have a brother. And normally, he's stupid and self-obsessed to the point it bordered on unhealthy. But as your brother, it seemed he had some sort of sixth sense for these sorts of things. Something about the older sibling being superior or whatever lies he convinced himself with.
"Why are you being weird with Oscar? Your brother asked you while you ate some ice cream and caught up with the new season of 'The Summer I Turned Pretty'. At first, you couldn't fathom watching a character called 'Belly' out of all things but somehow you got hooked.
You paused the scoop of ice cream you put in your mouth, letting it slowly melt away as you stared hard at your nuisance of a brother. "I have literally no idea what you're talking about."
"Ha, nice try. You're supposed to use 'literally' when you deny it the second time," Your brother smiled at you smugly.
You pressed your lips together, feeling your teeth slightly grind against your spoon. You couldn't decide whether you wanted to smack the shit of your brother with a spoon or bury him in a six-foot deep hole.
"Come on, lil sis, you can talk to me. Everyone's out of the house right now," He partially jested while being entirely serious.
Burying him in a hole it was.
"I have nothing to say to you," You stated, eyes reverting back to your show.
Your brother narrowed his eyes, grabbing the remote to pause the episode. Ignoring your exclaim of annoyance, he sat down next to you and took your ice cream and spoon away from you to dig into the pint for himself.
You shuddered in disgust. You were not having that flavour for a while.
He pointed your spoon at you. "I know you think I'm stupid, which I may be, but I'm not entirely an idiot. What happened with you and Oscar? You were all happy buddies a few days ago. Now he looks like a lost puppy and you look like you saw Pennywise in the hallway."
You bit down on your lip to prevent yourself from laughing. You couldn't actually let him know he was funny.
"Did he do something to you? Y/N, if he did something wrong to you I swear to God... just tell me and I will end him."
Your eyes widened at the sudden change of the conversation. Sitting up, you waved your hands in urgent dismissal. "No! Oh my God, nothing like that! Holy shit."
Your brother let a relieved exhale fall from his mouth before furrowing his brows. "Then what happened? Is it your stupid crush on him?"
"I–what?" You asked dumbfounded, looking at your brother incredulously.
"Your crush? Like the one you've had since you first laid eyes on him. You know everyone knows right? It's kinda obvious. Well, everyone but Oscar," your brother said nonchalantly.
You blinked blankly at him. "Before I throw myself off of a cliff, I can give you the generous choice of how you die? Personally I'm thinking asphyxiation, arson, or murder."
Your brother gulped, slowly putting away the ice cream. "Okay, first off stop watching Criminal Minds so much. Second of all, you don't need to feel embarrassed. All of us have been secretly rooting for you. Especially mom and Oscar's mom. You should've seen how happy they got when I told them Oscar and Lily broke up. It was seriously creepy."
You sighed, falling onto the couch. "It doesn't matter how creepy it was. We almost kissed! And then you called for us. Any later, I would've ruined our friendship. What's the point anyways? He doesn't like me. I'm gonna die in the friendzone," You dramatically sobbed out.
"Well you can start by not turning the other direction when you see him. Poor guy looks like you killed his dog. Do you think a guy who's dog was killed has any guts to speak to their murderer? And that's beside the fact that he may like his murderer."
Where was that shovel again?
"You know what you need to do? Do something that makes him talk to you. I got it! I could set you up with Arthur! He's in Santorini too! Oscar would hate it."
"Oh my God... do you want me to die?" You asked, slightly horrified at the look of pure joy on your brother's face .
Your brother grinned. "Of course, I do. Would I be your brother if I didn't?"
━━━━━━━━━━━
For as long as he could remember, Oscar was a peaceful guy. He didn't really get angry quickly. He was usually calm and usually could think before he acted.
But all those characteristics were thrown out the window, well into the air of the music festival everyone decided to attend, when he saw you walk into the event with Arthur Leclerc. His former teammate out of all people.
"Is that Arthur? Why is he here?" Oscar asked your brother.
"Hmm?" Your brother turned around, pretending to squint at the two of you briefly before catching your piercing gaze. "Oh yeah... that is him. He told me he was in Greece. Guess he found Y/N first. Makes sense I guess."
Oscar looked at your brother dubiously. "I... what does that even mean?"
"I don't know why but I always got the feeling he liked Y/N," your brother shrugged.
Oscar blinked. "You're taking the fucking piss..." He huffed in disbelief.
"What? Oh? Here they come."
Truth be told, Arthur was more than happy to oblige with your brother's game. He hadn't seen Oscar in a while because they were in different championships now. Getting the opportunity to play with him a bit was a hard offer to turn down.
"Ozzie!" Arthur cheered, bringing him into a hug.
Oscar raised a brow at you. That pet name originated from you when the three of you decided to become superheroes for a day and you decided to name eight-year-old Oscar, 'Ozzie the Mozzie' after he got bitten by one. No one else on Earth called him that but you.
"I was telling Arty here about that mozzie that bit you and he really liked Ozzie the Mozzie," You chuckled softly.
Arty...
God give him strength because Oscar wasn't sure how much longer he could bear this.
To be honest, you weren't much of a music festival type of person. It was always crowded, hot, and filled with some sort of drugs even if you couldn't see it.
But aside from that, you enjoyed the serenity it could bring; the indie music that was well on it's way to becoming pop; the calming breeze; the warming sun.
Well you would enjoy it more if a certain Aussie wasn't staring daggers to the side of your head–Arthur's head.
You felt a tap on your shoulder and you turned around to see a stranger. A somewhat attractively creepy stranger but a stranger nonetheless. You raised your brows and gave a small smile. "Yes?"
"I know you don't know me but I just saw you from over there and I wanted to say you're really pretty!"
You blinked, feeling the three boys around you stiffen at the compliment. You nodded slowly, putting on a grateful smile. "Oh, thank you so much," You responded, laughing awkwardly.
A moment of awkward silence settled in the air as the guy still remained in front of you.
"So... I was wondering if I get could get your number?" The guy asked with an odd glint in his eyes.
The alarms were ringing in your head and an uncomfortable shiver went down your spine. "Uh, I'm sorry. I... I don't really want to. But thanks for your offer," You politely declined.
"Oh come on. I called you pretty... that's gotta be worth your number. Come on."
Oh.
Honestly, you were speechless. Your number which for him was the leeway into your intimate life was worth a compliment.
"Yeah, I don't think so," You quipped sharply, gritting your teeth.
"Come on, baby girl. Let me show you a fun time." The guy stepped forward, his hand reaching towards your body.
You froze at his words. You wanted to move but you couldn't.
Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Oscar, Arthur, and your brother step in front of you.
"Mate, fuck off. She doesn't want you," Oscar pushed the guy away from you.
Your brother snorted. "I don't think anyone wants him."
The guy sneered, making you wince. He raised his hands in a feigned defence, beginning to turn away from you. Thank God. "Fine. I didn't want a girl like you anyways. All these guys around you... a whore."
Arthur and you, as the pacifists you were, watched in silent horror as your brother poked his tongue in his cheek and Oscar's head quickly whipped towards the guy.
"Oscar..." You warned meekly as Arthur tried to get your brother's attention.
The last thing any of you needed was famed athletes on the front page of ESPN, cited as the cause of a brawl.
"What did you say?" Oscar raised a brow, ignoring your pleas and walking towards the guy. His tone was dark and the total opposite of what he normally sounded like. He was raged.
"The truth," The guy chuckled. "I said she's a whore. Why? What are you gonna do about it, little boy?"
Yeah see, the guy most definitely had a couple of inches on Oscar and you brother. You weren't really keen on seeing them get pummelled to the ground.
Oscar said nothing in response but raised his fist, slamming it into the side of the guy's jaw.
Oh for fuck's sake.
As if the guy had lightening reflexes, the guy quickly pulled his head back up and got a hold of Oscar, getting into a cycle of punches.
Your heart dropped at the sight. Your brother, thank God, and Arthur quickly realised that Oscar wasn't winning anything here, stepping in to push the two men apart. A small crowd began to gather, some thankfully aiding in trying to stop whatever was going on.
Arthur pulled Oscar away and towards you. You held Oscar against you, clutching him tightly as your heart raced in your ears. Somewhere in the muffled sounds you could hear your brother.
"We're going home. Now."
━━━━━━━━━━━
Your brother and Arthur had decided to go explain the situation the both of your parents who were out having lunch because you couldn't blame all those bruises and dry blood on Oscar's face by saying he fell. This left you to clean up Oscar to reduce the risk of your parents having a heart attack.
