summary: you and jack have always been flirty and unfortunately that really doesnât help the huge crush you have on him. seeing him with his girlfriend also really doesnât help your huge crush.
contents: reader has a nickname (spooky), flirting, talk of mortuary sciences (death, bodies, etc), slight angst, miscommunication, reader is oblivious, only physical description is readerâs boobs, oral (f receiving), nipple/breast play, p in v sex, unprotected sex, fluff, inspired by olivia rodrigoâs maggots for brains
a/n: this is my first time trying to write anything remotely fluffy and i kind of wanted it to feel like a rom com! the medicine in this is probably not accurate at all but i needed it to conform to the plot for storytelling purposes so please forgive any mistakes!! also my first time properly writing smut inâŚa while so go easy on me i am RUSTY
Mondays are for psychopaths you think, not for the first time, as you watch the hour hand inch past 3 on the clock above your desk.
3AM, that is.
3AM on a Monday morning and you're sat surrounded by the dead.
At this point, the stack of paperwork beneath your hand is meaningless. To you at least, of course. Obviously. Super important for the poor guy who's name is printed in block letters across the top. And his family. Of course.
Truthfully, though, you've just been sat staring at the clock for the last 45 minutes, glazed over eyes and face smushed against your fist, willing your head not to drop forward in a sleepy trance. The graveyard of red bull cans in front of you have unfortunately not worked their magic, and you point blank refuse to even touch the hot tar in the breakroom some heathen has labelled as coffee.
In order to actually finish the custody forms and crosschecking them with sampling logs, you reason that you need to force your brain into gear. Surely stretching your legs will suffice. And if that leg stretch concludes with a lap around the ER which may or may not coincide with a certain nocturnal chief attending's rounds then that will simply be the world's largest coincidence.
A certain nocturnal chief attending who you may or not be working up the courage to ask out for dinner. Eventually.
You've been given enough encouragement by your friends, the usual "What's the worst he could say? No?".
Yes, the worst he could say is no, actually.
Well, not technically. He could turn around and spew off insults and declarations of total disgust and hatred for you. But you figure that reaction would go against the months and months of cheeky smiles and winks brandished in your direction, the inside jokes and flirty comments he greets you with, the smiley faces (and the one-time scribbled out heart!!!) he leaves on the sticky notes littered on the forms he sends downstairs.
So, really, a no would be the worst thing. A no would confirm that you'd done it again- read too far into things, saw signs that were more like mirages- an oasis granting affection in the touch-starved desert that is your love life.
A no would mean having to look into the eyes of a man you have admired for longer than you'd care to admit and watch him reject you. Which he is more than entitled to, of course! You'd take it on the chin and respect his no.
Then lock yourself in your office and sob loud enough to wake the bodies housed on the other side of your office door.
Dr Abbot wouldn't be your first rejection, of course. Far from it. To be human is to be rejected, and you'd learned long ago that picking yourself back up is the only response you can have if you want to remain human.
It would be the first to stop you in your tracks, though, you think. Your professional lives are so entwined- you're the one he calls every time he needs a deceased patient moving, or a DOA evaluated, or legal forms need both of your approval. Even the of his residents who show interest in mortuary rotations have to speak to the both of you, and you always manage to cross paths at hospital galas and fundraisers.
Quite frankly, you would survive the fallout. You would move on, tell yourself that you're a grown woman who has before and will again face rejection. Your professional lives would be just the same.
Your heart is another matter entirely.
It doesn't care that you're a woman with nearly three decades of earthly experiences. Or that your career is logically more important than a silly infatuation with the silver haired grump upstairs.
A muscle so intent on latching onto said silver haired grump cannot possibly care about logic.
Apparently, neither does your brain- the logic machine- as your calf muscles burn through the stretch of the seemingly endless stairs up to the ER.
The floor is almost awkwardly quiet tonight, your trainers squeaking against the linoleum and the sound of your heavy-ish breathing making you wince slightly with every movement. Box breathing is all you can do to tamp it down as you make your way through half empty corridors, every couple of rooms housing a patient but otherwise unusually inactive. The witching hour usually brings a whole host of crazy energy whirlwinding through the ER doors.
Perfect conditions for the native species of nightcrawler who infest this floor.
"Spooky. Over here."
Your head snaps to the right at the familiar cadence of your favourite night shift attending. (Only marginally more favoured than Ellis, if only for the fact that Jack doesn't raid your super secret stash of cookies.)
You've gone by that nickname now for longer than your own name. Spooky- bestowed upon you by Jack himself after he spotted the poster in your office. The UFO and 'I WANT TO BELIEVE' matching with that of Agent Fox Mulder's from The X-Files.
You suppose there are worse things to be called.
And, admittedly, you probably do come across as marginally spooky what with being cooped up with the dead four days a week.
"Hi."
"Hi."
That lopsided smile. It reminds you of the angle of Orion's bow in your favourite constellation. And the spray of freckles across his face reminds you of the Milky Way. You're almost certain you can trace a path between them, make up your own constellation.
"How are things downstairs?" Jack prompts the conversation at the sight of your slightly glazed eyes. He doesn't want to go so far as to assume it's because of him, so he'll chalk it up to the hour and the steadily growing army of empty red bull cans he's sure are encroaching on your desk.
You rock back and forth on your heels, hands fumbling to do something- anything- in front of you, "Oh, you know. Peachy. Lively as always."
The smile returns, this time more of a purse of his lips, as if biting back a chuckle. At you or with you: you're not sure you want to know.
"As always." Reaching for the tablet in front of him, he starts off in the direction of the triage bays, "Fancy joining me on my rounds tonight, Spooky?"
"Oh, yeah! Can't promise I'll be much help- my expertise is more use for those patients who don't really need fixing anymore."
He looks over his shoulder at you, smirking as you stumble on your feet to rush after him. Like a puffin, he thinks, not for the first time. A very cute puffin.
"Mmm, I'm sure we'll find a use for you yet, Spooky. What're you doing up here in the land of the living anyway?" He looks back down to his screen as he walks, content with the knowledge that you're by his side.
You look around the ER with wide eyes like you're seeing it for the first time (even though this probably marks the thousandth time).
"Hm? Oh, um, IâŚneeded to stretch my legs. Thought I'd come up and grace you all with my presence." A hollow chuckle betrays you slightly and from the amused look Jack throws your way, he believes you even less.
Thankfully he lets you get away with the obvious lie, swiping through the charts to find the one he's searching for. He stops in front of a curtain and briefly announces his presence to the patient on the other side, giving them an additional second before gently pulling the curtain aside with a practiced smile. One you've been on the receiving end of countless times, the one you're sure is laced with calming properties. You've seen many a patient be talked down from ledges just with that smile; the one that says I'm here, I understand, I've got you, we'll do this together.
Jack brings himself down to the patient's level, seating himself on the rolling stool, "Mr Romano, I'm Dr Abbot- this is another of our doctors here at PTMC, do you mind if she observes our chat for a minute?"
The patient looks nervously towards you so you take that as a sign to introduce yourself, telling him your name, "I'm normally downstairs in the mortuary, it's nice to meet you up here!"
The facepalm Jack makes immediately after you finish speaking makes your heart jump. Mr Romano's head shoots towards Jack, eyes wide like dinner plates, "Mortuary?! What? I am dying?" His thick Italian accent reverbs off the walls as you wince and rush to placate him.
"No- no,"
"Mr Romano, everything is fine. My colleague is just brushing up on her bedside manner," Jack pointedly looks towards you though you can see the amusement in his eyes from here, "You came in with laceration to your thumb, that is all. Once it's stitched you'll be free to go. No one is dying any time soon."
His words seem to calm the man if only momentarily, so Jack uses the sliver of calm to inform him that a nurse will be in to stitch him up shortly before ushering you out of the bay and shutting the curtain behind him.
You walk to the nurses station with your hands covering your face, refusing to even look at Jack.
"How bad was it?" Your voice comes out mumbled from behind your palms.
Instead of the reprimand you were expecting, you hear a throaty chuckle which quickly dissolves into uncontrollable giggles. A warm hand comes up to grip your fingers, gently removing them from your face. The sight of Jack's laughing face sets off your own, his out of amusement and yours out of embarassment.
"God, Spooky. 'I'm from the mortuary'? Really?" His imitation of your voice only worsens both of your giggling.
"I didn't know what to say! I haven't had to speak to a living patient in years! God he must've thought I was the grim reaper or something." At this point, your quickly warming forehead is pressed to the cool surface of the nurses station.
Jack rounds the desk, still chuckling, to sit in a chair, "You say anything but that, sweetheart. Anything. Did you see his face? Poor guy."
You bring your head up to glower at him still laughing at your expense, "Yeah, keep it up, giggleshits."
That only makes him laugh harder. You can still hear him when you turn and start back down the corridor. The sooner you get back to your safe space with no talking and moving patients, the better.
"Aw, Spooky, don't run off! We were just getting started!"
A backwards middle finger is all he receives in reponse.
His chuckling it still audible when you reach the stairs.
A week later, you're back in a very familiar position, only this time during normal people hours.
The dayshift proves a stark opposite to that of the night shift; you're sure you've almost run into at least four separate people in the two minutes you've been on the ER floor. You watch with darting eyes as patients and staff alike flit and scurry between rooms, codes are called, and an incessant hum seems to hover above everything.
There is significantly too much life and noise happening up here for your taste.
Robby had called you a few minutes ago saying he needed your assistance with moving a patient and you find him outside of the family viewing room, a somber smile on his face. Whilst you enjoy each other's company, you'd both much prefer if your professional meetings were kept to a minimum.
Over your years working with him, you've come to find Robby views death as sadness completely. You suppose it makes sense; his job is to help these people, to do everything he possibly can to nurse them back to health- or at least stability before another specialist can swoop in. He is the frontlines for any and all emergencies and so death to him is a failing. Personal and professional.
From your perspective, death is a process. All of us die, some of us at the very hospital you work at. It's your job to treat all of your patients with dignity and respect, making sure they each receive the best possible standard of care. You see death as a ritual, and you have a sacred purpose to take care of their physical body and appreciate the life they lived. If you stopped to grieve for every person you performed on, you'd be stuck in one place infinitely.
If anything, you now have a deep appreciation for your own life. The job just comes with the added bonuses of developing a strong stomach and dark humour.
"Hey, Spooky, thanks for coming up. Sorry for the craziness around here, you know how it is." His accompanying laugh is more of a mirthless breath through his nose.
"Dr Robby, no problem, haha..yeah."
No, actually, you don't know. The speed up here is miles ahead of the one you're used to.
To his credit, Robby doesn't allow the awkwardness to linger for too long, instead sweeping you into the room with a palm hovering over your mid-back.
Transport support is already waiting inside the viewing room as you set to work on the usual identification and verification processes, checking over the death notification paperwork and ID tag, removing the little remaining medical apparatus from the patient's body, and securing a chin strap to ensure both dignity and practicality. After you give the go ahead to the transport staff member, they help you move the patient into a bag and then with securing the body with the concealment gurney. You give Anton, the transport staff, a murmur of thanks before asking him to move the body downstairs using the back elevator and noting that you'll be down in a moment once Robby and you finalise paperwork.
You find Robby waiting outside the room, his chin titled towards his shoes in thought.
"Hey, all finished in there, I'll be heading down to process them in a minute."
His eyes meet yours, some of the heaviness from before replaced with the professionality all doctors have to master- especially when they are the Chief Attending of an city's emergency department, "Thanks, Spooky. You're an angel."
The toothy, too-wide grin you give back makes him smile even more. You never could take a compliment.
At the nurses station, Robby turns to you with both the paperwork you need to complete and an expression you recognise all too well. You've worked with him for too long not to know when Michael Robinavitch is scheming.
"âŚWhat? Do I have something on my face?" Your hand haphazardly sweeps at your mouth, praying the pesto pasta salad you brought for lunch isn't smeared across your chin.
"No, no. You look great. JustâŚa question, if you will."
Your eyes narrow in suspicion, "Hmm, why do I not like where this is going already?"
Robby chuckles, "God, Spooky, at least hear me out before you start accusing me of something."
"You have that look, Robinavitch. I know that look."
His eyes roll good-naturedly before they meet Dana's over the other side of the desk, her own spying on the two of you from above the glasses perched on the tip of her nose.
"I just wanted to ask if you'd put any more thought into that gala. Gloria's been on my ass about numbers and representing the hospital properly, putting on a united front, yada yada. 'S all bureaucratic bullshit, but someone's gotta do it."
Robby watches in thinly veiled amusement as your head tips back on a groan, "Fuck. I completely forgot." You look over at Dana, still watching curiously, for moral support, "Do I have to?"
She raises both hands in surrender, one holding a patient chart and the other the bright red hospital landline, "Hey, don't look at me, Spooks. I got nothin' to do with those bigwigs upstairs."
Unfortunately for you, your puppy dog eyes do not have the same effect on Robby as they do on Jack, "Put those eyes away, missy. Someone from your department has to go or Gloria will ride your ass so hard you'll be drowning in paperwork for the next year."
Robby's words make your whole face screw up in a cringe, "Please, don't ever put that image in my brain ever again."
He simply laughs out loud before fatherly patting you on the back, "You'd best send Gloria confirmation of your attendance." Handing you the final sheet of paperwork, he pauses as if remembering something important, "Oh, actually, you know who else is going? Jack. Huh, at least you won't be alone."
With that, he picks up a chart and heads towards a triage bay. His words make you pause: if Jack is attending then maybe the night won't be so bad, his presence might just make up for the painful amount of schmoozing with potential donors you're going to have to do. Seeing him in a suit will also make the brain melting act of socialising easier to stomach. Maybe you can even dress up nice to feel confident enough to ask him for dinner sometime. You wonder absentmindedly if your sister still has that formal dress from her friend's cousin's wedding sat in the back of her wardrobe.
When you look up, you realise how in your own head you were when you spot Dana smirking knowingly at you, "Don't. Even."
Both eyebrows raise in faux innocence, "My lips are sealed."
After three back to back shifts the last place you want to be right now is in a crowded, overly decorated banquet hall surrounded by the best doctors in the tri-state area, the wealthiest Pennsylvania has to offer, and staff who look like they also want to be anywhere but serving comically tiny hors d'oeuvres to stuffy old white men.
It'd taken your sister over an hour to convince you to leave the house in the dress you're wearing and, despite how good you felt when you first tried it on, you suddenly feel ridiculously out of place considering your day to day attire is usually frumpy scrubs, a hair net, and your comfiest shoes.
A small part of you- well, perhaps a large majority- is hoping you'll find Jack tonight and he'll be starstruck by your dress. That same part of you that has existed since you were a pre-teen and your love of rom coms was kickstarted, watching scenes of undercover princesses swaying down palace steps in a gorgeous dress and captivating the eyes and hearts of Chad Michael Murray and Heath Ledger.
It's a satin fabric in a rich plum colour, an asymmetrical neckline showcasing the oiled skin of one shoulder, boning across the mid-section to accentuate your waist and hips, and the rest falling in smooth pleats around your calves. The silver heels on your feet started hurting before you even got in the Uber here and you're almost 100% positive you lost bloodflow to your pinky toe around seven minutes ago. Grinning and bearing it seems the only option.
You've already made the rounds a couple of times, your schmoozing power running on empty to match the empty champagne glass you've been clutching like a lifeline instead of awkwardly fiddling with your hands as usual.
You're still yet to spot Jack amongst the crowd you think to yourself, and, as if by magic, there he appears. You spy him chatting with a group of donors you're yet to try and work some of your unusual charm with, their faces all alight with rapt fascination as he no doubt captivates them with his otherworldly charisma. He'll be regaling them with some story of his time overseas, or managing to spin a patient story into a subtle yet effective appeal for donations.
He looks as dashing as ever, even if you are only glimpsing him from behind; his deep slate suit stretches taut over broad shoulders, pants tailored to perfection, and his more salt than pepper curls perfectly coiffed. You hope he's missed a day or two of shaving. You love the stubble that grows in after only a short amount of time and have spent more time than is probably healthy imagining how the scruff would feel between your thighs.
Setting out to cross the bustling room to reach his side, the crowd he was previously entertaining seem to fall away with wide grins and pats to his back, leaving him stood alone with possibly the most gorgeous woman you have ever seen.
Your steps fumble slightly, not wanting to make a fool of yourself by marching over there when he's in conversation with someone else.
Especially not when he's smiling like that at her.
She's in a long sleek dress to match her long sleek hair and she looks so elegant you're unsure if she's even real. Of course he'd be smiling like that at her.
Her elegance doesn't bother you nearly as much, though, as the hand on his arm does. Her fingers are wrapped around the crook of his elbow in such a way that looks natural, familiar. And he's not rejecting it. Jack is standing there letting her paw at him, smiling at her in that way that says I'm listening, I'll always listen to you that you foolishly believed might just have been exclusive to you.
For just a minute- though it feels like an eon- you stand and watch them; how good they look together, how naturally they seem to fit together, how she throws her head back on a laugh and he watches the clean line of her throat. It feels like a car crash you can't look away from, though you know the only car crash is the nosedive your potential relationship with Jack just took off the Fort Pitt Bridge.
In the years you've worked with Jack, you've never once heard him mention a partner- you knew he was divorced, everyone at the Pitt knew that, but you had no idea he was seeing anyone. And, from the way they're stood together, they can't be anything but a couple. It makes you feel sick thinking about how many hours you must've accumulated flirting with Jack over the years. How he'd never shut it down- had played along, even. Once again, you feel like that same silly teenage girl again; awkward and a hopeless romantic, only to find out that the cute flirty guy next to you in biology class had been dating your friend since the beginning of junior year.
You feel stupid and small and really fucking uncomfortable in this dress that you wore for him.
Behind you, you hear someone call your name and, deciding you've seen enough, you turn from the smoldering remains that was your crush on Dr Abbot.
In turning away, you miss the way Jack's ears perk up completely at the distant sound of your name, swinging his head around the room in an attempt to find you and the sting he feels in his chest when he can't.
The pile of papers on your desk has officially reached critical mass.
You're at the point where one strong shove of your office door may result in bureaucratic disaster, however sorting and filing them properly would require a trip to the ER. The same ER in which you have been completely avoiding for the last two weeks due to the residence of a certain silver haired grump.
You'd received exactly one message from him at the end of last week (when you figure he finally caught on to the fact that you were quite obviously avoiding him);
Jack's Abs: Hey Spooky, everything okay? Didn't see you at the fundraiser dinner, must've missed each other. Let me know if you want to come up and help with rounds again at any point. I'll make sure you don't frighten any patients half to death this time. - Jack
You'd only deigned to reply with a thumbs up emoji, to which you figure he must've guessed he'd done something wrong as he hasn't contacted you since.
In all honesty, you miss him. You miss the chats you would sneak together in the break room between lulls, you miss the way he would make any excuse to come downstairs to visit you, you miss the way he'd always have an energy drink chilling in the fridge for you- hidden behind the leftovers that have gone untouched for so long he's sure no one will bother to look behind them. You miss him when you see something funny on Instagram and you can't show him it, when normally you'd send it to him and watch him furrow his brows in old man confusion.
You've moped around so much for the past two weeks that even your assisstant, Sylvie, has been giving you shit for it.
"Girl, you've been slouching around here like a zombie for too long. Go talk to him!" She's sat in the chair on the other side of your packed desk, her feet propped precariously on one of the smaller piles of paper teetering on the edge of the cherrywood. You're slouched in your reclined office chair, head in your hands as you massage an incoming migraine from your temples.
"You should've seen them, Sylv- there was no way that wasn't his girlfriend. I feel so embarassed."
The whine in your voice makes Sylvie's eyes soften in sympathy, "Hun, there is no way that a man who looks at you like Dr Abbot looks at you has eyes for any other woman. Did you ask him if they were together?"
Shuffling your fingers apart, you peek up at her nervously, "âŚNo?"
The eye roll you receive is expected, the tinfoil ball from her sandwich being thrown at your head, is not.
"Okay, well, if you're not going to take these up, I will." Sylvie begins precariously stacking papers in her arms and heads for your office door, "I'll be sure to tell Dr Abbot you asked after him."
All you can do is cover your face again and groan, slouching down even further into your chair.
It's your day off and you're still moping. Only now, you can mope from the comfort of your own home.
You've not even left the house today, even though you know definitely should've when you open the fridge door and all that's in there is a half-drunk carton of orange juice and a moldy punnet of cherries. The weather is another reason you haven't left the house today, the thunder and lightning and lashing rain mirroring the emotional deluge happening inside your head.
A tiny, insane, part of you thinks maybe you should risk a grocery run today. Should risk driving in the torrential rain if only for the fact that the grocery store is in PTMC's catchment area and any accident that may've happened to you on those rain-slick roads would've resulted in the potential for Jack to be the one taking care of you. You dismiss the thought as soon as it pops into your head, immediately apalled at yourself, and decide to just rot the rest of the night away on your couch. You're sure you have some stovetop popcorn hidden in a cupboard somewhere.
You're almost through Four Weddings and a Funeral, just about to reach Hugh Grant's famous love confession to Carrie in the torrential rain when you hear a pounding on your front door.
Immediately, you check your phone to make sure you didn't accidentally order a pizza in you zombie-like state and make some poor delivery driver make the trek to your house in the storm, only for another, much longer, knock to sound through your living room.
You hop up from the couch, fastening the belt of your robe around you tighter as you swing open the front door to be met with a very wet Jack Abbot.
"What the hell are you doing here?", You shout to be heard over the thunder rolling behind him, brows furrowing in desparate confusion.
Jack brings a hand up to swipe his dripping curls from his face, slicking them back only for the shortest at the front to stick to his temples, "You've been avoiding me for weeks!"
"So you show up at my house?! In a storm?!"
"I had no other choice!"
Looking at him dripping wet on your doorstep makes your defences wither faster than you'd like, "God, Jack, just- just come in. Come in. I'll get you some towels and something to wear." He lets out a breath of relief, making sure to keep his feet on your doormat as he removes his soaked shoes and jacket, trying to minimise the mess he is guaranteed to make. When you return from the towel cupboard, you find him standing sheepishly still in your doorway now with the door closed at least, "Come on, you can sit on the couch- I'll put towels down."
Whilst he busies himself with drying off, you go in search of the biggest sweatpants and hoodies you can find, hoping you have something buried in the back of your wardrobe, and when you get back your heart bursts out of your chest at the sight of Jack's wet t-shirt halfway off of his body, arms stretching backwards to rip it off. When his head is free of the soaked fabric, he catches your widened eyes, curls still damp and now ruffled, the skin of his chest and arms reddened from the cold.
"He-here," you have to clear your throat to speak a coherent sentence, "take these- they should fit. Hopefully." You all but toss the clothes at him and make an escape to the kitchen in a plan to bring him a warm drink and to put his own clothes in the dryer.
Jack takes the time to scan your living room, a space he's never been privy to before but always wondered about- wondered whether you like to keep things neat and minimalist or go all out with bright colours and clutter. From what he can see, it's very you. He loves it. Although he's not sure his opinions on interior design have any weight considering his own house has looked the exact same (if he had to pick a word to describe its aesthetic, he would choose showhouse, Robby would choose sad) since his divorce years ago.
"Black, one sugar." You place a coffee down in front of him, settling in opposite him with your own mug of no doubt something teeth-rottingly sweet that most likely no longer classifies as coffee.
"Thanks, Spooky."
For the first time in all of the years you've known each other, the silence between you is awkward. It feels like there's an impenetrable barrier between the two of you, something tangible, something you can reach out and crush betwene your fingers. For the first time ever, you don't know how to talk to each other.
So, Jack takes the leap of faith.
"We need to talk, sweetheart."
The eyes you look at him with make his chest tighten immeasurably, there's hurt and guilt and longing and want burned into your pupils, so clear he can read them like his favourite book.
"You've been avoiding me, for a while now. Too long, really. And I just want to know what I did." Jack puts his coffee down and scoots forward on the couch, eyes wide in desperation, "Did I fuck up? I want to make it right, but I'm at a loss here, Spooky. I miss us. I miss you."
"I don't know if you should be saying that, Jack. It'sâŚinappropriate."
If it was possible, he's somehow leaning even farther forward, trying to get as close to you as he can whilst still respecting the clear space you've put between the two of you, "To who? We've always done this. It's been you and me since day one, Spooky."
"God, your girlfriend, Jack. Or partner- wife- whatever she is to you. I'm not coming between that, okay?"
Jack's eyes narrow in confusion, "Girlfriend? I don't have a girlfriend, or-or a partner or a wife."
The pit in your stomach widens, "YouâŚdon't?"
"Of course I don't. How could I when I have you? If you aren't filling any of those roles I don't want it." Out of all the expressions you've seen Jack Abbot wear, this one is a first. It's desperate, pleading, pure want.
"What about the woman in the black dress- from the fundraiser dinner? You two seemedâŚfriendly." You can't even look at him as you say it, embarassment swirling in your chest.
"You mean Val? My sister's wife? She's on the board for the woman's clinic outside Presby. Spooky, she's family. I promise you. I'll get out the fucking family albums if you want me too, sweetheart." And god help you, you know Jack would never lie to you. Not about something like this.
"Oh."
The smile he gives you is one of hope and sympathy, "Yeah."
"WellâŚnow I feel stupid."
Jack laugh is full of pity and amused exasperation, "Me too, Spooky."
There's one thing still left to clarify, though, "Did you mean what you said before? AboutâŚme. Being yourâŚgirlfriend or whatever."
Jack's smile is megawatt now, "Oh, my silly girl, get over here."
In an instant, you're rounding the coffee table, and straddling Jack's lap. His hands reach to cup your face automatically, bringing it to down to meet his awaiting mouth. The kiss is desperate and searching, your tongues sweeping each other's mouths, dying to memorise the feel of each other.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-" you pant between kisses, "I'm sorry I avoided you i just-"
"Shh, shh. 'S Okay, sweets. You're okay, I'm here now, hm?" Jack's hands are placating as they smooth over your body, gripping your curves, memorising the feel of your hips, "Now, I love this robe but I wanna see what's under it, yeah? That sound good?"
You nod frantically, aching to have his big hands touch your heated skin. He gently unties the knot, pushing the satin fabric from around your shoulders to pool at your feet. Instantly, his hands are going to your nipples poking from under thin material of your tank top, pinching and rolling and pulling. His mouth drops to envelop one through the fabric, teeth just and so nibbling at it before his tongue sweeps out to soothe. When he pulls away his eyes are heavy lidded at the sight of the wet spot on your tank and the outline of your swollen nipple even more prominent.
He looks up at you, your neck thrown back and whimpers pouring from you, "These tits, sweetheart. The things I've imagined doing to them."
You meet his eyes with your own hooded ones, "Yeah?"
"They're fucking perfect. Perfect for me." His fingers reach to pull the fabric of your tank down under your heavy tits, nipples jutting out proudly. Jack groans uncontrollably, mouth attatching to your tits once again like a man starved. Your hips works against his own, little shorts bunching up against the sweatpants you leant him, though you can feel the unmistakable bulge he's sporting.
"Where's your bedroom sweetheart?", Jack mumbles around a mouthful of your breast, his bite marks and spit leaving a trail across the delicate skin.
