coco

Your mind hadn't stopped circling those words for the past week—a constant, agonising reminder that echoed in your mind, your belly, your cunt, and even deep in your thighs.

The desire was as stubborn as the man himself; it refused to leave you. But then again...maybe you didn't want it to leave.

"Hell, you should bring her over to Uncle Joel sometime. I'll give her somethin' that satisfies her proper."

You could still remember standing there, just inside the screen door, heart hammering against your ribs and thighs pressing tight together as every filthy word Joel uttered sank straight between your legs.

The heat had pooled low in your gut, your cunt throbbing with every perverted suggestion Joel tossed out oh so casually—completely ignoring the fact that your boyfriend, Tommy, had simply asked him for tips on how to handle your high libido.

You couldn't even bring yourself to care once Joel started talking.

It started with, "Jesus, Tommy. You complainin' about good pussy?" before spiraling into explicit instructions on how to break a woman. "Well, sounds to me like you got yourself a girl who knows what she wants. Ain't nothin' wrong with that. You gotta treat that pretty little thing right, boy. Show her who's in charge. You gotta work that pussy like it's the last one on earth. Fingers, tongue, cock—whatever it takes. And when she starts shakin', don't stop. Push her right over the edge till she's squirting all over your hand, your face, your sheets. That'll settle her down proper."

Heck, you knew he was a pervert.

It was no secret. Even Tommy called him an old, perverted bastard.

But that didn't change the fact that he was older, bolder, and possessed large, rough hands that gestured emphatically as he spoke. Those were the same hands you'd watched grip tools and beer bottles—and the same hands that had, once or twice, brushed against your waist a little too long.

His eyes always lingered on your tits and your ass, looking at you as if he was already imagining exactly what he'd do to you if his pissy little brother didn't exist.

Since that night on the porch, your hand hadn't stopped wandering down to your cunt. Your fingers wouldn't stop rubbing that twitching nub until you came all over yourself, shivering with the forbidden thoughts of your boyfriend's brother—or as you desperately wanted to call him:

Uncle Joel.

And now, three days later, you stand at his door, pie in your hands warm, the heat seeping through the dish into your palms, grounding you, reminding you why you're here—you baked it, you told yourself, because you're a good neighbor, a good sister-in-law, because it's what a good woman does, brings pie to her man's brother, a gesture of kindness, of family, of nothing more than that.

But that lie tasted like bitter ash on your tongue, so you swallow it down, and you knock...

When the door opens, the world already narrows to the shape of him. Big. Board. Frame like a wall of stone, chest rising and falling beneath that old flannel shirt, the buttons straining across his big belly and smelling like musk or something unwashed in the best way. 

It makes your nostrils flare and your thighs press together of their own accord, a slow, wet shift of muscle and fabric that you can't control, that you don't want to actually control.

A slow, crooked smile spreads across his lips.

"Well, well, well," he says, and his voice is exactly as you remember it from that night on the porch, from the endless, aching hours when you pressed your fingers into yourself and imagined this moment, this exact moment, here, now, with him looking at you like you're something to eat, something to savor, something to devour slowly, filthy, until there's nothing left but the memory of pleasure. "Look what the cat dragged in."

He leans against the door, arms crossing over his broad chest, letting his gaze wander down your body and back up again, taking his sweet time; savoring every inch of you, from the curve of your hip to the swell of your breasts to the flush on your cheeks. You feel naked under that gaze, stripped bare, even though you're wearing a dress, a simple cotton thing, light blue, that falls just above your knees. Chosen unintentionally, or not? 

"Hello there, honey," he says. "Did my brother treat ya so bad you come to uncle Joel?"

Uncle Joel...uncle Joel...

He says it like a joke, a teasing jab, but the word uncle hits you square in the chest, soaks into your belly, and your thighs press together involuntarily. And oh, you know he sees it.  

You know he sees everything, because his eyes flick down to your hips, to your thighs, and his smile widens, deepens. 

You clutch the pie tighter. 

"I...I made pie," you say, and your voice comes out smaller than you intended. "Apple. I thought you might like some."

His grin widens, and he pushes off of the doorframe, stepping aside with a sweep of his arm, a gesture that makes the flannel stretch across his shoulders, and you catch a glimpse of that hair on his chest, thick, dark and curling, and you want to press your face into it, to breathe him in, to taste the salt on his skin.

Jesus Christ, what was wrong with you?

"Apple pie?" he says, voice full of amusement. "Lord, girl, you know the way to a man's heart. C'mon in, c'mon. Don't stand there like a stranger."

You step past him, and the door closes behind you with a soft click. There's no going back now, no pretending you came here for pie, no pretending you're anything but what you are: a hungry woman, a desperate woman, a needy, shameless woman who has come to her man's brother to be filled, to be claimed, to be taken the way she's always wanted to be taken. 

A worn sofa the color of dried blood sits against the far wall, the cushions sagging in the middle, shaped by the weight of his body.

He gestures for you to sit, and you do, sinking into the cushions, the pie still warm in your lap.

Joel disappears into his tiny kitchen, and you hear the clatter of plates, the running of water, the soft hum of a man moving through his space. He returns with two plates, two forks, a knife, setting them on the table with a soft clink.

Then he drops onto the sofa besides you.

He doesn't sit far away, doesn't leave a polite distance between you, nah, he sits close, his thigh brushing yours through the fabric of your dress. 

"Alright, alright," he says, reaching for the pie. "Let's see what we got here."

He cuts three generous slices, the knife sliding through the crust with a soft crunch, and he slides one slice onto your plate, two onto his, then picks up his fork and digs in like a starving man.

"Oh, fuck me," he groans, closing his eyes, and the sound is raw, almost sexual. He chews, swallows, shakes his head slowly, his eyes still closed, his jaw working, and you watch the muscles in his throat move, watch the way his Adam's apple bobs.

"That's..." he says, opening his eyes. "That's real good, sweetheart. Real good. You got a gift."

You flush, the heat rising up your neck, spreading across your cheeks so you look down at your plate.

"Thank you," you say, your voice is small. 

He takes another bite, and another, and you watch him eat, watch the way his lips close around the fork, the way his tongue flicks out to catch a crumb, moaning around the taste. 

He sets his fork down and leans back, one arm stretching across the back of the sofa behind you, his fingers brushing your shoulder, tracing the line of your collarbone through the thin cotton of your dress, a featherlight touch that sends shivers down your spine, that makes your breath catch in your throat.

"C'mon," he says, and his voice is lower now, a purr that vibrates in his chest. "Tell me what's botherin' ya. You don't usually come over alone. Not without Tommy."

You look down your plate, pushing a crumb around with your fork.

"Nothing," you say, and the lie is thin. "Just...wanted to bring you something. That's all."

His fingers trail down your arm, featherlight, tracing the curve of your elbow.

"You ain't the type to make a pie and show up for no reason," he says, and his voice is patient, knowing. "I know ya, girl. I've seen you grow into a woman. I've seen the way you look at things." He pauses, and his fingers still, resting on your wrist, his thumb pressing against your pulse point, feeling the rapid beat of your heart. "The way you look at me."

Your heart hammers against your ribs, and before you can even process what he says, you're already trying to escape the situation. 

"I should go," you say and you start to rise, but his hand lands on your knee, firm; squeezing once. 

With that, magically, your muscles relax, your hips sink back into the cushion, your thighs open slightly, just slightly, an invitation maybe.

"Sit down, honey," he says, and his voice is gentle, but a command wrapped in silk behind it. 

So you sit. 

He leans in closer, and his breath is warm against your ear, smelling of apple and cinnamon. 

"Is it Tommy?" he asks. "He can't take care of you?"

You loved Tommy. God, you loved him. 

You shake your head, a tiny, jerky movement, "No. That's not—" your throat tight, your mouth dry, your heart pounding so hard you can hear it in your god damn ears. 

"Because he told me something the other night," he says, and his voice drops lower. "Complainin' about how much you need it. How he can't keep up. How he's exhausted. And I gotta say, I felt sorry for you."

You swallow. 

"A woman with that kind of hunger," he continues, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles on your knee. "All alone in her bed, touchin' herself while her man sleeps. Thinkin' about what she could have. What she deserves."

He pauses, and the silence stretches.

Until—

"Thinkin' about me?"

You can't answer. Your mouth is full of cotton and want, your tongue is tied, your throat is closed, and all you can do is just sit there, trembling, your thighs pressed together, your hands clenched in your lap, your eyes wide and wet and desperate.

"You wanna show uncle Joel?" 

A whine bubbles from your throat. You immediately feel yourself nodding like a desperate little puppy excited to get treats, making him chuckle.

"Words," he says, and his voice is patient. "I need words, babygirl."

"Yes," you whisper. "Please."

"Please what?"

"Please...uncle Joel."

He chuckles again, and the sound vibrates through you, settling in your bones, in your blood, in your cunt, and you feel yourself clench. 

"That's a good girl," he says. "Now stand up for uncle Joel. Right in front of me. Let me see you."

You rise with shaky legs, thighs trembling, and you stand before him, your hands at your sides, your heart in your throat, your cunt aching wet and ready.

He stays seated, looking up at you, his dark eyes hooded and patient, like a wolf watching a deer wander into the clearing...like a predator who knows his prey is already caught.

"Now pull that dress up," he says, and his voice is soft—a gentle command. "Slow. Let me see what my brother's been wastin'."

Your fingers tremble as you gather the hem of your dress, lifting it inch by slow inch, the fabric sliding up your thighs, revealing the skin of your legs, the soft curve of your hips, and then the oh so wet, slick fabric of your panties. The cotton clinges to your folds, almost translucent with arousal, a dark stain spreading across the pale blue.

Joel exhales slowly, a long, low breath that seems to come from somewhere deep down his chest. 

"There you go," he coos. "Keep goin'. Let me see that pretty pussy."

You pull the dress up to your waist, exposing your ruined panties, the glistening outline of your cunt hidden behind the soaked cloth. 

He reaches out immediately, hooks his fingers in the waistband, tugs them down, and the fabric slides over your hips, past your thighs, down your legs, and you step out of them, standing before him completely bare from the waist down.

"Well, would you look at that," he murmurs. "Ain't that the prettiest thing I've ever seen. All wet and ready for me. And Tommy, that dumbass, he can't even handle it."

You whimper, the sound escaping your throat before you can stop it. He starts spreading your labia with his thumbs, gentle; exposing your slick, pink flesh, the small nub of your clit, the opening that clenches and releases with your breath.

"Would ya look at that, honey." his voice barely above a whisper, and he leans in, closer, closer, until his breath is warm against your cunt. "Glistening like a goddamn jewel. You're so fuckin' sweet, baby. You know that? You know how fuckin' perfect you look right now?"

He leans in and presses a soft kiss to your inner thigh, just above your knee, then another kiss, higher, on the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and another, higher still, his beard scraping against your skin.

Your fingers find his hair, tangling in the salt and pepper strands, gripping him, holding him, wanting to feel his mouth on your cunt, but he doesn't go there, he just keeps kissing your thighs, your hips, the soft skin of your belly, until you're trembling, shaking, your knees weak, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

"Please," you breathe. "Please, Joel."

"That's uncle Joel to you," he corrects, his voice a gentle growl against your thigh as he looks up at you. 

"Now c'mere, sweet pea..." he says, and he pulls you down onto his lap. "That's it, right where this old man wants ya."

You straddle his thighs, your bare cunt pressing against the rough denim of his jeans, without much thinking you grind against him, a slow, desperate movement, a plea of want.

His hands slide up your sides, under your dress, palming your breasts through the lace of your bra. He finds the clasp, unhooks it with practiced ease, pulls the straps down your arms, and the bra falls away—your breasts spill free, full and heavy, your nipples peaked and aching. 

He cups them quicky, his thumbs circling your nipples, sending sparks of pleasure down your cunt. 

A whine escapes from your throat. 

"Oh, I know," he murmurs, his mouth against your neck, his lips brushing your skin, his teeth grazing your pulse point. "You're my good girl."

He kisses your neck, your collarbone, the hollow of your throat. You arch into him, pressing your breasts against his chest, grinding your cunt against his thigh.

Then his hand slides down, down your belly, down through the soft nest of hair between your legs. His fingers find your cunt, and he doesn't tease, doesn't play, doesn't dance around the edges—he plunges two fingers deep inside you, making your hips grind at him and your back arch. 