You clenched your jaw, holding the first aid kid and a wet cloth to your side as you walked towards the seated racing driver who had found a lot of interest in the floor all of a sudden while icing his face.
"I can't believe you," You mumbled in annoyance, taking a seat next to him. You gently grabbed his chin, putting side the ice bag, trying to decide on where to start cleaning but you could only wince at his face. His bottom lip and his brow was slightly torn, the side of his jaw and the top of his cheek had started to bruise, and his nose was a blood fest.
All the pain Oscar felt began to disappear as he felt your hands gently graze past his skin, scouting all the damage that had occurred. He looked at your pained eyes and internally sighed. He hated seeing you in pain. "He was disrespecting you. I wasn't going to just let it go."
You rolled your eyes, slowly wiping away the dry blood. "He was like six foot two, Oscar. You're like five foot. He could've ki... he could've really hurt you," You jested before your voice fell into a bare whisper.
Oscar's heart clenched as you went back on your words, watching you grab some antiseptic with shaky hands. He grabbed your hands, holding them with his own and softly looked into your eyes. "But he didn't. I'm fine. See?" He smiled widely before wincing at the pain shooting through his face.
You snorted. "As if."
"Hey, you're talking to a guy who crashes at most craziest speeds. Bet that guy can't do that," Oscar shrugged nonchalantly.
You narrowed your eyes. "If you weren't already hurt, I would've smacked the shit out of you right now. Just so you know."
Oscar grinned at you. "Ah, there's the ever kind Y/N I love."
You rolled your eyes before processing what he had just said. As friends. Friendly love. Right. You shook your head out of your trance, removing your hands from his and returning back to the stupid first aid kit next to you.
Oscar mended his brows together. "Hey," he tapped your thigh, "you heard what I said right?"
"Hmm? Oh, yeah," You said idly, opening the tube of antiseptic cream.
"What? I..." Oscar sighed, taking the cream out of your hands before pulling you closer to him. His hands held your face, looking you dead in the eye. "I said I love you, Y/N. You know... the type where you look at someone and all you know is that you can't breathe without them? The one in your books?"
Your mouth felt dry. You blinked blankly. Your hands felt clammy. You chuckled nervously. "Pfft, what? You don't love me. You mean as a friend, right? I think you need some medicine. Maybe there's some in this kit." Your eyes darted down, frantically looking around the box as your heart thudded against your chest.
"Hey, hey," Oscar called, using his hand to turn your chin towards him. "I don't. I mean, I do love you as a friend, but no. I love love you."
"Well... what about about Lily?"
"As I said... I realised I loved someone else more," Oscar told you, letting his confession sink into your mind. "You know... if your idiot brother didn't call us that day, I definitely would've kissed you."
Oh.
Well.
That was something.
This was real. You weren't dreaming. You hadn't died. Oscar, your childhood best friend and your brother's best friend, was confessing to you.
"Huh... well, if it's any consolation, I probably would've kissed you too," You retorted, trying to keep your quirking lips at bay before you began smiling for too much for anyone's liking.
"Probably? That kinda sucks. Are you sure you wouldn't have definitely kissed me?" Oscar grinned, grabbing your waist and seating you down on his lap.
"Hmm... I mean maybe. This current environment is nowhere near as enticing as my bedroom. I mean what is sexier than me waking up, am I right?" You joked, trying to cover up the fact that you were dying at the proximity between you two.
Oscar pushed a lock of your hair behind your ear, letting his fingers trail down your cheek, holding your jaw while his thumb grazed your lips. "Well, I can think of a few other things."
You silently watched as Oscar leaned in and pressed his lips against yours. His lips were softer than you could ever imagine.
You blinked, taking a mere second to register what was going on. Oscar Piastri was kissing you. Holy shit, Oscar Piastri was kissing you!
You kissed him back, feeling his hand wrap around the back of your neck and the other holding you steady against him. Your skin burned at his touch, feeling his fingers snake past the hem of your shirt and rest on your hot skin.
Oddly enough, despite your heat, goosebumps sprawled across every inch of your skin as his tongue darted out, exploring your own, giving you access to his mouth.
You could've sworn you were walking on fire. One more step and you could've combusted. Your thighs clenched at the moan that slipped from Oscar's mouth as your teeth tugged on his bottom lip, your hands roaming around his chest and his arms.
Oscar's hand wrapped around your hair, enjoying the softness he had wanted touch ever since he realised he had feelings for you. His pants felt tight as he felt your hand brush against his bare torso. Fuck. You were going to do him in. He fell back further into the couch, holding you tighter against him.
The desire you had was blinding you. Your other hand fell to his cheek, forgetting about his injuries till Oscar murmured an "ouch".
You retracted your hands, pulling back from his lips, a move Oscar clearly didn't enjoy as his eyes followed your lips. "Shit!" You exclaimed, "the antiseptic! Sorry!"
Oscar paused in his trance, realising what you were talking about. He smiled softly, lips widening even further when he saw your swollen lips and flushed cheeks.
You carefully applied the cream to his brow before moving to his lips. "The diagnosis for you Mr Piastri is no more kissing for you," You grinned.
Oscar looked at you dumbfounded. "I–what? For how long?"
"Mmm... a week?"
"A week?" Oscar repeated in exasperation. "There is no way I can last that long. Not after this. Besides I'm pretty sure kissing actually helps you heal faster."
Your skin warmed further at his confession. You cleared your throat and held his hands. "I am confident that is not scientifically true."
Oscar narrowed his eyes, lips quirking in amusement. "You need to read better medical journals, doc."
You tilted your head to the side, leaning in further. "I think I have an alternative."
"Yeah?" Oscar's eyes danced across your face, smiling softly. "What is it?"
"It's less practical, more theoretical. Confessional, if you will," You shrugged, letting your forehead rest against his.
Oscar shut his eyes, enjoying the warmth of you. "Oh really? Don't let me stop you."
"I love you, Oscar. I've loved you since we were little heroes running around in the backyard."
Oscar opened his eyes, hands wrapping around your waist. He smiled widely at you. "Are you sure you said a week?"
You rolled your eyes, hitting his chest playfully. "I'm sure."
SUMMARY: if charles can't value what's in front of him then carlos is more than willing to take on the role.
REQUESTED: yes but it's for a personal friend.
WARNING: kinda toxic carlos, unrequited love, asshole carlos (not towards the reader), a little bit of angst, SMUT, 18+, oral (f receiving), mean carlos, slight corruption kink (blink and you'll miss it), overstimulation, spitting, lost of virginity, p in v, unprotected sex, fluff
PAIRING: reader x carlos sainz, reader x charles leclerc
WORD COUNT: 6.6k
NOTE: this was meant to be much much longer but i decided to cut it into 2 parts. part 2 will lead to eventual threesome with carlos and charles. let me know if you want to be added to the tag list.
part 2: call out my name
masterlist
The first time Carlos met you, he knew you were off limits. Always following Charles around with that same lovestruck look in your eyes, your body coming alive whenever the monegasque touches you. Your affection for him is written all over your face.
“We’re just friends,” Charles is always quick to correct whenever anyone assumes otherwise. “Best friends,” he’d add as if that made it better and Carlos would watch the way your face would fall, lips slightly quivering as if you’re about to cry on the spot.
Frankly, Carlos thought it’s a waste. Why are you, whose incomparable beauty and wit, is settling for a man who very obviously doesn’t return your affections? Do you enjoy making a fool of yourself? Do you enjoy the pain?
Carlos has very few bad things to say about his teammate, getting along with him so well he’d even consider him a good friend but one thing is for sure, Charles is an idiot for not claiming you given the first chance to do so. Can’t Charles see the longing looks and lustful gazes frequently thrown in your direction, Carlos’ along them?
Though he supposes he should thank Charles for handing you to him with a pretty little bow, for letting you slip through his fingers so Carlos can snatch you right up.
But Carlos bided his time. Charles is Ferrari’s golden boy, their walking god. The prodigal son he’s called. Il Predestinato. The Chosen One. Carlos is the newest member of the team, one with much more to prove. Charles may very quickly deny speculations between the two of you but his claim all over you is still evident. In the way he touches you, the way he keeps you firmly by his side. Carlos had far too much to lose by immediately creating tension within the group.
He’s a patient man. He can wait, plan and plot. And so apart from the usual hellos when you meet each other and the mandatory polite smiles, he stayed away from you, choosing instead to always keep a watchful gaze on your figure whenever the two of you are in the same room.