You point with a shaking hand in the direction of your room and, within ten seconds, he's pulling you up to stand so he can yank you down the corridor. Once he locates your bed, he shoves you down, standing between your parted legs as you prop yourself into your elbows. Jack takes you in, tits pressed together above the fabric of your top, tiny shorts hiding next to nothing, the outline of your perfect soaked cunt on display for him, your face already sweat slick and looking freshly fucked. He thinks you're the most gorgeous thing he's ever seen.
You watch with unconcealed lust as his rips the sweatshirt from over his head, pushes his sweatpants down, and reaches to remove his prosthetic leg. You watch that part with more interest- next time you want to be the one to do it for him. Once he's done, he leans against the bed, one of your ankles in each of his hands as he begins planting kiss after kiss up the side of your leg. Some are small pecks, others open mouthed, all whilst looking directly at you. Your jaw is touching your heaving chest at this point.
He finally gets to the apex of your thighs, the fat dimpling under his fingers as he places kiss after kiss over the fabric of your shorts, tongue coming out to poke at your clit, nose taking deep lungfuls of you. Your gasps and whimpers spur him on as he looks up at you, "Sweet girl, I want you to take these off for me."
You're nodding and hooking your fingers beneath the waistband instantly, hips lifting from the bed in what should feel an awkward move but doesn't as Jack keeps his eyes on yours- reassuring, guiding, loving. When the shorts are eventually hooked over one ankle, he slips them off and returns to face your cunt, weeping and leaking for him. Once he reaches what he's after he envelops your clit, nose smushing against the thatch of hair above your pussy, tongue sweeping across you, "God, Jack, oh my god-". For what feels like hours he suckles, kisses, licks, fucks you with his tongue. When he comes up for air, his face is glistening, the scruff you love so much completely doused in you.
Your hands grab at his curls, guiding him to where you need him most. His own hands come up to play with your tits, rolling and pinching, sometimes just grabbing handfuls of the plush flesh as if he needs something to ground him. You see his own hips working at the bed beneath him, unable to keep still at the sensation of completely devouring your cunt.
When he feels you beginning to reach the edge of your orgasm, he brings one hand down, rolling your clit beneath the pad of his thumb, his fingers dipping shallowly into your pussy, "Come on, sweet girl, come for me. You can do it, I've got you." Your hips are uncontrollable, writhing and rolling against him, your thighs clamping down on his ears as your first orgasm collides into you. It's less of a plunge and more of a tidal wave, one big wave and lots of slightly smaller jolts that pull you just as far under.
"Yeah, that's it. You're so pretty when you come, baby."
Jack unwinds his hands from your thighs when you release him, moving to his knees to crawl over you. His mouth brushes your stomach as he moves, the skin instantly tightening making him glance up at you as he leans down and presses a firmer kiss to the skin still covered by your tank top.
"You're beautiful. Don't hide from me. I know what you look like, Spooky." He tenderly thumbs at your temple as he says it, looking between your eyes. The kiss he plants on the bridge of your nose brings a prickle to your eyes. Before any tears can fall, though, Jack is lining his hips up with yours, the tip of his cock just and so pressing at your hole, "You want me baby? Hm?"
"Yes, yes- please, please. Need it, Jack-" His lips cut you off from anymore begging.
"Okay, sweet girl, you're okay. You'll get it. You'll get it all."
With a deep groan, Jack pushes in in one fell swoop, and it feels like fireworks explode behind your eyes. Like finding the missing puzzle piece. Like you've finally found your person. He's still for a moment, his face buried in your neck and hands gripping your waist, whilst he gives the both of you a second to acclimate.
"Please, Jack."
At your words, he begins a rhythm that feels like your favourite song and the beat of both your hearts, and, listening to Jack's heartbeat now they might just be the same thing.
His hips meet the backs of your thighs, the very tip of his cock reaching the very deepest parts of you. The neatly trimmed hair above his cock catches deliciously on your clit. He's so thick you can feel him everywhere.
"Oh sweetheart. you're perfect. You feel so good. So wet- oh my god-" Jack murmurs into your ear, not holding back from moaning and whimpering right against it. He blanketing you with his full body and you've never felt so secure. Your hands are in his curls once again, nails blindly scratching at the base of his skull and travelling down to his freckled shoulders. You rake lines down his back just slightly, not enough to draw blood but enough to know you were there, "Yeah, baby- like that. Feels s'good," His pistoning hips continue to meet yours filthily, echoing through the room in a delicious symphony.
"Gonna cum with me this time, sweets. Come on, you're nearly there- can feel it.", With his thumb back on your clit, he continues fucking you towards your orgasms. You can once again feel that tidal wave approaching though your ears are muffled now, as if underwater, your head fuzzy and fucked out. Your brain whites out completely as you cum, leaking onto the matress below you, "Come on, baby, now. Cum for me. Yeah- yes. Ohh my god-", Jack's whimpers mix with your own until you're creating a perfect harmony, his hips still fucking you through both of your orgasms, and, though they're slowing, they're no less intense.
Your ears are ringing by the time you come back down to Earth, Jack's heavy breathing the first thing you tune back into, "Oh, you're so perfect. My perfect girl. I love you." His tiny kisses are pressed to the skin of your cheeks, nose, lips, forehead- anywhere he can reach.
You giggle up at him, still spacey and fucked out and exhausted. But happy, so so happy, "I love you, too."
When he chuckles back at you through a kiss, his teeth pressing to your lips, you can't help but feel like the luckiest girl in the world.
A couple of hours later, with the storm still raging outside, you're huddled with Jack under fresh bedding and the TV playing some random true crime documentary. You're propped against your headboard with Jack nestled into your bare chest, and your nails scratching at the skin of his freckled back.
"Do you not see enough of this shit at work, Spooky?", Jack asks as an autopsy is described on screen.
"Hm, yeah. But I don't get to do all the cool forensics stuff normally, so."
He seems to take the answer, turning his head back towards the television. Leaving you to once again trace the constellations between his freckles.
You think from here you can just make out Orion and his bow.
ăĄă˘ăâ hey, babies. been feeling a lot better w/ everything going on in my personal life, so thought iâd do a little adaptation of one of my favâs, and possibly yours ;). but while youâre here, i need everyone to really come together and do me the biggest of favors. as yâall know, iâve been very communicative in whatâs going on within my real life. itâs been a rough transitional period after my unemployment, and now i could possibly be fasting eviction. the only way i can get through that is by love, sweet messages + support. so i need everyoneâs help. if you can, i need everyone to plz, plz plz! donate to my cause. $1, $2, $5, $10âanything of your choosing. even a small portion helps. a comment, share, boost, re-post, it all helps. even through all of my hardships, i still come on here + give you guys entertainment and love, so if you guys enjoy my fics, this is your time to spread a little love back! i appreciate all of my supporters so far, and you guys have been blessings. letâs keep this going, please, please, please ! love you guys in otakuland, enjoy. link. link. link.
HOW DID YOU END UP HERE?
The question circled your mind like a vulture ; pouty lips parted around a breath you couldn't seem to steady. Heat climbed the constellation of freckles scattered across your cheeks while your gaze drifted upwardâcaught between the two men standing before you.
One wore a wedding band that matched the one on your own hand, the other wearing a glare that had unraveled you thread by thread.Â
You couldnât have been this naive. Not to realize their plan, or how long theyâd been onto you. But none of this was your plan at all.
It justâhappened.
Louisiana heat was something you didn't just feelâyou wore it like a second skin. Even inside the lecture halls of LSU, the humidity of New Orleans clung to everything, making the air thick and heavy. You had carved out a sanctuary for yourself in the very last row of the Business Administration grad program, your head down, curls cascading over your shoulders as you meticulously took notes. You liked the invisibility of the back rowâit kept the world at bay, allowing you to exist in the quiet hum of your own thoughts. Your own fantasies.
But maybe you were dreaming lucidly, because he couldnât have been carved out of anything but your dreams.
He didn't just walk into the room; he took possession of it. A mountain of a man he was, standing well over six feet with a muscular frame that seemed too large for the cramped university seating. His skin had that healthy, olive glow, dotted with a constellation of freckles and moles that trailed up his arms and settled along the line of his jaw. But it was the ink that caught your eye firstâa dense, intricate sleeve that climbed his arm and crept up the side of his neck, marking him as something far removed from the typical corporate suit in the room. When he scanned the class, those deep green eyes flecked with hazel, landing on the only open seat left. Right next to you.Â
âMr. Yeager. So nice of you to join twenty minutes late."
The scrape of a chair as heâthe giantâdropped into the seat beside you.
The professor then cleared his throatââWell, since weâre all here nowâletâs go around the room. Introduce yourselves. What youâre doing here. Why youâre here."
The room droned on, one polished MBA after another rattling off their five year plans like they were reading from the same corporate script. You tucked a loose cinnamon curl behind your ear, eyes glued to your notebookâuntil a deep, graveled voice cut through the monotony. Â
âEren.âÂ
Your head turned. He wasnât even looking at the classâjust you, those heavy lidded eyes scanning your face like he was memorizing it. Â
âOhâ" you blinked, caught off guard by the directness.
âUm. Iâmâ"
âI know your name," he interrupted, voice lowâââProfessor called on you earlier. Said it real sweet, too. Like he knew you."
Heat flooded your cheeks.Â
ââŚI grew up here. Iâm assuming you didnât?âÂ
One dark brow arched, âNah. German roots. Moved down South young enough to know better,â a pause, âYou askinâ âcause of the accent?"
Your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your notebook, the paper crumpling slightly under your grip. Â
âYou talk kinda rough," you pointed out, voice so gentle it barely carried over the hum of the classroom. The moment the words left your lips, you regretted themâtoo forward, too familiar. But instead of bristling, Eren just tilted his head, that dark hair slipping slightly from its bun as he studied you. Â
âYou talk soft,â he countered, "Real soft. Makes a man wanna lean in."
Heat fully prickled up the back of your neck, spreading like wildfire across your cheeks once more. You ducked your head, pretending to scribble something importantâanything to avoid that unblinking gaze. Â
Eren didnât seem to mind the silence. He stretched his legs out under the desk, his work boots scuffing the floor as you couldnât help but notice how his thighs strained against the fabric of his jeans.Â
How does a man like this even fit in these tiny chairs?Â
âMy old manâs handinâ over the business,â he finally said, low and unhurried.Â
âConstruction. Been workinâ it since I was a kid. Figured Iâd get the degree to make him proud.âÂ
You peeked up at him through your lashes, lips curvingââThatâs good," you offered, âReal good."
Eren didnât smile back. He just watched you, eyes tracing the bow of your lips, the flutter of your pulse at your throat. The weight of his attention was suffocatingâintoxicating. It made you feel seen in a way that left your skin too tight, your breath too shallow. Â
âWhat about you?" he asked. Â
"Consulting. After my masterâs."Â
A slow nod, âSmart."
That was it. No empty praise, no fake enthusiasm. Just that one word wrapped in that voiceâdark and rich as Louisiana mud. And somehow, that was the best response you couldâve expected.Â
He listened when you spoke. Not the way most people didâhalf distracted, already forming their next thought. No, Eren listened like he was committing every syllable to memory. Like your words mattered. Â
So, he kept sitting next to you every class. Then he started walking you to your car under the sticky southern sun, his shadow swallowing yours whole. Next thing you knew, his rough hands were sliding into your hair, mouth hot on yours, his voice growling âAll fuckinâ mines" against your skin like a vow. Â
And it was a vow, because yeahâyou married him. Of course you did.
Falling in love with Eren was an easy three years. It was the way he built thingsâhomes from the ground up, families from nothing, a life for you both with his own two hands. His construction business thrived under his command, stitching New Orleans back together one house at a time, healing the scars Katrina left behind decades later. And you? You were his consultant, his right hand, his wife. But Lord knows he never let you lift a finger without him hovering like a storm cloud. Â
The day you painted over the âLand Purchased" sign, the Louisiana sun bronzed your skin, your pale gold marquise cut diamond flashing like firelight against your finger. Your hairâa wild spill of cinnamon, copper, and black Balayage curlsâtumbled past your shoulders, sticking to the sweat on your neck. A white tank top clung to every curve, the fabric stretched taut over heavy tits that sat high and full like some impossible dream. Your shorts, dusted with paint splatters, barely contained the sinful swell of your hips, the tremble of your ass with every step. Â
Eren emerged from the half finished farmhouse, shirtless, his olive skin glistening under the sun. His tattoos flexed as he wiped sweat from his brow, those green eyes locking onto you like you were the only thing worth seeing. Â
âYou love it?"
You giggled, soft and sweet with a nod. That slow, knowing nodâthe one that had him crossing the yard in three strides, his large hands finding your waist. A squeak left your lips as he hoisted you up, your legs locking around his hips like they were made to hold him.Â
âLet me hear you,â he rasped, his breath hot against your mouth. Â
âI love it,â you whimpered, dizzy with the feel of him.
And then? His mouth crashed into yours, deep and claiming like he was sealing the promise of this home, this life, this loveâall built by him, for you.
Everything was perfect. Your wedding day draped New Orleans in goldâthe kind of afternoon where the sunlight dripped like honey, where the air smelled of jasmine and the distant hum of a brass band. Eren stood at the altar, a vision in his tailored suit, his dark hair pulled back to show off that sharp jaw, those eyesâendless, fixed on you like you were the only thing that mattered. You floated toward him in a dress that hugged every sinful curve, lace whispering over wide hips, the sweetheart neckline cradling your heavy tits like an offering. Â
And then? Â
He walked in at the reception.Â
âAinât mean to be late, cherè.âÂ
Oh, he kissed your hand too.Â
âTraffic from Baton Rouge was a bitch.âÂ
Onyankopon.Â
Erenâs best man. His business partner. And good Lord, was he nothing like you expected. Â
Dark as rich mahogany, skin gleaming under the fairy lights, he was a mountain of muscle wrapped in a suit that barely contained him. Tattoos snaked up his neck, curling behind his ear where a small NOLA in bold script marked his temple. His cornrows were immaculate, tight against his scalp, leading down to a beard so sharp it could cut glass. But his handsâ Â
âBig," you blurted, champagne tipsy, swaying in your heels. Â
Onyankopon paused mid step, those heavy lidded eyes sliding to yours. A slow, dangerous smirk curled his lips as he took your offered hand, his grip swallowing yours whole.Â
âYeah?" he rumbled, âYoâ ass got tiny ones."
Heat flooded youâsobering, dizzying. Erenâs arm slid around your waist, his chuckle nowhere near amused against your ear.Â
âBehave.âÂ
From that day on? Â
You mightâve been fucked.
No, you told yourself it was nothing. Â
Just admiration. Thatâs all. Â
Onyankopon was your husbandâs best friend, his business partnerâof course youâd notice the way his muscles strained against his wifebeater when he hauled lumber, or the way his deep Creole drawl curled around words like âcherèâ when he handed you coffee on sleepy mornings at the job site. Â
It was simple stuff, really. He would lean over your shoulder to check a blueprint, his cologneâsomething dark and spicyâfilling your lungs, his tattooed forearm brushing your bare skin. And suddenly your throat would go dry, your fingers fumbling over the keyboard like youâd forgotten how to type. Â
So yeah, you lied. Â
Because it wasnât just admiration. Â
It was the way your pulse skittered when he looked at you, like he knew the effect he had. The way your skin burned when his fingersâbig, rough, capableâlingered a second too long handing you paperwork. The way you caught yourself staring at the flex of his back under his shirt when he bent to inspect a foundation, the way your thighs pressed together when he laughed, deep and rasping, at something Eren said. Â
You were careful. So careful. Â
You made sure never to be alone with himâlinger too long in the office, stand too close in the supply closet. You kept your voice steady when you spoke to him, your eyes politely averted, your body angled away. Â
You were married for god sake, what was wrong with you?Â
To a man who worshipped you, who built you a home with his hands, who knew you better than you knew yourself. Youâd never do anything to jeopardize that.
âŚBut looking wasnât bad, right?Â
Right.Â
Wellâthat was all until your husband caught you, anyway.
So here you were now. Keys clacked under your French tips as you leaned over the laptop, sunlight filtering through the half renovated lace curtains of a shotgun home. Behind you, the rhythmic thud of hammers and the occasional sharp ting of metal hitting metal filled the airâEren and Onyankopon moving in that seamless, wordless rhythm theyâd developed over years of working side by side. Â
Erenâs music blared from the Bluetooth speakerâOne Step Closer, Linkin Park. While Onyâs music, Pick Your Poison, Rob49 occasionally overtook it when he cranked his phone volume up just to piss Eren off. It was chaos. It was them.
Thenâthe familiar click of Erenâs Zippo. Â
âFais pas ça dans la maison du client, chĂŠri," Please donât smoke in the clients house, loveâyou murmured, Creole lacing your words like honeyâsweet, but firm. Â
Eren exhaled sharply through his nose, already halfway to the door.
âJâsors," Iâm going out, was a term he often grunted, the cigarette dangling between his lips. Then, as an afterthoughtââWife said she wants white oak now, not maple."
You could feel Onyankoponâs irritation immediately.Â
âThe fuck she mean now?âÂ
You didnât have to look up to know his jaw was clenched, that vein in his temple probably throbbingââI was âbout to start the goddamn window."Â
Eren just shrugged, flicking ash onto the porch stepsââHusbandâs payinâ double."Â
âAinât about the moneyââÂ
âThen quit bitchinâ."Â
A cloud of smoke hit Onyankopon square in the face. Â
âChill out, nigga," he warned, voice dropping into something lethal. Â
âAinât nobody bitchinâ."Â
You finally lifted your head, watching the two of themâpolar opposites, brothers in arms, the kind of friendship that thrived on friction. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard as Erenâs gaze flicked toward you from across the roomâa cocky half wink, the one that usually melted you into putty. This time, you just rolled your eyes.
âAnd where does she think weâre gonna find white oak for countertops at six in the afternoon?" you asked.
Eren exhaled another plume of smoke, shifting his weight against the doorframe.Â
âNot just countertops," he corrected, gruffââEverythinâ. Counters to white granite, cabinets to off white."Â
A heavy thud echoed through the room. Â
Onyankopon had just dropped whatever tool heâd been holding. He was now leaning back against the exposed studs of the wall, arms crossed, biceps straining against the rolled up sleeves of his forest green shirt.Â
âMight as well tell her to sign up for a whole new renovation," he rumbled, deep voice edged with irritation. Â
Eren reminded, "Youâre the only one complaininâ."Â
âAinât about complaininâ. Itâs about sense."Â
Onyâs jaw ticked, âThereâs three more days in the contract. This ainât some HGTV bullshit where we magically got time and money to burn."Â
Eren flicked ash off his cigarette, âItâs about client satisfaction."Â
Silence stretched for a beatâthen Onyâs gaze slid to you.Â
âWhat âyou think?"Â
You pressed your lips together, suddenly the unwilling mediator. You werenât a fan of getting between their disputesâmostly because you knew them both too well. Knew Erenâs stubbornness, Onyâs razor sharp pragmatism. A soft sigh escaped you as you tucked a wild cinnamon curl behind your ear, fingers lingering at the shell of it. Â
ââŚOnyâs right, baby," you admitted, âItâs a little late for changes when weâre halfway done with the kitchen."Â
Erenâs jaw tightenedâjust a fraction, but you saw it. The flex of muscle, the way his fingers twitched around the cigarette. Â
Then, after a beatââIâm hearinâ you.âÂ
His tone was clipped as he turned back to Ony, âYou got suggestions?"
âFinish the cabinet setup, make the kitchen white. If she ainât happy after?", A slow shrug, âShe can sign another contract."
Eren took a long drag, exhaling through his nose.Â
âAlright.â
Your fingers tapped lightly against the paperwork in front of you, "Think you can grab the maple from Home Depot?âÂ
Eren took one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it out the door, the ember sparking against the gravel.Â
âIâll head there now," he rumbled, already rolling his sleeves higher up his tattooed forearms. Â
Onyankoponâs deep voice cut in from across the room, "You goinâ by yoâself?"Â
âWhy? My other wife wanna kiss nâ make up before I leave?"Â
Ony glared, âI ainât kissinâ yoâ overgrown ass.âÂ
ââSoundinâ like a damn kid," Eren muttered, grabbing his keys from the makeshift hook by the door. Â
âCause Iâm arguinâ witâ one.â
You sighed dramatically, swiveling in your chair just enough to shoot them both a pleading lookâââRennn, can you please come show me some love before yâall start arguing again?"
âYou want some love, huh?âÂ
Your giggle was soft as his fingers tangled in your curls, tilting your head back just enough for him to lean down and rub his nose against yoursâhis version of affection, sweet and possessive all at once.Â
âDonât be long, hm?" you whispered, brushing your lips against the tip of his nose as he lowly grunted, âMhm.â
âYou love me?"Â
Eren sucked his teeth, âYâknow I fuckinâ do," he rasped, before his mouth crashed into yoursâhard, demanding, his. The kind of kiss that made your toes curl in your sandals, all rough lips and barely restrained hunger. Â
Just as you melted into it, Onyankoponâs voice cut through the moment like a bucket of cold water. Â
âAight, aightâremember Home Depot âbout to close?"
Eren dragged his thumb across your bottom lip before pulling away, âLet me kiss on my damn wife," pressing one last rough kiss to your forehead.Â
âHave those consultations ready for me when I get back. Be good.âÂ
Then, he turned to Onyankopon.Â
âYou need some shit from the store, hubby?âÂ
Ony didnât even look up from his sketches, just leveled Eren with a glare that could split concrete.Â
âJust gonâ head âfore I beat yoâ ass, Yeager.âÂ
And with that, the door closed.Â
The thing is, you didnât think Eren would be gone for two hours.Â
The sun was bleeding into the horizon, casting the half renovated shotgun house in golden orange hues. Youâd texted Eren three timesâno answer. Called twiceâstraight to voicemail. Your knee bounced under the desk, fingers drumming against the wood as your eyes flicked toward Onyankopon. Â
He was sprawled on the sofa, his massive frame dominating the space, one boot propped on the coffee table as he sketched out future project blueprints. The muscles in his forearm flexed with every stroke of the pencil, the ink of his tattoos shifting under the dimming light. Â
ââŚEren text you?"Â
Ony didnât glance up, âNah, mama. Ainât answer."Â
Your lips pressed into a thin line. Â
Thatâs when he finally looked at youâreally lookedâhis dark eyes scanning your face before he sighed, deep and slow.Â
âNigga ainât dead, girl," he drawled, ââProllyâ all over NOLA trynaâ find the perfect maple oak like he custom buildinâ Versailles."
A small, reluctant smile tugged at your lips.
 ââŚHeâs a bit overzealous at times.âÂ
Onyankopon smirkedâthat smirk, the one that made your stomach twist, âYou good, though?"Â
âMhm."Â
âYou sure?"Â
âFine."Â
âNeed anythinâ?"Â
âNo."
Every question was another lick of fire under your skin. Because why did he have to be like this? Why did he have to notice?
You swallowed hard, forcing your attention back to the laptop.Â
âI just wanna finish these consultations."Â
âAinât gotta overwork yoâself," Ony murmured, that Creole lilt making the words too smooth, too closeââEren gonâ be out for another minute."Â
Your thoughts swarmed, loud and suffocatingâuntil his voice cut through again, sharper this time. Â
âYou good?"Â
You blinked, âHm?"Â
His eyes dropped just for a fraction of a second, before flicking back up.
âYou sweatinâ."
You looked down. Â
Your own forest green baby tee clinging to the swell of your heavy tits was now damp with sweat. Your nipples, hard and sensitive, were painfully visible through the thin fabric. Â
Oh.Â
An awkward giggle bubbled out of you as you crossed your arms, âItâs just...really hot."Â Â
Onyankoponâs gaze didnât waver. Â
âYeah," he said, low.
âIt is."
Your fingers hovered over the keyboard as Onyankoponâs voice cut through the thick silence. Â
âGonâ finish that kitchen window now,â he announced, âYou need me?âÂ
Your brain short circuited.
Huh?
âHm?âÂ
âI said, let me know if you need sumâ, aight?â
You nodded, forcing a smile that probably looked more like a grimace.
âOkay.â
Get it together.Â
Another twenty minutes.Â
Your traitorous eyes flicked up from the screenâjust once, just glancing, thenâ Â
Oh.Â
Oh, no.Â
Onyankoponâs hands. Calloused, rough, knuckles scarred from years of laborâveins thick and pronounced wrapped around the glass pane of the window, biceps flexing under the strain. His stance was wide, thighs like tree trunks braced beneath him, the muscles in his back shifting under sweat slicked skin like some kind of damn art exhibit.Â
And thenâ Â
Hell. Actual hell. Â
His fingers reached at the nape of his neck as he tugged forward to pull his shirt off in one smooth motion, tucking it into the loop of his belt. Brown skin glistened under the fading sun, sweat rolling down the deep ridges of his abs, all the way to the broad expanse of his chest. He was thick and corded, Adamâs apple bobbing as he grunted, hefting the window into place like it weighed nothing. Â
You were dizzy. Â
How easy would it be for him to pick you up like that? Â
To pin you. To fuâ
The door swung open.Â
You damn near leaped out of your skin, scrambling upright in your chair as you snatched a pen like youâd been vigorously taking notes this whole time. You scribbled absolute gibberish at the bottom of some poor clientâs consultation form, clearing your throat so loud it was borderline theatrical. Â
âBaby, you alright?" Erenâs voice was rough, âYou need some water?"Â
You shook your head quickly, not realizing just how flushed your face was until you felt the heat crawling up your neck. Desperate to ground yourself, you reached for him, palms sliding up his tattooed arms to tug him down closer. Â
âItâs Louisiana," you deflected.Â
âWhat took you so long?"Â
ââDamn near had to travel across the entire goddamn state to find the maple,â he grumbled, but his hands were already sliding down, calloused fingers finding the dip of your waistâthat spot, the one that made you squirm every time. A soft noise escaped you, lips parting in a small pout as your back arched instinctively under his touch. Â
âMissed you," you whispered against his jaw, your mouth barely grazing his. Â
âYeah?"Â
You nodded, but something flickered across your faceâsomething off.  Â
Your husband was a lot of things, but oblivious wasn't one of them. Â
âEyes,â he murmured, "Need âem on me."Â
You swallowed hard, forcing a small smile as your hands slid up to rub at his broad shouldersââMâjust tired," you lied, the words slipping out too easily. Â
âThatâs it?"Â
âMhm."Â
Eren studied you for another long secondâwithout another word he dipped his head, his lips trailing hot, possessive kisses along your jaw, all the way down to the column of your throat. Â
âMissed you too," he growled against your skin, the scrape of his teeth making your fingers tangle in his hair, head tipping back to give him better access. Â
But your eyesâunfortunately for youâmightâve flicked to Onyankopon just one more time.Â
Later that night, dim glows of your vanity lights cast a honeyed halo around your reflection as you pressed your fingertips into your cheeks, tracing the warmth lingering there. Your face was still flushedâtoo flushed, the heat creeping from your temples down to your collarbones like a slow burning fever.Â
You dragged your gaze over your own features in the mirror. Your full, heart shaped lips, naturally dark like theyâd been dipped in mahogany, the sultry slope of your almond eyes lined with those impossibly long, fox like lashes. Even on your softest days, your face carried something sinfulâsomething that made your husbandâs grip tighten when other men looked too long. The oversized DEFTONES tee youâd thrown on swallowed your curves, but it couldnât hide the stubborn peaks of your nipples, still stiff beneath the fabric. Â
God, were you ovulating or something?Â
The steady drum of the shower cut through your thoughtsâEren was in there, steam fogging the glass, water sluicing down the hard planes of his body. You bit your lip, willing the image to overwrite the one still scorched behind your eyelids; Onyankoponâs thick neck glistening with sweat, his hands flexing around that window frame like it was weightless.Â
âMeine schĂśne Frau.âÂ
Pretty girl.