"God damn," he groans against your throat. "This pussy's so hot and slick, clenchin' every time I push in deeper."

He pumps his fingers in and out, a steady, rhythmic rhythm.

You hear it: the wet, sucking sound of your own arousal, a rhythmic schlick schlick that fills the quiet room, that echoes off the walls. 

"Tommy don't know what he's got," Joel murmurs, curling his fingers, hitting that spot inside you, that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyes, and you feel the pressure building, the heat rising, the pleasure coiling in your belly ready to snap. "He don't know how to take care of a woman like you. But I do. Uncle Joel knows."

He kisses you then, his tongue sliding into your mouth, tasting of apple and cinnamon, and you moan into his mouth, your hips rocking against his hand, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

"Christ, you're suckin' 'em in like you don't ever wanna let go. Keep those hips still, baby girl, or I'll have to hold you down while I work 'em deeper." he says, pulling back, his forehead against yours, his breath hot on your lips. 

His thumb finds your clit then, circles it, presses down, gently at first, then harder.

"I'm gonna—" you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders, your legs trembling, your cunt clenching around his fingers, "Joel, I'm gonna—"

"Mhm, let go for me, honey." he commands, soft but firm. "Cum on uncle Joel's fingers. Show me how good I make you feel."

And you do.

You shatter. A cry tears from your throat as your climax rips through you, waves of pleasure crashing through your pelvis, your thighs clamping around his hand, your cunt clenching and fluttering around his fingers, the release slowly going through your body as he works you through it, slowing his rhythm, gentling his touch, murmuring praise after praise.

"There we go," he says, his voice soft, tender. "That's a good girl…let it happen. You're making such a mess on uncle Joel's hand." 

You slump against him, boneless, panting, your forehead resting against his. You can feel his smile, feel the satisfaction in his chest.

But before you can catch your breath, before the aftershocks have even faded, he's lifting you, shifting you, laying you back on the sofa, and your head hits a cushion, your legs hang over the edge.

He unbuckles his belt, and unzips his jeans, the sound of the zipper a slow, deliberate rasp, a sound that makes your cunt clench hard around nothing.

He pulls his cock free, and your breath catches in your throat.

It's thick, hard, the head glistening with a bead of pre-cum already, a vein running along the shaft like a river on a map. It's bigger than Tommy's; thicker, fuller.

"Look at that," he says, stroking himself slowly, his hand a rhythmic pump, and you watch his hand move, watch the way his fingers wrap around his shaft, the way his thumb swipes over the head, spreading the pre-cum. 

"Cunt clenching around nothing. You hungry, sweetheart? This pussy hungry?" he asks. "You want uncle Joel inside you?"

You spread your legs wider, your pussy still clenching, still dripping, still hungry for more, and you look up at him, your eyes wide, your voice a whisper. "Inside. Please. Please, uncle Joel."

He positions himself at your entrance, and you feel the head of his cock pressing against your slick folds. You hold your breath, waiting until he pushes in, and when he does you gasp at the stretch, the fullness, the way he opens you up. 

He is so much bigger than Tommy, thicker, fuller that you feel a moment of panic; can I take this? Can I really take this? 

But then he's soothing you, voice soft and gentle.

"Shh, shh, easy now," he says, and his voice is a balm. "Breathe for me. That's it. You can take it. You can take all of uncle Joel. Let it in nice and deep." 

He pushes deeper, inch by agonising inch, a slow, but huge invasion, and you feel every ridge, every vein, every inch of him sliding into you, stretching you, filling you in a way you've never been filled before. 

"Feel that?" he whispers. "Feel how good we fit together? Tommy never made you feel like this, did he?"

You shake your head, tears sliding down your cheeks, and you can't speak, can't find the words, can't do anything but feel, feel, feel.

"No," you whisper, and your voice is broken, cracked, raw. "No, never."

"Because he's a fool," Joel says, and his voice is tender, loving, even as he pushes deeper, even as he fills you completely, even as he buries himself to the hilt. "A fool who don't know how to handle the treasure he's got. But I ain't a fool. I know a good thing when I see it. I know a hungry woman when I see her."

He is buried to the hilt now, letting you adjust to his grit, letting you feel the weight of him inside you, the stretch, the ache, the pleasure, and you feel your cunt clenching around him, trying to pull him deeper.

"Atta girl…there it is. I'm allll the way in. Gonna keep you pinned nice and deep, grindin' slow so you feel every throb, every pulse." He says softly. 

Tears start to prickle in your eyes when he starts to thrust. Slow at first, deep, each thrust a drag against your walls, a wet slide that makes you moan, and his hips meet yours with a soft, wet slap.

"Listen to those messy sounds—Christ, you're drippin' down your thighs already." He murmurs, making a sob erupt from your throat. "Oh, I know, that's my girl. Takin' me so good, aren't you? So fuckin' tight. You like being filled by your uncle, hm?"

"Yes," you moan, your nails digging into his shoulders, the pressure rising, the coil winding tighter, ready to snap again. "Yes, yes, yes."

"Say it again, honey." he demands softly. But his pace quickens, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper, more urgent, and you feel the couch creak beneath you.

"Uncle Joel," you gasp. "Please. Please fuck me."

He groans, his head dropping to your shoulder, teeth grazing your skin, and his pace quickens, his thrusts become harder, deeper, more urgent, and you feel the pleasure building; rising, the coil winding tighter and tighter, ready to snap. 

"Goddamn," he grits out. "you're perfect. You're gonna make me cum, sweet pea. You gonna cum with me? Cum with uncle Joel?"

"I don't know—" you gasp, your vision blurring. "I'm close—it's too much—"

"It ain't too much," he says, and his voice is firm. "You can take it. You're a strong girl. A hungry girl. Let go for me. Let me feel you break."

He drives into you harder, faster, and you feel the coil snap, the pleasure explodes and you shatter again. A broken cry tears from your throat as you cum, your inner walls clenching around him, fluttering, pulsing, milking every last drop from him. 

A guttural groan leaves his lips and he follows a moment later, spilling inside you in hot, thick drops—filling you up with a warmth that spreads through your belly. 

Your cunt still works around him as he collapses on top of you, his breath hot against neck. 

After a long moment, he stirs, lifts his head and presses a soft, tender kiss to your lips.

"You did so well, sweet pea," he murmurs. "Took everything right into that cunt of yours." 

He pulls out slowly, and you whimper at the loss, the sudden emptiness a hollow ache. 

He fetches a damp cloth from the kitchen and cleans you up with gentle hands, wiping between your thighs, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, whispering: "We made some cream pie, didn't we?" and you feel like crying, like laughing, like giggling. 

"You gotta go home soon," he says. "Tommy'll be back in an hour."

You nod as you sit up, and reach for your panties, but he stops you, his hand on your wrist, his eyes dark and possessive.

"Leave 'em," he says, and his voice is a firm command. 

"What?@

"The panties, hon." he says. "Leave 'em here. I want to know you're walkin' around without 'em. Thinkin' about me. Feel my cum drippin' down your thigh."

You blush, a deep, burning flush that spreads across your cheeks, but you don't argue. You pull your dress on over your bare skin, leaving your soaked panties crumpled on his coffee table like a trophy. 

He walks you to the door, and as you step out into the fading light, he calls after you.

"Come back tomorrow," he says, soft. "I'll have the pie warmed up."

You smile, and your thighs are still slick with his spend, and your cunt is still sore and full, and you know, with a certainty that settles into your bones like honey, like syrup, like warm apple pie, that you will.

You will.

Poor Tommy lmfaooooo😭😭

you feel the second blow land on your cheek, your eyes welling up more as you notice the blood rushing to your once gentle skin.

like always, it was your fault you were in this mess. you shouldn’t have worn such a short dress out, you knew you would be actively disobeying your boyfriend’s orders, but for once you wanted to feel like you were free, knowing damn well you were whatever he wanted you to be. you made a mistake, and now you were facing the repercussions.

“i don’t want to do this, you know that.” you watch as your boyfriend leans down, your eyes meeting as he matches your stance on the floor, allowing you to see eye to eye. you’re unable to gather a response, only look up at him through teary eyes as you wait for another strike.

he brings a hand up to your face, gently running a finger along the scattered marks on your cheek. the touch, although subtle, only making the burning worse. you wince in pain, slightly pulling your head away and watch as he notices your response and returns to his feet, his expression cold and distant.

“you did this to yourself, y/n.” you watch him carefully from the ground as he turns around, bringing his hands under the sink to wash specks of blood off his knuckles, which were now painted in velvet, ironically your favorite color.

“you know how much i love you, right?” his back is facing you as he speaks, his voice laced with what can only be described as fake as he reaches for a towel, drying his hands carefully.

“i know.” you mumble, your voice breaking as you feel yourself holding back tears, your throat almost on fire by how much you want to cry, but you knew better than to let him see you in this state.

he turns back around to face you, throwing the paper towel out and leaning down to your fragile state, using his hands to pick you up and stand you on your feet. he placed a finger under your chin, moving your face to the side to carefully inspect your wounds. you watch his face contort, his eyebrows furrow as he looks at the destruction he inflicted on your once perfect skin.

“tsk tsk, gonna have to wear a mask to work tomorrow, tell people you’re sick.” he speaks normally, unaffected, as if he doesn’t care, and begins walking away.

“when is this going to end?” you turn back to face him as he’s halfway towards your shared bedroom door.

“excuse me?” you watch as his feet shift, your eyes meeting as he stands across the room, his demeanor now more angry than he was before, if that’s even possible. you knew talking back was the worst possible thing to do in this situation, but you were tired, unhappy, and down right over it.

“i’m tired of this. tired of being pushed around, hit, unable to do anything or exist. im not happy anymore.” you watch as his face stays stone cold but you know his brain is turning.

you feel yourself back up instinctively as he approaches you, his steps swift and powerful as he stops right in front of your face.

“if you’re tired of it then stop doing things that you know are wrong.” god when did he become so mean? he was the sweetest boy in the world to you, it wasn’t until you moved in with each other about a year ago that he began to act like this.

you scoff at him, walking past him as you brush his shoulder in the process, picking up your jacket and heading towards the door, not even putting on shoes in the process.

“so what just like that you’re gonna leave?” he questions, watching as you put your hand on the doorknob to your once hope filled apartment. you turn back to face him, throwing your jacket on as you feel your eyes begin to well up again.

“i just… need some time.” you say as you begin to turn the doorknob, taking a step out of your apartment as you feel his hand on your wrist, turning you around to face him.

he’s mere inches away from you, his face contorted with rage as he grits through his teeth.

“if i find out you end up somewhere you shouldn’t be tonight… we’re done.” you examine his expression, your eyes dancing between his lips to his furrowed brows and then down to his hand around your wrist.

without another word, you pull your hand away and make your way out the door to the elevator.

despite his yelling from behind you about god knows what, you refuse to turn around, refuse to face him.

once you feel the cold cement against your bare feet, and the smell of the new york city air at night, you can’t help the tears that stream down your cheeks as you break down completely. and before you know it, you’re running.

it’s completely subconscious when your feet end up carrying you 10 blocks down, your chest heaving and your eyes swollen shut from the cold air combined with your overwhelming amount of tears. but here you were, collapsed on his door step.

this was the last place you should be, and you knew that. you remember your boyfriend’s words as you were leaving, you knew exactly who he was talking about, and yet here you were.

you’re unable to knock on his door, only lay sobbing on the cement stairs leading to his building. he was on the first floor, and you prayed he could hear you, sense you were here as you were unable to move anymore. your body completely overrun with exhaustion and pain as you fought for your breaths.

and then, as if it was a miracle, or maybe a sign, you heard the door creek, and the sweet familiar sound of his soothing voice as he fell to his knees, wrapping his arms around you and carrying you inside.

“are you okay? what happened? what’s wrong?” his voice was so gentle, so soothing, and although you were breathing too heavy to provide a response, you were still grateful for his thoughtfulness.

he laid you down on his couch carefully, his eyes quickly falling to the bruises and cuts on your face.

“oh my god y/n, what did he do to you?” you feel the tears begin to fall again at his words as he quickly went into his kitchen and grabbed a wash cloth, running it under some water and returning to your place on the couch.

he leaned before you, sat on his knees as he brought the towel to your face, the wetness soothing your marks much more than your tears had been doing as he places a hand on your chest in an attempt to calm you down.