He’ll play the game and he’ll play it well. He’ll wait. He’ll wait patiently knowing that by the end of it, it’ll be you puny on his palm. And it’s not like you notice, far too busy over your unrequited feelings for the monegasque to even look in his direction.
In his time watching you, Carlos learned so many things about you, things not many people notice. He learned your mannerisms, what makes you tick and what makes you smile, what makes you frown and what makes you pout. He knows your coffee order as well as his own and the foods you don’t eat. He learned the things you like and disliked, learning you till he’s got you memorized like the back of his hand, all his knowledge about you being kept safe for when he finally deems it’s time.
It isn’t like his attraction for you is pure though. Carlos wants you in such a primal way, wants to take you, to claim you. He can barely remember the amount of times he’d touched himself to the thought of you.
It seems the universe is on his side though. He hadn’t even needed to do anything to have you falling straight into his arms.
It was after the Bahrain grand prix, the first race of the season with Ferrari taking home a 1-2. Everyone is in their best mood, drinking the night away as celebration for the best opening start of the season. Carlos found you in the nearly empty hallway leading to the bathroom away from the crowd of people. You’re leaning against the wall with your arms wrapped around yourself, cheeks red and wide eyes a little less bright than usual.
You look like a wounded angel in your little white dress, legs and back bare with your hair falling beautifully over your shoulder, shorter strands littering your face. You look breathtaking and Carlos couldn’t not approach you.
And so armored with his usual friendly smile, he situated himself next to you. “Hey.”
You look up at him from under your eyelashes, offering him a smile of your own. You look sad though and he can’t help but hate Charles a little bit for it. “Hey, Carlos. Congratulations on P2.”
Carlos smiles at you again in thanks. “What are you doing here?” He asks even though he already knows the answer. In his drunken stupor, Charles had found a woman to entertain him for the night, all wrapped up in her on the table you shared.
But you only shrug your shoulders and the action made his eyes travel to your collarbone to the V neck of your dress leading to the valley of your breast. Your skin is covered in goosebumps and he noticed your visible shiver.
“I needed a breather,” you say, which isn’t exactly a lie. You need a breather from Charles and his suffocating presence. “How about you?”
The truth was that he followed you after he saw the way you removed yourself from the group, eyes downcast and bare skin so tempting he couldn’t not follow. He ignored your question and instead shook off the jacket he wore, placing it around your shoulder. You smile at him, a little less sad than the one you gave him earlier, as you slip your hand through the sleeves, the jacket being much too big and practically swallowing your body.
For a moment, the two of you stood in silence, both leaning against the wall. You look a little lost in your head, still hung up over the sight of Charles kissing some girl he just met. For the longest time, you’ve managed to convince yourself that you’re fine with your place beside him even if he never returns your feelings. Loving Charles has always hurt but you’ve been doing it for so long that you’ve become familiar with the pain, even allowing it to bring you comfort.
Carlos sighs, practically hearing your thoughts as his hand reaches towards you, placing them on your shoulder to force you to face him. For months, he’s watched you torture yourself over Charles from afar but he’s only now realizing that he can’t do it from up close with your sad, defeated eyes staring back at him.
“He doesn’t deserve you,” he says and Carlos had to control his breathing as you looked at him like that, eyes so wide and naive, looking so pure and lost. He wants to protect you and ruin you at the same time. “You deserve better, cariño, not a boy who doesn’t know how to treat you right.”
“He’s all I’ve ever known,” your voice breaks a little and he wanted nothing more than to punch his teammate at that moment.
“That doesn’t mean he deserves you,” he says through gritted teeth.
You’re unable to say anything else as you melt into his touch, your arms wrapping around his torso and he pulls you to his chest. His arms around you are tight, seemingly trying to keep you together as you break apart.
The two of you stay like that for a few seconds. You don’t cry, which is a good thing because Carlos doesn’t think he can handle that without marching back inside the club and punching the living daylights out of Charles, but you do stay in his arms, your hands clutching at his shirt.
“I’ll take you back to your room,” he says, deciding that the best thing for you right now is sleep. You only nod, lightly pulling yourself away from him.
The bar you guys had went to was just in the hotel lobby, a small place with barely any people and so he leads you out, hand firmly clasped against yours as the two of you ride the elevator to your floor.
“Charles…” you start, voice quiet. “Charles has my key card.”
Carlos nods. “You can stay with me.”
He half expected you to argue but you only nod your head as he leads you to his own hotel room, swiftly swiping the card to open the door, opening it bigger for you. The rest follows swiftly. Carlos lends you clothes to change into after having decided to share a bed. The two of you made quick movements to prepare for bed, the long day had you exhausted and determined to get under the covers.
And yet, as soon as Carlos turns off the light, it’s like all of your exhaustion melted away, finding yourself wide eyed as you stared at the ceiling, his presence next to you pressing against your skin. You’ve shared a bed with a man before, of course. Ever since you were kids till adulthood, you and Charles never had a problem sharing one. But Carlos’ presence is much different from Charles’ familiar weight next to yours. Carlos’ feels demanding, firm. His skin feels a little too hot, causing you to lightly pull down the covers to reveal more of yourself to the chilly, air conditioned air.
It’s a little terrifying. He feels much stronger than you. But it’s also a little exhilarating, your mind daring you to reach forward and touch his skin. He’s not wearing a shirt and you’re tempted to run your fingers through his chest, his jaw, his hair.
“Carlos,” you speak softly, still staring at the ceiling.
“Hmm?”
“Can I touch you?”
He doesn’t think you know how your question sounds. He doesn’t think you know how the innocence in your voice makes him want to wrap his hand around your throat. But nevertheless, he nods despite the fact that you can’t see him. “Yes.”
You don’t need to be told twice, shifting so you’re facing him, the darkness bathing the two of you hiding the blush in your cheek as your hand reaches forward, soft pads of your fingers hesitantly placing themselves on his jaw.
Your fingers are cold as it slides from his jaw to his neck, palm pressing against the skin where his neck meets his shoulder. His own hand places itself on your waist, drawing circles on the fabric of his shirt as your hand finally reaches his chest, tracing every bump and hollow curve till you reach his abdomen.
Carlos sucks in a breath, his hand flying to wrap around your wrist, stopping your movement. With the minimal light, he can see the way you looked at him, so so innocent as though you don’t understand why he stopped you.
“Don’t start what you can’t finish, amor,” he warned you, voice quiet as he stared into your eyes.
But a pool had started in your panties and for the first time that night, you actually feel alive. You wanted more of him. You want him to make you forget. “Make me forget tonight.”
Carlos groans at your words, cursing in Spanish that you barely had the time to decode before his lips are on yours, climbing on top of you as he holds your wrist over your shoulder. You moan into the kiss, trying to pull your hand away to be able to touch him again but his body is firmly pressing you against the mattress, knees keeping your legs open.
“Carlos,” you whine, desperate for some sort of friction as you rut against him.
“Don’t whine.” His voice is low and demanding, full of authority as his lips sucked on your neck, finding a sweet spot that had you rolling your eyes to the back of your head. He’s sucking and biting, flawlessly marking up your neck as you all but fall apart under him.
“Please,” you mutter breathlessly, still pulling at your wrists. You’re desperate to be touched, trying to create as much friction as you wiggled under him.
“Please what, angel?” Carlos mocks. He’s waited for this for far too long to be nice now.
“Please touch me,” you don’t even hesitate, Charles being the farthest thing from your mind with Carlos all over you.
“Where can I touch you, niña bonita?” his words rushed through your veins, close enough to feel the thump thump thump as he pressed his lips against your jaw, planting open mouthed kisses
“Everywhere,” you breathe out and Carlos grins, finally letting go of your wrist, giving you free reign to run your fingers through his hair as he makes a quick effort to rid you of your – his – shirt.
“Are you sure?” He asks again, wanting to be absolutely positive that this is what you want to, that you aren’t just letting your emotions get the best of you.
“Yes, Carlos, please.”
And who was he to deny such pretty pleas?
His lips left a path of destruction everywhere he touched, the burning sensation of his breath against your skin going straight to your core. Eventually, he reaches your nipples, tongue swirling and fingers pinching the other. His teeth marking all over your breasts as he continued his trail down.
“Stop me,” he tells you as his fingers pull the garter of your panties. “Stop me or I won’t be able to stop, baby.”
“Don’t stop,” you quickly say, writhing under him. “God please, don’t you dare stop.”
“You don’t have to call me god. My name is just fine,” he mutters against your skin as he pulls your underwear down. If this is the only night he gets with you then he’s going to make sure to ruin any other man for you. “Thought you were a good girl, baby. Always looking so innocent.”