Erenâs voiceârough, sweetened by the German endearmentâsnapped you back. The bathroom door creaked open, a wave of steam rolling out as he stepped into the bedroom, his massive frame barely contained by the towel slung low on his hips. Water droplets clung to the ridges of his abs, the kind of carved definition that looked like heâd been sculpted by some vengeful god. And there, thick and heavy against the damp fabricâthe outline of him made your mouth water. Â
He dragged a second towel over his dark hair, slicking it back as his eyes met yours in the mirror. Â
âYou finish up those emails earlier?âÂ
Your fingers froze mid reach for the vanity drawer. Shit.Â
âNo,â you admitted, rifling through the contents with sudden urgencyââIâll get it done before bed.âÂ
Eren stilled. You could feel his gaze sharpening even before he spoke. Â
âWhat happened?âÂ
âGot distracted with some calls.â
A beat of silence.Â
âYou seem distracted now,â His tone was deceptively light, but his eyes werenât.Â
âCanât even look at me straight.â
âMaybe âcause youâre so handsome, hm?âÂ
Eren huffed.Â
A sound that wasnât quite a laugh, more like the click of a puzzle piece snapping into place. His stare burned into the side of your face, heavy enough that your skin prickled. You gave him a wobbly smile, turning back to the drawer like your bonnet was the most fascinating thing in the world. Â
âLet me ask you somethinâ.âÂ
Your pulse kicked into a rabbit's quick rhythm the second those words left Erenâs mouth. Â
"Onyankopon."Â
A beat. Â
âYou like him?"Â
Your fingers stilled against the vanity, brows lifting as you blinked at himâonce, twiceâbefore forcing out a nervous laugh.Â
âHeâs your best friend, why wouldnât I like him?"Â
He dragged the towel over his hands. Slowly.Â
âThatâs not what Iâm askinâ.â
âThen what are you asking?"
âTruth," he said simply, green eyes pinning you in placeââSo Iâll ask again. You like him?"
âI donâtâ"Â
The second those words slipped out, his stare cut through you, silencing the lie before it could fully form. Â
You swallowed hard, shifting tactics. Â
ââŚThatâs a weird question to ask, Eren."Â
âNah,â he countered, tossing the towel asideââIt ainât."
Your teeth sank into your bottom lip as you studied his faceâsearching for anger, jealousy, something. But his expression was unreadable, carved from stone. And maybe thatâs why the truth tumbled out before you could stop it. Â
â... I do."Â
You then rushed to add, âBut itâs not like that. Itâs justâa fantasy, you know? Iâd never act on it."
Your voice wavered, âYou know that, right?"
Silence. Â
âYour fantasy," he said finally, voice rough.Â
âTalk me through it."
âWhat?"Â
âActinâ like you donât understand isnât gonna change my question.âÂ
Your face burned, toes curling against the plush rug.Â
âItâs silly."Â
âYou think Iâm mad at you?"Â
âAre you?"
âIâm not. âShit ainât silly if youâre blushinâ like this."
He then repeats, âTell me.âÂ
You swallowed, âYouâre sure youâre notâ?"
âBaby," he cut in, impatient, âCâmon."Â
A shaky exhale.Â
âItâs seeing him do masculine things. How sweet he is. ItâsâŚa turn on. Butâ" You hesitated, voice dropping to a whisper, âThe idea of both of you together isâŚmore.â Â
âYou think about him fuckinâ you?"Â
ââRenâ!"Â
âYou think âbout him fuckinâ you while I watch?"Â
You shrieked, rushing over to slap a hand over his mouth.Â
âEren, Jesusâno! I justâboth of youâthatâs all!"Â
Panic sent you scrambling into his chest, clinging to him even as he stood unmoving, his lack of reaction only making you whimper harder.Â
âItâs stupid, I know. Iâd neverâIâd neverâ"Â
âThatâs somethinâ you want?" His voice was dangerously calm, âMe anâ him? You wanna take that?"
You squeaked, burying your face in his chest with a mortified groan, âBaby! Stop it!âÂ
A low chuckle rumbled through him as he finally moved, his hands finding your hips, dragging you flush against him. Â
âSchĂźchterne Frau," he murmured against your ear, rough and warm. Â
Shy woman.
Eren's massive hands then circled your waist, lifting you like you weighed nothing. The world tilted as he deposited you onto the bed, his towering frame caging you in like some predator playfully trapping his prey. e. Â
âYou're insane,â you exhaled, fingers twisting around his armsââHow aren't you mad? Why aren't you mad?"Â
âNothinâ to be mad about."
âIâve been feeling crazy all day.âÂ
âIâm knowinâ,â he mused, âShit was kinda cute to see.âÂ
You flicked his nose. Hard. Â
âOuch.â
Before you could argue more, his straight teeth caught the hem of your oversized tee, dragging it up with a slow, deliberate pull. The fabric slipped past your waist, your ribs, and thenâthereâyour swollen, heavy tits spilled free, nipples already pebbled and aching. Â
A rough groan escaped him as his mouth descended, sucking one peaked bud between his lips with a greedy, wet drag. You yelped, slapping his bicep as pleasure shot straight to your core. Â
He pulled off with a filthy pop, gaze heavy lidded.Â
âYou done with your lilâ tantrum?â Â
You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt.
âMy husband just made me admit I fantasize about a threesome with his best friend. Iâm validated in my tantrum.â Â
His lips trailed hot, open mouthed kisses up your sternum, between your breasts, along the column of your throatâeach one leaving fire in its wake.Â
âAinât nobody said all that, huh?â Â
You shuddered, âCan we stop talking about this? Can you just say Iâm pretty and that you love me?â Â
âYouâre the prettiest thing in the fuckinâ South.â
When you huffed unsatisfactorily, he then cradled your face, forcing your gaze to meet his. His thumb brushed your cheekbone, his voice dropping to that possessive growl that made your toes curl. Â
âI love you so fuckinâ much, woman. Youâre mine."Â
You puckered your lips in demandâand Eren obliged, peppering them with teasing, playful kisses until you sighed, melting under him. Â
âMkay," you relented, âAll is forgiven."Â
Then, with mischief sparking in your eyes, you poked his dimple and wiggled your brows.
âWanna get freaky?"Â
âYeah," he hummed, "Let me just call Onyankopon firstâ"Â
You flicked his nose again.
The next few days had been nothing short of perfectâyour off days filled with the kind of lazy, indulgent bliss that made your heart swell. Sleeping in tangled limbs, slow mornings spent cuddling under thick blankets while rain pattered against the windows. You watched Eren move through the house like a restless storm, fixing things heâd been too busy to touch for monthsâtightening cabinet handles, oiling hinges, his muscles flexing under the thin fabric of his shirts as he worked. Â
But the real highlight came when Eren closed a high paying deal heâd been chasing for months. Youâd screamed, silent but full bodied, jumping up and down on the bed like an overexcited kid while Eren gripped your ankle to steady you, tryingâand failingâto hide his grin behind a gruff, "Relax."Â
Overall? Itâd been a damn good weekend. Â
âŚHereâs when shit got weird.Â
Sunday football was a sacred ritual between Eren and Onyankoponâone you usually tagged along for out of sheer love. The routine was always the same ; morning games, the gym, then a home cooked mealâsomething indulgent, now a fancy spread to celebrate the big contract. Â
But today? Â
Today wasâŚdifferent. Â
You padded downstairs in your Def Leppard tee, voice still thick with lingering drowsiness as you murmured, âBon matin, mes gros bĂŞtes,â good morning, my big beasts.
They were already planted on the couch, the glow of the TV casting shadows over their faces. Normally, theyâd be shouting at the screen, arguing over plays, or tossing crude jabs at each other between sips of beer. But today? Silence. Heavy, charged, unsettling silence. Â
They returned the greetingâEren with a low âMorninâ, baby,â Ony with a slow, âSleep good?â
 But their voices didnât match the tension in the air. It was thick, heady, pressing against your skin like a touch you couldnât shake. Â
Eren broke the silence first. Â
"Onyâs stayinâ for dinner."Â Â
Onyankoponâs dark eyes followed the words, followed youââIf thatâs aight with you.âÂ
The way he said it wasnât really a question. Â
You smiled softly, "Bien sĂťr, of course itâs okay."Â
You tilted your head, âYou guys okay with what Iâm making?"Â
âIâll eat anything you put on a nigga tongue, girl.âÂ
Your pulse stuttered, your mouth suddenly dry, and you could only nod stiffly before turning toward the kitchen, face burning. Maybe you were reading too much into it. Maybe you were losing it.Â
But if that wasnât weird? Â
This was. Â
By noon, the energy shifted againâthis time, louder, looser. Beer bottles clinked as Eren and Onyankopon tore into each other over the Saints vs. Cowboys game, their voices rough with playful aggression. Â
âThe hell you mean âheâs washedâ? Brees could out throw Prescott in his goddamn sleep!â
âMan, shut yoâ delusional ass upâPrescott got legs and an arm, yoâ nigga was throwing ducks by â18.â
You curled into Erenâs side, half listening, half reading a book youâd pulled from the shelfâuntil the warmth of his body and the steady rise and fall of his chest lulled you into a drowsy haze. Â
And then?
Touch.Â
Onyankoponâs rough fingers grazed your hipâjust once, featherlight, barely there. A whisper of contact that couldâve been an accident. Erenâs hand then clamped down on your ass, pulling you deeper into himâŚcloser to Onyankoponâs touch. Â
You froze. Â
âThatâs a bullshit ass call and you know it!â Eren barked, his grip on you tightening as he leaned forward, jostling you.Â
âFuck outtaâ here!âÂ
Their voices blurred into white noise. Your heart pounded so hard you swore they could hear it, your skin burning where both their hands lingeredâErenâs possessive kneading, Onyankoponâs fingers tracing slow circles near the hem of your shirt. Â
You squeezed your eyes shut, playing asleep, but your body betrayed youâarching subtly into Erenâs chest while your thigh brushed Onyankoponâs. The scents of themâErenâs cedar and leather musk, Onyankoponâs deep spiceâwrapped around you like a fog, dizzying. Â
Eren shifted again, his arm sliding behind you, guiding you until your ass was right there, nearly in Onyankoponâs lap. Â
You inhaled shakily.Â
The gym was supposed to be your sanctuaryâiron clanging, weights thudding, the sharp scent of sweat and cleaning solution filling your lungs as you worked off the restless energy coiling in your stomach. But today? Â
Today, nothing felt right.Â
You stood behind both men, watching them switch off reps with the kind of effortless, predatory strength that made your mouth go dry. Erenâs tattoos flexed under the harsh overhead lights as he powered through a set of deadlifts, his low grunts sending an embarrassing shiver down your spine. Onyankoponâs back muscles rippled with every controlled pull on the cable machine, his deep voice growling something about âWeak ass form,â at Eren between breaths. Â
Tugging your sweat damp curls into a messy clip, you triedâtriedâto focus on your own set, but the air between the three of you felt charged, thick with something you couldnât name. Â
âArch yoâ back more, lilâ mama," Â he murmured, his voice rough and too close, too warm against the shell of your ear. His hands slid down to your hips, adjusting your stance with a firm grip that sent heat spiraling straight to your core.
âThere you goâgood fuckinâ girl."Â
You nearly stumbled. Â
Erenâyou husbandâwas right there, watching with those dark unreadable eyes, Onyankoponâs fingers lingering just a second too long. Â
SMACK!
Erenâs palm connected with your ass, the sharp sting making you yelp as the flesh jiggled under his touch.Â
âSchau nicht so verloren,â he growledâdonât look so lostâbefore giving you another rough tap, fingers flexing possessively. Â
What the fuck was happening?
Everything had led into the night. The warm glow of the kitchen lights cast a soft halo around you as you moved gracefully between the stove and the counter, the rich aromas of garlic, thyme, and smoked paprika swirling through the air. The wine had done its jobâeasing the tension coiled in your shoulders, smoothing the edges of your nerves until you hummed along to the sultry jazz playing low in the background. Â
A buttery pale yellow ruched set hugged your curves like a loverâs handsâthe fitted capris accentuating the flare of your hips, the halter top cinching your waist just right, delicate white lace bow at the nape of your neck teasing against skin. Your heavy tits pressed together, nipples taut against the thin fabric, the pale gold jewelry at your wrists and ears catching the light with every movement. Delicate gold heels clicked softly against the hardwood as you swayed slightly, seasoning the pot before you with practiced hands. Â
Thenâthat feeling. Â
The weight of eyes on you through the patio door.Â
Eren leaned back in his chair, white wifebeater stretched tight across his broad chest, open flannel shirt framing his thick arms. The silver chain around his neck glinted as he tilted his head back, exhaling a slow, deliberate stream of smoke from between those deep, full pink lips. His dark hair was tied back in that low bun hidden under a backwards cap, loose tendrils framing his sharp jaw as he murmured something to Onyankopon.Â
And Onyankoponâgodâhis cornrows were fresh, edges crisp, the deep brown of his skin glowing under the dim patio lights. His beard was neatly trimmed, the scent of that new shea butter youâd noticed earlier clinging to him. His laugh, deep and rich, was muted through the glass, but you knew that soundâknew the way it rumbled through his chest. Â
Their gazes locked onto you with an intensity that made your fingers tighten around the wooden spoon. Erenâs hand rubbed absently at his jaw. Onyankopon lifted his chin slightly, a slow, knowing smirk playing at the corner of his mouth as he gave you a lazy, two fingered wave. Â
Out of pure nerves, you lifted your hand in a sweet, awkward little wave back, your dimple popping as you forced a smile.Â
The moment they stepped back inside, the air in the kitchen thickened. You felt it before you even turned around, the weight of their presence pressing against your skin like a physical touch. Â
Eren loomed behind you first, his broad frame blocking the light from the hallway as he peered down at you with those damned eyes of his. His gaze trailed over the gold crucifix hugging your ankle, his nostrils flaring slightly before he rumbled, low and rough, âMissed you.â
Before you could respond, Onyankoponâs deep voice cut in from the doorway.Â
âYou lookinâ real pretty, girl.â
Eren stepped closer, his large hand tangling in your loose curls, tuggingâlike a child demanding attention. You humored him, turning to press a sweet, absentminded kiss to his cheek before gently pulling away, your voice a soft murmur.
âJust wanted to look pretty for you guys tonightâItâs a celebration, right?"
But Eren wasnât having it. His lips found your jaw instead, rough and insistent, his tongue flicking against your skin in a tease. You let him, your hand coming up to rub at his shoulder in a weak attempt to ground himâor maybe yourself.Â
âYou guys hungry?" you managed, voice barely steady. Â
âStarvinâ," Eren growled against your throat before claiming your mouth in a deep, filthy kiss. His tongue slid past your lips without hesitation, your body responding before your brain could catch up. Â
Onyankopon watches, âYou always lookinâ good, mama. You know that?"Â
Overstimulation prickled under your skin. Your laugh came out awkward, breathless as you cupped Erenâs jaw to gently break the kiss, holding him in place.Â
âThank you, Ony," you hummed, your exhale shaky as you forced yourself to focusââDinnerâs almost ready, okay?"Â
Eren nuzzled into the vanilla scented crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your pulse point as he finalized, âDonât be long."Â
ThenâSMACKâhis palm connected with your ass once more, the sharp sting making you jolt, âCanât keep my fuckinâ mouth off you," he grunted, like it was your fault. Â
Onyankoponâs voice was really the final blow, smooth as whiskey.Â
âYeah. We waitinâ on you."Â
We waitinâ on you.Â
You tried to rationalize it allâtold yourself both men were just a little high, thatâs why the energy between you had shifted so drastically. Thatâs why Eren had been so possessive, why Onyankoponâs compliments felt heavier than usual. Â
Eren had disappeared upstairs to find another lighter, leaving you alone in the kitchen with Onyankopon while you put the final touches on dinner. The rich scent of beef stew filled the air, the buttery cornbread golden and steaming in its cast iron skillet. You focused on plating everything just rightâgarnishing each dish with a sprinkle of fresh parsley, making sure each portion was even. Â
The silence stretched, but this time, you refused to let it be awkward. You glanced over at Onyankoponâseated at the table, his massive frame relaxed yet imposing, forearms corded with muscle as he crossed them over his black wifebeater. Â
âHowâd you spend your days off, Ony?â you asked, blowing a stray curl from your face absentmindedly. Â
His dark eyes tracked the movement before he answered evenly, âShit was aight. Mostly caught up on sleep.â
A pause, âYou?â
You smiled, stirring the stew gently.
âJust mushy couple stuff. Slept in, cooked, let Eren drag me around like a backpack.â Â
Onyankopon huffed a laugh at that, shaking his head slightly. Â
âSo, how do you feel about the new contract?âÂ
âBlessed,â he admitted, leaning back in his chairââYoâ husband been on my ass âbout expanding outside Louisiana. Nigga be givinâ me a hard time when it come to this job.â
You shake your head, âItâs not like that. Erenâs just particular, like his father was.â Â
âIâm knowinâ.âÂ
Onyankopon asks, âHow you put up with him?â
Your smile softened, âThe same way you do. I love him. Regardless.âÂ
He chuckled lowly at that, the sound vibrating through the space between you.Â
âAight. I feel that.âÂ
And just like that, the conversation lulled into comfortable silence again. Â
A few minutes passed, the quiet only broken by the clinking of dishes as you arranged the last of the food. Â
Thenâ Â
âOny?â
The words hovered on your tongue, carefully weighed before you finally spoke. Â
ââŚI just wanna thank you for coming back home and partnering with Eren."
Your voice was soft, âAfter his fatherâs passingâhe needed you, you know?"Â
Onyankoponâs face shiftedâsolemn, the usual playful edge in his eyes dimming. His lips pressed together before he answered, âA nigga like me even more grateful to have somebody like him in my corner. Nothinâ to thank me for."Â
You turned back to the cutting board, but his next question made your hands still. Â
âWhat about you? You happy to have me around?"Â Â
âOf course.â
âIonâ make you feel a type of way?"Â
âNo?âÂ
His brow arched. Like he didnât believe you. Â
You swallowed, âYouâve been sweet to me since the beginning."Â
A low chuckle rumbled from his chest as he leaned back in his chair, manspreadingâthick thighs stretching the fabric of his cargos, abdomen flexing beneath the black wifebeater. Â
âSweet, huh? You think Iâm sweet?"Â
Heat pricked at the back of your neck, but you nodded anyway.Â
âI do."Â
âNothinâ else?"Â
Your fingers curled tighter around the knife as you shook your head, turning back to slice the last piece of cornbread. Â
Thenâ Â
âI see how you be lookinâ at me."Â
The blade slipped. Â
A sharp gasp tore from your lips as steel bit into skin, blood welling instantly along your fingertip. You dropped the knife with a clatter, clutching your injured hand as your face twisted in discomfort. Â
Onyankopon was on you in seconds. Â
His monstrous height dwarfed you, his large hands swallowing yours as he assessed the woundârough fingers cradling your delicate palm with surprising gentleness. Â
"IâI wasnât paying attentionââ
Oh god.
Oh god.
He was sucking your finger.Â
Your lips parted as the warmth of his tongue swept over the cut, slow. A shiver wracked your bodyâevery nerve ending alightâas his lips sucked gently, coaxing the sting away. Â
When he pulled back, his voice was a rough rasp against your skin. Â
âYou got a taste on you, girl."Â
He didnât let go. Just held you there, his grip firm, eyes burning into yours as he murmured, âYou gotta be more careful.âÂ
You couldâve died right there. Â
 Erenâs heavy footsteps descended the stairs, walking into Onyankopon still holding your handâhis gaze flickered between you both, lingering for just a second before he simply asked, âWhat happened?"Â
"She cut herself.â
Erenâyour fucking husbandâbarely reacted.Â
Just grunted, âGotta watch them hands, baby.â
Thatâs when it clicked.
You werenât crazy. Â
Not now. Not this morning. Not days ago. Â
This hadnât been coincidences. This was a hunt.Â
Dinner had been a blurâconversations ebbing and flowing around you like distant radio static, your thoughts drowning beneath the weight of their presence. You werenât delusional anymore, werenât in denial. Â
You were justâŚwaiting.Â
âYoââremember when we went to Velvet & Vixen on Bourbon? Niggas was weird.â
Erenâs low chuckle vibrated through the table, fingers idly tracing the rim of his whiskey glass.
âThat one guy told me he wanted to be a dog,â he smirked, ââWore a collar under his clothes at work.â
You tapped your wine glass absently as they laughed, the sound thick, indulgentâlike they were savoring something deeper than the joke. Â
Then, Erenâs eyes slid to you. Â
âLast time we went there together was a couple years ago, baby?â
You blinked, the memory surfacingâdim neon, crowded aisles, the heat of his hand on your lower back.Â
âYeah,â you giggled, swirling your drink, âWe did.âÂ
Erenâs grin looked to Onyankopon.Â
âShe had me in there for hours.âÂ
âNo I did not!âÂ
Onyankopon mused, âFor what? Applyinâ for the job or sumâ?âÂ
You toyed with your fork, a flush creeping up your neck.Â
âWe went in there for aââ
You bit your lip, laughing nervously.Â
âItâs a little TMI.âÂ
âCâmon, girl. I ainât gonâ run off.â
You looked between them as you exhaled, ââŚOkay. I went in for a dâa dildo.âÂ
You hesitated, âBut the ones they had were too big for me. All over six inches.âÂ
Silence. Â
The kind that hummed, electric. Â
You saw itâthe way Erenâs pupils swallowed green, the way Onyankoponâs jaw clicked, his knuckles whitening around his glass. Â
Then?Â
Onyankopon laughed.
A deep, rolling sound that sent a full body chill straight down your spine. Your breath hitched as you looked at him, really lookedâthe same way you had the first time you met him.
Fear.
Intimidation.Â
âŚArousal.
And when he said this?
âShe ainât gonâ be able to fit me.â Â
Your body froze.Â
Erenâs voice cut through, low and possessive, âNah. She be takinâ every inch of me real good now.âÂ
Were you going into shock? You had to be.Â
âMeine hĂźbsche Frau. So verdammt schĂźchtern.âÂ
My pretty wife. So fuckinâ shy.
Your skin burnedâlike youâd been doused in gasoline, like a single spark would ignite you. Â
His voice dropped to a graveled rumbleââYounâ want me no more?âÂ
Your lips partedâpouting, pleading, âRenââÂ
âNuh uh,â Eren tsked, tilting his head.Â
âNone of that poutinâ shit. Use your words.âÂ
âCâmon, girl. Lemmeâ hear that pretty ass fuckinâ voice.âÂ
Youâd never felt so cornered in your lifeâtrapped between their heat, their hunger, the unspoken promise in their eyes. Â
And from that point on? Â
You were absolutely, positively, fucked.
So here you were now. The air was pure sex, the dim glow of lamplight casting shadows across your trembling body as you knelt between themâcaught in the electric tension of their hunger. Â
Your back arched like a bowstring, spine curving as you pressed your cheek into the sheets, curls framing your curves like molten fire. Your palms barely covered the stiff peaks of your nipples, but it didnât matterâtheir eyes burned through you, stripping you bare. Â
Eren stood at the foot of the bed, his cock heavy and hard, flushed a soft pink against his olive skin. Long, veined, demanding. Onyankopon stood beside him, thick thighs bracketing his hipsâhis own arousal a brutal contrast, wider, darker, bigger, the deep plum tip glistening as it bobbed inches from your ass. Â
âShow us how pretty your shit is, baby."
Erenâs voice was rough velvet, scraping over your nerves. A command, not a request. Â
A whimper caught in your throat as you obeyedâspreading your thighs, fingers parting your glistening folds with shaky reverence. Your pussy was already flushed, slick, begging, the plush folds gleaming under the low light. Â
Onyankopon lets out a rough soundâsomething between a curse and praiseâas his thick fingers grip the supple flesh of your thighs, kneading. SMACK! A sharp sting of his palm made you jerk, your folds fluttering around nothing. Â
âFuck," Eren exhaled, his knuckles whitening around the base of his cock as he watched your slick drip onto the sheets. He stepped closer, his grip bruising as he wrenched your legs apart further. Â
"Look at that," he growled, slapping the thick head of his cock against your swollen clit. Â
You jolted, a low whimper breaking free as your hips chased the fleeting pressure. Â
âWhich one you feelinâ, huh?âÂ
ââŚâRen," you trembled, voice breaking.Â
âFeel you, baby.âÂ
"Just me," he snarled, grinding his tip against your desperate entranceââAlways mine. Ainât she?"Â
Onyankoponâs agreement was dark, âYours entirely.âÂ
Your spine arched, a silent fight to swallow the second needy whimper threatening to spill from your lips. Cheek pressed into silk sheets, your lashes flutteredâhalf lidded, drunk on the weight of their stares. Â
âCâmere,â Eren demanded, âCome show me some love.âÂ
Your favorite phrase. It meant either the sweetest affectionâor this. His cock, thick and heavy against your lips, the musk of him flooding your senses as you nuzzled into his hip. Â
Your lips parted the moment you turnedâthe broad head of his cock pushing past them, the salt of pre cum bursting on your tongue as you hollowed your cheeks. Â
âFuck,â His groan was ragged, hips jerking forwardââWatch them teeth."Â
You mewled around him, the warning making your cunt pulse. His fingers twisted in your curls, yanking your head down until his tip hit the back of your throat. Tears pricked your lashes as you gaggedâsoft, wetâyour nails biting into his thighs. Â
âI know youâre excited, baby," Eren rasped, rolling his hips deeperââCareful.âÂ
Onyankopon watched, his own dick palmed in a brutal grip, veins standing stark against brown skin. A string of saliva dripped from your swollen lips as you pulled back, lips circling your husband's shaft with a filthy schlick.Â
ââM sorry,â you whined, ââDidnât mean to hurt you, baby.âÂ
Erenâs chest rumbledâhalf growl, half museâââKnow you ainât mean it."
His thumb swiped your jaw, smearing gloss and spit. Â
âTongue out."Â
A dark command, âShow me how good my girl is."
You obeyed instantlyâmouth slack, tongue lolling, pink and used beneath his cock. You took him deeper, throat fluttering as his tip breached it. The sounds were obsceneâgagging, moaning, the slick slap of his pelvis against your chin. Â
âShe ainât stoppinâ no time soon," Eren taunted, fingers tightening in your hair. Â
âYou doinâ a good job, girl."