“shhh just breathe, it’s okay, just breathe.” something about him always calmed you down, and before you knew it, you weren’t crying anymore, and instead were sitting across from him obediently as he tended to your wounds.

“what happened?” he questioned, and without the tears clouding your vision, you were able to see his beautiful sculpted face in front of you, his blonde hair sat messily on top of his head, slightly wet as if he had just showered, and his beautiful pink plump lips that you always stared at a little too long.

“i wore that dress you got me… for my birthday.” you spoke quietly, watching as your best friend’s face changed from soft to angry, almost infuriated at the idea that your boyfriend would lay a hand on you. jimin was your best friend, of course he knew things like this were happening, but he never knew the extent of it, and he never got involved because you begged him so many times to leave it alone. but things had gotten worse the past couple months, and you hadn’t been able to see him due to your boyfriend’s restrictions. he knew how much jimin cared about you, and knew that if you ever had to chose between the two of them, you wouldn’t chose him.

he brought a hand up to your face, carefully tucking a hair behind your ear as he scattered soothing strokes across your cheek that had yet to be marked.

“im so sorry, y/n. i should’ve never given that to you. god i should kill him for this. i should fucking kill him.”

“stop, jimin. this isn’t your fault and you know it.” you bring your hand up to his, taking his fingers within yours as you relish in the feeling of his warm skin against yours.

“i told him i needed time to think. i left. god i don’t know what im going to do.” you cover your face, trying your best not to cry again as you question whether or not you made the right decision. he would never leave you alone, he would track you down, go to your work, show up at your apartment. it happened before. where would you even live now that you’ve moved in together? you felt your head begin to spin with all the uncertainty and jimin quickly noticed, cupping your face with his hands as he brought your head up to look at him.

“hey, listen to me. you do not need to make a decision right now, okay? im here, im not leaving you. we’ll get through this together, okay?” you almost want to cry at his words. you had never met a man who cared about you as much as jimin. your whole life you had been pushed around and bullied by men, even by your father. and jimin came along and licked up every one of your wounds, he cared about you when no one else did.

you leaned forward, wrapping your arms around his neck as you pulled him into a hug, the feeling of his hands wrapping around your waist made you only melt deeper.

“thank you. im so sorry i know you like your quiet time and your space-“

“are you kidding? i haven’t seen you in weeks, you’re more than welcome here and you know it.” he pulls away from the hug smiling as he leans in and kisses your forehead, standing to his feet and walking over to the kitchen.

“now, let’s get you out of that dress, yeah? as beautiful as you look i doubt you’re comfortable.” he throws the towel down onto the counter as he walks back to you, taking your hand in his as he leads you to his bedroom.

“does this mean i can raid your closet?” you ask excitedly. you always loved stealing his t-shirts, you didn’t know why but they were just so damn comfortable.

you heard him laugh gently, “of course.” and you can’t help but use your last bit of energy to jump excitedly, running to his closet and quickly finding a t-shirt that you think you’d like the most.

as much as he was happy to see you, jimin was doing his best to keep his composure right now. he was insanely protective of you, and the fact that your piece of shit boyfriend was possibly going to get away with this drove him mad. this was the first time he had seen you smile in months, and he refused to let it be the last. he was going to keep you away from that man no matter what it took.

you turned to face him, holding the shirt up before receiving a nod of approval. you smile before your face turns slightly, watching as jimin stands across from you.

“umm hello? a little privacy?” you tease and watch as jimin chuckles lowly in response.

“why don’t you take a hot shower, it might help.” he walks closer to you, taking the shirt from your hand and leading you to the bathroom.

“come on i don’t want to use up all your hot water like i did last time, you know i take long showers.” you protest, but they’re no use as jimin leans into the tub and turns the shower on, the steam quickly filling the confined space.

“trust me, i’ll be fine.” he laughs again, before heading to the door. you feel a strange pang in your chest at the thought of being alone. it was a strange sensation, but it made you feel like your head was going to explode. you quickly grab his hand before he’s able to exit, turning him to face you.

“im sorry it’s just… i don’t really want to be alone right now.” you say meekly, looking down at your feet in embarrassment.

jimin’s blood runs cold at your proposal, but he was a good man, he wasn’t going to take advantage of you in this vulnerable state.

“i’ll be right on the other side of the door.” he says again, tapping your hand reassuringly before trying to leave again, only for you to pull his wrist harder.

“please.” jimin feels his dick twitch as your gentle begging, but quickly removes the thought from his brain. he stands still for a moment, looking at your state before landing on your eyes, they were full of desperation, not in a lustful way, but in a painful way. you had been through so much. he felt his heart break gently before turning his body around completely and shutting the door completely, now enclosing you both into the small space.

“okay.” he watches as a small smile appears on your lips.

“no looking though.” you tease as you place your hands on his shoulders and turn him around to face the door.

“yeah yeah.” you loved how you could be playful with him, it was something you never experienced with your boyfriend, he was always so serious all the time, never tried to make you smile or do little things to keep you happy. jimin was like a breath of fresh air, everytime you looked at him you could feel your heart flutter in your chest, he was more than just your best friend, he was your soulmate.

you carefully peel your dress off, checking occasionally to make sure he’s not peaking, but of course, he’s not.

you carefully step into the shower, pulling the curtain back and feeling a wave of warmth wash over your body. the gentle sting of the water against your wounds barely noticeable due to the pure relaxation you felt, your body being consumed by the heat of the shower.

“okay you can turn around now.” you say from behind the curtain, which concealed you from his view completely.

jimin turns around, carefully making sure you’re not visible, before taking a seat on the toilet and leaning back, allowing himself to relish in the humidity and warmth of the small room.

“how does it feel?” his voice is so perfect and sweet, the sound mixed with the subtle scent of his soap, and the heat of the shower sending shots to your core. his presence in the room felt so intimate, even though you weren’t touching.

“mmm it feels good.” you hum, leaning your head back to wet your hair completely, your body feeling fully at ease as you feel the knots in your back loosening, all stress from the day, from the last couple months washing away and swirling down the drain beneath you.

you enjoy the silence for a moment, knowing that jimin was close to you and still providing you with comfort despite the fact that you weren’t speaking. you begin to wash yourself carefully, starting with your hair, before landing on your body. you didn’t particularly want to clean yourself with men’s body wash, but you didn’t have much of an option, plus it was jimin’s, so you’d at least smell like him for a couple hours, and that thought alone made you feel completely full of love.

but you were missing something, a wash cloth.

“jimin do you mind grabbing me a wash cloth?” you ask through the curtain. you don’t hear a response from him, only the rustling of some drawers before you see his shadow approach the curtain.

you pull the side of it back slightly, and poke your head out to retrieve the towel, quickly realizing how close he was to the curtain, your faces only an inch apart as his eyes land on yours.

you’re unable to conjure any words, the closeness now feeling more intimate than you could’ve imagined, and you feel your core begin to tingle at the thought of his beautiful plump lips enclosing around yours.

you swallow the lump in your throat, your eyes tracing down his body and landing on his hand, which gripped the towel tightly, his knuckles white as opposed to the dark velvet of your boyfriend’s.

you bring your hand down, gliding it across his wrist gently as you note the subtle goosebumps that appear under his skin, before landing on the towel and slowly pulling it from his grip.

you bring your eyes back up to his, now slightly lidded as he looks down at you, his cheeks flushed and lips slightly parted.

it took nearly every bone in his body to keep from kissing you. he had always felt something special towards you, something he was never able to quite put his finger on. you were everything to him, his entire world, his best friend, his soulmate, but never once had you crossed the line and been anything else. you’d never even kissed each other, it was always strictly platonic. it was part of the reason why jimin always felt you had such a strong relationship, because you didn’t let your male-female instincts get involved. but right now, he wanted to cross the line, he wanted to show you what real love felt like, he wanted to ease all the pain in your body, take care of you in more ways than one. it was killing him.

you feel your cheeks blush as he brings a hand up to your face, his fingers cold as they run against your hot skin, the contrast quickly stirring something within your stomach.

“jimin.” your voice is a hushed whisper as you look up at him. you weren’t sure what you were begging for, whether or not you were begging at all. but you were overwhelmed with the tension between you too, it was more than you could bare.

he feels his dick twitch in his pants at the way you said his name, it was like an angel was stood before him, it would be almost sinful to now show you how much you meant to him.

his hand fully encloses around your cheek as he leans in gently, his eyes dancing between yours to look for any resistance, but he’s met with none. in fact, he notices how you gently lean in too, your eyes hooded as you feel your lips connect with one another, and just like that, everything else melts away.

his skin was cold against yours, his lips dry as yours were wet and warm, the contrast overwhelming you completely as you feel yourself fall into him. he brings his hand from your cheek to the back of your head, your wet hair tangling within his fingers as he pulls you deeper into the kiss, his tongue quickly swiping past your lips and into your mouth.

it was unlike any kiss you’d ever had, it wasn’t rough, in fact it was just the opposite; it was soothing. it felt like every wrongdoing you’d ever experienced in your life no longer existed, like you and jimin were the only two people on earth, like your souls were meeting together for the first time. it was pure passion, pure affection, pure love.

you moan gently into his mouth at his touch, his other hand slipping past the curtain and falling on your waist, rubbing gentle circles along your wet skin. your body was on fire, it was as if every move he made, every touch you felt was heightened, and you couldn’t get enough.

you bring your hands to his shirt, pulling him towards you, signaling for him to join you. jimin pulls away from the kiss slowly, his eyes falling on yours as you watch his lips turn a deeper shade of pink, his face slightly wet and shirt covered in small droplets of water as he looks at you deeply.

“are you sure?” his voice is velvety smooth as the words roll off his tongue, and unlike anything your boyfriend had asked of you, you knew jimin meant it.

you nod at him, feeling his hand fall from the back of your head back to your cheek as he gently rubs his fingers over the cuts and bruises, watching as you wince slightly from the pain.

his face turns slightly more serious now, his head tilting to the side and you know he’s worried about your mental and physical state. he’s a good man, and you loved that about him, but right now you wanted him to put his morals aside, just for tonight.

“im okay, i promise.” you reach up and grab his hand from your cheek reassuringly, and watch as he takes a step back from you before bringing his hands to the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head.

you admire the way his body is sculpted perfectly. of course you had seen him shirtless before, but never like this. it almost made him look more attractive in your eyes, and you found yourself noticing small freckles and moles you hadn’t noticed before, it was like your eyes were opening to what had been in front of you all along.

he brings his hands to the button of his jeans before looking up at you, his eyes silently signaling for you to turn around, and you roll yours in response before shutting the curtain and returning to your warm enclosure, hearing the sounds of his zipper and his pants being tossed carelessly off his legs somewhere in the background.

you close your eyes as you feel the water run down your chest and over your stomach, relishing in the tranquility of the situation for just a moment, until you hear the curtain pull back slowly, and small patter of his feet hitting the water before he joins in behind you.

you keep your eyes shut, your hands running through your hair as you allow the water to explore your face, running along the cuts and scrapes carefully, as if not to hurt you. and after what feels like hours, you feel a pair of hands land on your waist, rubbing gentle circles along your skin.

it feels like heaven, even the slightest touch from him is enough to overwhelm you completely.

you hear him take a step closer to you, his breath hot against your neck as leans down and places gentle kisses against your shoulder, lulling your head back against his chest.

“you’re so beautiful.” his voice is whispered as he continues to kiss up and down your shoulder before stopping at your neck. you feel your heart skip a beat as he breaths into the sensitive crook, almost as if he’s restraining himself, holding back. you bring your hand up to the back his head and pull him down into your neck, allowing him to roam free of your body, and he does just that. gently sucking and kissing every patch of skin he can find. it was completely different than what you were used to. your boyfriend was always so rough, marking you, bruising you in any way he possible could, but jimin was different, every touch, every kiss was deliberate, intricate, passionate. everything you could’ve ever dreamed of.

you can’t help the moans that slip past your lips as his hands begin to wander around your body, exploring your stomach, hips and waist, all while burying himself into your neck. it’s almost too much to bare.

you take a step backwards, now fully pressed against him as you feel his hard on slide up your back, earning a deep groan from him into your neck. you smile to yourself as you feel his movements become more needy, before finally landing between your legs. he stops for a moment, his hand trailing up your thighs as he waits for any signs of resistance, but you only spread them slightly to allow him better access.

he starts small, easy, bringing a finger up to your folds and tracing them carefully, watching as you moan and twist your body in response. to which he dives between your folds, taking his time on your clit, rubbing torturous circles on your bundle of nerves before falling down to your hole, prodding it gently as he watches your body melt against him.

he uses his other hand to move your hair to the other side of your neck, allowing him better access to your skin as he sinks his head closer to your ear.