His lips pressed against your clit, tasting the honey that seeped out of you, causing you to shudder as he situated himself between your legs, elbows pushing your legs apart. His tongue flats on your clit, swiping a lick as you moan out, fingers clutching desperately at his hair, a chorus of pleases and Carlos tumbling out of your lips. He doesn’t think there could be a much better sound as he pokes his tongue into your entrance, your tight walls pushing him out.
Your body is arching up as he sucked at your clit, making Carlos place his arm around your stomach, pushing you back down as his other hand gathered your wetness, spreading it all over your folds before slowly pushing in, a cocky grin on his lips as your moan grows louder.
His tongue and fingers worked together, one slowly pumping in and out of you as he let you adjust and his lips sucking into your clit. He swears he’s meeting his creator as you come into his mouth, voice becoming strangled and your back once again arching as you scream his name, loud enough that Carlos hopes everyone in the floor can hear it. You sound angelic and sinful all at once.
“One more, pretty girl,” he tells you. “Tan bonito como este,” he tells you, watching as you shudder with each swipe of his tongue. You’re far too gone to even care about what he’s saying. “Y todo mío.”
Your fingers running through his tousled, demanding him to keep going and to stop at the same time, the faint taste of iron on your tongue as you bite your bottom lip, soft angelic melodies of his name escaping your lips. He sucked harder, wrist working faster as he added another finger in, pumping in and out of you at a much faster rate than he had a while ago, working to bring you to your second orgasm of the night, one he knew you needed but in reality, he needed more.
"That feels good doesn't it love? You like it when I touch you like this?" Carlos groans and rubs your clit faster. You buck your hips and nod quietly. "Use your words angel," he taunts.
"Yes, yes, oh my god, yes please. yes," you moan loudly.
“Good,” he says, a smug smirk playing on his face. It’s incredible how easy it is for you to submit to him, to beg to his name as if he’s your newfound religion.
It’s an ego thing as his tongue carved Sainz on your clit with the promise of making you his. His kisses stamped your inner thigh, teeth gently nibbling on your skin as he marked what’s his. You don’t know it yet but you’re his. Once he’s done with you, you’ll never want another man again. His tongue slipped inside you, his finger now tracing his name.
“Can I… can I come please?” Your voice is shaky and broken as you ask him, full of obedience that he didn’t even have to teach you as you so easily surrendered yourself to him and his control. In that moment, your body belonged to him and you both knew it.
“Look at me. Look at who’s making you feel this good,” he demands, your cum dripping from his lips. It takes effort for you to even comprehend his words and much more to force your eyes open as you meet his hazel ones. His efforts doubled in speed and strength, your screams becoming louder as he pushed you to the edge.
You gasp loudly as you feel your whole body trembling even more and then you feel your body tense as you come against his mouth. Your whole mind feels like exploding and all you can see is stars. You feel so overwhelmed by the amount of pleasure you’reexperiencing, your body is still trembling as you feel yourself come down from your high.
“You’re such a good girl for me,” he tells you softly as he crawls over to your side, brushing the hair from your face and placing his lips on you. Your body is motionless against his as you climb down from your back to back orgasm.
“Open your mouth, cariño,” he says, gently tapping at your jaw. You comply as he spits into your mouth, the taste of you now present on your taste buds. You’re quick to swallow, making Carlos grin at you. Your undeniable submission to him gives him a kind of satisfaction.
“Are you ready for me, pretty girl?” He asks softly, hand on your cheek a deep contrast to what his fingers had been doing to you a few moments ago. “Do you want to stop?”
You shyly shake your head. Carlos thought you looked most beautiful like this, so incredibly ruined for him. “I’m not- I haven’t–” you start, stuttering over your own words.
“Speak up, cariño,” he tells you and your cheeks heat up even more.
“I haven’t…done it,” say finally, voice increasingly getting shyer with each syllable.
For a minute, Carlos was frozen, not having expected your admission. You’re twenty four years old after all, he had expected you to at least have some experience, but he knows you’re telling the truth from the light blush on your cheeks as you all but hide your face to his shoulder, touching him so surely as if you’ve done it a thousand times before.
He could feel himself melting a little, your shy smile and red cheeks so adorable that he couldn’t help but smile back at you as he wraps his arm around your naked figure, pulling you closer towards him.
“We don’t have to,” he assures you. “We can just go to sleep now.”
“I want to,” you’re quick to say, placing your chin on his shoulder. “I was saving it for…”
For Charles. You don’t bother finishing your sentence, you both already know. The sting in his chest is instant, a reminder that you’re not his, at least not fully.
And then the pride rolls in. You’ve saved this for Charles for years, probably rejecting a multitude of men along the way and yet you’re so willingly offering it to him now, with no hesitation and no question with the monegasque the farthest thing from your mind as you stared up at him with those big eyes of yours.
Before you can say anything else, his mouth is on yours again, whatever little softness his kiss carried a while ago is gone now. He’d never let you go, not when he’s already got a taste. There’s no way he’s ever letting you go now, not when you’re holding on to him like that, nails digging on the skin of his back, naked body pressed against his.
And if he does lose you, if another man gets to touch you after him, he’ll make sure to ruin you for them. He’ll make sure it’s him on your mind every time, his name you’re begging to scream out.
You’re warm. Tingling with anticipation threaded into your nerves and heat. And you feel your body throbbing all at once as Carlos claims your mouth. Your hands are eager, pulling at the shorts he’s still wearing, a whine at the back of your throat.
“Carlos,” you breath out, needy all over as he takes his time marking your skin.
“What did I say about whining?” He asks, immediately getting you to shut your mouth and instead settling for biting your lower lip.
Still though, Carlos does as you ask, pulling away from you in order to remove his clothes. You gulp as you watch his unbearably hard cock reach his stomach. He was carved by god himself you’re sure. No mere mortal can possibly look as beautiful as he does now in all of his naked glory, chest perfectly refined, hair tousled and back and arms littered with scratches.
Heat travels to your cheeks once you realize you’re staring. You try to avert your eyes but Carlos is crawling back at you, hands cupping your cheeks as he all but forces you to meet his eyes. “You can stare, Amor. I’m yours to look at.”
His declaration ignites a blazing warmth in your chest, giving you the courage to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him towards you in order to once again connect your lips. He’s yours. He’s yours. And you’re his. You’ve never felt this alive before, never quite felt like this before. Not with any man and not with Charles. You’re his. You know that now.
“You’re beautiful,” you mutter to no one but the world as his lips travel from your lips to your jaw.
Carlos only hums as his lips travel all over your face and neck. You whimper as his mouth presses kisses all over your sensitive skin, your hands traveling to his hair and tugging lightly.
“I have been thinking about this moment for so long.” He rasps, kissing your throat softly. Your body trembles against his as he continues to cover your face and neck with kisses.
Your brain is all over the place, eyes heavy and clouded as you try to tell him how much you’ve been wanting him. All your thoughts overwhelm you, disabling any rational understanding of what is going on. You just want him. You need him.
All you can taste, all you can feel, all you can see, all you can think about is him.
The whine that comes out of you only drives Carlos to seek out more of those sounds, they are potentially the most amazing sounds he’s ever heard. Your arms wrap around his neck, in an attempt to bring him closer to you, your hips accidentally move against him making him groan.
“Didn’t take you for the needy type, angel,” Carlos teases and you want to tell him to stop, to just fuck you already. You needed him so badly but you know doing so will result in nothing. He’s going to kill you with anticipation, have you begging for his touch.
“Carlos,” you beg, wanting to cry with unmet arousal. “Please. Need you so bad.”
“Shh,” he mumbles against your lips. “I’ll take care of you, baby.”
His lips travel to your breast, greedily claiming your nipple with his mouth. His tongue circles your most sensitive nerve, making you let out another moan. You whine as your cunt starts clenching around nothing, begging for attention. Instinctively you start moving your hips against his making him groan against your skin. His lips leave your breast with a wet pop and he looks at you intensely as you try to catch your breath. You’re panting, barely able to think straight.
He groans as you continue to grind up against him, grasping your hips to halt your movements, causing a whine out of you as he pushes your hips against the mattress, so desperate to feel him again. Finally, he slowly moves towards the bed and gently spreads your thighs apart as he fits himself between them. He positions his body against yours, hand coming up to your face to caress your cheek again as you feel his other wander all over your body making you breathless already.
You feel his cock momentarily against your wetness which makes you thrust against him.