Onyankoponâs voice was thick as he continued, âGoddamn.âÂ
âSheâs doinâ a good job, huh?â Eren repeated, his free hand raking into your hair again, âYou see that? My babyâs givinâ her all right now.â
âIâm watchinâ,â Onyankopon replied, his neck flexing from how he held himself. His fingers wrapped tightly around the base of his length, âI see you real good. Pretty ass bitch.âÂ
Your face was a mess at this point. The makeup you had on earlier was smeared all across your mouth, your eyes still holding Onyankoponsâ while Eren continued to move your head with his strong, large fingers.Â
âShe gettinâ better?"Â
Onyankoponâs jaw flexed, âYeah. Mouth good as hellâIâm trynaâ feel that shit."
His dick, monstrous in his grip, twitched.Â
âYou gonâ let me?"
Your mouth slows around Erenâtongue dragging one last, filthy stripe up his length before your eyes flicker to Onyankopon. To it.Â
His dick is a monsterâthick, veined, the deep plum head glistening, twitching just inches from your lips. Your throat flutters at the sight, a whimper catching in your chest. But itâs not just the size that has your pulse spiking. Â
Itâs the look in Onyankoponâs eyes. Â
Like heâs already imagining you choking on him. Â
Your tongue darts out, wetting your lips as you glance up at Erenâseeking permission, seeking reassurance.
ââŚCan I?â Â
Eren exhales through his nose, jaw clenched, before giving a single, sharp nod. Â
"Go âhead."Â
You donât hesitate. Â
Your lips part, tongue flattening against the underside of Onyankoponâs dick, tasting himâmusky, salt-bitter, addicting. Your fingers dig into his quads, nails leaving half-moons in dark skin as you suck at his tip, moaning at the sheer fullness of him in your mouth. Â
âFuckâ"Â
Onyankoponâs voice is ruined, hips jerking forward.Â
âThere you goâthat fuckinâ mouth."Â
Eren watches the way your lips stretch, the way your cheeks hollow, the way you whimper around Onyankoponâs girth like itâs the best thing youâve ever had. Â
Youâre sloppier with him. Needier. Drool slicks your chin as you bob, tongue swirling around his shaft, sucking like youâre starved.Â
âKeep talkinâ to her," Eren growls, fingers tightening in your hair.Â
"Thatâs the shit she likes."Â
Onyankoponâs hands find your faceârough, claimingâthumbs pressing into the dip of your cheeks, forcing your mouth wider. Â
"Pretty ass face, Mama," he rumbles, eyes locked on yours.Â
âSuckinâ me up like a fuckinâ pro.âÂ
You moan around him, the vibration making his thighs flex.  Â
Eren grunts, âKeep takinâ that shit, baby."Â
Onyankopon pushes deeper, the schlupp of your spit slicked lips echoing as your throat convulses. His thumb drags over your stretched mouth, feeling himself inside you. Â
âTastes so good.âÂ
You were mewling, mindlessly at that.Â
âYeah? How itâ look?"Â
You pull off with a pop, tongue lolling, lips swollen and shiny.Â
â'Looks so good. So handsome, Papa."Â
Onyankopon growls at the pet nameâlow, animalisticâbefore yanking you forward again. Â
Erenâs voice returns, "Look in her eyes."Â
Onyankoponâs gaze burns into yoursâdark, unrelentingâas you take him back, deeper this time, until your nose brushes his pelvis. Â
âAlways keep themâ eyes on her."Â
Your vision blurs, tears spilling as you gag, but you donât look away. Canât.
Because thenâ Â
Onyankopon yanks you back and spits between your parted lips. Â
You moan, tongue darting out to catch it before heâs kissing youâdeep, possessiveâfingers tangled in your curls as he licks into your mouth like he owns it. Â
And when you drop back to his dick, slapping it against your tongue with a wet smackâ Â
You hear your husbands, âDonât be fuckinâ cute," drag out in a warned grunt.Â
You giggle, high and breathless, taking Onyankoponâs balls into your mouth, sucking.
âJust wanted to taste him, baby,â you whined.Â
Eren graveled, âYeah?âÂ
He then grunts, âQuit playinâ. Lay on your back, missinâ your pussy in my mouth.â Â
Your back hits the mattress. The moment you're down, Erenâs hand grips your thigh, spreading you open with zero hesitation.Â
âCome hold her legs," he commands, voice thick with hungerââShe be squirminâ too much when I eat this shit."
Before you can even process the command, Onyankopon is thereâhis massive frame caging you from behind, hands wrapping around your ankles like manacles. He drags you back, exposing you completelyâno hiding, no modesty, just open. Â
The first swipe of Erenâs tongue is fire, molten and possessive, licking a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit. You jolt, back arching, fingers flying into his hair and pulling. His groan vibrates against your flesh, sending sparks shooting up your spine. Â
His tongue swirls around your clit, savoring the way you twitch beneath him. Each lick is tortureâcalculated, teasingâuntil you're writhing, thighs quaking in Onyankopon's unyielding grip. Â
âStop movin'," Eren growls, pressing a heavy palm to your pelvis, forcing you still. Â
But you canât. Â
Youâre too sensitive, too wound up, and when his mouth latches onto your clit, suckingâ Â
âFâfuck, baby. Missed your mouth so much.âÂ
Your back bows, head thrashing against Onyankoponâs chest as pleasure rips through you.Â
âLook at the way he devourinâ that pussy," he rasps, voice curling within your ear like smokeââBoutaâ have a nigga drowninâ in this shit.â
âPussy messy as fuck,â Eren groans against your folds, lapping at your slick like a man starved. Â
Onyankoponâs grip tightens, spreading you wider, forcing you to take every second of Erenâs relentless tongue.Â
âGoddamn," he mutters, voice rough, âYoâ shit look so fuckinâ edible."
Then your husband grunts, burying his face even deeper, nose pressing against your clit as his tongue plunges inside you. Â
âOooh!â
âLook at him," he commands, âLook at the way he eatinâ you."
All you can do is tremble. Whimper. Shake. Watch.Â
Onyankoponâs tongue wraps around your ear, âMissinâ yoâ fuckinâ mouth, babydoll."Â
His fingers tangle in your curls, yanking your head back, forcing your lips to part as his dick slaps against your tongueâthick, heavy. You moan around him, the vibration making his hips jerk, the tip hitting the back of your throat in one brutal thrust. Â
âShit,â he growls, watching your throat bulge around him.Â
All while, Erenâs tongue devours you from below, lips sealing around your clit, sucking until your thighs clench, until your vision whites out once moreâbut Onyankopon doesnât let you escape. His grip on your hair tightens, forcing you to take every inch, every pulse of him fucking into your mouth. Â
Erenâs voice is a dominance even as he worships you, âLook up at him."
Your lashes flutter open, meeting Onyankoponâs hooded, predatory gaze as he owns your throat. Â
âYou ready for me?â he rumbles, thumb smearing spit across your swollen lips. Â
Your answer is a whimperâhigh, broken, desperate. Â
âThat ainât how you beg."Â
âPlease, Ony. Need it. Need you."Â
And only then, Eren pulls away.Â
Your cunt clenches around nothing, a pathetic whine tearing from your throat at the lossâ Â
But then Onyankoponâs mouth is there, his tongue flattening against your clit, laving over you with a roughness that has you squeaking. Â
He doesnât let you adjust. Doesnât let you breathe. His tongue spears into you, fucking you deep, mimicking exactly what his dick was about to do. Erenâs hands replace Onyankoponâs on your thighs, spreading you wider, his voice a growl in your ear. Â
âYou look so fuckinâ good.âÂ
Your head falls back against Eren's shoulder, seeking his mouth like a lifeline. His lips crash into yours, swallowing your needy little noises, his tongue claiming every inch of space as if marking youâreminding you who you belong to.Â
âI love you," you pant between kisses, trembling against him.Â
âLove you so much, 'Ren."Â
He growls against your lips, âIch liebe dich auch" I love you too, âI fuckinâ know you do.âÂ
Onyankopon's tip then drags through your soaked folds, spreading you so slowly you feel every ridge, every pulse of his veins against your clit.Â
His forehead presses to yours, dominance radiating off him in waves.Â
âNow I need you to keep them eyes on me.âÂ
And then he pushes in.Â
The stretch is blindingâthick, relentless, carving into you inch by torturous inch. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream, body arching, toes curling as your pussy drips around him, already struggling to adjust. Â
âFuhhhhhhhck.âÂ
Then, deeper.Â
Your back bows, a broken moan tearing from your throat as your body betrays youâgushing around him in a sudden, shocking rush. Onyankopon curses, his hips jerking at the flood of your release, his grip bruising on your thighs. Â
âPussy trynaâ fight me," he grits out, mesmerized as your cream spills over his length.Â
âAinât even fuck you yet. This how you cumminâ fâ me?â
Erenâs grunt is dark against your neck, his teeth grazing your pulseââGoddamn. Good fuckinâ girl, baby.âÂ
âOny,â you gasp, "Itâsâitâs so much.â
His fingers tug at your chin, "You gonâ open up for me?"Â
You nod frantically, lips parted, âUh-huh.âÂ
His dick gave a slow, brutal drag outâthen back in, punching the air from your lungs. Your mouth falls open, your eyes roll, and your hands scrambleâone clinging to Onyankoponâs neck, the other clawing at Erenâs arm, anchoring yourself between them. Â
Onyankoponâs pace is merciless, each thrust stretching you wider, each snap of his hips dragging a new sob from your throat. Â
âTalk to me, Mama," he growls, grip tightening on your jawââIâm hurtinâ you?"Â Â
You shake your head, dazed in the pleasure.Â
âFeels soooo good.âÂ
Erenâs thumb swipes your tears awayâoneâs you didnât realize you hadâhis lips brushing your ear.
âDu machst ihn so hĂźbsch.â
Youâre takinâ him so pretty.
âStretchinâ shit open for him like a pretty fuckinâ slut.âÂ
You melt at his words, arching into Onyankoponâs next thrust, your pussy clenching around him like a vice. Â
âFuckinâ hell," Onyankopon grunts, hips stutteringââThis pussy made for allisâ dick."Â
Eren grunts, âNah. Made for me.âÂ
Two men with a dominance neither of them could shake, tossing up your brain to mush with every sense of pleasure. You thought your body couldnât take moreâBut oh, they had so much more to give.Â
And maybe you did too.Â
You now crawl across the sheets, hands gliding up Erenâs chest; nails dragging over ink and muscle, relishing the way his abs clench beneath your touch. Â
âMissed my âRen.â
âMissed this fuckinâ pussy.âÂ
A smirk curls your lips as you grind down, letting him feel just how wet he makes youâhis cock slaps against your folds, leaving a glistening trail along your skin. Â
âYou wanna put it in me?âÂ
Erenâs growl vibrates through you, âĂrgere mich nicht.âÂ
Donât tease me.Â
Onyankoponâs hands slide up the back of your thighs, claiming as you whimper and press Erenâs palm to your lips. His finger slips between them, and you suck, hollowing your cheeks, swirling your tongueâ Â
âFuck," Erenâs hips jerk, his cock twitching against your ass.Â
âGonna make me lose it early, woman.â
Keeping your husband's attention belowâyou lean over and wrap your mouth around Onyankoponâs dick, dragging your tongue against the entirety of him as you grind Erenâs cock between your thighs. Â
But suddenly? It seemed like he wasnât the biggest fan of sharing anymore.Â
One hand fists in your hair, yanking your mouth down. His other grips your chin, forcing your gaze to his.
âEyes on me âfore I show him how you really get fucked.âÂ
You whimperâobedient.Â
âNow bounce.âÂ
You sink down, taking him to the hilt, your little cry splitting the air as your walls clamp around him. Â
âThere you go,â Eren grunts, watching your tits jump as he tugs down greedilyâevery slap of skin on skin infiltrating your thoughtsâif you even had any left.Â
Onyankoponâs hands guide your hips, helping you move, his lips hot on your neck.
âTakinâ that dick like a muhfuckinâ champ.âÂ
You mewl, fingers scrambling for purchase on Erenâs chest as pleasure crushes you. Â
âOny.â
âIonâ wanna hear my name right now. Fuck him.â
Your whine was a complaint, of course it was.
Erenâs grip tightens around your throat, his gaze searing into you like a brandâgreen eyes dark with something between lust and possession. His thrusts slow to a brutal, punishing grind, forcing your back to arch as his cock stretches you obscenely wide. Â
âSay you fuckinâ love me.âÂ
âIâI love you,â you gasp, pitching forward to litter his neck with wet, open-mouthed kisses, âLove you so much, 'Ren.âÂ
His snarl is vicious, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. Â
âMade you too fuckinâ greedy."Â
SMACK!Â
âGave you everythinâ,â he growls, snapping his hips up hard, âStill begginâ for him like a thirsty lilâ slut.âÂ
Onyankoponâs hand fists in your hair as he yanks your head backâhis spit thwapping on your tongue.Â
âPapa heard you âwas thirsty.âÂ
Your body betrays you again, gushing around Erenâs cock in a sudden, shameless floodâyour thighs quake, a broken squeak tearing from your throat as your body releases throughout Erenâs repetitive smacks on your ass.Â
âFuckkk,â Eren groans, watching your pussy drip down his length as he tugs himself out.Â
Even with your legs shaking, even with your body throbbingâyour chest still presses into Erenâs chest anyway, ass in the air, presenting yourself to Onyankopon.
âPut it in me.âÂ
Onyankoponâs hand lands on your lower back, âNext time Immaâ teach yoâ ass how to wait."Â
He doesnât slam into youâno. Â
He makes you feel it. Â
Every. Â
Inch.Â
Onyankoponâs dick parts you like a blade through silkâslow, stretching you so wide you feel your own heartbeat in the walls of your cunt. Your moan shudders through the room, high and broken, fingers digging into Erenâs shoulders as you arch, your ass trembling with every glide deeper. Â
Eren just keeps smacking your ass, âNimm es.âÂ
Take it.
Onyankoponâs hand fists in your hair, forcing your spine into a deep, sinful curve. His breath is hot against your ear, his teeth nipping at your pulse as he grinds deeper, making your thighs shake.Â
âYou loud as hell," he rumbles, âWhole fuckinâ city know you gettinâ dicked down.â Â
âOnyâplease, please, I needââ
âNow you need me, huh?âÂ
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!Â
âNah. Yoâ ass just want. And Iâm givinâ it to you.âÂ
You sob, tears streaking down your cheeks, your body burning with overstimulationâbut you donât stop. The thrust just keeps coming, coming, coming.Â
âYou gonâ cum for us, baby?"Â
You nod, âYes.âÂ
Onyankoponâs groan is filthy, his hips snapping into you with a punishing precision.Â
âThen cum.âÂ
Your body locks as your back arches, your mouth open in a cryâYour pussy squirts, gushing around Onyankoponâs dick as pleasure electrocutes every nerve for one last time. Eren groans, his own release painting your stomach as he watches youâwatches the way your eyes roll, the way your lips tremble, the way you fall apart between them. Â
Onyankopon follows, his thrusts turning uncontrolledâhis cum filling you, marking you, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he growls your name. Â
And then, silence.Â
Just the sound of heartbeats, and flesh drinking into one another. Your body collapses onto Erenâs chest, exhausted, ruinedâhis arms wrapping around you, lips pressing against your sweat slicked forehead as you now feel the entirety of whatâs just happened.Â
âYou did real fuckinâ goodâ he murmurs, voice soft and somehow still rough.Â
Onyankopon grunts behind you, his hand stroking down your spine.Â
âMhm. Real good, Mama."Â
You shiver, burying your face in Erenâs neck, your flushed whimper muffled against his skin.Â
Erenâs thumb traces the delicate shell of your ear, his lips curving into that smug, knowing smirk as he watches you hide your face against his chestâyour cheeks burning, your body still trembling from the aftershocks. Â
âMy baby," he murmurs, voice thick with amusement, âShy now, after all that? Tch,â he sucks his teeth, âThat ainât fair.âÂ
âAinât no way,â Onyankopon rumbles, âNot after all that noise you was makinâ. You ainât shyâyou just full.âÂ
âOr she just knows sheâll get it again.âÂ
A shiver ran through you.Â
Erenâs palm cups your face, his thumb swiping away the remnants of your tears as he leans in, pressing a slow, claiming kiss to your lips. Â
âLove you,â he growls, the words rough, real.Â
You giggle against his mouth, fingers tightening in his hair, kissing him back like you mean itâlike you could drown in him, in this.Â
Onyankoponâs hand lands on your hip, squeezingâa silent promise, a question, maybe even a threat. Â
Would this happen again?Â
You didnât know.Â
But the way they look at youâhungry, amused, and owningâtells you all you need to. Â
I have been working extremely hard since moving back home in November of 2025. F⌠Aliyah Kemp needs your support for Help Me Save My Apartme
https://gofund.me/787ac7000
hi, loves. iâm back on hereâso sorry to get serious once again. but i really need everyoneâs help to repost, re-boost, share, donate, anything helps + you are a blessing regardless. plz plz plz.
so, i have been working extremely hard since moving back home in nov. of 2025. for a while, I lived with family and eventually moved into my own apartment in April of 2026. Iâve been doing my best to get everything together, but recently lost my job at the end of June due to discrimination issues. Throughout July, I struggled to find workâfacing countless declines on applications, handing out resumes in person, attending job fairs, but no one seemed interested in giving me a chance. No interviews, no call backs, nothing. This entire month has felt like hell. Iâve gone deeper into debt with my utility bills, can barely afford groceries, canât buy kitchen sets, and Iâm late on rent and other upcoming bills. I havenât even been able to afford furnishing my apartment in the three months Iâve been here, and all I want is to make my apartment a home.
thankfully, I recently got blessed with a new job, but that first paycheck always takes a while to arrive, and Iâm on a time crunch. My apartment will file an official eviction to the court by the 19th if I donât pay what I owe. I just need some assistance to get my feet off the ground and truly make this apartment a place I can call home. I worked too hard to get this place, and I donât want to lose it so quickly. i thank everyone who donated on my last gofundme, and yâall are truly blessings + wish nothing but love for you. letâs keep this going !
ANAMNESIS. (cyborg!choi seungcheol x human!reader)
synopsis: five years ago, your company became a big enough threat to the existing tech ecosystem to cause an attack on your life. five years ago, said attack killed your husband. after spending so long picking up the pieces, you are quickly racing to the top again, which means your life is threatened once more. but the assassin sent your way is a little too familiar, even if heâs not exactly the same as the day he got âkilledâ.
warnings: mentions of death and violence, assassination and murder, corrupt business practices, amnesia, brainwashing and manipulation, mentions of mental health, suicidal ideation, sexually explicit content
smut warnings: 18+, multiple orgasms, choking, praise kink, use of petnames, they almost cry (lol), mentions of body modifications (in case of cyborg!seungcheol).
word count: 17.2k
a/n: this is part of the Cyberpunk: Reload Collab hosted by @studiosvt . Thank you to the organisers and everyone involved in the collab, this has been such a unique and stimulating writing experience for me, especially for a concept Iâve never done before. Seungcheol in this is loosely based off the winter soldier, I hope you all enjoy!
Inside the sleek but small building wedged between two skyscrapers, a single light illuminates a window on the second floor. Around it is nothing but darkness, and the streets are strangely quiet for a Friday night. Inside the office, the golden light falls over a keyboard, the clack, clack, clack of the keys rhythmic and continuous. Fingers move deftly over it, and the artificial glow of the monitor adds to the lamp in an unpleasant way. You donât seem to mind.
A knock on the door does nothing to break your concentration. Your fingers donât so much as falter. Joshua pokes his head in through a crack in the doorframe, frowns when he sees you, and finally speaks up.
âAny chance you will be wrapping this up soon?â
You donât look up, but you hum in acknowledgment. âJust a little bit more. Iâm just finishing up onâŚ.â
Your voice trails off. You donât attempt to finish the sentence. Joshua sighs.
âItâs Friday night.â He reminds you, gently, still lingering in the doorway. âHow about you and I get some dinner? You can sleep in tomorrow.â
He knows his suggestions will fall on deaf ears, but he tries nonetheless. He is hyperaware of his boss at this point. Thereâs no convincing you to slow down, to take a breather. You wonât allow yourself to. Slowing down means letting your mind wander. And you havenât let that happen in five years, lest you are reminded of what you have lost.
âItâs okay for you to head home, Josh.â You break him from his thoughts. âI promise, Iâm almost done. Maybe an hour more.â
Thereâs no point in arguing. Joshua sighs and steps out again. He reminds himself to call you an hour later to make sure you have, in fact, left the office. His satchel is already packed, so he just pulls on his coat and steps out.
You know Joshua worries. Heâs the only person on staff who can see your struggle. You pride yourself on being composed and shut off from the people around you. If youâre drowning, no one really sees it. Except Joshua, of course. He has been there since the very beginning, so he knows. The rest of the staff though, you did a complete turnover half a decade ago. They donât know what actually went down or what youâve been through.
True to your word, youâre wrapping up forty five minutes later. Itâs well past midnight, and you know Joshua wonât take kindly to you still working when he inevitably calls in fifteen minutes. There have been occasions where he has dragged you out of the building himself, when he is particularly frustrated. He keeps speaking about âwork-life balanceâ, reprimanding you for not having it. You always bite your tongue instead of telling him that you have no âlifeâ to go back to. The only person you ever loved is gone, so your work is all you have.
The drive back is inconsequential. The roads are empty by this point, despite the weekend. Your apartment building is silent and looming as always. You donât really like your neighborhood, but you had moved here after everything happened for a fresh start, and at the time, you werenât in any headspace to pick out a nice place. Joshua often complained about how drab and uninspiring your apartment is. You pay him no mind. He has always been all about flowers and rainbows. His desk at the office is so colorful it makes your eyes hurt sometimes.
You leave the light on in the kitchen landing so you donât have to stumble through the dark to get to the switchboard. Again, you can hear Joshua complaining in your head about how you can easily afford an AI home system, considering how well the company has been doing. You are least interested though. You donât want to put anything in this apartment that can mean you are planning to live here long term. You donât even know why youâre still here. Most days, you have no clue where your life is heading anyway.
You toe off your shoes and plop your heavy trenchcoat over the back of the couch. You wonder what you can make yourself for dinner. Something minimal straight out of the packet, probably. Youâve got dozens of those prepackaged meals in your pantry. You beeline for the sink, washing your hands and wondering bleakly what you are in the mood for stomaching. Through the window over the counter, you can see the cityâs skyline. Thousands of tiny, yellow dots from peopleâs windows, the backdrop formed by the sleek, poised buildings of the business sector looming beyond. Straight edges and smooth lines. But one building, not even two blocks away, shows an irregularity.
You squint for a second, hands held under the sink still. It looks like a person. Tall, but very broad. You half think youâre imagining it, but then the silhouette moves, and your eye catches on a gleam of silver over the shoulder.
The water is still running. You shut it off, looking back up. Heâs gone.
You blink a few times. Then you glance at the clock. Itâs nearly three in the morning. You huff and step away from the sink, shaking off your hands. Itâs too late at night for your brain to be functioning properly. You need sustenance. And then you need to sleep.
Itâs easy enough to pop your chicken dinner into a dish and slide it into the oven. You set fifteen minutes on the digital counter, and then busy yourself with hopping into the shower for a quick wash. Fifteen minutes on the dot, youâre back in the kitchen, peering into the oven with dripping wet hair and a bathrobe covering your drenched body. Everything around you is silent, so deafeningly still that you immediately hear the click and whir of metal. Right behind you. Too close.
The hair on the back of your neck stands. You whirl around.
Something smashes, hard, against your nose. Pain explodes and you gasp, stumbling back into the counter. Your eyes water, something warm and liquid drips over your lips and down your chin. Youâre dizzy, you canât see properly. You can barely breathe through the excruciating hurt. But alarm bells are ringing in your head, and fight or flight takes over. Backed against the counter for support, you kick your legs out hard. Your feet make contact with something sturdy. Thereâs a grunt, and the man stumbles backward, his back hitting the refrigerator with what sounds like a deafening crash. Youâre already scrambling to run from the kitchen.
You can barely see, but you know the map of this house like the back of your hand. Your ears are ringing, youâre gasping for breath, but panic is fueling you. Youâve had this feeling before, your life has been threatened once, a long time ago, and somehow, the second time around is giving you more clarity.
It also means that you are better prepared this time around.
You can hear the thuds and bangs behind you. Your attacker will be right on your heels soon. You barely manage to wretch your door closed, locking it, before a startling bang shakes it at its very hinges. Your yelp is involuntary. You know you have only bought yourself mere seconds.
Inside your drawer you find what youâre looking for, a tiny, unassuming device, shiny and silver, resembling a lighter. It comes with two silicone ear buds that you shove into your ears. Then, your hand on the solitary button on the device, you turn around.
The door comes down after just two bangs, splintering the doorframe completely. Sawdust rises, clouding the air. You donât wait to see your attacker, pressing the button immediately.
You canât hear it, owing to the buds in your ears, but you know a high pitched screeching has filled the air, nearly unbearable because of how high the frequency is. But it does its job. The man howls in pain, dropping what looks like a gun on the ground and using both hands to cover his ears. His knees buckle and he falls on them. You can see, even from a few feet away, the veins in his neck bulge hard, disappearing behind the black mask on his face. He crumples on the floor, clutching the sides of his head. You snatch your phone from where you had thrown it on your bed, frantically dialling three digits.
The man is still writhing, his body, clad in black and silver, contracting and arching painfully as he tries in vain to keep the sound out. As he moves, metal thuds against the ground. There is more clicking and whirring, like machinery buzzing with life. You realise heâs not entirely human. His shoulders tighten as you step closer, trying to make out who it is.
â911, what is your emergency?â
A single brown eye pops open on the stranger's mask-covered face. The other half, you realise, is covered in silver metal. But you donât care about that, because your blood is running cold.
You would recognise that eye anywhere.
Your grip falters. The device in your hand gets silenced. The man on the ground relaxes, his hands falling down as he quickly tries to scramble to his feet. He is still swaying, his short cropped blond hair matted to his sweaty forehead, the after effects of the sonic attack making him stumble, but for the first time, you register his stature. His height, the breadth of his shoulders. And his one, visible eye.
âHello? Is anyone there?â
The woman on your phone seems to break your trance. Before you know it, the man is rushing out over the broken wreckage of your door. Your hand shakes, your eyes are still watering from the blow you took. Both your phone and your device fall from your hand. You scramble after him.
âWait-â
But heâs gone. Out of your living room window, which you didnât notice was wide open when you first walked into the apartment. You canât see him on the street below, which is glaringly empty. Itâs like he was a ghost, vanishing before you can blink. You are left staring at nothing, blood dripping steadily down your chin now, staining your bathrobe, your hair still damp from the shower, sticking to your face and neck. You canât even register the pain anymore, canât think of anything else except the cold depth of his one brown eye.
âŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚ
âThatâs impossible.â
âIt was him.â
âAnd Iâm telling you, thatâs not possible.â
âI know what I saw, Josh.â
âY/N, heâs dead. We had a funeral. We buried him.â
âOnly parts.â But your voice cracks. You donât like remembering that day. âWe had an arm and a leg. Some teeth. And this manâŚ. half of him was metal. Heâs been modified.â
Joshua doesnât reply, staring at the TV playing across the room on low volume. You follow his lead, gaze blank. You donât really register much of anything since the pain in your face is too overwhelming to take in much else.
When you woke up this morning, you almost forgot what happened in your apartment mere hours ago. One look at the broken mess of your door, the twinge in your face that made your eyes water, and all the events came rushing back. The punch you took, running to your room, your door broken down, driving your attacker away.
Clear, brown, almond shaped eye. Just one eye, while the other half of the face was covered in what looked like a metal plate, and a mechanical, white circle where the other eye should have been.
âThe Secretary of Defence has a bionic arm.â You add, absentmindedly.
âJust one arm.â Joshua counters. âNot half the entire body.â
âIt wasnât the entire body. I could make out the arm and leg. Some part of the face-â
âMy point is,â Your friend cuts you off, âwhy would it be Seungcheol? And if by some miracle it was him, why would he attack you?â
You donât answer, because you donât know. Youâve been mulling over the same questions for hours, long before you finally called Joshua to come over. You know bionic prostheses are very much an emerging field in biotech circles. Everyone is racing towards this kind of technology because of how much revenue there is in the medical applications. The other, more sinister angle is weaponry, and you know that a lot of your fellow developers and companies want to tap into that potential. There have been rumors for months, covert projects underway by both government and private agencies to develop this exact kind of thing.
Maybe what you saw last night was an application of that weapon.
It still doesnât explain why he would attack you. Doesnât explain why the person who would never so much as raise his voice at you could hurt you so severely that Joshua balked at the sight of your purple and blue face, nose swollen and bruised in ugly colors that told you that you would have to work from home for the foreseeable future.
The Seungcheol you knew had been so gentle. Thatâs how you met him, actually, so many years ago that you donât even recognise that time.
Heâd spilled coffee on you, as clichĂŠ as it sounds. Thankfully, it missed any part of your skin that was bare, but even through the cloth it burned a bit. He was so apologetic, dark brown hair falling into his eyes, messed up by the wind in a look that reminded you a little bit of a gentle dog. He had panicked, tried to wipe you down, but you were too distracted by this giant of a man who talked so softly, dabbed your sleeve with a grip on your wrist uncharacteristically gentle for such large hands. He wanted to pay for dry cleaning, and you agreed only if he would let you buy a coffee to replace the one he had spilled on you. Of course, he didnât let you pay even after agreeing to it.
âI spilled it on you.â He argued. âWhat kind of man would I be if I let you pay for it?â
His lips, full and pink in a way that you immediately wondered about the feel of them, ticked up, and a little dimple dented his right cheek. You felt the squeeze of your heart, fluttering wildly in your chest, a feeling that was replicated every day after that, for Seungcheol never left your side since then. Until the day he died. Or did he?
Joshua is watching the screen more intently now, eyebrows furrowing.
âYoon Tech is doing a demonstration at the New York Expo? I had no idea.â
You blink to focus on the screen. Sure enough, Yoon Techâs CEO, Yoon Jeonghan, is speaking to the audience and cameras with that sly, charming smile on his face, talking about unveiling a project that can revolutionise the field of war weaponry and put their military supremely on top of their competition around the world. You know Yoon Tech is the militaryâs primary contractor, and their focus is weaponry. You know this because before Yoon Tech, your company was approached for a military contract, one that you turned down because your prime focus was not weapons. Joshua still thinks you should have said yes, but you donât want to take the company in that direction. Besides, things get messy if you have the government as your big boss.
âYou know Jeonghan doesnât say anything about projects until the day he unveils them.â You mumble, only half focusing. âHeâs secretive that way-â
âWait, shut up.â Joshua sits up abruptly, scrambling for the remote to turn the volume up. Behind Jeonghan, several people are stepping onto the stage. Heâs introducing them one by one as military veterans, and your eyes catch their forms immediately, breath stilling. Protheses, lots of them.
A man with a bionic arm, quite like the one the Secretary of Defence has. A woman with a below knee prosthetic leg. Thereâs more, attached limbs and shoulders, half a pelvic girdle, part of a jaw. Jeonghan is still talking, gesturing to the people now lining up behind him. The silver gleams, just like it gleamed on Seungcheolâs body last night. The only difference is the Yoon Tech and Military logos stamped on the ones on your screen. Jeonghan announces a demonstration, steps off the stage, and you watch, completely silent, as all of them demonstrate feats of extraordinary strength, aided by their metal attachments, some even showing installed weaponry between the plates of their limbs.
âA formation of advanced humans,â Jeonghan is saying somewhere off screen. âMan and machine combined, that will allow these soldiers to serve their country in ways they did not even possess before their unfortunate injuries.â
âJoshâŚâ Your voice trails off.
Joshua looks pale, confused, and a little frightened when his eyes meet your beaten and bruised face. It looks like he dared not believe, but you know he has reached the same conclusion as you.
âJeonghan sent Seungcheol to kill you?â
âŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚ
The only sound in the large, swanky office is the tea as it pours slowly into a cup on Jeonghanâs desk. It steams, and the scent of chamomile hits his nose. He watches it absentmindedly, and then waves his hand to dismiss his secretary. She places the tea kettle down gently and leaves without a word, and the room falls into silence. There is only him, and the man sitting opposite to him across his large, mahogany desk. Half his face is shrouded by darkness, the other half reflects the light as it hits the cold, unforgiving metal.
Jeonghan tuts.
âWell, this is definitely a setback.â He hums, picking up the cup so he can take a small sip. It warms his throat, perfect for the cold weather. But his mind remains distracted. âAfter the demonstration at the Expo yesterday, she will definitely know it was me who ordered the hit. After all, who else is making bionic weaponry?â
The man across from him doesnât respond. He rarely talks unless directly spoken to, one eye blank and unseeing. Jeonghan doesnât claim to know much about how the human brain works, but he supposes extensive memory modification can do that to a person.
âYou always used to have something witty or crass to say, Seungcheol.â Jeonghan sighs. âOh well. It was either that, or your willingness to kill her. I will take what I can get.â
Again, no reply. Jeonghan focuses on drinking his tea, thinking. His eyes are trained on his former business rival, the presumed dead husband of his current business rival. The soothing chamomile does nothing to take the bitter taste out of his mouth. He still feels the resentment, the bruise on his ego. For your company to be pursued as a first choice in a military partnership, when his own efforts are much grander, much more advanced, for you to turn that opportunity down (youâre a dumbass, he thinks), for him to be second choice, despite where he stands in tech circlesâŚ
A company that was a mere baby not even a full decade ago to beat something it took his family generations to build. It irks him. It burns him.
So he will burn you.
He did it once, in the explosion that took away what you loved the most. It shouldâve been enough to deter you, but it clearly wasnât. No matter, he plans to destroy you directly this time.
âYou know what you need to do.â He says, mutely. The man before him stirs, nods. Jeonghan scowls at him.
âMake sure you finish the job this time.â
âŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚ..
Seungcheol had always been a mega-nerd about tech. And his dream was to own his own company.
He would tell you about it, both of you sprawled on the uncomfortable rooftop of his college dorm building, staring at the sky. Heâd talk and talk about his plans after graduation, about how he wanted to build something from the ground up, something he was proud of. You would listen, not just because the sound of his voice always made you so happy, but because you were genuinely interested in it. You had a business major, and while Seungcheol didnât know how to run things, you did. Even then, it felt like a match made in heaven to you. Seungcheol knew the substance of the company, you knew how to run it. It almost felt like a no-brainer that eventually you would do this together.
Back in his dorm, you would plop yourself into his lap and look over the little gadgets he had designed, the many, many files in his computer of inventions you didnât even know could exist. You would tease him, calling him a glorified mechanic.
âEngineer.â He would pout. You would kiss it off him through a million giggles. His laptop would be pushed off the bed, forgotten, as you sunk into each otherâs arms.
The company was his baby, truly. While you were CEO because you ran day to day operations and focused on logistics, any product you pushed out was crafted carefully in Seungcheolâs hands. He would bring every prototype to you, you would run it by focus groups and tweak it, and eventually, it would hit the market with great success. Seungcheol always thought it was because of you.
âYou run your magic over it, and it becomes a hit.â He would say, kissing your cheek over and over. You would just grin and take it, never ever pushing him away.
It was all Seungcheol, everyone knew this. But when he looked at you so softly, that glint of awe in his beautiful eyes, you would just indulge whatever he had to say.
âYou wouldnât know what to do without me, mister.â You would tease. He would squeeze you so tightly.
âYouâre right. I wouldnât.â
All those memories are ghosts now. The truth is, you donât know what to do without him either. He was part of you, intertwined with your soul, and he was painfully ripped away after so many glorious years together. Sometimes, you think you imagined that time in your life. It feels so far away. But then you walk into your office, you look at the logo he designed, the furniture you picked out, the many, many unfinished files in your server that you are still working on, his creations, and you would be reminded that he was real. All that time, all that delirious bliss, was completely real.
Jeon Wonwoo is the current head of your Product Development branch, Seungcheolâs previous post. You had brought him in after the tragedy that killed your husband. Well, not you, but Joshua, who suggested overhauling the entire team after the attack. He is brilliant, quiet and a little reclusive, but whip-smart. He became intimately familiar with Seungcheolâs work when you brought him in, and he respected the integrity of it, which made you respect him even more. Heâs no Seungcheol, but heâs the closest thing, and you think he might be the only one you can trust to answer the questions in your head.
âBionic weaponry isnât exactly novel.â He murmurs. âWe know it exists. Not openly yet, but itâs being manufactured in a lot of places. Companies we know as well as around the world. Yoon Tech is just the first one to unveil it publicly.â
Joshua is pacing your living room floor, and watching him makes you feel dizzy, so you close your eyes instead. Your face is still tingling with pain, and youâre so tired that you just want to sleep. But you also need some form of explanation.
âSo itâs possible? Modifying Seungcheolâs body like that?â Joshua asks.
Wonwoo hesitates, holding his chin and staring at the far wall. âTheoretically, yes. Practically, I havenât seen or heard of it yet. Not to the extent you describe. Establishing neural connections in that many body parts and making sure they work in perfect coordination is a huge undertaking.â
Joshua looks at you pointedly, as if to say âI told you soâ.
âBut,â Wonwoo clears his throat, âif anyone can accomplish it, it would be Yoon Tech. Their R&D team is the best in the game.â
You return Joshuaâs look the best that you can through your marred face. He huffs.
âWhat about the fact that he attacked her? Why would he do that?â He asks.
Wonwoo blinks. âOh, thatâs easy. Memory modification. Brainwashing. CIA has been doing it for years. A lot of assassins operate under that frame of mind. Itâs easier to control them that way.â
A small silence stretches over the room. Joshua is chewing on the inside of his cheek.
âSo he doesnât know who I am.â You mumble. âIâm justâŚ.. what, a target?â
Wonwoo nods. âLikely, yes. And you know Jeonghan way better than me, maâam. Itâs very like him to toy with you by using Seungcheol specifically.â
You canât argue with him on that. You know how ruthless Jeonghan is about his company, about his standing in tech circles. Youâre catching up, dangerously close, and some would say youâve even surpassed him. You won't put it past him to knock out competition under the table.
You never did find out who ordered the hit on Seungcheol five years ago. But now, you think you know.
âCan we undo it?â You ask. âThe memory change, or whatever?â
Joshua stares at you. âWhat do you mean?â
Wonwoo answers you, though.
âI think so, yes. Itâs not my area of expertise, but I know people who can tell us more about it. The memory isnât the problem, though. Heâs basically a walking weapon. Subduing him long enough to do anything about his brain is going to be an issue.â
âWhoa, hold on.â Joshua steps closer to you, cutting off your reply to Wonwoo, holding a hand up. Both of you look at him as he stares at you in bewilderment.
âWhat the hell are you planning? Are you insane? He almost killed you!â
âWhat do you want me to do then?â You grit your teeth. âNothing? Should I just lay down and let him kill me?â
âWe need to call the police-â
You laugh dryly. Your face twinges with pain.
âI have no proof. You think any agency in this city is going to mess with Yoon Tech? And by some miracle if they do believe me, do you think any of them are going to spare Seungcheol long enough to save him?â
Joshuaâs mouth opens and closes, like he wants to protest, but no words leave him. He huffs and shakes his head, running a frustrated hand through his hair. You turn your attention back to Wonwoo.
âI know youâre not a biotech expert, but youâre the best IT guy I know. Any ideas on how to hack into Yoon Techâs mainframe?â
Wonwoo looks a little taken aback. âThatâsâŚ.. illegal.â
You roll your eyes, ignoring the pain that comes with it. âIâm pretty sure trying to get your business competitor killed is illegal too. Jeonghan seems comfortable attempting it twice.â
He nods slowly, still slightly hesitant. âI will need helpâŚâ
You stand up, essentially declaring the meeting over. Youâre tired, as you often are these days. Your injury might look like it affects your face only, but you feel the exhaustion bone deep in every part of you. You want a soothing cup of tea and then a million blankets to lie down in. That's it.
âCall in anyone you need.â
âŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚ
You know he will come again. The only question is when.
The bruises around your nose and under your eyes take a long time to fade. The slow move from a deep purple, to blue, to a sickly green and then yellow surprises you every day. Youâre breathing easy now, only a week later, but you know going to the office looking like this will raise serious questions. You canât risk any eyes on this right now, since getting Seungcheol back needs to be as discrete as possible.
Thatâs what you plan to do. Get him back.
Itâs idealistic, almost. Maybe something out of a movie. He has been altered, mind and body, for years. You donât even want to imagine how much he was been put through. How convoluted must his mind be now? How dangerous would tinkering with his body be?
Every few minutes, your hand reaches into the pocket of your jeans, toying with the small, rectangular chip that Wonwoo had given you a couple of days ago.
âYou need to get close enough to him to get this on any bionic part of him.â He told you. âArm, leg, doesnât matter. We canât hack into Yoon Techâs mainframe, itâs too secure. But we can isolate him from it. This chip can do that. Once thatâs done, we can figure out a way to rewire his mechanics.â
Itâs easier said than done, of course. For one, Seungcheol is nearly twice your size. Heâs always been massive, but he seems even more so now. You wonder if he has worked covertly for Yoon Tech to do other dirty work. How long has he been their weapon? How much training does he have? Can you, a novice civilian, even get close enough to him to do any lasting damage?
âYou managed it once, didnât you?â Joshua replied to your mindâs worries. âYou got out of that alive, somehow. Iâm willing to bet you can do it again.â
âHeâll be more careful this time.â Wonwoo mumbled. âFor one, he wonât try again until youâre completely alone. For another, he will make sure you are isolated from any weapon you might be able to access.â
So now here you are, meandering in your kitchen, watching your television blankly, staring unseeing at your laptop. Anything and everything to make yourself look as unassuming as possible. Heâs watching, you know he is, and every fiber of your body is silently asking him to come to you. You wait, and wait, because you would wait endlessly for him. Somehow, youâre not afraid. In your head, this ends in one of two ways. Either you get the love of your life back, or you die trying. Youâre good with both options.
Itâs Tuesday by the time he finally shows up.
You think you sense him, because the hair on your body stands. You feel the chill, and then, that very soft whirring sound that comes when he moves his limbs.
You stare at the contents inside your refrigerator. You donât turn around. And yet, he doesnât shoot. He doesnât swing.
âI was expecting you sooner.â You finally say.
When you turn to look at him, your eyes catch his visible brown one. Your breath hitches. He has ditched the mask, and you can see his face. Well, whatâs left of it.
Metal pieces are carved into the shape of his right ear, curling forward to form a cheekbone, encroaching all the way over his eye and stopping right before his nose. It covers the ridge of his right eyebrow as well, but spares his forehead. A white, flat circle is fitted where his eye should be, and now that you look closely at it, it swirls and moves, no doubt mapping your every move.
The rest of his face is gloriously, warmly human. Itâs him, itâs his left eye, his thick, furrowed eyebrow, the strong bridge of his nose, his lips, set in a hard line on his face. His hair has been cropped right to his skull, dyed a dirty blond with brown roots already growing out, slightly spiked and dishevelled around his head. Finally, your eyes dart down to the pistol in his hand, pointing directly at your chest.
You clench your teeth.
âShoot me.â
He doesnât reply, but his mouth tightens. From your chest, the gun rises to your head. The shifting of his aim is your window. Your hand shoots back, grabs and throws the first thing you can find at him. Itâs a glass. His metal arm comes up, makes contact, and the glass shatters. His stance does not falter for even a second, but he flinches at the shards of glass, and before it even makes contact, you are sprinting forward, hand curled tight around the chip, and with one leap, you collide into him. Hard.
Your momentum is enough, and you both fall in a mess of limbs. You scramble, finding the edge of the plate in his shoulder, but before you can wedge the chip in it, his human hand reaches up and smashes hard against your jaw. You cry out, the sharp sting blooming, the taste of blood already in your mouth. But your hands are still moving, and before you know it, the chip hits hard against his bicep, immediately lighting up a pale yellow, the tiny spikes on its edges sinking into the metal.
Seungcheol shouts and roughly pushes you off. You fall limply on your side, trying to see through how dizzy you are. Everything hurts, your face is on fire, but your eyes are focused on the pale yellow streaks spreading over Seungcheolâs arm, glowing between the plates making up his leg, part of his face. His arm and leg jerk hard, seemingly out of his control. He shouts again, trying to stand up, but it looks like his limbs arenât cooperating with him anymore.
The human part is still his though.
You force yourself, despite the excruciating pain and the blood now sliding down your throat, and you rush into the living room. Under your couch, youâve stored what you need. Electromagnetic cuffs, both for his wrists and ankles, shiny grey steel with a light that blinks on when you press the buttons on them. You can hear Seungcheol stumble onto his feet in the kitchen, and youâre already rushing back before he can stand properly. The cuffs hum, slam hard around his human wrist and the light on them turns red. The arm goes limp on his side immediately. He canât react, not with his only remaining limb, and you are able to secure the other cuff around his ankle as well.
With that, your husband crumples to your kitchen floor.
Heâs motionless from the neck down, but he strains hard. You can see the muscles in his neck bulge. He is flushed with the exertion of it, grunting and snarling. His glare is venomous as you back into the kitchen island, trying not to choke on the blood dripping down your throat as you breathe hard.
You drape yourself over the sink, trying not to throw up, spitting blood into it so you can breathe. Behind you, Seungcheol is still groaning and straining, to no avail. You stay leaning over until the wave of nausea passes, and the bleeding slows. Finally, you grab a bunch of paper towels, wiping your mouth and chin. The metallic taste still lingers.
Your hands leave some streaks of blood on your phone as you dial Wonwooâs number. He picks up on the first ring, and when he speaks, you realise he was anticipating your call.
âThe chip just connected to my server! Iâm working on decrypting and isolating him from Yoon Techâs servers right now.â
âHow long is it going to take?â You ask, not recognising your own, broken voice. Your jaw is sore. Youâre in so much pain.
âI donât know yetâŚ.â Wonwooâs voice is more subdued. âAre you okay? Do you need help?â
You shake your head before you realise he canât see you.
âIâm fine. Itâs just a scratch.â Big underreport. âWhat do I do while you work on this?â
Wonwoo doesnât immediately answer, but you can hear shuffling in the background.
âWhat Iâm doing only changes the physical.â His voice sounds apologetic. âThe mental barrier, his lack of memory, I canât fix that.â
You know what he is implying. You turn your head to look at Seungcheol, still on your kitchen floor, heaving but no longer futilely straining.
âThanks, Wonwoo. I can handle that part.â
The truth is, you donât know if you can. You donât know what was done to him. You donât even know if your husband still exists somewhere inside him, or if he was wiped out completely. Are you even cut out for this? With your modest business degree and a company that is successful only because of Seungcheolâs genius, where do you stand in this situation?
As you walk back into the kitchen, watching the man writhing on the floor does nothing to soothe your confidence. Suddenly, all your clarity is gone.
You donât know what to do.
âŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚ..
Seungcheol was a very clingy man.
You always liked that about him. To you, he was like an overgrown bear, curling around you tightly while you chopped vegetables until you complained that you still needed your mobility in order to cook dinner.
âYouâre too heavy, Cheolie!â You would whine, but his grip on you would only tighten, pressing your back harder into his front.
âFive more minutes.â He would mumble into your hair. You would laugh incredulously.
Youâre reminded of that moment as you drag this immobilised, half human, half robot man into your living room, using every bit of your strength to plop him onto the armchair next to the couch. Youâre heaving, your head pounding so severely that it makes you dizzy. Thereâs no fight in him anymore, and he stares blankly at you as you cough a little, still feeling drops of blood hit your palm as you do so. You huff and go to the bathroom to clean up, rummaging in your medicine cabinet for anything that could ease your pain. You leave him on the chair, knowing heâs incapable of escaping anyway.
Fifteen minutes later, youâre sitting on the couch with a cup of tea, your legs curled under you, a blanket draped over your lap. You stare with bleary vision at the dark, steaming liquid. Seungcheol stares at the ceiling, head thrown back. Neither of you says a word.
âDo you speak?â You muse out loud, not looking at him. âI havenât heard you talk yet, so it makes me wonder.â
No reply.
âJasmine tea was your favorite, you know?â You mumble on, not even fully aware of what you are saying. âYou were always a coffee person, but when you had tea with me sometimes, it would be jasmine. Itâs the only one you could stomach, actually.â
A mirthless laugh leaves you. He still stares at the ceiling. You watch him, the stiff cut of his jaw, the streaks of yellow glowing under the plates of his bionic attachments. There is a distinct, soft hum coming from them, but both of you elect to ignore it.
âSeungcheol.â You whisper. He doesnât react beyond a small flick of his eyelid.
Youâre so tired. You can feel it tug on your limbs, like invisible weights making it difficult to even move. With every ounce of strength in you, you stand up, walking to the closet in your hallway. You return with a pale blue blanket, the one Seungcheol got for himself years ago and never let go, claiming it was a comfort for him. Now, his eye trains on you as you shake it out and drape it over his torso and legs. You donât look at him, just loosely tucking him in before walking back to the couch, pulling your own blanket around yourself and sinking into the uncomfortable cushion.
You donât notice his eye on you. You donât notice anything else as you welcome the pitch black of dreamless sleep. You send out a little prayer that by morning, somehow all of this will be over and you will wake up in bed, wrapped up in your husbandâs warm arms.
Youâre wrong, sadly. There is nothing but cold.
Heâs exactly where you left him before drifting off. He stares into the distance, looking disconnected until you shift and his eye catches the movement. You wince at the crick in your neck, somehow even more tired than you were before sleeping. You sigh and rub your eyes.
âDid you sleep?â You ask.
No response.
You leave him on the couch, opting to putter to the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea. You eye the cabinet against the far wall, staring at the bottles inside and the amber liquid that gleams in them. A glance at the clock tells you itâs barely noon.
Fuck this.
Seungcheol doesnât react in any way when you walk into the living room with a bottle of whiskey and a glass thatâs too big for a drink like that. He just watches you from the corner of his eye as you sit back on the couch and pour yourself a concerning amount, wincing when your throat protests against the first sip.
âYou would not approve of this at all.â You chuckle humorlessly. âYouâd be appalled, I think. Drinking this early? Whiskey of all things? That was never my drink. I didnât have the tolerance for it. Youâre the whiskey guy.â
He doesnât interrupt. You take another sip and stare at the glass. Already, on an empty stomach, you can feel your senses dimming.
âSometimes I think,â you whisper, âyou would really hate the person Iâve become.â
His head lolls in your direction, the only part of his body he can control. His eye meets yours and you feel your heart squeeze.
âI donât know you.â
His voice is hoarse, a little crack in it from disuse. But itâs his voice, the voice youâve yearned to hear for so long. You remember laying in your bed at night, wishing you could hear him whisper one last time, maybe even just the sound of your name from his lips, just once more, to hold you over. Your breath hitches, and you can feel your vision blur under newly formed tears.
âIâm your wife.â
âYouâre my target.â
You stand abruptly, walking closer to where he sits, or rather, lays sprawled out under the blanket you draped over him. You tug it aside, eye the yellow lines of light that pass over his bionic limbs. You reach down to run a finger over the chip you attached to his bicep.
âIf I pull this off you right now,â you stare directly into his eye. âWould you kill me?â
A small silence. Then he nods.
You let out a shaky breath, standing back up. The air is tense, and by now, youâre sick of it. You need to get away from him for a bit, no matter how badly that very thought pains you. Whiskey ignored on the coffee table, you walk to the door to tug your shoes on. You eye the back of his blond head with your hand on the doorknob, feeling a certain sense of defeat.
âIronic, isnât it?â You mumble, but he hears you. âYouâre the one who created that chip.â
The door closes softly behind you.
âŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚ
There is a mess in his head. A tangled web of wires. He doesnât know how to begin unraveling it. He canât even find a single free end to tug on.
In the quiet of the room he is sitting in, he can hear warped voices from inside his own thoughts. He canât make out any words, only tones, soft and loud both, some conversational, some that sound like laughter. He knows the voice, can recognise it. Itâs the woman whose armchair he is sitting on.
Something presses on his temple, like a weighted force, insistent, as if urging him to listen more closely. But he canât, because it makes pain bloom between his eyebrows, pain so severe it makes his eye water.
Every now and then, he feels intense heat, a kind thatâs less uncomfortable and more painful. As suddenly as it comes, it goes away, and the blanket draped over him does nothing but elevate the sensation of it. He sits in the quiet, with the floating voices, the laughter, the weight on his head, the pain between his eyebrows, and the bursts of painful heat that bloom on his skin.
His ears perk when he hears the front door clink open after what seems like hours. He canât turn himself around to look, so he just listens to the stumbling and mumbled cursing, shuffling and then a soft thud of cloth hitting the ground. Bare footsteps, a quiet sound, and then the woman from before enters his line of sight.
Youâre clearly inebriated. He has stalked enough victims before ending their lives to know what alcohol intoxication looks like. He eyes you carefully as you putter around the living room, not doing anything in particular. Then, you look straight at him.
âI donât know what to do.â You finally speak, and the words are less slurred than he expected them to be. âI donât know what to do with you.â
He doesnât reply. You move closer to him, and his face, the only thing he can move, tenses when you pull the blanket back and sink onto the chair by his side. He can feel the press of you against his skin, even if he canât move. Your shoulder fits under his arm, you head on his collarbone. You drape the blanket over your joined bodies.
âLetâs just pretend everything is okay.â You whisper, your voice cracking slightly. Your arm drapes over his torso. âJust for right now. Just one night.â
He stares at the wall, his side warming quickly under the added weight. Itâs different from the heat he felt before, stinging and sudden, disconcerting. Itâs different from anything he has felt in a long time. No one touches him. No one has been near him for years, except the people he has taken the lives of, or the scientists that fitted his limbs. This heat right now, it is dull but constant, like how the sun feels on your skin. He hears laughter again, but this time itâs clearer, and it sounds familiar, like something he has heard before. In another life.