“are you sure about this?” his voice is so sweet, so gentle, barely a whisper as he places another kiss on your neck, circling your hole gently and noticing the distinct difference between your slick and the wetness of the shower.

you nod again, not able to audibly respond as you feel overwhelmed with need and pleasure.

“gonna need you to use your words, love.” he begins to circle your cunt slower now, placing another gentle kiss behind your ear as he brings his other hand down to your hip, holding you against him in a way that’s firm, but still gentle.

you nod again, “im sure, jimin.”

he scans your face again for any signs of discomfort, but doesn’t notice anything, he only notices the way your eyebrows crease together the slower he plays with your cunt, the way your butt instinctively wiggles against his dick, and the way your legs subconsciously spread for him the closer and closer he gets to your entrance.

he smiles to himself before placing another kiss on your neck as he slowly inserts the first finger.

you feel a moan slip past your lips as his digit stretches you out carefully, slipping past your entrance with ease as he quickly lands on your g-spot, curling his fingers perfectly to release another moan from your throat.

you allow your head to fall against his chest again as he places another kiss on your shoulder, his other hand steadying you against him as he sets on a tireless but gentle pace within your cunt.

you feel like he’s kissing every wound you’ve ever felt, even with his fingers as you allow yourself to completely and fully submit yourself to him. you trusted him more than anyone else in this world, even in such a vulnerable state you knew he’d never do anything to hurt you.

“there you go, shhh it’s okay, im here now, i’ve got you.” he mumbles into your neck as he watches you come undone completely, fully falling into his grasp as he works his skillful fingers in and out of your cunt. you feel your legs shake gently at the knot building within your stomach, something you hadn’t felt in a very long time. in any other scenario you would be embarrassed by how quickly you began to reach your high, but not right now, not with him.

he notices how your legs begin to shake, how your moans begin to get louder and breathing increases, and he knows you’re getting close. as much as he wants to torture you, make you beg to cum, throw you over his leg and finger you until you can’t breathe anymore, he knows that what you need right now is relaxation. and if that means making you cum as many times as you want, he’s more than willing to oblige.

“close, baby?” he rasps against your ear, wrapping an arm around your stomach to better stabilize you as he continues to finger you, curling the single digit occasionally to only further your high.

you nod your head aggressively, getting lost in the way he feels, the way he talks, the feeling of the water against your chest, his dick poking your back slightly, his arm around your waist, and with the final curl of his finger, you feel yourself come undone completely.

you double over, your upper half only being held up by his arm around your waist as you tighten around his finger, pulling and pushing him out simultaneously as moans and hushed nothings spill from your lips.

“that’s it, good girl, good girl baby.” he praises, pulling his finger out of you and pulling your upper body back against him as he allows the water to run over your face and chest, bringing his hand up to your hair to push it out of your eyes gently, doing anything he can to soothe you during the intense wave of feelings.

you allow your breathing to stabilize as you relax against him, your legs shaking gently as you feel the water rush over you.

before you’re able to respond, you feel him lean in front of you, wrapping his hand against the knob and turning the water off.

you turn to face him, looking confused. “i-i wasn’t done.” your voice still shaking slightly from your interaction.

he shoots you a look, but still holds a slight smile on his face. “let’s be honest baby, you wouldn’t have been able to get anything done after that anyway.” you’re unable to gather a response as he begins helping you out of the shower, wrapping the towel around your body to dry you before carefully pulling the shirt over your head and body.

you stop for a moment, your eyes trailing down from his wet messy hair, to his chest, down to his perfectly pink throbbing cock.

you reach towards it, grabbing the head gently and watch as his knees buckle in response before quickly looking up at you and grabbing your hand, pulling it off carefully.

“don’t.” he shoots you a look, his voice sounding more serious than normal as he begins to dry himself off now, his eyes peaking through his hair occasionally and you admire how perfectly made he was. everything down to the very last detail, how could someone be so perfect?

“i want to.” you mumble, your eyes never leaving his.

“no you don’t, not tonight.” he breaks the eye contact as he puts the towel on a hook to dry, picking up his clothes from earlier and putting them back on.

“no, i do.” you take a step closer, placing a hand on his to stop his movements, pulling the clothes from his grip and dropping them back on the floor.

he looks at you for a moment, realizing your seriousness, and he knows he’ll only be able to restrain his desires for so long. without a response, he turns around and opens the door, walking back to his room as you hear him fumbling with some clothes in the closet as you quickly follow suit.

“you won’t hurt me, im okay.” you say popping into the room quickly. but still, no response.

he throws a clean shirt over his head and a pair of boxers over his legs as he faces the closet. you walk up behind him, admiring his shoulders for a moment before wrapping your arms around his waist and leaning your head against his back.

you’re still for a moment, allowing yourself to relish in the moment, in his scent, he doesn’t respond, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable, it never is with the two of you. you’re about to close your eyes when you feel him quickly turn around, his hands finding your cheeks as he attaches his lips to yours, the kiss much more heated than it was earlier as he backs you up towards the bed, laying you down on your back, but his lips never once faltering.

he pulls away to carefully observe your expression, which although surprised, is not upset. he examines the marks on your face one last time, before watching you nod your head reassuringly, this was something you wanted, and you knew he wanted it too.

he leans off the bed, pulling his boxers down swiftly as his cock springs free once more, and he returns to his place above you, a hand going in between the two of you as he aligns his cock with your entrance.

he brings the head between your folds, rubbing it up and down, collecting as much wetness as he can before stopping on your clit and pressing against it gently.

you moan in response, feeling more desperate than ever as he brings his cock back down to your hole, carefully nudging it and watching as your face contorts with pleasure.

“promise me this is what you want.” his eyes scan your face, dancing between your eyes as you nod your head in agreement, bringing a hand up to his cheek to stroke it gently.

“i promise.”

he leans down to kiss you, his lips feverish as he pushes his cock inside of you slowly, allowing your walls to stretch around his girth. you moan into the kiss, the feeling of his cock filling you up making your head spin with pleasure.

he continues to swallow your moans before bottoming out completely, his head nudging perfectly against your g spot as he adjusts his hips, rubbing against it teasingly, making you squeal out of sensitivity.

jimin pulls away from the kiss, looking down at your perfect face before leaning down and kissing the marks along your cheeks gently. he pulls his hips back as he begins to fall on a perfect pace, not too slow but not too fast.

“let me make it better.” his voice is almost a beg as he continues to kiss your cheek, one hand steadying himself by your head while the other holds your hip firmly in place.

you can’t help the noises that leave your body, the pleasure completely consuming you between his praises, and the way his cock perfectly fits inside of you.

“jimin.” you moan, your breath hot as he pulls back from your face and dives into the crook of your neck, continuing to place gentle kisses along your skin as his hips keep their pace perfectly.

your hands land to his hair, gripping it tightly as he works his magic on you. it was almost euphoric. the feeling of his cock stretching you out, the perfect words falling from his perfect lips, the trail of wet kisses along your body, it was pure bliss, and it was more than just sex. he wasn’t fucking you, you were making love.

he pulls away from your neck, his eyes landing on yours as his hips begin to roll into you, your eyes falling to the back of your head as he watches your face contort with pleasure.

“doing so well, baby. so perfect for me.” his praises shoot straight to your core as you feel another knot begin to build in your stomach. you wrap your legs around his waist, angling his cock directly into your g-spot as the pressure begins to build deeper and deeper, causing your moans to only increase in volume.

jimin carefully brings a hand up to your mouth, muffling your moans as his hips move faster.

“as beautiful as you sound, i still live in an apartment, baby.” he chuckles, feeling your breathing against his hand increase as you approach your second high of the night.

you feel your legs begin to shake again as you tighten their hold around his waist, causing his hips to stutter gently, the feeling of your walls constricting around him only making it harder for him to hold back.

“fuck, you’re close again, aren’t you?” he looks down at you, your eyes half shut as he removes his hand from your mouth to allow you to respond, but still, you only moan and nod your head in return.

“okay baby, it’s okay.” he says soothingly as he brings his now free hand between you to land on your clit, rubbing circles around it as his pace increases more now, watching as you begin to writhe in pleasure beneath him. he can feel how close you are, the way you tighten around him, the way your legs shake gently, and it’s only pushing him closer to the edge.

“fuck you’re gonna make me cum.” he groans, ducking his head into the crook of your neck as he ruts into you, feeling your walls constrict one last time as you release onto him, his cock now soaked with your juices as your body flinches beneath him.

his hips stutter for a moment at the feeling of you tightening around him again, and he barely has enough time to pull out of you before painting your stomach white. he would do anything to cum inside of you, coat your walls with his seed but he would save it for another time.

he collapses on top of you, both of your bodies heaving and sweaty as you hold each other close, the feeling of your breathing against each other being the most intimate moment of the night.

he pulls his head back to admire you for a moment, your cheeks flushed, your body panting, his cum perfectly scattered on your stomach, before quickly running off and grabbing a towel, returning as soon as he can to clean you off properly.

he pulls your shirt down over your body before laying down beside you and pulling you towards him, your bodies now meshed together perfectly as you fit into one another, your breathing still somewhat quick as you come down from what was probably the most intense moment of your life.

he looks down at you, a small smile on his face as he realizes he might’ve made your decision to leave your boyfriend a little easier knowing you had someone who actually loved you, and wanted to take care of you in any way he could.

he begins to draw small patterns on your arm, holding you close as he allows you to drift off into sleep on his chest, staring at the ceiling as he listens to your breathing slow and small snores escape your lips.

you felt yourself melt instantly, “hi."

his thumb brushed your cheek, "good day?"

"i got a ninety-eight on my statistics final."

jungkook gasped dramatically.

"what happened to the other two points?"

you burst out laughing, "jungkook!"

"i'm serious."

he started pulling out of the parking spot.

"this is unlike you."

you rolled your eyes.

"i knew you were going to say that."

"i'm disappointed."

he shook his head solemnly.

"i expected perfection."

you reached over and smacked his arm lightly.

he laughed. the sound filled the car, warm and easy. you loved hearing him laugh.

for a while, neither of you said much. the drive had become one of your favorite parts of the day. just existing together. watching the city pass by outside.

his hand resting on your thigh whenever he stopped at a red light.  small things. domestic things. the kind of things that made your heart ache.

jungkook glanced over at you.

then glanced again.

then a third time.

you caught him.

"what?"

"nothing."

"you're staring."

his grip tightened slightly on the steering wheel.

"you looked really pretty today."

your stomach flipped. he said things like that all the time now. somehow they never got old.

"thank you."

"that blue sweater,” he shook his head, "nearly ruined my lecture."

you laughed so hard you snorted.

jungkook immediately looked delighted.

"there she is."

"stop."

"no." he grinned, "that was cute."

you covered your face. he looked unbearably pleased with himself.

by the time you reached his apartment, both of you were smiling. jungkook carried your bag upstairs before you could protest. when he unlocked the door, you walked inside first and immediately felt that familiar warmth.

his apartment had started feeling like a second home. your slippers sat by the couch. your favorite mug was in his cabinet. a sweater you'd forgotten weeks ago was draped over one of his dining chairs. little pieces of yourself everywhere. 

he noticed you looking around. his expression softened. he set your backpack down.

then wrapped his arms around your waist from behind.

"what are you thinking about?"

you leaned back into him.

"nothing."

"liar."

you smiled.

"it just feels nice here."

his chin settled on your shoulder.

"yeah?"

you nodded.

"yeah."

jungkook was quiet for a moment.

then he pressed a kiss against your temple.

slow.

careful.

like he wanted you to remember it.

"good."

you turned in his arms. looked up at him. he looked happy. not nervous. not overwhelmed. not worried about saying the wrong thing. just happy.

and maybe that was your favorite version of him. you reached up and fixed a strand of hair that had fallen across his forehead. his eyes softened instantly.

"what?"

you smiled.