“I need you,” you pant against his lips, but Carlos pulls his hips away slightly with a small smirk on his face. “Please…”
You need him so bad and you’re getting impatient as you feel him press kisses all over your neck, being much gentler than you know he’s used to. He’ll have his way with you eventually but for tonight, your pleasure and comfort is all that matters. Panting, you feel him slowly go down your body. He momentarily wraps his mouth around one of your nipples and sucks lightly making you arch your body against his.
You feel yourself dripping down the sheets, whining helplessly as you become desperate with need.
You can’t help but roll your hips against his to feel his cock in order to relieve yourself some tension. It turns slick as you keep grinding yourself against him, and he has no trouble gliding his hips against you and rutting it into your clit.
“Oh fuck,” Carlos rasps, reaching down and grasping himself to line up between your lips. He keeps rubbing the head of his cock to your entrance, up to your clit, circling until you squirm underneath him and back down. He loves the sounds you make as he spreads himself around your slit, where you’re still dripping for him.
You gasp openly into his mouth, desire growing quickly. You’re still so so wet. Carlos swallows your whines with his lips against yours, hips rolling against you. He kisses you full of fervor, his grip on you intensifying heatedly.
You’re trembling against him, full of anticipation. His body covers your whole body with his as you writhe against him, wishing he was just in you already.
“Are you ready, cariño? Let me know if I start to hurt you or if you want to stop.” He whispers as he looks deep into your eyes.
You bite your lip and nod, too shy and excited to talk.
“I’ll try to go slow at first, okay, angel?” He says before leaning back down to kiss your lips again, he reaches down and grasps himself. He is rubbing the tip firmly over your swollen clit and your mind is all over the place.
“Please, Carlos,” you stutter, your body trembling even more.
He rubs himself up and down your slit for a while longer before one of his hands lean down to spread your outer fold sliding his cock teasingly around your core. You arch your back slightly and whine out of frustration.
You want to beg him to do something again as he leans down to line up his cock with your entrance, your legs trembling under him with a mix of nerves and excitement. Carlos slides in so slowly it’s agonizing. He’s careful, like he’s afraid you might break.
You let out a long broken whine as he gradually pushes more of him inside you. He’s so big, stretching your walls. It feels as though your organs are moving around to give him space with how full you feel. He leans down to kiss your lips gently as he moves more inside, hoping the sweetness of the embrace will soften the sting.
Once he’s fully inside you, you sigh against his lips. You feel so full, as if he’s made for you and only you. The feeling of him filling you up so completely has you seeing stars and digging your fingernails into his shoulders.You feel one of his hands finding your hand, lacing them with yours as the other one reaches up to your face.
“You okay?” He asks worriedly.
“Yeah, I just need a moment,” you mutter, breathless.
He smiles as your eyes are drifting close, both so full and exhausted at the same time.
You feel yourself gradually adjust to his size, your lower lip between your teeth as you open your eyes again to look up at Carlos’ beautiful sight above you.
“Please move,” you beg.
He nods quietly and starts by thrusting into you slowly, one hand reaching down to play with your clit, while the other holds your hand tightly. The sting hurts you for a while, but it easily changes to pleasure as he moves against you. You’re so overstimulated from all your previous orgasms that the sensation he’s giving you is mixed between pain and pleasure.
He grunts as he drops his head to your ear to kiss and lick at the sensitive skin there and to whisper sweet nothings as he sets a pace.
“So tight,” he groans.
The angle is so good, but when his pace picks up he finally leans down to wrap his arms around you, making you gasp as he thrust into you faster and harder, pinning you against the mattress and taking full control of your body.
“You’re taking me so well, sweetheart. Doing so so good for me. Eres tan perfecta.”
You whimper as his lips move back up against your own as he kisses you passionately.
At a certain point you feel the end of his strokes slide into a pressure point inside you that has you clenching like a vise around his cock. Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, back arching as he keeps thrusting into you, the feeling of him repeatedly hitting your most sensitive spot causing a loud noise you’ve never made before escaping your lips, a strange cry of his name.
“Fuck,” Carlos muttered against your ears, feeling your walls clenching around him, letting him know that you’re close. “You’re so loud for me, angel.”
“God.” You’re lost in pleasure, tears streaming down your face as you desperately claw at his skin. Whatever pain you were feeling before is lost now as you all but float in a cloud of lust.
“Hold it in, baby,” he demands, tongue licking your tears away as his hand pushes your hair out of your face, wanting to see you fully as you reach your high.
“Please, Carlos,” you sobbed, squirming under him. “Need to…need to come please.”
His thrust doesn’t stop or falter, getting harder and harder as his hand grips your waist. There would surely be a bruise of his handprint there tomorrow but you’re far too gone to care. “Look at you so desperate to cum on my dick. Who’s making you feel this good, angel?”
“You!” You cry out, more than willing to pledge your life away to him at this point, the only thing that matters is your release. “Only you! Please, Carlos.”
“That’s right. Only me. Sólo yo.” Carlos smirks at the sight of you under him, so completely defenseless. “Go on, baby.”
You didn’t need to be told twice as you spasm under him, losing control of your body. Your vision is hazy as you ride out your high, your body out of your control as your nails dug to his skin, teeth buried on his shoulder. You don’t think you’ve ever felt pleasure quite like this.
You feel his cum shoot inside your walls as his body slightly relaxes on yours. He’s barely broken a sweat, his stamina completely phenomenal, but he knows you’re spent and after tonight, you deserve a break, especially considering it’s your first time. And so with that, he gently pulled out of you, making sure not to put anymore pressure on your tired body as he dropped to the place next to you.
Despite your clear exhaustion though, there’s no hesitation in your movements as you turn to him, breathing shallow. Placing your seemingly heavy head on his chest, you throw your arms over his stomach. Carlos’ breath hitched. He had just fucked you, made you come three times and yet somehow the action of you so naturally cuddling to him had his heart racing.
“You did so good,” he told you gently, arms more than welcoming, immediately wrapping around you. “Are you okay, niña bonita?”
“Yes,” you mumble, voice hoarse from all the screaming as you bury your face deeper into the crook of his neck. “Tired.”
“Sleep,” he told you softly, lips planting a kiss on the top of your sweaty hair as he pulled you closer towards him.
You let out a hum, already drifting off to dreamland with your naked bodies pressed against each other, not an inch between the two of you as you tightly held on to each other.
—
The next time you saw Carlos was the next day as you climbed into Ferrari’s private plane. Nearly the entire team is hungover, half asleep as they lugged their baggage, you along them but for an entirely different reason.
As soon as you stepped into the plane, the Spaniard's eyes were on you and yours on him. You wore the jacket he lent you last night over a simple shirt and jeans, opting to wear something comfortable for the flight rather than something stylish. He, on the other hand, still looked breathtaking in a simple buttoned up shirt and jeans, hair tousled as he watched the way your cheeks turned red.
Charles, far too tired and sleepy, barely noticed as you disappeared from his side as you all but made a beeline towards Carlos.
“Good morning, angel,” he greets you, heart soaring at the obvious way you seeked him out, not even hesitating to leave the monegasque’s side in favor of his. “How are you feeling?”
“Tired,” you admit, still with a nervous tone to your voice as you take the seat in front of him. “But worth it.”
As Carlos reached forward to lightly push your hair back, his touch now so familiar, you missed the way Charles searched for you upon noticing you’re no longer next to him. You also missed the look of pure jealousy in his eyes, one you’ve longed to see for as long as you can remember. But Carlos hadn’t and for the first time, Charles saw a version of his teammate he’s never seen or expected, one that’s very obviously staking his claim on you, eyes challenging Charles to fight back as you lean into Carlos’ touch.
Carlos didn’t have to say it but Charles understood anyway.
Carlos is a patient man and he played the game so well, biding his time properly and it had all paid off so well, everything falling perfectly into place as the sight of you next to him became a common occurrence. You often wear his shirts after nights in his hotel room, meeting up with Charles for breakfast only to practically reek of Carlos’ cologne. He’s all over you even when he’s not around, his imprints on your skin, his scent all over you, reminding Charles that he’s lost a game he hadn’t realized he was playing.
And when he is around, it’s not like Carlos is trying to hide it, an arm always around your waist or sometimes hands on your hips. This time though, it’s Charles that’s watching. He watches as the Spaniard touches you so easily as though he’s done it a thousand times before. He watches as you’re quick to relax against his chest, your soft easy smile painting your face and a certain glint in your eyes that Charles knows so well.