He stares at the far wall as your breathing evens out. Your weight doesnât feel very uncomfortable anymore as time passes. The clock ticks softly, and the rise and fall of your chest is rhythmic. He can feel your heartbeat against his ribcage. There is a whisper in his head. A name. His own. In a voice that is quickly becoming familiar.
Heâs tired, but he doesnât sleep. He canât remember the last time he slept.
âŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚ..
Going into work becomes out of the question immediately, since you canât leave a brainwashed assassin on your couch unattended for a whole day. Joshua pays you a visit with some stuff that needs taking a look, but otherwise, you sit on the couch, your laptop in front of you, and get through meetings and daily logistics that way. As you work, you think out loud, talking to Seungcheol about random tasks that come up, some hiccup at work youâre fretting over, and how your head of accounting keeps pissing you off. Itâs mundane stuff, but it is exactly the things that you used to talk about on the daily. You loved debriefing with your husband, especially because he worked in the same place as you, so he knew all these people just as well, and knew what you were talking about.
Now, he doesnât respond much. But youâre okay with that. Youâre just glad he is here, and not dead like you had assumed for the last five years.
After your moment of inebriated weakness, spending the night curled up in his warmth, you suddenly feel some semblance of hope again. You had heard his heart beat, had felt the twitch and shift of his skin under your touch. He is still your Seungcheol, even if half of him is cold and unfamiliar, you are certain that he is somewhere in there, deep inside. And youâre convinced that if he didnât remember at all, he wouldnât have let you sleep on him the way that he did.
(Granted, he had no choice since he was paralysed. But you choose to ignore that reality.)
Joshua has been very wary of this quiet, motionless version of Seungcheol. He steers clear when he visits, not engaging in any way and just choosing to finish up on work with you and leaving. One night, you ask him to stay for dinner, and for the first time, he hesitates. You see his eyes flick to where Seungcheol is sitting, and you sigh in irritation.
âHeâs not a piece of furniture, Josh.â You mutter. âHeâs still my husband.â
âIs he?â He counters, dryly. âBecause itâs been weeks and thereâs been nothing. I assumed if he was really in there, we wouldâve seen something by-â
âHeâs there.â You hiss, cutting him off. Joshua blinks at your harsh tone. âIâve been here with him every second of every day. I see it in his eyes. He isnât gone yet-â
The crack in your voice cuts you off. You take a deep breath, blinking vigorously to keep your tears at bay. Joshua has fallen silent, eyeing you with a forlorn expression. After a few seconds, when he realises you wonât continue, he simply nods.
That night, after Joshua has gone, you still have his uncertainty on your mind. You eye the back of Seungcheolâs head, and remember the last few weeks. A seed has been planted in your head, plaguing your brain with doubt and pain. And once again, you feel that bone deep exhaustion that comes and goes frequently these days.
You make up your mind quickly, and your body follows in resignation.
Slowly, you walk back to the living room where Seungcheol sits. You walk closer to him, reaching for his flesh arm, the thick, metal cuff on his wrist. It sizzles a bit, recognises your thumbprint, and clicks, loosening. You donât look at Seungcheol, despite the fact that he is eyeing you in surprise. You simply kneel down to quickly do the same to the cuff around his ankle before standing up again.
He moves with a little hesitation, stretching his leg and flexing his arm, his fingers. The limbs are stiff, and youâre sure weeks of no activity have left them sore. His bionic arm, and his pants clad leg, both still glow with pale, yellow light, the symbol of your and Wonwooâs control of them. You reach forward, and yank the chip on his arm hard, disconnecting it. The yellow vanishes, leaving only gleaming, silver metal.
The chip is warm inside your palm. You step back, blinking away tears of what feels like a chapter closing.
âYou can leave if you want.â You mumble. âOr kill me, since thatâs your mission.â
Slowly, Seungcheol stands. His metal attachments click and whir, buzzing with life again as he twists and moves them, feeling them out. You take a deep breath and realise you canât stand to look at him anymore. So you head to the kitchen.
You shuffle around mindlessly, just waiting to hear the front door open and close, or maybe you wait for searing pain from wherever he chooses to attack you. You canât predict what he will do anymore. There was once a time you knew him so well, you could even count his breaths in your head, could mimic the rise and fall of his chest under your palm. Now, you feel like you are lost at sea and heâs nowhere to be found.
Thereâs shuffling behind you, but you donât turn around.
âI donât know you.â He says, and the words hurt just as much as they did when he first spoke them weeks ago. You grit your teeth hard.
âBut,â he continues. Hesitates, âI did know you. In another time.â
You feel yourself stiffen, turning just enough to look at him. He fills the doorway, but his figure is hunched, uncertain. You wonder if he is just as tired as you. If he can feel it tug on his limbs like you do, like itâs anchoring him to the floor. How has he felt, watching you for weeks and weeks, nowhere to go but to sit and listen to any word that falls out of your mouth?
âI want to know.â He continues. âI want to remember.â
You stare at him for a long time before you finally move to where he stands. He doesnât step back, doesnât react at all, even when you stop just inches from his face. His human eye, brown like the earth, flicks with something you canât place, and the metal that covers the other half, plain grey, cold and distant. Just where the metal meets his face, the skin is raw and red. Up close, you can see how angry it looks, and you wonder how careless the person was who put him together.
Your heart aches.
âOkay.â You say simply. No promises, no guarantees. Only a commitment, and a hope to see it succeed.
âŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚ
Itâs a little strange to settle into a routine with this new version of Seungcheol.
For one, he doesnât do most things humans would. He eats very little, maybe one meal a day, and sleeps even less. He spends a lot of time to himself, mostly silent rumination, something that wasnât part of his personality at all before. Heâs always been loud and jovial, so this change takes some adjusting. You suspect there is a lot about him, maybe all of it, that isnât the same anymore. The thought hurts you, so you try not to dwell.
You open your spare bedroom for him, since lounging in your living room day and night canât really be comfortable. You still have his old clothes, whatever you managed to salvage after the explosion in your shared home. He is deeply intrigued by them, and asks, in a low voice, what other belongings of his you held on to.
The answer is: everything.
You make a trip to the storage unit you bought before you moved to your new, drab apartment. You lug back boxes of Seungcheolâs incomplete inventions, designs he was working on at the time, little contraptions that were half functioning, his diaries, his notes. You even bring back his absurdly large collection of watches, every brand and every new, cool tech that existed in the market.
âThey were your one vice.â You smile at the memory as he opens the gigantic box. âYou actually designed a few yourself too. This one-â
You point to a shiny, square shaped one in the corner. Seungcheol eyes it closely.
âThis one was connected to me. You installed something in it that links to the one I wear, and it clicks at the same rhythm as my heartbeat. So itâs not really for telling time.â You shrug.
âI made this?â He asks, lifting the watch from its snug case. Itâs not functional anymore, probably out of battery after so many years. Itâs strange, because it has no hands and no numbers. There is an engraving of your initials just under the glass, over a black background.
You nod. âYou said it made you feel like I was by your side all the time.â
Your voice is low. It almost cracks. He doesnât say anything more.
You stick to working from home for a prolonged amount of time now, which isnât difficult, since youâre mostly confined to your office when you go into work anyway. A week or so after Seungcheol asked you if he could stay, youâre due for a site visit. And you offer for him to come with you.
He hesitates.
âNo one is going to recognise you.â You reassure him. âFor one, itâs an all new staff. And for another, youâre blond now. And short haired.â
He subconsciously runs a hand over his head, his lips pulling together in what can only be a ghost of one of his infamous pouts.
âIt doesnât look bad.â He mumbles.
âI never said it does.â You reply, holding back a smile as you put a plate of eggs and toast in front of him. You tilt your head as you appraise his hair. Heâs trying to flatten it down on his head.
âNo, donât do that.â You swat away his hand, running your fingers through the short but soft locks and lifting them up a bit. You mess around with it, distressing it a bit more. You know heâs watching you. It makes your cheeks heat a bit. You try to ignore the feeling.
âThere.â You withdraw your hands. âIt looks so nice now.â
When your eyes meet his, you realise his ears are tinged pink, and so is the back of his neck. You try to ignore the racing of your heart.
Wonwoo meets you on site, and heâs a little taken aback by Seungcheol being there. His face is covered with a mask, but the metal eye gives it away. After some stumbling, Wonwoo elects to ignore Seungcheolâs presence in favor of just getting work done, and you become immersed in it as well.
âThis is where the problem is.â Wonwoo points, handing you the tablet. âThere is definitely something wrong, but I canât tell if itâs because I messed up the configuration or not. Iâve been trying a few different options but they all havenât worked so far.â
Just over your shoulder, you feel Seungcheol lean in to look at the screen in your hand. You try not to think about him being so close.
âMaybe request a consultation.â You respond. âThere is a reason we have engineers on call-â
âThe configuration isnât the problem.â A voice speaks from behind you. âYour base algorithm is wrong.â
You blink and turn your head, eyeing Seungcheolâs human eye, which is right beside you. Wonwoo frowns and steps closer, looking down at the tablet.
âHow so?â
You tune it out, only registering his voice and not his words, watching as he points and explains where to make the change. Youâre reminded of a time where Seungcheol would do this every day, and you would step back to let him do his thing. You can feel him now, right at your shoulder, his warmth so close you can almost perceive it. As you eye the side of his face, you fight the urge to kiss him. Or hug him. Anything. Your fingers twitch with it. Your heart yearns for it.
Itâs over too quickly. And then he steps back.
Wonwoo is already taking the tablet from you, making adjustments as he thanks Seungcheol. You send him a little smile as he walks away, turning to look at the man on your side.
âThat was very nice of you.â You say. He just nods a little sheepishly.
âIt was an obvious solution.â
You shake your head, patting his arm as you move to walk past him. The metal is rigid and unforgiving under your fingers.
âDonât be so modest. You were born for this.â
Seungcheol seems to be in a particularly good mood after that.
âŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚ.
Things get smoother as time goes by.
Something about going into work with you that one time clicks with Seungcheol. With all the material from your storage room, he starts tinkering with his old things again. Thereâs so many notes and designs, complete and incomplete blueprints keeping him occupied. He does it mostly in the living room, which you donât mind. Youâre glad he isnât confined to his room. You like seeing him putter around the house or sit crosslegged on the floor, his metal arm whirring and clicking with every turn and movement. Sometimes, he sits out on the balcony when the weather is nice, and you join him with some tea or coffee. You donât understand most of what he does, you never have, but you listen to him anyway. You bask in the way it lightens his voice, injects life into it. Sometimes, when he has come up with a new idea, he almost sounds exactly like he did before.
Your hope is increasing, tightening around your chest in a way that warms you up but traps you as well. Fear lingers, that this will all go away, that youâre balancing on a poorly strung tightrope and soon enough, you will fall.
And then that moment comes, the inevitable snap.
Itâs a bright day, and youâre out for some groceries because you didnât anticipate living with another person again, and your pantry is getting dangerously empty. Youâre actually considering fresh produce instead of all the prepackaged crap youâve been eating for so long. Seungcheol barely eats one meal a day, so it seems unfair if that one meal comes out of a box.
Youâre considering which veggies to buy, lightly squeezing a tomato in your hand, when you feel something at your shoulder. It almost makes you jump, because it feels ominous, and your intuition is correct when you turn your head and come face to face with Yoon Jeonghan.
Heâs in a black trenchcoat that nearly swallows his frame, a black cap on his head with dark strands poking out from under it. He looks particularly unassuming, just a casual shopper alongside you. His eyes are not on you, his lips pursed in what looks like consideration as he picks up another tomato, turns it around in his hand.
âThis one is firmer.â He finally says, and his voice sounds jovial, casual, like it always does. âIt will rot slower. You should get this.â
âWhat the hell are you doing here?â You grit out, your voice low to make sure no one hears you. One look around the aisle tells you that itâs empty. Itâs just him and you. Your nerves are on high alert.
Jeonghan tuts, finally looking at you from the corner of his eye. âIs that any way to talk to a peer? Youâve become so rude, Y/N.â
âOh, Iâm sorry.â Sarcasm drips from your voice. âI didnât realise I still had to extend common courtesy to you after youâve tried to kill me. Twice.â
Jeonghan winces, then chuckles. âYeah, that was my bad.â
You blink, waiting for him to continue. He doesnât. He drops the tomato in his hand, picking up and inspecting another.
âThatâs it?â You scoff. ââMy badâ? You try to get me killed by turning my husband into a half human killing machine and your response is âmy badâ?â
âWell, you got him back, no?â He responds. âI would say thatâs a huge improvement on whatever sad, bachelorette life youâve been living all this time.â
You scoff, incredulous. âYouâre soâŚ. youâre-â
No words come. You just shake your head. Jeonghan looks at you again, this time, a sly smile crosses his face.
âHow about a truce? I donât try to kill you again, and I donât demand my asset back from you. Consider it an apology for the attempts on your life.â
You glare at him, feeling anger bubble in you again. âAsset?â
He blinks, like heâs surprised. âWell, yes. Do you know how much Yoon Tech invested in developing him? It wasnât easy. But itâs fine. Iâve made a lot of progress on bionic weaponry since then. So you can keep him.â
Your rage is boiling over at the way he is speaking of Seungcheol, but you know thereâs a reason Jeonghan decided to ârun intoâ you at a public place. You canât react the way you want to, which is the intense need to strangle him where he stands.
You know thereâs nothing you can do about anything Jeonghan has attempted. His company is a mammoth, that and his military contract make him basically untouchable. The only proof you have of his doing is Seungcheolâs own person, and you donât want to drag him into the legal mess that would ensue. Here Jeonghan stands, offering you a truce because he thinks he has won already, which is new bionic weapons branch going over so well and elevating him to a status no one else would dare to achieve. To him, you are not a threat anymore, and so he is discarding you just like he does with everyone else.
Considering all your options, you think being discarded by him might be the best case scenario here.
âFine.â You finally relent, watching him smile and step back, almost in finality.
âGreat. See you around, Y/N. You should attend next yearâs New York expo. Iâve got great things lined up, you know? Maybe it will inspire something in you too.â
He winks and walks a few steps backward, that characteristic smirk on his face still, before turning around and sauntering away, the basket in his head still empty. You watch his back as he leaves, feeling some sense of resolution, no matter how bittersweet it may be.
People like Jeonghan never get justice, because they are too valuable to lose. He has made himself indispensable, which means he will continue to achieve new heights despite whatever operations he conducts in the dark. Thatâs the reality you live in.
The only saving grace here is that itâs not Seungcheol who will have to do his dirty work going forward.
âŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚ.
Youâre not really here, Seungcheol can tell.
Thereâs a distant look in your eyes, like youâre lost deep in thought, as you stir the pot sizzling on the stove. Youâve been like this since you got back with groceries, not greeting him with that usual sweet tone you always use. Itâs a little detached, even though he can see that you're clearly attempting to appear normal. He offers to help make dinner, and you take him up on it, so he is quick to begin chopping vegetables as you prepare the rice. You work quietly, which is unlike you. Usually, you donât stop talking, something heâs grown quite fond of.
The truth is, Seungcheol remembers you, in bits and pieces.
Voices and pictures pass through his brain, like flash cards being held up in front of him. Thereâs no rhyme and reason to them, no chronological order, like a CD stopping and starting at random intervals. Youâre there in so many of them, right by his side, watching him, talking to him, touching him in places he wouldnât dare let anyone touch. His fingers twitch when he feels it, like a ghost caressing his skin. Sometimes, he thinks he can feel you in his bones, coursing through his veins, and he wonders if he is connected to you in some way.
It scares him.
Thereâs nothing tangible there, no memory he can reach for and grab. As soon as he tries, it scatters like whisps. He knows he has lived a life, but he has no idea how that life went beyond rusty recollections that come and go. It sets him on edge, and so he never brings them up. He canât, not when he knows for certain that you will cling onto them with unyielding hope. And he canât have that burden on him when he already feels like heâs a shell of what he once was.
The only thing solid is you. But today, youâre far away as well.
âSomething is bothering you.â He finally says when youâre eating at the kitchen island an hour later. There are dirty pots and pans in the sink. You will clean up after dinner. Right now, you move your food around absentmindedly, and Seungcheol doesnât like this distance.
You blink and look at him, giving him a small smile that barely reaches your eyes. âSorry, Iâm just thinking about some stuff. Donât worry about it.â
But he worries. He always worries, because you are all he has. So he pushes.
âMaybe I can help.â
You look a little surprised, and very touched, so your smile this time is more genuine.
âThank you, Seungcheol, but really, Iâm fine. The situation has resolved itself, Iâm just going over it. Thereâs nothing to do.â
Seungcheol hesitates, but his intuition urges him to speak. âIs it Yoon Jeonghan?â
Your shocked expression tells him that he hit the nail on the head.
âHow did you know?â
Seungcheol shrugs. He didnât know, not for certain, but he had a feeling that Jeonghan wouldnât just give up without one final attack, be it physical or psychological. It appears it was the latter.
âIâve spent a long time with him.â He replies, pointedly ignoring your stare. âHeâs- thereâs a lot to him. Most of it isnât good. I assumed he wouldnât just leave this alone.â
Your chest rises and falls with a deep breath. âThatâs just it, actually. He kind of has.â
Seungcheolâs eyebrows furrow. He listens intently as you finally open up, telling him about the encounter you had with the man at the grocery store. He lets the story linger for a bit after youâre done, absorbing the words.
âSo, thatâs it.â He finally says, but thereâs uncertainty in his voice. He knows you hear it too. You sigh.
âI think, in his head, heâs still won because youâre not who you once were.â You add, turning back to your plate to push your food around. You donât meet his eye. âHe doesnât think youâre a threat to him anymore because you have no memory. So by extension, Iâm not a threat anymore either. Iâm sure that to him, youâre-â
You pause, avoiding his stare. âYouâre more like something heâs dumped on me. Because youâre not who you once were.â
You immediately look up as you say it, your eyes harder now, more resolute. âWhich is not true. Youâre still Seungcheol, even if you donât remember. And Iâm so happy youâre here with me, because I thought I would never see you again. Even with half of you still gone, youâre worth ten of him.â
Seungcheolâs heart squeezes, a feeling that is foreign to him, as he takes in the heated determination in your eyes. He realises that his fear, the sense of self he lacks, is not something that is well founded. You wouldnât care that he remembers just snippets. Youâre willing to accept him even as an empty husk.
He makes up his mind.
âYou used to pour water into your half full shampoo bottle.â His throat tightens as he speaks. You blink, taken aback. âWhen we were in college. Because you had to make it last until your next paycheque.â
âAnd you liked those animal print socks. The pink panther ones. They were so warm. I was pretty annoyed that they wouldnât fit me. So you got me black panther ones my size so we could match. I loved those so much. Every winter, I had to be careful how often I wore them because I didnât want them to fray.â
Youâre watching him speak, a thin layer of tears is shining in your eyes, and Seungcheol tries to soldier on.
âYou got a bird clock for our first apartment that chirped every hour. God, I hated that thing. But you loved it so I never said anything.â
âI knew.â You speak, finally, your voice higher and breaking at the end. âYou always got the most annoyed look on your face when it chirped. I thought it was funny to see how long you could take it.â
You let out a wet laugh. Seungcheol gives you a bitter smile.
âItâs only bits and pieces.â He explains, trying not to let guilt overwhelm him. âI donât remember a lot. Itâs just the little things that come to me.â
âItâs enough.â Tears make tracks down your cheeks. You reach forward, and Seungcheol feels the warmth of your hand as it curls around his human one. The contact makes something sizzle. Itâs familiar. He remembers this clear as crystal. âItâs more than enough.â
He doesnât let go. You donât pull away.
âŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚ.
Things feel different. They are different now. The hope that felt like a noose around your neck, ready to tighten and kill you, is a much warmer feeling, blooming in your chest and transforming into a joy you havenât felt in a really long time. You think Seungcheol has noticed. He notices more than you were previously giving him credit for. And it looks like he welcomes the change too.
Despite not eating much, Seungcheol busies himself with making you breakfast every morning. You tell him he doesnât have to, but he shoots it down.
âIâm not sleeping anyway.â He retorts. âBesides, I used to do this before, didnât I?â
You nod, smiling as you watch him scramble eggs in a pan. It was always this way back then. He would take care of breakfast, you would have lunch at the office, and then you would do dinner and he would clean up after. The domesticity of it, the harmony, is returning. Sometimes, when youâre getting ready to go into work in the morning and you can hear him hum in the kitchen, itâs almost like nothing has changed. Then, you take in the massive metal arm under his sleeveless tank top, and youâre reminded of what he has been through, and what you two have lost.
Sometimes late at night, you wonder what he would feel like. You wonder if he would let you touch him.
Itâs hard being so close to Seungcheol but not being able to physically be too near him. Casual intimacy was always a part of your relationship, and you arenât used to a version of Seungcheol you have to hold back from. When he often picks up on your moods, like being tired after work or being frustrated when something isnât going right, you wonder if he can pick up on this, the intense yearning need you have to just feel his cheek on the crown of your head, or his hand curling over your hip like it used to all the time. Or his lips, always so soft and inviting, pressing delicately to yours.
You wonder if he knows. You wonder if he remembers, because he seems to remember so much these days.
A few days later, you ask Seungcheol if he feels at all ready to come back to work. The suggestion catches him off guard.
âAre you sure?â
You nod, shovelling large helpings of chicken into your mouth. Youâre usually ravenously hungry by dinner time, and Seungcheol is always amused by it.
âEverything youâre doing at home, working on projects, improving on previous work, you used to do the same things at work. Project Development is all you, and after you helped Wonwoo work out that little algorithm problem, heâs been wanting to work with you more.â
You give him a smile, and itâs more teasing this time. âI donât know if you remember this, but you were kind of a legend in tech circles before.â
Seungcheol huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. âI donât remember, but that thought makes me feel a little nauseous.â
You laugh, nudging his shin under the table. Seungcheol has always been shy about attention, but you know he secretly loves being recognised. Heâs ambitious, even though he worries often, and acknowledgement from peers and juniors always affirms to him that heâs on the right path.
The next day, heâs getting ready to go into work as well.
Heâs nervous, more so about his appearance than anything else. Bionic prostheses arenât exactly common yet, even if they are getting more talked about recently. You know heâs conscious about the stares he will get, you can see the troubled expression on his face from a mile away.
âWe donât have to tell them youâre my husband. We can tell them youâre an employee.â You offer on the drive there. âFrom overseas. Weâll make up a story or something.â
His lip quirks up in a half smile.
âYou think that's why I'm nervous?â He asks. You shrug.
âThatâs the one thing I was never worried about.â He supplies.
Your heart flutters. You try to calm it down. It doesnât mean anything, you try to tell yourself. But every word from him, every action, weighs so heavy with you. It always has. Heâs the most important person in your life.
Seungcheol is relieved when the first person he sees at work is Wonwoo, the one face that is familiar to him. You know he is nervous, but he doesnât show it a lot. Thatâs always been him, confident in stature, sure in his stance. All his little worries and doubts would only be reserved for you, and some part of you is elated that you still hold that position.
Unfortunately, you have to leave him for the day when Joshua finally catches up to you with the daily agenda. Youâre swept up in work, but heâs always on the back of your mind. Youâre just considering making a trip down to PD when a knock sounds on your door. A head of spiky blond hair pops in, and Seungcheol looks a little sheepish as he speaks.
âLunch?â
For a second, you canât breathe, swept up in memory after memory of him doing this exact thing since the day you started your company, when it was nothing but two rooms and a dinky office space. Itâs so mundane, almost a negligible occurrence, but it was always the highlight of your work day. For five years, you would eat cold lunch at your desk on Joshuaâs insistence, or you wouldnât eat at all, because you no longer had someone to share that precious hour with. But heâs here now, part of his face reconstructed, but heâs here, and it feels like every second of your grief is washed away with one little word he says.
âHey.â His soft voice breaks you from your thoughts. You blink, realising that your face feels wet. He has stepped inside the room, his face more cautious now.
âSorry.â He sounds somber. âDid I do something wrong?â
You immediately shake your head, wiping your face hastily. âNot at all.â
Your voice wobbles. You elect to ignore it, standing up and quickly straightening yourself before walking to him. âCome on, letâs go eat.â
Seungcheolâs hand on your arm stops you from walking past him. He holds it softly, pulling you back so you can face him. Youâre embarrassed at losing your composure like this. You donât want to freak him out, or make him worry. You realise that in your happiness of having him back, you havenât processed at all how overwhelming it is to have the love of your life come back from the dead, half of what he used to be.
It seems that he understands that as well.
Slowly, at an almost glacial pace, Seungcheolâs hand loosens its grip, but it doesnât move away. Instead, he wraps it around you. His other arm follows, and while the juxtaposition of his arms is noticeable, one warm and forgiving, the other cold and stiff, you barely register it, because you can feel his heartbeat against where your ear presses to his chest. You feel yourself giving into his embrace. Youâre starved for anything that is Seungcheol, youâve been without him for too long. Your face crumples, and the tears come again.
You donât stop them this time.
âŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚ..
âIt doesnât look right.â
âIt looks exactly like it should.â
âNo, it doesnât. Look again, I think you went wrong somewhere-â
âIf youâre not going to be supportive, get the hell out. I donât need this energy.â
âIâm just saying, if you had just gone to the store-â
âAnd I told you, she likes it better this way.â
âRight. And weâre supposed to trust your half-fried brain.â
âMan, fuck you.â
You try to tamp down the laugh bubbling in your throat, but itâs hard to do that when the bickering coming from your kitchen is so amusing. You resolutely keep your eyes on your laptop screen, because you promised not to intervene. But Seungcheol and Joshua keep getting louder the longer they work on baking this cake, and by the sound of it, Joshua is not impressed.
âYouâre seriously going to serve this turd-pile to your wife? On her birthday?â
âItâs a turd-pile made with love.â
You know why Joshua keeps nagging Seungcheol. This is an age-old tradition. Seungcheol is not much of a baker, but youâre decent at it. You make all his birthday cakes because you know what flavors and icings he likes. And because you love doing it. Seungcheol always wants to return the favor, no matter how bad he is at it, and it always ends with a spectacularly dense or horrendous looking cake. The difference this time is Joshua dropping in to wish you a happy birthday and give you your present. Unfortunately, that was the exact moment Seungcheol started icing the cake, hence the racket in your kitchen.
But you donât mind. In fact, you love it. You love that he keeps trying, every single year, and that he blocks off so many hours just to do it. When he had suggested it this time, you were taken aback. While you and Seungcheol had made steady progress in your relationship so far, you didnât anticipate that he would remember this little tradition of yours. He holds your hand sometimes, he hugs you when he can. You both talk and talk, about previous memories, and about making new ones. You tell him often that you missed him badly, that you love him so much, and that youâre okay with him not saying it back, but you need to tell him because you always felt like you should have said it more before he was gone. Seungcheol is soft with you, careful, letting you explore your emotions as you let him explore his. Now that heâs with you again, you often feel like you have all the time in the world to just be in his presence.
Is it enough for you? Not by a long shot. Do you want to kiss him senseless? Every second of every day. But you will get there eventually. You have faith.