"nothing."

he laughed quietly.

"you've been spending too much time with me."

and then he kissed your forehead. like he couldn't help himself. like loving you had become as natural as breathing.

you smiled against his chest. for a moment, neither of you moved. the apartment was quiet.

the kind of silence that only existed between people who knew each other well. jungkook's arms tightened around your waist slightly.

"what?" you asked.

"nothing."

you immediately narrowed your eyes.

"that's exactly what i say."

"i know."

he looked entirely too pleased about that.

you groaned.

"you're impossible."

"and yet."

"and yet i like you."

his expression softened so quickly it made your chest ache.

even now, months into your relationship, he still reacted to affection like he wasn't entirely used to receiving it. you could tell every time in the way his eyes lingered. the way he got quiet. the way he looked at you like your words mattered more than anyone else's. his hand came up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. such a small gesture. he did it constantly, like he couldn't stand anything blocking his view of you.

"come here," he murmured.

you laughed.

"i'm already here."

"closer."

"jungkook."

"closer."

you shook your head, smiling, but stepped forward anyway.

immediately satisfied, he wrapped his arms around you again.

"there."

"you're needy."

"i've accepted that."

you laughed into his shoulder.

he wasn't even embarrassed anymore. when you first started dating, he had tried so hard to seem composed. now he openly admitted things. that he missed you. that he thought about you all day. that seeing your name on his phone made his mood improve instantly. that he slept better when you were beside him.

it was one of your favorite things about him. how honest he became when he loved someone. you tilted your head back to look at him.

"you know something?"

"what?"

"you're very clingy."

jungkook considered that.

then nodded.

"probably."

you burst out laughing.

"probably?"

"i waited a long time for you."

your smile faded into something softer. he said things like that sometimes. completely sincere. completely unguarded.  every time it made your heart melt. his thumb brushed your cheek.

"i like taking care of you."

your stomach fluttered.

"i know."

"and i like that you let me."

his voice was quieter now, more vulnerable. you understood what he meant. jungkook loved making sure you got home safely. remembered to eat, remembered to sleep. he always carried the heavy things. always walked on the outside of the sidewalk. always checked if you needed anything.

it wasn't obligation. he genuinely enjoyed it because every act of care seemed to say the same thing.

he loved you.

you reached up and touched his face gently.

"i like taking care of you too."

he smiled immediately, completely gone for you.

"yeah?"

"yeah."

you brushed your thumb over his cheek.

"someone has to remind you to stop grading papers at two in the morning."

he laughed.

"fair."

"and someone has to remind you to eat lunch."

"also fair."

"and someone has to stop you from buying twenty books every time you enter a bookstore."

"okay."

he pointed at you.

"that one felt personal."

you giggled.

jungkook leaned down and rested his forehead against yours.

"i love you."

the words came easily now. you never got tired of hearing them. your heart still did the same little flip every time.

"i love you too."

his smile was immediate. boyish, adorable.

and for a second he just stood there holding you in the middle of his apartment. looking at you like you were still the best thing that had ever happened to him.

because, to him, you were.

••••

the first warning sign should have been the stack of papers.

jungkook walked into his apartment carrying a cardboard box so full of essays that a few nearly spilled onto the floor. you immediately stood up from the couch.

"oh my god."

he laughed tiredly.

"i know."

"what is that?"

"my nightmare."

you giggled.

he set the box down beside the dining table and immediately wrapped his arms around your waist.

"hi."

his voice softened the second he touched you. you melted against him.

"hi."

he kissed your forehead. then your cheek. then the corner of your mouth. he had missed you all day.

"i missed you."

"i missed you too."

for a moment, everything felt normal. then his eyes drifted toward the box. you saw it happen. saw the guilt immediately flash across his face.

"i have to grade those tonight."

you looked at the mountain of papers.

"all of them?"

"hopefully."

you winced.

"jungkook."

he groaned.

"i know."

that night he sat at the dining table until nearly one in the morning. you fell asleep on the couch waiting for him. when you woke up, a blanket was draped over you. jungkook was still grading, glasses slipping down his nose, red pen in hand, half asleep. your heart hurt.

"baby."

he looked up immediately, softening the second he saw you.

"what are you doing awake?"

"come to bed."

he glanced at the essays.

then back at you. you already knew what his answer would be.

"just another hour."

it became his favorite phrase. just another hour.

 just another paper.

just another meeting.

just another deadline.

just another week.

•••••

a few days later, he cancelled dinner. it wasn't even really cancelling. he genuinely looked devastated. you were standing in his office doorway while he frantically typed an email. his desk looked worse than usual. books everywhere. journal articles. sticky notes. half-empty coffee cups. he looked exhausted.

"i'm sorry."

he sounded miserable.

"they moved the faculty review meeting."

you immediately felt guilty for being disappointed. he looked more upset than you did.

"it's okay."

he frowned.

"no."

his eyes finally lifted from the screen. his glasses slid down the bridge of his nose.

"it's not."

you smiled anyway. what else could you do?

"we can do dinner tomorrow."

relief flooded his face.

"yeah?"

"yeah."

he stood up and crossed the room. immediately pulling you into his arms. burying his face in your hair.

"thank you."

you laughed softly.

"for what?"

"for being patient with me."

your smile faltered slightly.

you hadn't needed patience before.

•••••

the first-year review arrived like a storm. suddenly it was all he talked about. student evaluations. research output. publication goals. department expectations. you listened to every word. encouraged him. helped him practice presentations. proofread drafts. brought him coffee.

he always looked grateful. he always kissed you. he always told you he loved you. but he wasn't really here anymore. his body was. his mind wasn't.

one night you found him asleep at his kitchen table. his laptop was still open. his glasses were crooked. a yellow highlighter trapped beneath his hand. you stood there quietly watching him, your chest tightening.

he looked so tired. so overwhelmed. the sight made your heart break

standing there in the dark room, you realized something.

you missed him. terribly. you missed the version of jungkook who stopped in the middle of sentences because he was staring at you. you missed the version who texted you every twenty minutes. the version who couldn't keep his hands off you.

every day, he was drifting a little farther away.

the worst part came two weeks later. you were sitting beside him on the couch, curled against his side, your favorite movie playing. he had promised this would be a real date night.

no grading. no work. no emails. just you.

twenty minutes in, you looked over. his eyes were closed. you smiled. thinking he was resting.

until you realized he wasn't watching the movie. he was asleep. completely asleep. his head tilted toward yours. mouth slightly open. utterly exhausted.

you stared at him for a long moment. then quietly reached for the remote.

you turned the television off and sat there in silence, letting him sleep against your shoulder.

••••

you didn’t mean to surprise him.

that was a lie.

you absolutely meant to. you had his spare key. you had used it before, but never like this. never with your stomach twisting nervously the entire drive over.

you knew he was still at work. still buried beneath papers and meetings and deadlines. so you let yourself into his apartment just after sunset.

it already smelled like him. fresh laundry. coffee. the sandalwood candle he always forgot to blow out after using.

you stood in his bedroom for almost ten minutes before changing. staring at the shopping bag sitting on his bed.

it was the lingerie he had bought you months ago. jungkook had practically turned pink when he gifted it. he had tried so hard to act casual. failed miserably. he spent the rest of the day looking embarrassed every time you brought it up. you smiled at the memory as you changed slowly.

the outfit wasn't outrageous. that wasn't really your style, and jungkook hated trashy. this was soft, pretty.

cream-colored satin with delicate lace trim. something that looked more romantic than provocative. the kind of thing that made you feel beautiful rather than bold. the kind of thing that made you feel like his.

you refreshed your hair. reapplied your lip gloss. looked at yourself one final time.

you immediately got nervous.

what were you doing?

you were supposed to be the responsible one. the smart girl. the girl who color-coded her notes.

not the girl waiting in her boyfriend's bedroom trying to seduce him. your cheeks burned.

then you thought about the past few weeks. the late nights. the cancelled dates. the endless stacks of papers.

the way you had started missing him even when you were sitting right beside him. and suddenly your courage returned.

because this wasn't really about sex. not entirely. you just wanted him back for just one night. you wanted his attention. his smile. his touch.

you wanted him to look at you the way he used to.

like you were the only thing in the room. you wanted a friday night together—no grading, no faculty meetings, no student evaluations.

just him, you, and a little intimacy.

you missed him. that was the truth. you missed your boyfriend. you missed the version of him that couldn't stop staring at you without the weight of responsibility. 

so you waited, curled up on top of his comforter, heart racing every time you checked the clock.

finally, the front door unlocked.

your breath caught.

keys hit the bowl by the door.

you heard him sigh. 

"baby?" he called.

silence.

then footsteps.

closer.

closer.

the bedroom doorway filled with his frame.

he froze. his eyes widened. for a second he just stared, taking you in.

the outfit.

the effort.

the nervous smile you were trying to maintain.

his expression softened instantly. it was filled with so much affection it almost hurt.

"baby..."

his voice came out rough.

you smiled, suddenly shy.

"hi."

for one beautiful second you thought it worked. his entire face lit up the way it always did when he saw you.

then you watched reality set back in. his laptop bag was still hanging from his shoulder. his phone was buzzing inside his pocket. exhaustion sat behind his eyes.

stress, deadlines—all of it crashed back over him.

his smile faltered just slightly. your heart sank immediately. you knew that look. he wanted to be here. he just wasn't. not completely. not anymore.

"baby..."

jungkook stepped farther into the room, setting his laptop bag down near the dresser. his eyes never left you. they lingered on the cream satin, the delicate lace, the effort. on you.

you watched his throat bob.

"you look beautiful."

the compliment was immediate. honest.

it almost made it worse.

you smiled anyway.

"thank you."

for a moment, neither of you moved.

he looked at you the way he always did. like you were something precious. something worth protecting. his gaze softened as he stepped closer and took your hands in his.

his thumbs brushed over your knuckles.

"i missed you today."

you laughed quietly.

"i saw you four hours ago."

"that's still too long."

normally, a line like that would have made your entire week.

today, it only made the knot in your chest tighten because you could already see where this was going.

his eyes drifted toward the hallway.

toward the office.

toward the work waiting for him.

then back to you again.

conflict flashed across his face.

guilt.

frustration.

want.

all at once.

"jungkook."

he immediately looked miserable.

"don't."

"i didn't say anything."

"i know what you're about to say."

he dragged a hand through his hair, making it even messier than it already was.

"i'm sorry."

there it was.

the phrase you had started hearing more than i love you.

you looked down at your joined hands.

"you don't have to apologize."

"yes, i do."

his voice was quiet.

he squeezed your fingers.

"i know why you're here."

heat crept into your cheeks.

"do you?"

a small smile appeared on his face.

sad.

fond.

completely gone for you.

"you've never been subtle a day in your life."

despite yourself, you laughed.

he smiled too.

for a second it felt like everything was normal again.

then his phone buzzed.

the sound seemed to physically pain him.

jungkook closed his eyes.

you could practically hear him counting to ten.

when he opened them again, the guilt was back.

stronger this time.

"i have to finish these evaluations tonight."

you nodded.

"okay."

"baby."

"it's okay."

"it's not okay."

he looked devastated.

"i know i keep saying that."

you swallowed.

because he did.

he kept saying it.

and somehow that made it harder.

if he had been dismissive, you could have gotten angry.

if he had stopped caring, you could have hated him.

instead, he looked heartbroken every single time.

like he was disappointing himself too.

he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around your waist.

immediately pulling you against him.

you buried your face in his chest.

he smelled like coffee.

paper.

home.

you almost started crying right then.

"just a few more weeks," he murmured into your hair.

the same promise.

again.

just a few more weeks.

just a little longer.

just until the next deadline.

the next review.

the next meeting.

you wondered if he even realized how many times he'd said it.

"i know."

your voice sounded smaller than usual.

he leaned down and kissed your forehead.

then your temple.

then your cheek.

lingering each time.

like he was trying to make up for something.

"why don't you get comfortable?" he said softly. "i'll finish up and then i'll come to bed."

you smiled.

the kind of smile that took effort.