Carlos, as Charles is beginning to realize, is a pretty fucking great liar. When they’re together with the team, talking cars and strategies or with the marketing team, doing challenges and interviews, it’s like nothing’s ever changed, both of them still so close. The only noticeable difference now is that you’re rarely on Charles’ side. Instead, you choose to always be by Carlos’, barely sparing your childhood best friend a glance as you stare at the Spaniard as though he hangs the stars and the moon.
Eventually though, the unsaid stare off they often shared comes to a close. It had been during the spanish grand prix with Charles naively thinking he’s doing his teammate a good deed by knocking on his door before the marketing team comes and nags him about a video that needs shooting. Charles didn’t want them to be late and he didn’t want Carlos to have to stand for a lecture.
But when he opens the door, not having bothered to knock, thinking it’s just another boring weekend before a race with Carlos on his phone like the thousand other weekends before that.
Charles couldn’t be more wrong though because instead of the sight of Carlos engrossed in his phone, you're laying on his lap, the dress you wore bunched up around your waist and your eyes shut close as soft moans escaped your lips. Carlos has a hand holding you in place while another is busy assaulting your cunt, three fingers deep inside you, pumping in and out at such a brutal pace that has you biting your lower lip till you can taste blood, tears dripping down to your cheeks.
Charles is frozen in place, the sight of you so open, so perfectly spread for Carlos, caused him to swallow deeply. He can hear the filthy sound of Carlos’ fingers leaving your cunt only to unrelentingly push back in.You’re far too gone to even notice his presence, your fourth orgasm on Carlos’ fingers having completely drained your body as you keep taking more, but Carlos looks up at Charles, the pace of his fingers disappearing within the lips of your cunt never stopping as he raises an eyebrow.
The smirk pulling at his lips brings Charles back down to earth, forcing himself to look away from your naked body as he spun on his heel, shutting the door behind him.
Charles can feel his heart racing, his pants suddenly much tighter than it had been minutes ago. The sound of your moans keeps repeating in his head, completely distracting him from the tasks at hand.
After fixing his erection, Charles finds his way back to the hospitality, reuniting with his media aid as he tries to shake the sight of you whispering and messy on Carlos’ knees.
“Where’s Carlos?” One of the Ferrari people asks him, but Charles only shrugs, not quite sure if he’s able to use his voice.
A few minutes pass as the team waits for Carlos till the Spaniard finally emerges from his drivers room, hair messy and lips swollen. No one but Charles seems to notice though and the memory of you on his lap haunts Charles as he meets his teammate’s gaze, smug and proud as he runs his hand through his hair.
Carlos claps Charles on the shoulder, mischief clear in his hazel eyes. “Finders keepers, right?”
SUMMARY: where charles regrets introducing his sister to his teammate or the leclerc brothers are cockblocks
WARNING: fluff, SMUT, 18+, age gap (reader is 23, carlos is 27), oral (both m and f), the leclerc siblings basically sharing one brain cell
PAIRING: leclerc!sister x carlos sainz
REQUEST: “can I request a Carlos Sainz smut imagine??”
WORD COUNT: 3.5k
NOTE: since it’s carlos’ birthday, i thought it’s finally time to write something for him
masterlist
The moment Charles saw the look in your face as you reached to shake Carlos' hand, he knew he messed up. Despite being a year older than you, Charles has never been the overprotective type. He leaves all that to Enzo. More often than not, he encourages you to meet new people, go on that date with that nice guy from your chem 101 class. It's when they mess up that Charles is the first to throw in a punch.
That being said, he isn't particularly happy with the idea of you dating his teammate. It's not that he doesn't trust you and Carlos because he does but statistically, most relationships in our lifetimes fail. There are bigger chances of you and Carlos not working out than you did living happily ever after.
And when Carlos’ face lit up as he shook your hand, Charles felt as though he's watching a crash happen.
“Pleasure is all mine, Hermosa,” Carlos says kindly, causing a blush to rise to your cheeks. At that moment, Carlos thought you're the most beautiful being to exist, everyone else around you becoming background noise as he focussed his attention on you.
Meeting your eyes, it feels as though something clicked in place. It sounded cliche and overused but he could have sworn that everything suddenly felt a little brighter the moment you stepped into his life.
Charles looked back and forth between the two of you, resisting the urge to groan at the sudden brightness in Carlos’ eyes and the sudden redness of your cheeks. Introducing the two of you was definitely his worst mistake.
It didn't take long for you to suddenly keep appearing in the paddock more than usual. Charles is happy to have you around, of course, along with Arthur and Lorenzo but he found it odd how you're suddenly able to make time to jump from plane to plane just to show support.
However, he's quick to piece together the reason for your sudden interest in the sport when you climbed in the ferrari private plane, summer dress on and barely glancing at him as you crashed straight into Carlos’ chest. Your attempt at a ‘friendly hug’ that lasted longer than it should had him scoffing along with the wide smile the two of you are sporting.
“Qu'est-ce qui se passe ici ?” Arthur asked from beside Charles, surely already thinking about the thousand ways he can tease you of your obvious new crush. What’s going on there?
“C'est de ma faute,” Charles muttered under his breath as he watched Carlos reach over to tuck in a strand of your hair that fell to your face. My fault.
“Enzo ne sera pas content,” Arthur said with a mischievous grin, obviously finding amusement in the situation you're all currently in. Enzo won't be happy.
Enzo, the eldest of the four of you, has taken it upon himself to always be protecting his siblings, especifically you and Arthur. He can be overprotective, especially the guys you date, having been tasked more than once with picking up the broken shards of your heart after some guy callously broke it.
“Oi, Y/N!” Charles calls with clear irritation in his voice, breaking you and Carlos from the little bubble you've created, clearly having forgotten about everyone else. “Greet your brothers too, why don't you?”
“We haven't seen you for a month and you don't even notice us!” Arthur childishly whines, making you roll your eyes as you give Carlos another smile before moving towards your brothers.
“Je t'ai vu hier, Arthur,” you say, a little bit of accusation in your voice. I saw you yesterday, Arthur.
Arthur pouts but the teasing glint in his eyes is obvious. “Yes and I've missed you since.”
You roll your eyes again as you envelop Charles in a hug, reaching behind him to lightly smack the back of your youngest brother’s head.
“I'm going to tell maman.”
“Cry me a river, you big baby,” you say, your french accent jumping out.
Finally, Lorenzo enters the plane just as you and Arthur are beginning to bicker, Charles completely relaxed between you two, already used to it. Lorenzo sighs. It's always the two of you giving him a headache.
“Y/N, s'asseoir. Nous sommes sur le point de décoller,” Lorenzo orders in an attempt to stop you both before you really get at it. Y/N, sit. We're about to take off.
Instead of listening, you only cross your arms over your chest. “I'm not sitting next to Arthur.”
“Cry me a river, you big baby,” Arthur mocks childishly, causing a sigh from Enzo, Charles still completely unbothered in between the brewing chaos between the two youngest. Growing up, it's always been like this. You and Arthur bickering back and forth, Enzo trying to keep you both in line and Charles unbothered and used to it all.
However, before Enzo can propose a solution, you've already turned your back on them, walking back to where Carlos sat with his trainer, occupying the free seat next to the Spaniard as a smile breaks into your face, Carlos quickly putting his phone down in order to give you his full attention.
“When did that happen?” The oldest asked, causing a frown and Charles could feel himself shrinking in his seat.
Charles’ regret with introducing the two of you finally reached an all time high during the holiday break. You've been cooped up in your apartment for days, claiming the heavy load of school work you're going through to be the reason.
Charles had no suspicions. He had no reason to not believe you and so when he drove over to your place with a pint of your favorite ice cream in hand with the purpose of inviting you to join him and the rest of your friends in his yacht, he genuinely thought he was doing a nice thing.
He missed his family and he wanted to spend quality time with you guys before flying to Belgium in three weeks but his good mood was instantly ruined when he knocked on your door and it wasn't you who answered.
“Carlos?!” Charles asked, shocked and confused at seeing the Spaniard before him in Monaco, much less a very much topless one. As far as he knew, the rest of the other drivers are taking advantage of the break to spend time with their families so what’s Carlos doing in your apartment?
And then it became clear from the guilty look on Carlos’ face along with the purple marks all over his chest and neck and Charles let out a long groan as he pushed past his teammate into your apartment. “Y/N!”
Finally, you emerge from your bedroom, hair messy and skin all blotchy with matching love bites, wearing a too big shirt that definitely doesn't belong to you. “Charles! Tu ne m'as pas dit que tu venais.” You didn't tell me you were coming over.