Joshua stays for the cake reveal, and when you gush over it, he merely lets out a pained sigh. You know itâs all an act. He is unbelievably happy for you, but you like it when he teases Seungcheol, baits him enough to irritate, even anger him. He excuses himself pretty quickly afterward, even when you offer for him to stay and have a slice.
âNo offense, but I would rather chop off two limbs and let myself get brainwashed than taste whatever this is.â
âThat was really offensive, actually.â Seungcheol replies dryly. You laugh, dipping your finger in the frosting to taste it. Coffee. Your favorite.
The cake is dense, almost inedible, but you love it regardless. You eat two whole slices, even though Seungcheol himself can stomach only one. He gives you a pained look.
âWell, youâre always going on about how you love the things about me that are the same as before. Are you glad Iâm still a shit baker?â
You giggle and stand up, carrying your dirty plate to the sink. Then you walk over to him and give him a hug, wrapping your arms around his torso. He immediately returns it, and you can physically feel yourself relax.
âI love it even more.â You reply. You can feel his chest shake with a tiny laugh, and you feel his lips on the crown of your head.
âHappy birthday, baby.â He whispers. Your breath hitches at the petname, your old favorite, and you look up at him, your chin on his chest. Heâs watching you, eye like a warm pool, soft and inviting. His human hand reaches up, caressing your cheek. You wish, for a split second, that he would just lean down andâŚ..
He does.
When his lips meet yours, theyâre hesitant. Itâs barely there, like a ghost of a sensation, but you melt into it, pushing up on your toes a little so you can feel him more as you kiss him back. He melts into it, sighing into your mouth, his grip around your waist tightening when he registers your enthusiasm. The metal of his left arm feels solid, and it almost leaves you immobile, but you love it, because it presses every line of your body to every plane of his. Your hands find his neck, his jaw, slipping back to run over the tiny strands over the back of his head. It makes him shiver. You feel it. Your lower stomach stirs.
The kiss gets firmer, hotter. Seungcheol tilts his head, slots his lips deeper into yours. You feel his tongue against the cushion of your bottom lip, and your mouth opens almost out of instinct. You let out your first moan when his tongue slides hot and wet against yours.
âWe should-â His voice cracks. Your head spins. âWe should slow down.â
He kisses you again, fiercely. Your thighs are already crushing together for relief.
âYeah.â You agree, pulling him down more by the shoulders, wanting him to curl and wrap around you. He complies immediately, hands sliding lower until heâs tugging on the backs of your thighs and lifting you up onto the kitchen island. Youâre level with his face now, not willing to stop kissing him, not willing to take even a breath that doesnât come straight from his mouth. You tug hard on the hair at the top of his head, the ones long enough to grip. He groans, and the sound makes your hips jerk hard into his.
âFuck, donât do that.â He rasps.
You do it again, grinding slower this time, your legs around his waist keeping him in place. He hisses. You can feel the bulge in his jeans, and you clench around nothing, registering how hard he already is. You need him so badly that it makes you dizzy. If he stops now, you think you might cry.
âCheol-â You gasp, your hands digging into his shirt and tugging hard. You need it off, you need to feel all of him, properly, and it feels like heâs on the same page, because heâs reaching back, pulling the shirt off his shoulders until itâs gone. His hands are quick, sliding under your blouse until itâs bunching up, making you raise your arms. He pulls it off.
Finally, you see him.
Seungcheol was always well built. Broad in all the right places, thick neck, wide shoulders, the large expanse of his chest, his abs. Now, heâs even more cut, and you wonder if it has to do with the life he was living for the last five years. Your eye catches his bionic arm, right at the junction where it meets his skin. Your hands, idly running over his bare skin, follow your gaze, stop just where the skin looks more pink.
âDoes it hurt?â You ask, voice low. Seungcheol shakes his head, watching you intently.
âIt used to, when it was new. But itâs more numb now than anything.â He mutters. He flexes the arm, the plates click and whir, a low, metallic sound that echoes in the silence of the kitchen. You let your thumb run over the skin, right at the edge. Seungcheol doesnât react as he watches your fingers except with a tiny laugh.
âI guess if they were more careful, it might have looked a little better.â He mumbles, eyes still on your movements. His own run absentmindedly over your bare waist. You shrug.
âI donât know, itâs pretty hot.â
He looks up at you, his single eyebrow shooting up in surprise. He barks out a laugh, shaking his head.
âFreak.â
You hum and tighten your legs around his waist again, pulling him closer. âYou used to love it.â
Something in his eye gleams, a mischievous little twinkle. The white, flat circle on the other side seems to turn and shift, almost like itâs gleaming too. You wonder what he sees through it. His lip ticks up in a tiny smirk. âOh, I know.â
He leans down, running his lips over the side of your neck. His hands are more purposeful now, sliding up to fiddle with the buckle of your bra. He unhooks it smoothly, letting his touch float up your arms so he can pull the straps down. You sigh when his tongue runs over your skin, nipping just under your ear, the spot that has always made you shiver.
âI remember a lot of things.â He rasps. âMore and more as the days go by. And I like to go over them sometimes, when I lay in bed at night, or when you walk around in just that large shirt of mine you wear when you sleep. You think I donât know what youâre doing, baby? Goading me, baiting me, testing me.â
âIâm- Iâm not-â But your brain is melting at the moment his teeth dig a little harder into your skin. Heâs going to leave a mark, not that you give a fuck, and all itâs doing is making you even more lightheaded.
He hums. You know he doesnât believe you. His hands are already circling around, kneading softly on your breasts, making you sigh. He thumbs over your nipples, nipping at your neck a little harder when they peak under his touch. His touch sends shivers down your spine, one hand soft and warm, the other hard and cold. Youâre not used to the contrast, but it feels wonderful. You wonder how it will feel in all the other places you want him to touch, and your impatience grows.
âCheol, take me inside.â You whimper, clenching around nothing again and feeling your desperation grow. He doesnât respond verbally, but his hands find your hips, gripping tightly to lift you up. You wrap yourself around him, using that moment to tongue at his neck as he walks you both down the hall to your bedroom. He has been inside only a handful of times, since he still sleeps on his own, but you know thatâs about to change today. Youâre never letting him leave again.
He doesnât separate from you for even a second, laying you down on the mattress and joining you on it at the same moment, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that is even more heated, but not any less exploratory. His weight on you feels familiar, glorious, and you bask in the feeling of being pressed down. His tongue runs over any crevice of your mouth it can reach, saliva mixing with his in a way that makes you shiver all over. When you run your hands over his back and feel the familiar muscle shift and tense under your touch, you remember how much you missed this, and it makes your breath hitch.
You want him completely naked against you, and the need feels as urgent as air entering your lungs.
Your shirt and bra are already gone, but his clothes and the rest of yours now quickly follow. He kisses any part of you he can in between every article that gets tugged off by you or by him. Your right calf presses against the cold metal of his leg, and it shocks you back into reality a little bit. Youâre aware that while youâve done this countless times with him, itâs different now. You slow down the kisses, nibbling more indulgently at the plush on his bottom lip.
âAre you okay with this?â You whisper. âI know this is a lot-â
âI was going to ask you that.â He chuckles into your mouth. His eye flutters open, and it has softened, shining with reverence. Your lips twitch up into a smile.
âIâve wanted this for so long.â You reach up, running a gentle hand through his hair. His metal ear feels rigid and cool. âIâve missed you more than I can say. I didnât-â
Your voice catches. Seungcheol waits with all the patience in the world.
âI didnât think I could ever have this again.â
His forehead rests gently against yours, and your eyes flutter when you feel your breaths mix where your lips touch.
âI know Iâm not all the way there.â He whispers. âI know thereâs so much missing. And some days, itâs so difficult to reconcile the older version of me with this new reality. But Iâm getting better every day. And IâŚ. I miss you too. I miss what we had and who I used to be.â
Your eyes cloud. Seungcheol carefully thumbs under them, not letting the tears spill. When he kisses you again, it feels far more meaningful, like parts of you and him are coming to an understanding together. Itâs easy to build up the heat again, and thereâs an underlying layer of need in it now that has you writhing and moaning under him in no time.
âEasy, princess.â He hums, carefully running his hands up your thighs before fitting his hips between them. âIâve got you.â
Princess. You whine. Thatâs an old favorite bedroom nickname of his. Seungcheol loved to spoil you. Heâs a giver at heart, so the name is apt, and one he used to shower you with frequently. He grinds on your core, and you can feel the slide of his hard shaft through your wet folds. It makes you gasp, the slow drag making you feel each and every ridge of him. Your opening clenches hard, you arch into him, and your nails dig into the skin of his back.
âDonât-â Your chest rattles with your inhale. âDonât tease me. Please, Iâve waited so long, Cheolie. Donât make me wait even more-â
When his head catches against your opening on the next grind, you moan low, eyelids fluttering. His nose brushes yours, you know heâs watching, and you bask in the feeling of his gaze on you. He pushes a little more, breaching you, and takes his glorious time sliding in at a snailâs pace. Your walls struggle with his girth, not used to being penetrated, left empty for too long, but you think at this point, Seungcheol is embedded in your DNA. Your body knows him, recognises him, like itâs an old, dormant instinct. You open up for him like heâs meant for you, and when he groans in shaky approval, you know he feels it too.
âMade for me, arenât you?â He whispers into your mouth, taking advantage of your moaning to lick over your lips, nipping and sucking at them. âTaking me like youâre meant for me. Havenât fucked you in years, but your little pussy still knows me, right?â
God, he needs to stop talking like that. So vulgar, coming from his mouth, but so sexy that it makes you dizzy. The ceiling is spinning, half from the feel of him, and half from the words he is whispering right past your lips. He bottoms out finally, and stills, throbbing and twitching inside you. You can feel it, it tugs on your walls, sending little sparks shooting through your core.
âLove how tight you are, baby.â He continues, pulling away from you to sit back a bit. You almost whine in protest, but then his thumb finds your clit and rubs tight little circles over it. You sigh, toes curling. âBut I need you to loosen up a little bit, okay? Need to fuck you properly and I canât do that when youâre gripping me like this.â
Itâs a combination of his words and the waves of pleasure traveling up from your clit, but he finally feels enough give to rock back and forth, his back undulating with every stroke. He starts off slow, both of you just enjoying the delicious drag of him in and out. Every movement makes him brush up teasingly against your sweet spot, makes stars burst in your vision. You feel like youâre already on the brink, and he has barely started.
âFuck.â He chokes, and you can see his throat bob as he swallows. A thin layer of sweat coats his porcelain skin, making the light of your bedside lamp shift over him. His hair, not almost fully brown with just the tips of the blond remaining, is matted on his forehead. His eye is closed, eyelid fluttering, mouth slightly parted as his breath rattles in and out. He grunts quietly every few strokes, his abs clenching, his neck and chest flushed a pretty pink.
You could come just looking at him like this.
He picks up the pace finally, and you gasp at the change, arching into him a little. Heâs watching you now, but youâre too busy registering how good he feels, the perfect, tight drag of him, now more forceful, hitting every spot that sends pleasurable shocks up your spine. The bed groans, his thrusts get harder. On either side of your head, his fingers fist the bedsheet. Beneath the moans and sighs, you can hear the very low but distinct whir of metal emanating from his moving limbs.
Your brain stutters, and your hands move before you can think about it too much. They find his metal wrist, circling around it slowly and lifting it to place it right at the base of your throat. Seungcheolâs eye widens.
âYouâre sure?â He asks. You nod.
âPlease.â
Your skin is so heated that the cool contrast of his hand feels relieving and glorious. Something in his wrist clicks, and then his hold on your throat tightens just a bit. Your eyes flutter, mouth dropping open. You whine.
Seungcheol groans and his thrusts get harder, hips now slamming into yours over and over, the tip just gently kissing the cervix in the way that lights your lower stomach on fire. His grip is unrelenting, just tight enough to make you a little light headed and every movement feel even more intense than it usually does. You canât speak, canât warn him as your orgasm comes barrelling into you at full speed. You can only clench hard and cry out as it washes over you. Seungcheol doesnât slow, but watches you with something akin to awe and unbridled lust in his eyes. His hand loosens only as you come down, letting you take in a long gulp of air.
âThat was so sexy, baby, fuck.â He sounds as wrecked as you feel. Heâs grinding into your pussy, pushed all the way in to the base, letting you feel every inch of him. âCanât believe I didnât do this sooner. Couldâve had you under me every night looking like that.â
You find the sides of his neck, tugging him down to kiss him fiercely. âGet your fill now, Cheolie. Make up for lost time.â
Your words spur him on. He pulls out abruptly, but he doesnât let you miss him for too long, tugging your leg to maneuver you so youâre on your stomach, arms folded under your head, and his body draped over your back, warming your sweat-cooling skin. His knees frame your thighs. He nudges your legs apart just enough to slide inside, and the shift in angle has your jaw going slack. You feel his grip on your hips, one soft, one hard, holding you in place as he immediately sets a brutal pace. You donât mind, youâve always loved it when Seungcheol uses all that impressive muscle he has built to manhandle and use you like this. Itâs unbelievably hot to you. This position feels even more intense, leaves you even more boneless, and your previous high has left you so sensitive that this one builds up in no time.
His thrusts are getting sloppy, less precise and more like he just wants to plop you into the mattress. His moans are more uninhibited now, his grip tighter to the point you know he will leave bruises that you will wear proudly. His breath hits the back of your neck. He reaches down, biting into your shoulder at the exact moment he groans loud and empties himself in you. The warmth of him, the grind of his head into your walls, is what sends you over the edge for a second time. Both your bodies writhe on the mattress, him pressing you into it until you feel like you are melting into him. He curses low in your ear as his body relaxes, and the sound makes you shiver.
You lay like that for what feels like an eternity, letting the rise and fall of his chest guide your own breathing. When he finally moves, detaching himself, you grumble in protest.
âI was warm.â You complain. You can hear him laugh a little.
âIâll warm you up again, baby, donât worry. Come on.â
Your interest is piqued, and you turn your head to the side to peer at him. His whole face seems to have smoothed, soft and glowing in a way you havenât seen him in a while. It makes a smile tug on your lips, and you turn over slowly to face him. He doesnât waste any time in lifting you up, another sensation that will take some getting used to. His human arm is warm on your back, but his metal one digs just under your knees. You donât mind, not at all, itâs part of him, something he got involuntarily but made his own. He has used it to inflict pain in the past, but from now on, he will do nothing but good with it.
You watch him with heavy eyes as he places you on the bathroom vanity and gets to running a warm bath. You admire his back, soft and pale, smattered with little freckles, and slightly pink at the edges where skin meets metal. The plates dig into the skin, and you know he said it doesnât feel like anything now, but you wonder if it hurts even just a little.
The slightest hint of his pain, even a negligible smidge of it, is unacceptable to you. You make a mental note to ask Wonwoo if he can look into bionic prostheses. Not weapons, like Jeonghan has developed. You have no interest in that. He can have his military contracts and his glory. Thereâs nothing in it for you.
Everything you want is in this tiny bathroom, dipping his metal fingers into the water to check the temperature, only to realise he canât feel with that limb. You collapse into giggles and he smiles sheepishly, ears turning red, using his other hand as a toothy grin takes over his face.
synopsis: A summer storm leaves you wide awake in bed with Yoongi.
[requested]
warnings: mdni, 18+, pwp, bf! Yoongi, f! reader, fools in love, smut, mentions of multiple orgasms (f. rec), praise, cock drunk! reader, drool mentioned, Yoongi big, riding, creampie, dirty talk, unprotected smut, smidge cum eating, mention of edging (m. rec), size difference, etc
WC: 1.8K +
[BE VERY AWARE, SMUT BELOW THE 'KEEP READING' TAG]
You can't breathe; your lungs shudder with the effort, and your head falls back into the pillows just as the thunder rumbles, followed by a flash of lightning outside the window to your left.
It's raining heavily outside, and your entire apartment is covered in a shroud of black because the electricity had gone out two hours ago. You should be asleep like almost everyone else is right now because of it, but instead, you're crying out, clawing at your bedsheets as Yoongi grips your thighs tighter, keeping you still as he groans lowly between your legs.
He's been teasing your sloppy cunt for ages, driving you crazy with his fat tip against your clit, and you're soaking, dripping profusely, pathetically so.
All night he'd been playing with you, pulling orgasm after orgasm from your pretty pussy, and you felt stupid. You'd cum on his tongue, his fingers, and, to the delight of him, just on the tip of his plump cock.
You were a mess, sticky with your slick and his gooey precum, and through your glossy eyes, you could just make out his smirk as your cunt quivered in your latest orgasm. Unabashedly, he dragged his fingers through your puffy folds, swirling the gluey cream onto his fingers before popping them into his mouth with a wolfish grin, savoring the way you two tasted together with a hum, and it made your jaw drop.
Your pussy throbbed needily, and another boom of thunder resonated through the room, drowning out your gasps for a moment. "Yoongi - hic - please," You hiccuped, your eyelashes wet with tears as he kept one of your knees up to your chest. His hand was digging into your soft flesh as he rolled his hips forward slowly, languidly dragging his shaft through your swollen folds again.
You watch him pretend to think about it, his eyebrows furrowing as he glides his hefty cock through your sodden slit, and his mouth feels dry with the way you whine from the back of your throat. Your cunt's frothed with the mixture of his creamy seed and your cum, and it's hypnotizing watching it seep down to your ass and onto the bed underneath you. Still, he's got enough restraint to move his tongue that was stuck stupidly to the roof of his mouth to rasp out a, "you- hah - you think you can take all of me now, pretty?"
It was no secret that Yoongi was big, the biggest. He was thick and plump in girth with a curve that made your mouth salivate, and you'd been begging for him to let you feel it, all of it, but the most Yoongi ever did was give you his tip, letting your entrance stretch taut around the rotund, globular head. It was deliriously delicious, the sting of just that, and the way he'd edge himself in and out, in and out, until you shook underneath him, cumming with a blubbering cry. He'd coo, praising you while circling fat and slow swirls on your pulsing clit with his thumb, but you wanted more.
"More? You're telling me you want more, Baby." Fuck, you didn't know you said that out loud, but Yoongi's dark eyes lowered, and before you could blink, he had you switching positions, forcing your quivering legs to straddle his hips as your cute cunt hovered over his plump tip. "Show me how much more you want."
And you can't help yourself - the invitation too enticing as your fingers dig into his chest, your hips swivel, tilting down, down, down. Your chest heaves, your glossy lips part, and Yoongi gets a front row seat to the lewd expression as your eyes roll back at the feeling of sinking your pretty cunt down his cock inch by mouth-watering inch.
You only get half-way before Yoongi's hips are lifting, rocking up and down in taunting rolls, leaving your ears ringing as he moves underneath you. "Y'know you're not gonna fit it all, if you don't relax - c'mon, Baby, thought you wanted more?" He accompanies each word with an addictive thump, thumping open your gummy walls, bullying his cock in deeper, and your head lolls backwards from the stretch.
"I'm - Oh! Oh!" You're hiccuping out a sob. This was ridiculous; he was so thick and long you couldn't think, you couldn't breathe. And that's exactly how Yoongi liked you: feverish, needy, and cockdrunk. You're barely able to take it, alternating between dragging your drooling cunt up and then back down, swallowing a bit more of his length with each filthy slurp of your pretty pussy and swiveling your hips to feel the way his tip stirred your insides, stretching you wide open.
Yoongi is barely any better than how you feel. His dark eyebrows are knitting together like he was in pain, his hooded eyes zeroed in on the way your pussy was stretched around him, taking him so slowly up and down. You feel so good, snugly wrapped around him; he feels like he might pass out, but he knows you can take more of him, and he says as much. "C'mon, c'mon, Baby - that's it, doin' so good for me. You feel so good." The smile he gives you is dazzling, almost making you lose your footing, and your velvety walls squeeze him tighter in response. "You like that, huh? That's what you've been beggin' for, right? Too be filled, stuffed to the brim?"
Clearly, you're not the only one feeling cotton fill inside your head. Yoongi's eyes are shiny, glossy like the slick that drips down his shaft that's not inside you, and he moves his hand to your mound, displaying his fingers over your body as his thumb finds your clit. He thumbs the sensitive bundle of nerves, rubbing swift circles, and your pussy weeps in pleasure.
"Wait! Yoon- Yoongi!" Each completed swab has you sinking lower, and your hands scramble to press against his chest.
"No, no, don't run - Don't get shy now." His hands grab your waist, keeping your shivering hips still before pulling you down at the same time he pushes his hips up. He doesn't stop until your pretty ass meets his hips, and the tip of his cock knocks into the back of your cunt, stuffing you to the brim.
Your gummy walls spasm around his length, massaging the zig-zag veins that run down his shaft, and you're absolutely ruined in the best way possible.
Your jaw hangs, your eyes cross, and your hands mindlessly map down Yoongi's chest, trying to find an anchor to keep you steady as Yoongi gives you barely a moment to adjust. "Oh! You're so big!" You slur stupidly, and Yoongi's vision swims from the fact that you look so far gone off of him, and the fact that your pussy's taken him all the way down to the hilt. His heavy balls press against your ass as proof, and you twitch adorably on top of him.
Your weepy cunt gives a shuddering pulse, and both Yoongi and you moan as your thighs tremble to pick yourself up. Your pussy slurps lewdly, sucking him tightly until he's about half-way out before you thwack your hips back down, stuffing yourself silly and making both of you gasp as his swollen cock bumps filthily into the back of your cunt, marking it with a few wads of his gooey precum.
You were so fucking pretty, swiveling your hips up and down in such a cadence, mindlessly fucking yourself onto his cock. Yoongi's jaw unlocks into a rambling stupor. He's full of praise, his tongue wetting his dry lips as his swirling dark eyes are fixated on you, your pretty pussy that was molding to his cock, your tits bouncing with each smack, and your fucked-out expression.
"That's it, take what you want - you're so beautiful - fuck! Just like that- you're milking my entire fuckin' cock, Baby."
You're gorgeous, and Yoongi's ears roar with his own heartbeat, drowning out the storm outside as he pulls you down for a sloppy kiss. His tongue licks over yours, swallowing your wrecked moans, and his arms wrap around your back, keeping you tucked into his chest.
He takes over control, locking you into the kiss as his feet plant onto the bed, and his hips buck up meanly to fill you deeper. The new angle has his curved cock punching out noises even you didn't know you could make, and you're pinned, taking each whack of his hips upwards as he sucks on your bottom lip, pussydrunk.
The familiar pooling of heat in your abdomen grows hotter with each thud of his hefty cock drilling into your sopping core, and you're unable to stop the drool that forms at the corner of your lip. You're gonna cum, and both of you know it because you're squeezing the life out of him. Your silky walls are throbbing in addictive pulses, making Yoongi pick up the pace.
"You gonna cum again, Pretty?" He rasps, and your whines hiccup pathetically. Your arms are pinned between you and his chest as he keeps his arms wrapped around your back, so you're left to nod dumbly in response. "What does that make it? Four? Heh, four orgasms to get you stuffed with my cock just how you wanted. Fuck, you did so good for me, and now I want to feel ya cum for me one more time, Pretty."
Yoongi's praise caressed over you, and like your body was waiting for it, your orgasm washed over you like a strike of lightning. Your vision whitened, your muscles tensed, and your moan resonated over the rumble of thunder outside your window.
You gushed with your mouth open in a silent scream, squeezing Yoongi's cock in waves that had him stuttering in tempo. "That's it, let it all out for me." He praised, and you rolled your hips back to meet each one of his nasty thrusts in response. He fucked you through your high, kneading your hips and ass before it was his turn to fall off the deep end.
When he came, he held you close, keeping you stuffed to the brim as his head fell back into the pillows with a low groan. His cock twitched, spilling his seed deep inside your quivering pussy, and your lips kissed along his collarbone as your clock on your bedside flashed 00:00; the electricity was back on.
You felt boneless as Yoongi, and you tried to regulate your breathing, and it was then that you noticed the thunder had stopped, leaving a soft rain in its wake. "C'mon, my love, let's take a shower, hmm?" Yoongi's voice was soft as he danced his fingers down your back, and your cheeks flushed as you tilted your head up to meet his eyes.
"I think you might need to carry me," You confessed, and Yoongi's grin was nothing but amused as he smirked at you.
"Yeah? Don't worry, I'll take care of ya."
ëë° - you made it to the end!
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Lovergirl Featurette: Imagine if Jack Abbot was your baby daddy, who still had feelings for youâŚ.
Jack abbot x black!reader
Warning(s): SMUT (18+, MDNI), dubcon, kinda dark Jack, obsessive!Jack, jealous!Jack, unprotected sex
You had met Jack Abbot at the local coffee shop. Heâd waltzed in still wearing his scrubs after his shift. In typically fashion, heâd ordered a black coffee with three sugars. Heâs not used to seeing the coffee shop be this crowded.Â
Usually, when he gets off of his shift, itâs a dead zone in here with a few early morning runners or early birds. Normally, in any situation like this, heâd just walk out of the door and head home, but he really just wants a moment to sit down and not stand on his leg.Â
Plus, he wants to actually enjoy his coffee while itâs hot. Not sip on it when itâs reheated.Â
He spots an open chair at the table with you and weighs his options. He could go and ask, and youâd say yes. Or heâd ask and youâd flat out tell him no, and he would smile and be on his way.Â
One look at your pretty face makes option one sound more tempting. He strolls over in your directions, a visible lack of confidence in the walk paired with the dull ache of being on the prosthetic all day.
You look up from your notebook just as Jack stops at your table.Â
âHi, do you mind if I sit here? All the other tables are pretty crowdedâŚâ
You glance around at the other tables before shooting Jack a smile that he can only describe as dazzling. âYeah, of course. Take a seat.â
You reach over to slide your bag from the seat just as Jack sits down. You start to sketch on your notebook again while Jack sips on his coffee and looks out the window. Itâs a peaceful calm with only the quiet murmurs of the other customers, along with the sound of the espresso machine.Â
Jack looks down and catches sight of your drawing. âYouâre really good at that.â
He immediately cringes at the sentence. The long shift has left his cognitive prowess at a minimal.Â
You chuckle, âThank you. I could do a sketch of you, if youâd like.âÂ
Of course, he agrees. Anything to keep some form of conversation going with you. Throughout the coffee, you both introduce yourselves to each other before starting to get to know each other more.Â
Jack becomes enamored with you almost instantly. He hasnât been this interested in someone since his wife. When you present the sketch to him, it leaves him stunned. Itâs amazing all of the small details about him that you were able to capture.Â
From that point, you and Jack make the little meetings a recurring thing. He doesnât stick around longer than he has to for handoffs. He tells Robby what he needs to know and dips out of the hospital to walk to the cafe.Â
Youâre always sitting in the same spot, waiting with your coffee order. You even buy his coffeeâwhich Jack immediately shuts down because you shouldnât be spending your money on him.Â
But itâs perfectly fine if he spends his money on you. You both talk for hours. Jackâs pain in his leg fades away with the conversation, and he doesnât even remember how tired he is.