"okay."

he looked relieved.

which made you feel guilty immediately.

because he thought everything was fine.

he kissed your forehead one last time before disappearing into the hallway.

seconds later, you heard the familiar sounds.

setting his bag down.

his chair dragging across the floor.

the click of his lights.

then typing.

immediate typing.

like he had been pulled right back into another world.

the apartment fell silent again.

except for that.

you stood alone in the middle of his bedroom.

the excitement you'd carried all day slowly draining out of you.

you looked down at yourself.

at the outfit.

at the careful makeup.

the nervous anticipation.

you had spent hours getting ready.

hours imagining the look on his face when he walked through that door.

imagining him forgetting about the papers.

forgetting about the deadlines.

forgetting about everything except you.

your chest tightened.

before you could stop it, tears burned behind your eyes.

no.

you immediately blinked them back.

absolutely not.

jungkook couldn't see this.

he couldn't hear this.

he was already drowning in guilt.

the last thing he needed was this.

you quickly crossed the room and slipped into his bathroom, quietly shutting the door behind you.

the moment the lock clicked, your composure cracked.

your hand flew to your mouth.

a small sound escaped before you could stop it.

you sat down on the edge of the bathtub and stared at the floor.

tears slid silently down your cheeks.

you felt ridiculous.

he loved you.

you knew he loved you.

he wasn't rejecting you.

he wasn't losing interest.

he wasn't choosing someone else.

he was working, that was all.

so why did it feel like your heart was breaking anyway?

another tear slipped free.

then another.

you wiped them away quickly.

carefully.

making sure you didn't ruin your makeup.

making sure there wouldn't be any evidence.

because when jungkook finally came to bed hours later, exhausted and apologetic and still completely in love with you, you already knew what you were going to do.

you were going to smile.

curl into his arms.

and pretend everything was okay.

the next morning, you were softer. too soft.

you woke up before him, curled into his side in bed, watching him sleep for a few quiet minutes.

his face looked calmer like this.

unguarded.

you traced the edge of his jaw with your finger, just barely touching him, and he instinctively leaned into it even in sleep.

that alone made something warm bloom in your chest.

when he finally woke up, he reached for you immediately.

like muscle memory.

“good morning,” he mumbled, voice rough.

“good morning,” you whispered back.

he kissed you without thinking.

slow.

sleepy.

automatic.

and for a second, everything felt normal again.

you clung to that second harder than you should’ve.

••••

it took jungkook a while to notice any changes.

he was exhausted and busy. the end of his first year had his bosses watching him—his research, his student evaluations, faculty meetings, and grading finals had become unbearable even with the help of a TA. 

something had begun to shift inside you.

you started small.

he told himself it was nothing.

just little things.

things that didn’t mean anything.

at first, it was just mentioning people.

casual.

light.

“one of the guys in my class offered to help me print my project,” you said over facetime one night.

jungkook barely looked up from his laptop.

“mm. that’s nice.”

“he’s really helpful.”

“good.”

just that.

good.

no change in tone.

no shift in expression.

you kept eating your chips.

but your appetite disappeared halfway through.

the next time, it was more deliberate.

you stayed after class talking to one of the students who always lingered around your desk.

he was funny.

easy to talk to.

he laughed at your jokes a little too long.

you didn’t really notice.

or you did, but only in the vaguest way.

something harmless.

something you didn’t think about twice.

when jungkook passed by the lecture hall later that day, he saw it.

you laughing.

your head tilted slightly toward the student.

the way he nudged your shoulder.

your hands resting on the edge of your desk while you talked like you had nowhere else to be.

like you weren’t waiting for him.

he stopped walking for half a second.

then kept going.

that night, you told him about it.

“he reminds me of you a little,” you said lightly.

jungkook paused.

just slightly.

then looked at you.

“what?”

you shrugged.

“just… the way he explains things. he’s very patient.”

“mm.”

the sound wasn’t neutral. it was flat.

you didn’t notice.

you were too busy watching his face for a reaction that didn’t come.

the shift didn’t happen in one moment.

it happened in pieces.

you laughed a little louder in public when other people were around him.

you let your phone stay open a little longer when you were sitting beside him, like you were waiting for something more interesting than the conversation.

you started sitting slightly farther away on the couch.

not enough to be obvious.

just enough to make him notice something was different.

and he did notice.

he always noticed you.

but he didn’t say anything at first.

because he thought it was him.

he thought he was still failing you. that he was still not present enough.

so he tried harder in other ways.

he brought you coffee again.

your favorite.

he left earlier from work one day just to have dinner with you.

he canceled a meeting.

you smiled so brightly when he told you that he almost felt relief.

almost.

but the thing that finally changed something in him wasn’t another student.

it was you.

one afternoon, you were getting ready for class and he was sitting on the edge of the bed grading.

you were on your phone, smiling at something.

soft.

distracted.

and you didn’t look at him.

not once.

not even when he said your name.

“baby.”

no response.

“angel?”

still nothing.

he watched you for a moment longer.

then said quietly,

“who are you talking to?”

you blinked up, like you’d forgotten he was there.

“oh—no one. just a friend.”

a friend.

simple.

harmless.

but something in his chest tightened anyway.

you went back to your phone.

smiling again.

and jungkook realized something that didn’t make sense at first.

you weren’t pulling away from him.

you were… looking elsewhere.

not leaving.

just drifting.

like you were testing whether his attention could still find you if you stopped standing directly in front of it.

he closed his laptop slowly.

watched you a little longer.

and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t go back to work immediately.

the first time jungkook saw it happen in person, he was walking past the lecture hall after his last class had ended. he was supposed to be heading to a meeting, but he'd decided to stop by and see if you wanted a ride home.

then he saw it.

you were standing by your desk, leaning slightly toward another student. this guy was tall, lanky, with messy hair that fell into his eyes as he laughed at something you'd said. you were smiling too, that bright, genuine smile that jungkook thought was reserved for him.

your hand brushed against the other student's arm as you pointed to something on your laptop. just a light touch. casual. meaningless.

except it wasn't meaningless.

jungkook stopped walking.

stood there for a full ten seconds like an idiot.

the student said something that made you laugh again, tilting your head back slightly. the way you always did when you found something genuinely funny.

the student's eyes lingered on your neck.

jungkook's jaw tightened.

he didn't move until you finally gathered your things, said goodbye to the student, and started walking toward the door. by the time you saw him, he'd already composed his face into something resembling neutral.

"jungkook!" you looked surprised, then pleased. "i thought you had a meeting."

"it got cancelled," he lied smoothly. "thought i'd see if you wanted to come over."

your smile widened. "always."

but as you walked toward him, you glanced back over your shoulder at the lecture hall. at the student who was still watching you leave.

something ugly twisted in jungkook's chest.

••••

he was quiet on the drive home.

not the comfortable quiet you were used to. this was different. tense. heavy.

you noticed immediately.

"tired?" you asked, reaching over to rest your hand on his thigh.

his muscles tensed under your touch.

"a little."

that was it.

no teasing. no jokes. no reaching over to squeeze your hand back.

you pulled your hand back slowly.

the silence stretched.

you tried again.

"how was your day?"

"fine."

another dead end.

you stared out the window, confusion settling in your stomach. this wasn't like him. even when he was exhausted, he was still jungkook. still warm, still affectionate, still yours.

this person driving you home felt like a stranger.

when you got to his apartment, he didn't hold your hand. didn't wrap his arm around your waist. just unlocked the door and stepped aside to let you in first.

you walked inside, heart sinking.

he followed you in, dropping his keys on the counter with a clatter that made you jump.

"jungkook?"

he turned to look at you, and something in his expression made your breath catch. it wasn't anger, not exactly. it was darker. more complicated.

"who was that guy?"

you blinked. "what guy?"

"in your class. the one you were talking to."

oh.

you relaxed slightly. "oh, that's just yeonjun. he's in my study group. he was helping me with the formatting on my presentation."

jungkook's eyes didn't soften. "yeonjun."

the way he said the name made it sound like something dirty.

"yeah," you said, suddenly feeling defensive. "he's nice."

"nice," jungkook repeated, taking a step closer. "is that why he was looking at you like that?"

"like what?" you asked, genuinely confused.

"like he wanted to eat you alive."

your cheeks flushed. "jungkook, that's not—he doesn't—"

"doesn't he?" he was right in front of you now, close enough that you had to tilt your head back to look at him. his eyes were dark, intense. "you really don't see it, do you?"

"see what?"

"the way he looks at you. the way they all look at you."

"they don't—" you started, but he cut you off.

"they do." his voice was low, rough. "they look at you like you're something they can have. like you're available."

"i'm not," you whispered, heart pounding.

"no," he agreed, reaching up to cup your face. his thumb brushed over your lower lip. "you're not."

his hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair. not gently. possessively.

before you could react, his mouth was on yours.

this wasn't like your usual kisses. not sweet, not soft, not careful. this was hungry. demanding. a claiming.

his other hand gripped your hip, pulling you flush against him. you could feel how hard he was already, how much he wanted you.

it should have scared you.

instead, it made something inside you light up.

he'd been distant for weeks. working constantly. barely present. but this—this was the jungkook you missed. the one who wanted you so desperately it hurt.

you kissed him back just as fiercely, hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

he groaned against your mouth, backing you toward the bedroom until your legs hit the edge of the bed. you fell back, pulling him with you.

he pinned you down on the bed before you could even catch your breath, his body heavy and warm as it pressed you into the mattress. one large hand wrapped around both your wrists, lifting them above your head and holding them there with a grip that left no room for squirming. his other hand stayed at your hip, fingers digging in just enough to remind you exactly who you belonged to.

"look at me," he said, voice low and strict. his eyes were darker than you'd ever seen them, jaw tight. "you think it's cute, letting other boys touch you? laughing at their stupid jokes like that?"

you shook your head quickly, cheeks already burning. "n-no, jungkook… i didn't—"

"shh." he leaned down, nose brushing yours. "don't lie to me, angel. i saw you. saw the way you let him put his hands on what's mine."

his tone dripped with condescension, but the way he said "angel" still made your stomach flutter. you whimpered softly, body going pliant under him immediately. you always did. anything to make him happy, to earn that praise you craved so badly.

"i'm sorry," you whispered, voice sweet and small. "i wasn't thinking. i only want you."

jungkook's eyes softened just a fraction, but the dominance stayed. "that's right. you only want me. and yet you still let him look at you like he could have you." he shifted his weight, knee pressing between your thighs to spread them wider. "my sweet girl. so eager to please anyone who smiles at you, huh?"

you nodded before you could stop yourself, then shook your head again, embarrassed. the mix of shame and heat pooling low in your belly made you ache.

he chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against your chest. "such a good little thing for me, aren't you? look at you… already trembling and i haven't even touched you properly yet."

his free hand slid under the hem of your shirt, pushing it up slowly, deliberately. he took his time, eyes devouring every inch of skin he revealed. when he tugged the fabric over your head and off your arms—still keeping your wrists pinned—he let out a low hum of approval.

"pretty," he murmured, almost to himself. "so fucking pretty. and all mine."

you arched into his touch when his palm skimmed over your stomach, up to your chest. he cupped one breast through your bra, thumb brushing over the lace until your nipple hardened. a soft, needy sound escaped you.

"that's it," he praised, voice dripping with that condescending sweetness that made your head fuzzy. "making those cute little noises for me already. my good girl. you love when i get strict with you, don't you? love knowing i'll put you back in your place."

you bit your lip and nodded, eyes glassy with want. "yes… please."

he leaned down and kissed you hard, possessive, biting at your lower lip before soothing it with his tongue. when he pulled back, he finally released your wrists—but only so he could reach behind you and unhook your bra. he stripped it off and tossed it aside, then pinned your wrists again right away.

"keep them there," he ordered. "don't move them unless i say so."

you obeyed instantly, fingers curling into the sheets above your head. he rewarded you with another kiss, slower this time, and a trail of kisses down your neck. his mouth closed over one nipple, sucking gently at first, then harder, while his hand worked the other. every flick of his tongue pulled little gasps and whimpers from you.

"so sensitive tonight," he murmured against your skin, nipping lightly. "all worked up from trying to get my attention? or were you thinking about that boy touching you like this?"

"no," you gasped, shaking your head fast. "only you, jungkook. only ever you."

he hummed, sounding pleased. "good. because if i ever see his hands on you again…" his teeth grazed your skin, just enough to sting sweetly. "i'll remind you exactly who you belong to. understood?"

"yes," you breathed, thighs pressing around his knee. "i'm yours."

he sat up a little, hands roaming lower now. he slid down the zipper on your skirt and dragged them down your legs along with your panties, leaving you completely bare beneath him. his gaze dragged over you slowly, dark and hungry.