Your attempt at playing dumb had him rolling his eyes as he points at a sheepish looking Carlos. “Explain yourself.”
“It isn't what it looks like,” you start before faltering, eyes switching between your brother and the man you had been on your knees for mere seconds ago. You can still taste his cum on your tongue. “Okay, nevermind that, it's definitely what it looks like.”
“Mate–” Carlos starts but Charles holds a finger up to stop him, sitting himself down on your couch.
“Give me a moment,” he says, mind spinning. Charles had never been the overprotective type but all he can think about is that Carlos is going to break your heart and Charles will have to kill him and there goes years of friendship down the drain.
“Here.” You offer him a glass of water. “We didn't mean to but we’ve liked each other for weeks and it just happened—”
“Stop,” Charles groans, not wanting to know the details of your relationship.
For a moment, silence envelops the three of you as Charles tries to gather his thoughts. He watched as you and Carlos slowly gravitated towards each other, finding yourself on the other side of the couch, legs pressed against each other’s and Carlos’ hand situating itself on your bare thigh.
Charles groans again. “I shouldn't have introduced you and now Enzo is going to kill me.”
The pure fear in your eyes almost worried Carlos if he didn’t already know that you and your brothers seem to share the same wavelength that consist of making each other lives the hardest it can be for giggles and laughs.
“No wait!” You say immediately, sitting next to Charles. “Parlons-en, Charles. Je vais lui dire. Ne le dis à personne. Especially not Arthur!” Let’s talk about this, Charles. I’ll tell him. Don’t tell anyone anything.
You already know that Enzo will freak out and Arthur will make your life a living hell by teasing you and quite frankly, you don’t want to put yourself or Carlos through that.
“Je n'aurais pas dû vous présenter tous les deux !” Charles exclaimed before facing Carlos, unknowingly switching to italian. “E tu, Carlos! Mia sorella, davvero? Non potevi scegliere letteralmente qualcun altro?” I shouldn’t have introduced the two of you! … and you, carlos! My sister, really? You couldn’t have chosen literally anyone else?
“Mate, non volevo che accadesse! Non ho mai voluto mancarti di rispetto, ma abbiamo–” I didn’t mean for it to happen. I never want to disrespect you but we’ve–
“Aye! Aye!” Charles interrupts, covering his ears like a toddler. “I don’t want to know anything about your relationship with my sister, mate!”
The switch in languages is giving you a whiplash as the two men seem to be speaking a thousand miles per hour, barely giving you time to catch up considering you’re not as fluent in italian as the two of them.
“Charles, stop acting like a toddler!” You exclaim finally, throwing your hands up in frustration the way that Carlos often teases you. “Je suis un adulte et je peux prendre mes propres décisions. Je peux sortir avec qui je veux sans ta permission ! Si vous avez un problème avec ça, vous pouvez vous le mettre au cul.” I am an adult and I can make my own decisions. I can date whoever I want without your permission! If you have a problem with it then you can shove it right up your ass.
With your outburst, Charles and Carlos both found themselves frozen in place. Charles because he hasn’t seen you that angry since secondary school when Arthur pranked you by dumping slime on your homework and Carlos because, well because he found you rambling in french to be an extremely attractive sight.
Charles rolls his eyes but knows that you’re right either way. “Fine. I won’t tell anyone.”
A small smile finally broke into your face as you reached towards him and enveloped him in your arms, causing Charles to roll his eyes for the second time as he couldn't help but return the hug.
“But please–”
“Charles,” you interrupt before he can say anything else that will annoy you. “That’s the end of the conversation and it’s your cue to leave.”
Charles looks like he wants to object but thinks better of it as he plants a kiss on your cheek before exiting your apartment, leaving you and Carlos shell shocked. Finally, you stand up and walk over to your lover, arms snaking around his neck and his placing on your hips as you go on your tiptoes to plant a soft kiss on his lips, forcing him to look down at you.
“I think that went well, no?” You grin and Carlos can’t help but lean into your touch, pulling you closer to his body.
“I think we traumatized him.”
You grin wider, already dragging him to the bedroom
--
You and Carlos had woken up from the monte carlo sun blinding you through your window, wrapped around in each other as you dread bringing him to the airport to spend the next two weeks of his holiday break with his family with the promise of returning for the last week in order for you to introduce him to yours.
“I don’t want to leave,” he muttered against your skin, laying between your legs and head on your chest. His hold on you is tight as your fingers absentmindedly play with his hair.
“You have to,” you tell him. “You miss your family and you should spend time with them.”
You dread the next two weeks, having received a text from Charles that he’s going to be dragging you around with all of his plans along with your brothers. He calls it spending quality sibling time, you call it trapping you so they can grill you about your love life.
Carlos climbs from your chest so he’s hovering over you, lips ghosting over the skin of your neck. “Te amo.”
You smile softly as you cup his cheeks between your palms, guiding his lips on yours. “Je t'aime.”
Carlos grins into the kiss before slipping his tongue past your lips to explore your mouth. “Show me how much.”
In all honesty, with every new layer you uncover of your lover, you’re left in even more awe than the last time. He always finds some way to be touching you, so much so that you’re quite surprised it took Charles this long to figure out your relationship. Carlos is so soft, loving you so gently. He’s sweet and considerate, always knowing what you need before you even say it.
But when you’re in bed, there’s a different side of Carlos, someone who likes being in charge, being in control. Someone who demands you scream his name as loud as you can and would have you begging for release only to finally give it to you and have your legs shaking till you’re begging him to stop.
You were in the process of climbing down from his neck as you unbuttoned his pants when you heard it, immediately making Carlos halt your movements.
“Y/N!” You heard the voice of your little brother, throwing your front door open. “Qu'est-ce que j'entends de la part de Charles, que tu sors avec un certain pilote espagnol de Ferrari ?” What's this I'm hearing from Charles that you're dating a certain spanish ferrari driver?
You groan, pulling yourself up as Carlos’ hard on immediately softens at the sound of your brother’s voice. “I’m going to kill Charles.”
Carlos laughs as you fall back into his chest, his arms wrapping around you. “You have way too many brothers.”
You couldn’t help but laugh as you finally pulled yourself up, pulling him along with you as you threw a hoodie in his direction. You can’t find it in you to be ashamed as you watch his back muscles flex and stretch as he pulls the hoodie over his head.
“Like what you see, Corazón?” He teases and you playfully roll your eyes.
“I’d like it more if I were on my knees right now sucking your dick.”
At that exact moment, Arthur comes barging into your bedroom, thankfully not having heard your statement as he all but throws himself at your bed, throwing a weird glance at Carlos’ extremely reddening face.
Facing your brother, you give him your best stern look. Charles and Enzo may get to boss you around but you are still older than Arthur by a good two years. You’re well within your rights to be mean to him whenever you see fit.
“Arthur!” You start. “I gave you a spare key in case of an emergency, not so you can come into my home anytime you want.”
“This is an emergency.” He sounds so much like a whiny child that you have half a mind to throw your slippers at him. “I wanted to see if what Charles said was true. I can’t believe you actually got yourself a boyfriend!”
“I’m going to kill Charles,” you repeat, Carlos planting a kiss on your temple as he continues on to the shower, leaving you to deal with the youngest Leclerc. “And what do you mean by that, you idiot?”
“Well, I mean you look a bit like a troll–”
This time, you actually throw your slipper at him.
---
You squirm as Carlos’ finger circles your clit, his lips attacking your neck.
“Doing so good for me, Amor,” he whispers against your skin. “Doing so good keeping quiet.”
“Carlos,” you whine out, squirming on his lap in an attempt to get his finger to move. “Please.”
“What do you want, baby?” He asked, the callus pad of his finger feeling like heaven against your most sensitive area.
“Please touch me,” you beg, already breathless. “Please, please.”
You can feel the imprint of his mischievous grin as he kisses along your neck to your shoulder. “I am touching you, Amor.”
God, you both love and hate it when he gets like this. “More. More please.”
His driver room is tiny and so your heavy pants bounce against the walls and you’re sure you sound pathetic begging for his touch but he hasn’t touched you since he left you in monte carlo that first week of his holiday break and quite frankly, you’re desperate for some sort of relief.
Carlos nibbles at the sensitive skin on your neck, making you release a moan that you desperately tried to hold in. “Alright, honey, since you’re being such a good girl letting me use you like this.”
Finally, finally, his finger slips inside your folds, giving you relief as you throw your head back, your legs turning jelly and Carlos being the one holding you up as you become puny in his hold. You bite your lip in an attempt to hold in your moans as his finger starts moving faster.