Itâs not quite unexpected when you end up back at his apartment, your hand tangled in his silver curls. He pauses to mention his leg to you, which obviously doesnât bother you.Â
Itâs not too long after that when he has bent over his counter, clawing at the granite and drooling because of the intense drag of his dick through your warm walls.Â
You lose count of how many times that Jack makes you cum that day. He has you in so many positions that it makes your head spin just thinking about it.Â
You arenât surprised that he would be good at making you feel good. Jack has the look of someone who values their partnerâs pleasure written all over him.Â
However, what is surprising is the fact that when you take a pregnancy test two weeks later, it comes back positive.
You take three moreâŚand surprise, surprise, they all come back positive.Â
-
Telling Jack that youâre pregnant is a job within itself. You didnât exactly have his number to call him. You both had never traded numbers. You and Jack liked the intimacy of having those moments in the coffee shop together before you returned back to your lives.
However as you sit across from him, you swallow nervously as you sip at your green tea. Jack notices that itâs not your usual sugary confection.Â
âHey, is something wrong?â
On his end, heâs mentally preparing himself to hear you say that you donât want to see him anymore. Maybe, you felt like he was too old. Honestly, he was pushing fifty and he wondered if he was some kind of creep because he liked you.Â
âIâm pregnant.â
As soon as the words leave your mouth, you take a sip of your tea, burning your tongue in the process.
Jackâs ears rings, and this time it isnât from the tinnitus that he developed after serving two tours.Â
âPregnant?â
You nod, chewing on your lip, âYeah, I took four tests, they all came back positive. And before you give me that look because Iâm aware that tests can come back with false positives, I already went to my primary, and she confirmed it.Â
You try not to be insulted when you see the next questioning look that crosses his face.Â
âYes, itâs yours. Iâve only had sex with you, Jack,â you spit out, biting back the sting of tears. The hormones and stress of the situation has you emotion out of this world.
âIâm sorry, I wasnât trying to imply anything. I just wanted to be sure. What are you thinking? Obviously, this is your body, so Iâll respect whatever option that you choose,â Jack states, though some part of him secretly craves this.Â
âI donât know. I havenât had much time to think it over. I just wanted to let you know, so that maybe we could figure out together,â you explain, your wide eyes gazing over at him.Â
That look alone lets Jack know how scary this must all be for you. He reaches across the table, âSweetheart, whatever you decide, Iâll be here to support you through it.â
-
You decide to keep the baby, which Jack is elated by. From the moment that you both agree to keep it, Jack is by your side every step of the way.Â
When you have an appointment, heâs driving you there and even picking you up food on the way there. Heâs constantly texting you while youâre at work, checking on you and the baby. Donât even mention that you didnât pack lunch, Jack is immediately sending food your way.
Heâs on top of your prenatals and vitamins. Heâll text during the morning, reminding you to take them.Â
As your pregnancy progresses, Jack falls more and more in the love with the idea of being a father. He imagines a chunky baby with curly hair laying on his chest.Â
When your bump starts to show, Jack is over the moon. To him, it signifies that your baby is healthy and growing. He wants to remain respectful, but thereâs a part of him that craves to touch your bump.
You catch him eyeing your stomach one day and chuckle, âJack, you can touch my stomach. This is your baby too.â You only have to tell him once before heâs spreading his large hand across your bump.Â
You try to ignore the way that your body reacts to feeling his hands on you. You and Jack had agreed to keep things platonic for the sake of the baby. Who knows why you both thought that would be a good idea?Â
Before you know it, youâre riding Jack on your couch, fingers clutching at his shoulders. He looks down at your growing belly and your breasts, which have increased in size. Heâs in awe at you truly.Â
He grabs your hips in his, âYouâre so gorgeous like this, honey. Growing my baby and letting me fuck you full still.â He moves his hands up to grasp at your sensitive breasts, âAnd these. It makes me even harder knowing that these are gonna fill with milk for our baby.âÂ
The combination of his words, along with the added stimulation of his fingers rolling across your nipples has you cumming loudly.Â
You and Jack swear that this is the last time.Â
But itâs not. You have sex in his truck after one of your appointments. You have sex when you go to pick out the baby crib and paint for the nursery. You even have sex late at night because you were horny and craving Jack.Â
It doesnât take long for Jack to ask you to be his girlfriend after that. There isnât anything that he wouldnât do for you or the baby. If youâre craving some ridiculous concoction, heâs all on board for getting it. If he isnât available, best believe heâs sending Robby in his place.Â
As your bump grows more and more, so does the pain and fatigue. Jack is there to massage your aching back and feet. In fact, he even hires a masseuse who specializes in massages for pregnant women to come massage your back and stomach.Â
When you canât see your feet and need to shave, Jack is elated to be the one doing it. He might as well be a barber with how much care and dedication he puts into shaving you.
When you need a pregnancy pillow, consider it bought. The babyâs nursery. Already done. Jack and Robby spent a full day building and organizing to your desire.Â
âWhat about right here, honey?â Jack asks, as he moves the dresser with Robby for the third time.
You frown, âNo, it looks wrong there. Can we try moving it there, please?âÂ
Both men move the dresser, but you can see the sweat and how tired they are. Before either of them know it, youâre pouting and sniffling, and then youâre just full-blown crying.Â
âIâm sorry. Iâm working you both so hard and being difficult,â you state, sobbing and rubbing at your eyes.
Jackâs expression softens, âHey, baby, youâre not being difficult. Youâre doing what feels best for our baby. We donât have a problem with that. Right, Robby?â
âRight. Whatever will be best for my niece or nephew, consider it done,â Robby answer.
You wipe at your eyes, âAre you both sure?â
âOf course we are. Now, why donât you go rest. Thereâs watermelon in the fridge,â Jack said.
âOkay, thank you both. Love you,â you said, pressing your lips to Jackâs. You waltz out of the room without realizing what youâve said to Jack.Â
His jaw is dropped, but then the goofy smile crosses his lips. âLove you too, baby,â he mutters, before turning back to Robby.Â
âYouâre far, gone, brother,â Robby comments, smiling at seeing Jack so happy.
âMâright where I wanna be,â Jack answers, before navigating to the dresser again.
-
When you and Jack find out that the gender of the baby is a boy, he cries. Not some cute cry, but fully sobs in the room. Your OBGYN zooms in your baby boy as he sleeps peacefully.Â
Jack turns to you, âThatâs our baby boy in there.âÂ
Heâd always imagined what it would be like to have a son. His mind goes to all of the different ways that he and his son will bond together. He thinks of all the things he wants to teach him.Â
He thinks that he couldnât get more happier than this moment, but then he feels his baby boy start kicking and heâs over the moon.Â
âLet daddy feel you kick one more time, buddy,â Jack mutters against your bump. In response, your son kicks lightly.Â
Jack laughs, âOoo, thatâs a strong one, buddy. Youâre gonna give your old man a run for his money.âÂ
You curl your fingers in his hair, âYou both get to have your little boys day out.â
Most of the time, Jack finds himself talking to your son, even while your sleeping. Youâll get random texts from him during the day asking how you and his baby boy are doing.Â
The excitement never dies down.Â
On July 17th at 9:15 PM, Koda Jackson Abbot, makes his grand entrance into the world weight 8lbs and 6 ounces. Jack is in pure awe at seeing the doctor holding his little boy. Heâs in even more awe when he gets to cut the umbilical cord.Â
Koda is set upon your chest and Jack canât help but take in the sight of his baby. You smile up at him with tears in your eyes. Jack presses a kiss to your forehead, âI love you, baby. Thank you for giving me this.â
He follows behind the nurses when they go to clean Koda up. He eagerly scoops Koda into his arms when itâs time for skin-to-skin.
Fatherhood suits Jack Abbot quite nicely.
-
Jackâs an amazing father. You never have to doubt that. He makes sure that you and Koda are good. Heâs attentive and caring. During your healing process, Jack takes extra special care of you, especially when making sure that you have enough rest.Â
Things go great for you both.Â
Until they donât.Â
Jack falls into some old destructive habits. He spends more time rushing into work, especially when heâs not needed. He doesnât know why he does it, but it just happens. Your relationship starts to get rocky. You both try to make it work, but it just falls through.Â
Jack knows that heâs to blame.Â
Even with you both not being together, you still co-parent effortlessly. You both agreed that you would never let any of your problems affect Koda. He was always yours and Jackâs #1 priority.Â
The schedule that you both craft is good. All mentions of your past relationship is put on the back burner, but that doesnât mean that Jack doesnât miss you. He still yearns for those quiet and intimate moments that you shared.
He misses holding you and sharing kisses. But he respects your boundaries.Â
Two years pass by of peace with co-parenting. But that doesnât stop Jack from subtly flirting with you. You catch him checking you out more times than you can count.Â
âIs this a new dress?â He asks, eyes running up and down your figure.Â
You roll your eyes playfully, âYes, Jackson, this is a new dress. Letâs keep our eyes to our self.âÂ
Jack shrugs, âA man canât appreciate how beautiful the mother of his child looks?â
That was another thing, Jack didnât play none of that calling you his baby mama. You were always to be referred to as the mother of his child. Even when you would jokingly refer to him as your âbaby daddy,â he never took it to heart.Â
You lean across the counter while staring at him, âHey, are you free to take Koda this Saturday?â
âYeah, I am. You got big plans with the girls?â
You bite at your lip, âActually, I have a date.âÂ
Jack almost breaks his neck with how fast he turns to look at you. He tries in vain to steel his expression, âOh? I didnât realize that you were dating again.â
Quite frankly, he wasnât expecting you to date anyone else. Heâd been dropping hints here and there about getting back together. Plus, in his head, you would always be his.Â
âItâs nothing too serious. Just a date with this guy that I work with,â You reply.Â
âHas he met Koda?â Jack questions, failing to hide the jealously in his voice.Â
âOf course not, Jack. You know I wouldnât disrespect you like that.âÂ
He sighs, âYeah, honey, Iâll take Koda Saturday. Have fun on your date.â
Youâre surprised at how well that he takes the news. You were expecting him to have a much bigger reaction.Â
Little do you know, Jackâs already planning on how heâll ruin your date. Heâll let you have this little illusion of choice, but honestly, youâre always going to be his.Â
-
On Saturday, when you drop Koda off at Jackâs house, the man doesnât hide that heâs ogling you.Â
He grabs Koda as you pass him to Jack. Koda smiles happily, auburn curls flopping in his face, âDaddy!â
Jack smiles in return before pressing a kiss to Kodaâs chubby cheek, âHey, buddy. I missed you so much. You ready to have fun?â
âMhmm, daddy we play trucks,â Koda states. He was in his truck phase, and neither Jack nor Robby were making it better as they kept buying him toys to add to his collection.Â
âWe sure are, buddy. Weâre gonna have so much fun!â Jack lightly bounces him in his arms before looking at you.
âYou look beautiful, sweetheart,â He tells you, trailing his eyes down your figure. You canât help the heat that pinches at your skin.Â
âThanks, Jack. Also, thanks again for doing this.âÂ
âSâno problem, honey. Now go have fun.â
You smile and lean forward to kiss Kodaâs cheek, âBye baby. Mommy will be back to get you tomorrow. Be good for daddy okay?â You ruffle your hand through his curls which resemble yours, but with Jackâs ginger color.
âOtay mommy. I love you.â
âI love you too, baby bear.â You kiss Kodaâs cheek one last time.Â
âNo kiss for daddy?â Jack teases, even though heâs dead serious.Â
You roll your eyes before leaning in to press a kiss to his jaw. Both Jack and Koda watch as you walk to your car before getting in and driving off.Â
Jack looks down at his son, âHey Koda, you want to do me a favor, and Iâll buy you a new truck?â
-
The date with Oliver, your coworker, is going surprisingly well. However, youâd be lying if you didnât say that your mind was wandering to Jack. Though you tried not to, your mind instantly went to comparing Oliver to Jack.Â
You take another sip of wine as you try to redirect your thoughts.Â
Before you can respond to Oliverâs question, your phone buzzes on the table. You flip it over and see Jackâs name. Your stomach drops. Jack wouldnât be calling you unless it was a dire emergency.Â
You look up at Oliver, âIâm sorry. Itâs my kidâs dad.âÂ
âDonât apologize. You should take it. It could be an emergency,â Oliver said.Â
Clicking on the answer button, you hold the phone up to your ear, âHello?â
âHey, honey, Kodaâs been crying for you for the past hour. I tried to get him settled down, but heâs inconsolable,â Jack answers.Â
âOkay, can you put him on the line?â
You hear the brief shuffle of the phone as Jack passes it to Koda.Â
Koda sniffles, âMamaâŚâ
âOh my baby. Whatâs wrong?â
âI miss you, mama. I want you to come back to me and daddy,â Koda responds, before he sniffles again.Â
Your heart clenches at hearing his little sniffles and sobs, âHey, Iâll be right there in a bit, baby bear, okay? Just be a big boy for daddy and Iâll be there soon.â
âOtay, mama. I love you.â
âI love you too, baby.â You hang up the phone as you look back at Oliver with a tight-lipped smile.Â
Before you can explain, he smiles, âHey, donât apologize. Your son comes first always. We have plenty more time to go on another date.â
âThank you, Oliver.âÂ
-
It feels like youâre speeding as you rush back to Jackâs house. Which is honestly a little crazy on your part. When you make it there and park in the driveway, Jack opens the door on the first knock.Â
Koda reaches out for you as you grab him in your arms. âHey, baby bear, are you okay?â
âMhmm, I just missed you mommy.â
âI missed you too,â You said, kissing the crown of his head. You, Jack, and Koda all walk back into the house together as you all sit on the couch together. Jack turns on Little Bear, which happens to be one of Kodaâs favorite shows. Pretty soon, Koda is asleep with his cheek pressed to your chest in the same way that he used to do when he was a baby.Â
âI can take him,â Jack suggests.Â
You seamlessly pass Koda over to him. You both watch as your baby boy snuggles further into Jackâs arms as he carries him to his room. Jack pushes Kodaâs curls back before kissing his cheek.Â
âNight buddy. Daddy loves you.â
He walks back into the living room where youâre sitting. He plops back into the couch with you casually.Â
âSo how was the date?â Jack asks.
âIt was good. He was really nice,â You answer, trying to keep the conversation light. You figure that Jack doesnât want to hear the ins and outs of your date with the other man.Â
You donât even know that he paid Dennis to spy on you and Oliver from across the restaurant.Â
Jack hums, âAre you planning on going on another date with him?â
âI donât know, maybe? Heâs really nice and I like him. Isnât this a bit awkward to be talking about with you?â
Jack shrugs, âNot at all. I think itâs important for us to have healthy communication with each other. That includes me asking about the man thatâs taking out the mother of my child.â
âDo you ever think about dating other people?â You ignore the bitterness that you feel at Jack dating other women, or even just the thought of him sleeping with other women makes you sick. Itâs hypocritical of you, but it still doesnât ease the sting.
âNope, I have my eye on one woman only. Iâm just waiting on her to come to her senses.â
You laugh, âWe tried, remember? We couldnât make it work.â
âBut that was the past, we can make it work this time. Iâm in therapy and Iâve been setting boundaries with work. I love you, sweetheart. I love you and I love our little boy. Just give us a shot again.âÂ
Just as before, you get lost in those hazel puppy eyes.Â
Jack always has a way of getting what he wants. That includes you. One minute, youâre both talking on the couch and the next minute, he has your legs pressed to your chest as he bullies his way inside of you.Â
You moan loudly as you clutch at him. Jack leans down, âShhhâŚdonât wake our baby up. Be a good girl for me and keep quiet.â
You wonder how the man expects you to be quiet when heâs rearranging your insides.Â
Youâre so lost in the pleasure of it all that youâre right where Jack wants you. He reaches a hand down to start playing with your clit, âMânever gonna let you go, honey. You, me, and Koda, we can be one big happy family. MaybeâŚweâll have a little girl.â
Somewhere in your brain, the rational part of you fights against his words. Jack spots the hesitation in your gaze, which causes him to press himself deeper inside of you as he slots his lips against yours.Â
Youâre so lost in your orgasm that you donât even pay attention to the warm spurts of Jackâs cum painting your walls.Â
Oh well.Â
Youâll just have to plan for the next baby, but by that point, youâll be married.
synopsis: A beach summer with your man, Seungcheol.
tagging: Â @cherryberrycheol from that one blurb I sent you in Discord after you showed me the Dua Lipa pics
warnings: mdni, 18+, pwp, bf! Seungcheol, f! reader, fools in love, smut, oral (m. & f. rec), praise, cock drunk! reader, drool mentioned, Cheol big, mating press, creampie, squirting, praise, dirty talk, unprotected smut, mentions of cum eating, etc
WC: 2.4K +
[BE VERY AWARE, SMUT BELOW THE 'KEEP READING' TAG]
It's the middle of summer, and you're sitting on a little floaty, giggling as the sun rays warm you up and the water cools you off. You're not too far from the beach; the white sands are picturesque with the little beach umbrellas stationed every fifteen feet, and you can barely hear the jingles of the trolley cart being pushed as a man yells "ice cream!" for everyone relaxing on the beach towels. It's perfect- everything you could want- including Cheol.
Seunghceol's hair is wet, dripping with water droplets that slide down his neck and over his chest before rejoining the ocean, and his smile has never been bigger.
All day, heâs been your water boy, keeping one muscular arm looped inside your fruit-patterned floaty, anchoring you to him as he swims you around. The waves lap up his chest, licking up to his collarbones, and his arm is warm against your thigh as he paddles through the beautiful ocean. The sun kisses his skin that's not underwater, giving him a glow that makes it hard for you to look away from, and you want to kiss him, but if you bend over while he pushes up to meet you halfway? Youâll surely fall into the water, and the floaty will toss over both of your heads.
So you are reduced to strictly admiring. Admiring your lover as he carries you around, letting you tan as he keeps dunking his head down to look for the schools of fish that swim by. He'll pop up now and then, a beaming smile on his lips, claiming "it's so beautiful underwater!" or "I saw a fish!" before his arms flex as he pulls your floaty closer, like somehow you'll drift away from him.
You know in about two hours you both will wash up ashore, and youâll get to see how his swim trunks hug his thick thighs and the way he shakes water out of his hair like some dog. Then youâll finally get your kiss. Itâll be warm like the sun and a little salty like the ocean, but itâll fill you up until he leads you to the restaurant youâll be eating lunch at. You hope there will be fries and more kisses, and you squeeze his hand that holds yours, already requesting another kiss before you two even leave the beach.
Later, when the sun has finally set, and you're back inside your hotel room with Seungcheol, your kisses will linger - lasting longer until they finally deepen, and Seungcheol's hand cups the back of your head. It'll leave you breathless and a little dizzy, shared smiles dancing on your lips in between the kisses before he's got your body flushed against his.
You can still taste a little sea salt on his lips, his neck, and down his chest. And he still anchors you to him as you sink onto your knees.
But it's a different kind of salt you taste when your lips wrap around the tip of his cock, your tongue licking the precum that coats the globular head before you take more of him into your wet mouth. You can feel the way his thick thighs flex under your palms, his hand heavy on the back of your head as you suck and slurp until his cock is nudging the back of your throat.
It makes your eyes water and your jaw ache, but heat pools between your thighs each time your nose brushes his pelvis, and his moans grow louder, choking off between low praise. "Fuck- just like that," he inhales between clenched teeth, his eyes hooded as they meet your watery ones. "You're takin' me so well, Baby."
Your knees dig into the carpet beneath you, and your eyes flutter closed when his fingers twist in your hair, guiding you to take him deeper as his hips start to move. He eventually holds you in place, letting the room fill with the wet sounds of your mouth being filled with his cock over and over again. He fucks your throat slowly and deeply, enjoying the way your tongue massages the veins that pulse down the length of his cock as his precum coats your throat with each thrust.
You let him use you, your brain turning into mush as his chest heaves, and his words fall out faster in between his groans. "You look so pretty with your mouth full of my cock, Baby." His cock twitches and his hips stutter, picking up the pace as you blink up at him with tears on the tips of your eyelashes. "Oh fuck, are you already dumb off my cock, Baby?"
Your tongue swirls around the head of his cock, suckling the sensitive tip in response, and his knees almost give out.
"Yeah? There are no thoughts in that - hah - pretty head anymore, is there? You're only thinking about my cock - ngh, and my cum, huh?" Your nails dug into the sides of his thighs, drool forming at the corner of your mouth, making his cock slip in-and-out of your mouth faster, and his balls finally tense up. "Okay, Baby, I'll -ngh - give you what you want. Be good and take it all f'me."
It's the only warning Seungcheol gives you before his hips push forward, pushing his cock down your throat again until your nose is pressed against his pelvis, and then his cock swells.
He cums with a small "ah fuck!" and a deep satisfied sigh, painting your mouth white with his warm cum. He made sure you took it all, keeping your head down as he rolled his hips forward until his cock twitched with sensitivity, and you've milked him for every last drop. Then he pulled you off with a wet "pop!"
Your lips were coated with his cum and your saliva, and your tongue licked it all up before you showed Seungcheol your empty mouth.
You had done what heâd asked, swallowing his cum with a grin that made him pull you up so he could kiss you again. He didn't care that he could taste himself on your tongue; it only made his hands more feverish against your warm skin as you both stumbled towards the bed.
He pushed you back onto the soft mattress before he took his turn to kneel before you, his eyes meeting yours between your parted thighs. The smirk he gave you had tingles going straight to your core, making you clench around nothing pathetically as his fingers slid up your thighs, filling you with anticipation. "My turn, let me see that pretty pussy, Baby."
He drags your pretty panties down your legs with a slow confidence, tossing them over his shoulder carelessly as he gets an intimate view of your glistening cunt. You're dripping wet, just for him, and his big hands push your legs further apart as his breath fans over your puffy folds with a heavy hunger.
"Is this all for me, Baby?" He asks with a cocky grin, flicking his dark eyes up to yours as you suck in a quick breath. Your dress is pushed up to your waist, your breasts practically spilling from the top as he licks his lips, and a new wave of your slick pools.
"Always for you," you whimpered, and Seungcheol's grin was more than feral. His satisfied smirk is the last thing you see before he's burying his face between your plush thighs, licking a broad stroke up to your clit with his wet tongue. He groans from your sweet arousal dripping down his throat, and his fingers grip your legs tighter as he swirls his tongue around your nub, relishing in the way your hips buck up in response.
His tongue parts your folds, sucking, licking, and swirling until your eyes are blurry and your hands are pressing him closer as your heels dig into his shoulders.
Your moans grow louder when his tongue fills you, stretching your gummy walls around the wet muscle as his nose rubs your clit, overstimulating you and making your legs shake as he devours you like a man starved. He's hard again, and your moans only spur him on as he moves one hand from your leg to wrap around his cock.
He strokes his cock in tandem to his tongue fucking your pretty cunt, squeezing just under the head when you cry out his name like you're looking for salvation.
And when you cum on his tongue, you have both of your hands in his hair, keeping his lips wrapped around your puffy clit as he stops himself from cumming all over his hand like some teenager.
He thinks it's one of the hottest things to see you cum, your eyes get glossy like your cunt, and he's able to mandhandle your body into a nasty mating press as you blink up at him dazedly.
He's got your arousal dripping down his jaw, and he gives you a smirk as you realize he's guiding his heavy cock between your twitching thighs. "You can give me one more, right?"
You don't get the chance to answer before he's rocking the mushroom-shaped tip of his cock against your clitoris, sending pleasurable shocks throughout your body as he lets your arousal coat his shaft. He teases you like this for a moment, dragging his cock through your wet folds, building the same heat as before, low in your abdomen until you lift your hips to meet each one of his slow grinds.
"Please," your plea comes out wrecked and breathless, and Seungcheol's eyes almost roll back from hearing it. You're exactly how he likes you, needy and wanting, and his hand pushes your leg back further as he finally directs his cock to your entrance, letting you feel the stretch that is yet to come.
"Don't worry, I'll take care of ya'," Seungcheol promises, and then he's pushing his hips forward.
The head of his cock bullies its way inside, forcing your gummy walls apart, and your jaw drops. You've had sex with Seungcheol before, but you never could get used to the size of him, and the way he filled you. His cock grazes over every sensitive spot without even trying, and your velvety walls suck him in deeper until all you can feel is him.
His cock splits you open, his hands are warm under the back of your knees, keeping you spread wide for him as his thick thighs press against yours. His heavy balls are flushed against your ass as you take him to the hilt, and your breath comes up short, your mind spinning because you can feel him in your lungs; he's so big.
You end up blinking rapidly to clear the blur in your vision as you look up at Seungcheol. Hearts are already forming in your eyes as his cock reaches the back of your cunt, greeting your cervix with a filthy kiss as he bottoms out.
"Fuck, Baby." He sucks in another breath through clenched teeth, his head tilting up towards the ceiling as your pussy grips his cock in a tight squeeze. "You feel so good around me, fuckk -" Seungcheol's muscles strain, and the fact that if you keep squeezing him like that - he will cum - is swirling in his head like a warning system. He's not ready to tap out just yet, so he moves one hand between the two of you, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing sloppy hearts into the little pearl to get you to open up for him some more. "That's it, open up for me, Baby. Show me just how wet your pretty pussy can get for me."
He has your head falling back into the pillows, your fingers clutching the bedsheets, and just like he wants, your pussy drools heavily with each completed heart he draws on your clit. Your arousal seeps, dripping down his cock and your ass, and when you think he's just going to make you cum on his cock by only playing with your clit, he moves.
His cock drags through your sensitive walls, and the hotel room echoes with the obscene squelches of your sloppy cunt as he pushes forward again. He starts a slow and deep thrust, making you feel each time the head of his cock hits the back of your cunt, and you're forced to take it as he keeps you pinned underneath him.
Seungcheol's so big you can't see over his shoulder, all you can see is him. Him, him, him. His forehead is lined with sweat that drips down his chest. His tongue pokes out a little between his lips, and his eyebrows furrow in concentration when his hips roll in a certain way that makes you clench around him deliciously. It's too much, and you're telling him as such between your cute little "ah!" and "ohs!"
"Cheol! Right there - oh! - yes, yes, yes!" Your tongue sticks out lewdly, and your eyes water as he follows your orders, smacking the fat tip of his cock into your sweet spot - bringing you even closer to the edge.
Your nails dig into his biceps, leaving half-moon crescents into his skin, and your pussy slurps his cock deeper, gushing as your orgasm barrels through you suddenly. You're left speechless, your mouth dropping open in shock, and your eyes glaze over as you cum. You can only hold onto Seungcheol as your arousal comes out in waves, squirting onto his pelvis as he fucks you through it.
"There we go," he praises, and he's quick to rub four of his fingers over your clit messily, smacking the bundle of nerves until you're squirting with a little whimper from the back of your throat.
You make a mess on him, on yourself, and on the bed, and the sight alone has him orgasming right after you. He curses, and his cock twitches, swelling as he grinds into you with possessiveness.
His cum splashes the back of your cunt with white gooey globs of his seed, and it keeps going, filling you to the brim as he cums heavily with a deep groan.
Eventually, there's nowhere else to go but out, and when he sees his cum ooze out, mixing with your slick, he can't help but drag his finger through the mess before bringing it to his mouth to have a taste.
He hums; it tastes like sea salt, and he wants more.
ëë° - you made it to the end!
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