"look at my pretty girl," he cooed, voice thick. one hand stroked up your thigh, thumb brushing dangerously close to where you needed him most. "so wet already just from being pinned down and told who you belong to. such a sweet little thing for me."

you whimpered at the praise, hips twitching up toward his hand. he tsked softly, pressing you back down with a firm palm on your stomach.

"patience, angel. wait when i tell you to."

his fingers finally slipped between your folds, teasing, circling your clit with maddening slowness. every touch was deliberate, controlled. he watched your face the entire time, drinking in every reaction.

"that's my baby," he murmured, leaning down to kiss your forehead while his fingers kept working you open. "so perfect when you're like this… all mine."

he kept you pinned beneath him, one hand still locking your wrists above your head while the other worked between your thighs with slow, deliberate strokes. his fingers slid through your slick folds, circling your clit with just enough pressure to make your hips jerk, then pulling back when your breathing grew too desperate.

"ah-ah," he murmured, voice low as he watched your face twist with need. "none of that. you don't get to come until i say so, baby. understood?"

you nodded frantically, lips parted on a soft whimper. "yes… yes, jungkook."

"good girl." the praise dripped sweet and heavy, making your cunt clench around nothing. he rewarded you by sinking one thick finger inside you, curling it slowly against that spot that made your toes curl.

you moaned softly, thighs trembling as you fought the urge to rock against his hand. he added a second finger, stretching you open with lazy thrusts while his thumb brushed teasing circles over your clit. every movement was controlled, precise—like he knew exactly how to wind you up without letting you tip over.

"look at you," he cooed, leaning down to brush his lips against your ear. "taking my fingers so well. such a perfect girl. you’d let me do anything right now, wouldn’t you?"

"yes," you gasped, voice small and breathy. "anything for you."

he hummed in approval, pumping his fingers faster, curling them deeper. the wet sounds filled the room, obscene and intimate. your back arched, a needy whine slipping out as the pressure built fast and sharp.

just as your walls started fluttering around him, he slowed. pulled his fingers almost all the way out, leaving you empty and aching.

"no—please," you begged, eyes glassy as you looked up at him.

jungkook tsked, dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "not yet, angel. you think you deserve to come after flirting with that boy all day?" he pushed back in with three fingers this time, stretching you wider, thumb pressing firm on your clit. "you have to earn it."

you cried out at the fuller feeling, wrists straining uselessly against his grip. he fucked you with his fingers in a steady rhythm, building you right back up to that dizzying edge. his mouth found your neck, sucking a mark into your skin while he whispered against you.

"that's it… such a good girl for me. so tight and pretty around my fingers. you feel how wet you are? all mine. no one else gets to make you feel like this."

your moans grew louder, hips twitching desperately despite his firm hold keeping you mostly still. the praise mixed with the strict edge in his voice had you spiraling fast. you were so close—right there—

he pulled his fingers out completely.

you sobbed softly, body shuddering with denial. "jungkook… please… i need—"

"shhh." he kissed your forehead, almost tender, while his slick fingers traced lazy patterns over your swollen clit. "poor baby. so eager. so desperate to come for me." he slid his fingers back inside, fucking you harder this time, curling ruthlessly against that perfect spot. "but you’ll wait like a good girl, won’t you? you’ll hold it until i decide you’ve earned it."

you nodded tearfully, biting your lip hard as another wave built even faster than before. every thrust of his fingers pushed you higher, his thumb working your clit in tight, relentless circles. the coil in your belly tightened unbearably.

"please… i’m so close—"

"not yet," he growled, voice rougher now, more possessive. he leaned down, biting gently at your nipple while his fingers drove into you. "hold it. show me how well you can listen."

you whimpered and obeyed, muscles clenching tight around his fingers as you fought the rising orgasm. tears of frustration pricked your eyes. he watched you the entire time, dark satisfaction etched across his face.

"beautiful," he praised, slowing just enough to keep you teetering right on the edge. "my sweet baby. taking everything i give you and still begging so nicely."

he curled his fingers again, pressing hard, and you nearly broke.

"jungkook—!"

he stopped. pulled out once more.

you let out a broken little sob, body shaking beneath him. he finally released your wrists, only to slide both hands down your sides, gripping your hips possessively as he looked down at your flushed, desperate form.

"not yet, angel," he murmured, voice thick with dark affection. "we’re just getting started."

he watched you with dark, gleaming eyes, clearly savoring every second of your desperation. your chest heaved, lips parted in soft, fussy little whimpers as you squirmed beneath him. tears clung to your lashes, making your eyes glassy and shiny.

"jungkook…" you whined, voice cracking sweetly. your hips twitched up toward his hand, chasing the touch he kept denying you. "please… i can't—it's too much…"

he chuckled lowly, the sound rich with satisfaction. one hand returned between your thighs, fingers sliding through your soaked folds again, teasing your swollen clit with feather-light strokes that made you jolt.

"aww, look at my poor baby," he cooed, "getting all fussy and teary-eyed already? you were so good at taking my fingers a minute ago. what happened, angel? can't handle a little edging?"

you nodded frantically, a tear slipping down your flushed cheek. "i need to come… please, i've been so good—"

he pushed two fingers back inside you without warning, curling them deep and thrusting slow and deliberate. his thumb pressed firm circles on your clit, building you right back up with ruthless precision.

"shhh, none of that fussing," he murmured, leaning down to kiss the tear from your cheek. "good girls don't whine. they take what i give them and thank me for it. isn't that right?"

a broken moan slipped out as your walls clenched around his fingers. the pressure built so fast, so intensely, that more tears welled up. you tried to hold still like he wanted, but your body betrayed you—hips rolling, thighs trembling around his wrist.

"jungkook—please, i’m so close again—"

he grinned, dark and pleased, watching your face like it was his favorite view. "i know you are. i can feel you squeezing me so tight, baby. so desperate. so fucking pretty when you cry for me."

his fingers sped up, fucking you harder, curling against that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. your back arched, a high, needy whimper filling the room as you teetered right on the edge—

he pulled his fingers out again.

you sobbed outright this time, fussy and frustrated, fresh tears spilling down your temples. "nooo—why? jungkook, p-please… you're being so mean…"

he tsked, bringing his slick fingers to your lips and pressing them inside gently. "suck," he ordered softly. you obeyed instantly, tasting yourself on his skin, eyes wide and watery as you looked up at him.

"that’s my girl," he praised, voice thick with enjoyment. he kept his fingers in your mouth, thumb stroking your cheek while his other hand returned to tease your dripping cunt—light circles, never enough. "look how wet you are. dripping all over my sheets because you love when i play with you like this. love being my little toy, don’t you?"

you nodded around his fingers, whimpering pathetically. more tears slipped free. he leaned down, kissing your wet lashes, then your forehead, all while continuing those maddening, feather-light touches between your legs.

"poor fussy baby," he murmured against your skin, clearly loving every second of it. "tears look so pretty on you. makes me want to keep you right here, edging you all night until you’re shaking and begging so nicely."

he slid three fingers back inside you without mercy, stretching you open as he pumped them deep and steady. his thumb worked your clit faster now, pushing you higher, faster.

"hold it," he commanded, voice stricter. "don’t you dare come yet. show me how badly you want to be good for me."

you cried softly, body taut and trembling as you fought the overwhelming pleasure. the edge felt sharper this time, almost painful in how much you needed it. your hands fisted the sheets above your head, thighs shaking violently around his arm.

"jungkook… i can’t—please let me—i’ll be so good, i promise…"

he watched you with hooded eyes, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. he was thoroughly enjoying this—your submission, your tears, the way you fell apart so sweetly for him.

"not yet, angel," he whispered, curling his fingers just right. "not until i’ve had my fill of these pretty tears."

he leaned down over you again, mouth latching onto the sensitive skin of your neck while his fingers kept playing with your puffy, drooling pussy. two thick fingers pumped slowly in and out of you, curling just right, while his thumb rubbed lazy circles over your swollen clit. you were soaked, the wet sounds loud and filthy every time he moved.

"mine," he growled against your throat, sucking hard enough to leave a dark hickey blooming under his lips. "this pretty neck is mine. no one else gets to see it marked up like this." he bit down gently, then soothed it with his tongue before sucking another one right below your ear. you whimpered loudly, head tilting to give him more access even as fresh tears slipped down your cheeks.

"jungkook—ah—please…" your voice came out fussy and teary, hips twitching as he kept edging you closer again.

your arms, which had been obediently stretched above your head, started to move. your hands fluttered down instinctively, wanting to touch him, to hold onto something as the overwhelming pleasure made your body squirm.

"hands up," he ordered sternly, not stopping the slow thrust of his fingers. "stay still like i told you."

you sniffled and quickly put them back, whispering a soft "sorry." for a moment you managed it, trembling and trying so hard to be good for him.

but then he curled his fingers deeper, pressing hard against that spot while sucking another possessive hickey into the curve of your neck. the pleasure spiked so sharply you lost control. your arms moved again, fingers reaching toward his shoulders as your back arched and your hips bucked against his hand.

"stop," he said more firmly, voice low and strict. "keep your hands where i put them, angel."

you whimpered and forced them back up, sniffling as more tears spilled. "i’m trying… it feels too good—"

he hummed, clearly enjoying your struggle, and kept playing with your dripping cunt—slow, teasing strokes that made your puffy folds glisten. but soon your body betrayed you again. your thighs shook, your arms shifted, hands starting to lower once more as you squirmed helplessly beneath him.

jungkook’s eyes darkened. he pulled his fingers out completely, leaving you empty and throbbing. you let out a broken, fussy sob.

"i said stop moving." his tone was sterner now, dominant edge sharpening. "you’re my good girl, aren’t you? you can listen better than that."

you nodded tearily, putting your arms back up right away. you held still for a little longer, biting your lip hard, trying desperately to obey. but when he slid three fingers back into your soaked pussy and started thrusting them faster while sucking yet another hickey onto your sensitive neck, the overstimulation hit hard. your arms moved again, squirming and reaching.

he stopped everything. pulled his hand away. sat up.

you cried softly, fussy and desperate, legs trying to close around nothing. "jungkook, please—i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to—"

he didn’t answer right away. instead he got off the bed, walked over to his closet, and pulled out one of his black silk ties. your eyes widened when you saw it, fresh tears clinging to your lashes. he’d never done anything like this before. you’d never been tied up. the sight made your stomach flutter with nervous excitement and submission.

"hands up, baby," he said, voice calm but strict as he climbed back over you. "you can’t stay still on your own, so i’m going to help you."

you whimpered but obeyed, stretching your arms above your head again. he looped the tie around your wrists, then secured them to the headboard with careful, efficient knots. not too tight, but firm enough that you couldn’t pull free easily. the silk felt cool against your skin, a constant reminder of your helplessness.

when he was done he sat back and looked at you—tied up, teary-eyed, marked with his hickeys, pussy puffy and drooling for him. a dark, satisfied smile curved his lips.

"there we go," he murmured, possessive and pleased. "my sweet, fussy girl all tied up for me. now you’ll have to stay still while i play with you, won’t you?"

he slid his hand back between your thighs, fingers teasing your soaked entrance again. "such a good girl for letting me do this. look at how pretty you are."

he sat back between your spread thighs, eyes dark with hunger as he took in the sight of you: wrists bound to the headboard with his silk tie, neck blooming with fresh possessive hickeys, cheeks wet with tears, and your poor puffy pussy glistening and drooling all over his sheets.

"there’s my pretty girl," he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. "all tied up and helpless for me. no more squirming away. you’re going to take every bit of this like the good little thing you are."

you whimpered pathetically, already so pent up it hurt. it had been weeks since he’d touched you like this—really touched you—and your body was aching, desperate from all the neglect. when his fingers returned to your soaked folds, sliding through the mess you’d made, you jolted hard against the restraints.