“So filthy,” Carlos whispers in your ear as the squelching sound of his finger thrusting inside your cunt vibrates around the small area. “So filthy for me.”
“Hmm,” you agree, head thrown back as you begin feeling your high approaching, the feeling intensifying as Carlos adds in another finger. Your climax is right within your reach as your legs shake, hands gripping Carlos’ thigh that you’re sure your nails would leave an imprint on his skin.
Yet just as you’re about to spasm, you both hear insistent knocks on Carlos’ door, your eyes flying open at the intrusion.
Carlos keeps his fingers buried deep inside you, movements not ceasing as he speaks up. “Who is it?”
You’re honestly amazed at how even his voice is while you feel as though you’re about to fall apart, having moved your head so you’re biting on his shoulder in an attempt to keep yourself quiet, something that Carlos barely flinched at.
“It’s Lorenzo,” came your eldest brother’s voice and just like that, the moment was broken and Carlos immediately pulled his fingers out of you.
You feel like you’ve been robbed, your climax so close yet now so far as Carlos very easily removes you from his lap, making sure your clothes are perfectly back in place, wiping his hand on a nearby face towel and spraying some alcohol on his palms before he opens the door with the biggest smile on his face as though he hadn’t just been finger fucking you seconds ago.
For a moment, you sat stunned. A few seconds ago, you were coming undone with your boyfriend’s fingers deep inside you and now said boyfriend is smiling at your older brother as if Lorenzo had cured cancer itself. You know he’s been desperate to earn your family’s respect ever since you two went public but goddamn it couldn’t he have let you finish first?
“Maman is insisting on a dinner to cheer Charles up and celebrate Carlos’ podium,” said your brother. “We’ve been waiting for the two of you for ages.”
“Actually, can we—” you start but your boyfriend gives you a pointed look before he interrupts.
“We’ll be there in a second,” Carlos said calmly. “Let me just change out of my race suit.”
You’re on your boyfriend as soon as the door closes, glaring at him. “That’s extremely rude.”
Carlos grins as he pulls you towards him in order to connect your lips. “I’ll take care of you later, Amor.”
Carlos does not, in fact, take care of you later. It isn’t his fault. The next couple of days were extremely hectic with ferrari working overtime to catch up with red bull and you barely got any moment alone with him apart to sleep.
You understand, really, but you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t felt extremely on edge the entire time. It’s like the cruelest game of teasing and never getting to cum. And frankly, you blame your brothers entirely for your predicament.
“Charlotte, I’m telling you it’s like they’re determined to make sure I don’t have a sex life!” You complain over the phone. “Ils continuent à apparaître de nulle part ! Je suis sur le point d'embrasser Carlos ? Oh, voilà Charles ! Je suis assis sur les genoux de Carlos ? Enzo frappe à la porte ! Je veux descendre sur mon petit ami ? Il y a Arthur !” They keep appearing out of nowhere! I'm about to kiss Carlos? Oh there's Charles! I'm sat on carlos' lap? Enzo's knocking on the door! I want to go down on my boyfriend? There's Arthur!
On the other side, Charlotte laughs loudly at your misery and if you weren’t so frustrated, you’d find it in yourself to be embarrassed but you haven’t been this sexually frustrated since you were a teenager and everytime Carlos even mildly touches you, it’s like your body goes on an overdrive and you’re ready to get down on your knees for him. Unfortunately for you, your brothers seem to be everywhere. One always seems to be tailing you around.
You suddenly agree with Carlos that you have way too many brothers because this is just ridiculous at this point.
“Ils ne le font sûrement pas exprès,” Charlotte says, trying to calm you down. Surely they don't mean to do it on purpose.
“I don’t care,” you pout again. You so badly want to jump his bones that you almost feel like a pervert. “I just need them to leave me alone for an hour so I can actually spend time with my boyfriend. Can’t you just steal Charles for the day so I can lock Arthur and Lorenzo somewhere?”
Charlotte laughs again. “I’ll be there by tomorrow and I definitely wouldn’t mind a day alone with Charles.”
“Yes please, I’d kiss you on the spot!”
Finally, Carlos and Charles arrive and you end your call with Charlotte in favor of spending time with your boyfriend, removing the armrest between the two of you so you can place your head against his shoulder.
“Mon amour, you are cruel,” you whisper against his ear, making sure no one else can hear.
At your words, Carlos’ eyes darkened a bit. “Trust me, Corazón, I’d love to fuck you silly too.”
Very much like you, Carlos too is struggling with the multiple interruptions as is now becoming apparent to you considering that your boyfriend barely uses such dirty words outside the bedroom. He needed you and he’s beginning to get a little desperate. That must be why he agreed when you told him to follow you to the bathroom five minutes after you.
Carlos loves trying out things in the bedroom but one thing he isn’t is risky. The idea of getting caught fills him terror rather than lust especially the thought of getting caught by someone you shouldn’t be caught by with his career in the line. You understand and it isn’t usually your thing either but you’re both desperate. A little bit of relief is very much needed or else you’ll explode.
You basically throw yourself at him as soon as the door shuts, your lips messy against his as Carlos’ hands fall to your hips, trying to stabilize you as you hurriedly pull his shirt off him, mouth already traveling to his exposed neck.
“Needy, are you?” He teases but he lets you take the lead despite knowing you’d willingly give control if he wanted it. Despite his good boy persona, Carlos does have an ego and nothing boosts a man’s ego more than his girlfriend being desperate for him.
“Shut up,” you muttered, already working on his belt that seems to be adamant to stay on. “Ceinture stupide.” Stupid belt.
You grin triumphantly once you finally get the belt off him and the sight of you grinning as you hold his belt up triumphantly was so adorable to him that Carlos planted a gentle kiss on your forehead, genuinely so hopelessly in love with you in that moment as you move to unzip his pants. You don’t even pay attention to the sudden sweet gesture in the middle of your lust filled mission to get him in your mouth as you sink to your knees.
Carlos holds your hair in a ponytail as you pull out his cock out of his boxers, kitty licking the side and causing Carlos to throw his head back, lightly tugging at your hair. “Baby, don’t play.”
You look up at him under your lashes, the pure look of innocence if only you aren’t gripping his cock. Finally, you put him into your mouth, slowly lowering your head till your nose hits his pelvis and his tip hits the back of your throat.
“Y/N!” And then there’s banging on the door and you actually fall on your ass at the impact considering that you and Carlos were leaning on said door.
“I’m going to scream,” you tell your boyfriend as you recognize your brother’s voice, completely frustrated at the predicament you found yourself in for the fourth time.
Carlos laughs, kneeling next to you as he covers your mouth. “Don’t.”
“Y/N, you better not be doing what I think you’re doing in there!” Charles screams from the other side, banging on the door once again.
“Just ignore him,” you plead, reaching between the two of you to grip Carlos’ now softening cock. “Please.”
“Amor, as beautiful as you are, I’m not going to have sex with you with your brother on the other side of the door,” Carlos side, hastily pulling his boxers and jeans up.
“Y/N!” Charles calls again, voice becoming louder and you can hear Arthur’s voice on the other side now too.
“Can’t a woman shit in peace around here?” You scream back as Carlos slips his shirt back on, you still sitting on the floor, arms crossed over your chest and a pout pulling on your lips.
“Do you need Carlos in there with you in order to take a dump, sister?” You recognize Arthur’s voice (which if you aren’t so pissed at them, you’d pat yourself on the back on considering that Charles and Arthur’s voices when speaking English are eerily similar).
“Leave me alone!” You scream again as Carlos, now fully clothed, pulls you up from the floor. You pout, lightly pulling at his shirt in your last attempt to convince him to continue what you had been doing but Carlos only chuckles as he finally unlocks the door, revealing a smirking Arthur and a disgusted looking Charles.
“Y/N was just helping me with something,” Carlos tries to reason, his hand entwining with yours.
You look murderous as you glare at your brothers, making sure to give them the middle finger as you drag Carlos back to your seats.
You can find the 2 request here: anonymous 1, anonymous 2.
Resume: The villain falls in love with the girl.
Trope: “ Who did this to you?” “Touch her and you are dead.” “i´ll find you in every lifetime”
Couple: Five Hargreeves /Fem!Reader.
Warnings: A LOT OF ANGST, swearing, mention of death, blood, fight between the Hargreeves and the Sparrows,a little enemies to lovers in the end, fluff, SMUT, degrading talk.
Word count: 15k.
Keep reading
So I don't Forget @soidontforget123 - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