"jungkook—please…" your voice cracked immediately, fresh tears spilling as he pushed two fingers back inside your tight heat.

he curled them slowly, thrusting with that same deliberate control, thumb circling your swollen clit. "shhh, angel. i know you’re pent up. my poor baby hasn’t been properly fucked in so long, has she? all because i’ve been so busy…" the condescending words slipped out soft and sweet, making your cunt clench hard around his fingers.

you sobbed, hips twitching uselessly against the tie. "i need it—please, i’ve been so empty—"

he chuckled lowly, clearly adoring every broken sound you made. "listen to you. already sobbing and hiccuping for me. so fucking adorable." he added a third finger, stretching you wider, pumping deeper while his thumb pressed firmer on your clit. "crying so pretty with my fingers buried in this tight little pussy. you missed this, didn’t you?"

another sob tore from your throat, turning into a hiccup as the pleasure mounted unbearably fast. "yes—yes, missed you so much—please let me come, jungkook, please—"

"not yet," he cooed, leaning down to suck another dark hickey right below your jaw. his fingers never stopped their torment—speeding up just enough to push you right to the edge, then slowing cruelly when your walls started fluttering desperately. "you don’t get to come until i’ve reminded this greedy cunt exactly who it belongs to."

you broke harder, full-on crying now with hiccuping little sobs that made your chest shake. the tie held your wrists firm as you tugged helplessly, body squirming as much as the restraints allowed. "i’m sorry—i’m sorry for being fussy, i’ll be good—just please, i can’t take it anymore—"

jungkook’s eyes softened with dark delight. he found your teary, desperate face utterly adorable, his possessiveness flaring as he watched you fall apart so sweetly for him. he fucked his fingers into you harder, curling ruthlessly against that spot while his thumb worked your clit in tight, fast circles. "this pussy is mine. only mine. no other boy gets to make it drip like this. say it."

"y-yours—" you hiccuped through a sob, tears streaming down your temples. "only yours—please, jungkook, i’m so close—"

he pulled his fingers out right as you teetered on the brink.

you wailed, a broken, hiccuping cry that echoed in the room. your whole body trembled violently, pussy clenching around nothing, drooling even more slick down your thighs. "nooo—please, i’ve been waiting so long—i need to come so bad—"

he tsked, sliding his soaked fingers back in immediately, building you right back up with merciless precision. "poor pent-up angel. all teary and fussy because she’s been neglected." his voice dripped condescension and affection as he marked another hickey onto your neck. "but you’ll hold it for me, won’t you? you’ll keep being my good girl and let me edge this pretty pussy until i’m satisfied."

you nodded frantically through your sobs, hiccuping and whimpering, completely lost in the overwhelming need and the safety of his strict control. "yes—yes, i’ll be good—yours—only yours—"

he smiled against your skin, clearly loving every second of your desperate submission. "that’s my baby."

he kept his fingers buried deep in your soaked, puffy pussy, thrusting them slow and steady while his thumb circled your clit with just enough pressure to keep you right on that agonizing edge. your whole body trembled beneath him, wrists tugging weakly at the silk tie as fresh tears rolled down your flushed cheeks.

"jungkook—please," you sobbed, voice small and broken between hiccups. "i'm so sorry… i'm sorry for talking to that boy. i didn't mean anything by it—i swear. i just missed you so bad… i missed you so much it hurt…"

your words dissolved into another hiccuping cry as he curled his fingers perfectly against that spot inside you. he leaned down, pressing soft kisses over the dark hickeys he'd left on your sensitive neck, his breath warm and soothing against your skin.

"shhh," he murmured, voice thick with affection and that condescending edge that made your head spin. "i know, baby. i know you missed me. my poor little girl got all neglected and fussy because i wasn't paying enough attention to her, huh?"

you nodded frantically, tears streaming as you babbled through your sobs. "yes—yes, i missed you… missed your hands and your voice and the way you look at me… i only want you. i'm sorry for making you jealous—i'll never do it again, i promise. please… please let me come. i've been so empty without you…"

he groaned softly, clearly melting at how sweet and desperate you sounded. his free hand came up to cup your tear-streaked face, thumb brushing away some of the wetness while he kept fingering you deeper, faster.

"you're so fucking cute," he cooed, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, then your wet lashes. "sweet girl. all tied up and begging so nicely. you really missed me that much, angel? missed being my special girl?"

"so much," you whimpered, voice cracking adorably as another wave of pleasure threatened to crash over you. "i love you… only you. please, jungkook—i'll be good now, i swear. just let me come… i can't take it anymore…"

he kissed you then—slow, deep, and full of possession—while his fingers worked you relentlessly. when he pulled back, his eyes were soft and dark, brimming with love and hunger.

"okay, baby," he whispered tenderly against your lips. "you've been such a good girl for me. come for me. let go, angel. show me how much you missed this."

he curled his fingers hard and fast, thumb pressing firm, perfect circles on your swollen clit. the orgasm hit you like a tidal wave—crazy, overwhelming, shattering. your back arched sharply off the bed, wrists straining against the tie as a broken, sobbing cry tore from your throat. your pussy clenched violently around his fingers, gushing slick as wave after wave crashed through you. you shook uncontrollably, hiccuping and whimpering his name like a prayer, tears pouring freely now from the intensity of it all.

jungkook watched you the entire time, eyes filled with dark adoration and satisfaction. "that's it… that's my sweet girl. so beautiful when you fall apart for me. come on, baby, give me everything."

he kept stroking you through it, gentler now but not stopping, drawing out every last tremor until you were a boneless, teary, whimpering mess beneath him. when the pleasure finally ebbed, he carefully untied your wrists and pulled you into his arms, cradling you against his chest.

"there we go," he murmured softly, kissing the top of your head and rubbing soothing circles on your back. "my perfect angel. i love you so much. never forget you're mine, okay?"

he held you close against his chest, one hand gently stroking your back while the other cradled the back of your head. you were still trembling, soft little hiccups escaping as you came down from the intense high.

you nodded against him, eyes still shiny with tears but full of love. "okay…" you whispered, then tilted your head up to kiss him sweetly, slow and grateful. he kissed you back tenderly, thumb brushing your cheek.

jungkook shifted, sitting up properly and leaning back against the headboard. he guided you with him until you were straddling his lap, your bare, sensitive body pressed against him. his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you securely as he pressed soft kisses to your temple, your flushed cheeks, and the hickeys on your neck.

"that's my good girl," he murmured, voice warm and soothing. "you did so well for me, angel. so pretty when you come like that. let me take care of you now, yeah? just rest against me."

you melted into his chest for a moment, nuzzling into his neck, but then you shifted, a shy but determined look in your teary eyes. "i want to make you feel good too," you whispered sweetly. "please, jungkook… i've missed you so much. missed feeling you inside me."

he groaned softly, hands tightening on your hips. "baby… you don't have to—"

"i want to," you insisted, already reaching down between you to wrap your small hand around his hard, throbbing cock. he was so big—always had been—and after weeks without this, the sight of him made your breath hitch.

you lined him up at your soaked entrance, biting your lip as you slowly started to sink down. the thick head pushed inside, stretching you open, and you whimpered at the pressure. it was tight—so tight it took real effort. your thighs trembled as you tried to ease yourself lower, but he was just so big.

"easy, angel," jungkook murmured, voice low and gentle but still laced with that possessive edge. his hands gripped your hips firmly, helping guide you. "that's it… nice and slow. you can take me. your pussy was made for this."

you nodded, breathing shakily as you worked yourself down inch by inch. it burned in the best way, your walls fluttering and stretching around his thickness. a soft, fussy little whine escaped when you had to pause halfway, overwhelmed.

you whimpered, eyes glassy again as you looked at him.

he smiled, dark eyes full of adoration and hunger. one hand slid up to cup your face while the other stayed on your hip, gently easing you down further. “you're doing so well. look at you… taking me so nicely even when it's hard. such a good, eager little thing for me."

with his help and a few more careful rocks of your hips, you finally sank all the way down, your ass flush against his thighs. the fullness made you gasp and shudder, forehead dropping to rest against his shoulder as you adjusted.

"there we go," he praised softly, kissing your hair. "all the way. that's my perfect girl." his hands rubbed soothing circles on your back, even as his cock twitched deep inside you. "you feel so good. so warm and tight around me. just stay right here for a minute if you need to."

you nodded, kissing his neck sweetly, already starting to rock slowly in his lap. "i missed this… missed you filling me up."

he wrapped his hands around your hips, fingers splaying possessively over your skin as he began to guide you. slow, deep rolls of your hips that made his thick cock drag perfectly inside you. not frantic or rough anymore—just intimate. loving. the kind of sex that felt like coming home.

"just like that baby," he murmured softly, voice low and warm against your ear. "nice and slow. let me feel all of you."

you sighed shakily, melting against his chest as you followed his guidance. your arms looped around his neck, and you started kissing him everywhere—soft presses of your lips along his jaw, his neck, the corner of his mouth, his cheeks, his forehead. every kiss was full of longing.

"i missed you so much," you whispered between kisses, voice still a little hoarse from crying earlier. "missed this. missed feeling you inside me… missed falling asleep next to you… missed the way you look at me like i'm your whole world."

jungkook’s grip on your hips tightened slightly, but his movements stayed gentle, helping you rock in a slow, intimate rhythm. he groaned quietly every time you sank back down, burying himself to the hilt.

"i missed you too, baby," he breathed, tilting his head to catch your lips in a deep, lingering kiss. when you pulled back, his eyes were glassy with emotion, staring at you in pure awe. "fuck… how did i get so lucky? you're so amazing. so sweet and patient and perfect. i don't deserve you."

you shook your head quickly, pressing more kisses to his neck, sucking gently on the spot just below his ear. "you do deserve me. i love you… i love you so much, jungkook. even when you were busy, i still loved you. i just missed my boyfriend. missed my jungkook."

he let out a soft, broken sound and pulled you closer, one hand sliding up your back to cradle your head while the other continued guiding your hips in those slow, deep circles. the pleasure was still there—warm and building—but it felt secondary now. this was making love. pure connection.

you whimpered softly, kissing him again—deeper this time—pouring every bit of love into it as you rolled your hips with his guidance. "don't leave me like that again, okay? i need you."

"never," he promised, forehead resting against yours, eyes locked in the most intimate stare. "you're everything to me. i was so caught up in trying to prove myself at work that i forgot the most important thing in my life was waiting for me at home."

you smiled against his lips, heart swelling as the two of you moved together—slow, tender, completely wrapped up in each other. the earlier dominance and teasing had melted away into something softer, warmer. just the two of you. completely in love.

"i love you," you whispered again, kissing the tip of his nose, then both eyelids, then his mouth once more. "so much it hurts sometimes."

jungkook’s arms tightened around you, holding you like you might disappear if he let go. his hips rolled up to meet yours in perfect sync, the intimacy of it making you both tremble.

"i love you more," he murmured, voice thick with emotion. "you're the best thing that's ever happened to me. don't ever forget that. no matter how busy i get… you're always my priority. my girl. my everything."

he kissed you again, slow and reverent, guiding you through every gentle rock and grind as the two of you stayed lost in each other.

author’s note:

i finally wrote a oneshot! i hope you guys like it! extra credit 1 is so special to me so ofc i had to write my babies again!!! i love professor!jk so much and i hope you guys liked this other side of him👀 this was a little freaked out but i wanted to try something new!!! anyways thank you for reading and i hope you enjoyed this and stay tuned for my other works🤍🤍🤍

xoxo,

kandi

Michael Afton always threw the best parties.

With the best music, the best beer, and the best house since he commutes to college every day. It’s perfect, truly the place to be.

Not to mention his dad always being around to supervise. It’s a little weird when you think about it, a middle-aged man watching a bunch of young adults get shitfaced at his pool, but everyone is too caught up to even spare him a glance.

Besides, it’s not that creepy. He just hangs out to make sure everything is still relatively under control and everyone stays safe… or so he says.

The truth is, he likes to watch how the scene plays out. How the college girls hang all over the guys pretending to be drunk so that they’ll take care of them, how wrecked all of Michael’s friends get over one game of beer-pong. He likes how naïve everyone is… at the best it’s entertaining, it reminds him of when he was young.

He also likes to watch you. He likes to watch your face when you take shots, no matter how many you take you still can never adapt to the flavor, or the feeling of it burning all the way down. You’re so innocent for your age, such a delicate little darling you are. He wants to protect you, which is why he also likes to make sure no one’s trying to pull anything with you, he wants to make sure you’re safe.

He wants to make sure that you, above everyone else, is having fun at these parties.

So when he watches you from across the pool, water lights glowing against your skin and illuminating the tears that trickle silently down your cheeks with a faded smile, he understands that he has failed his job.

She didn’t mean what she said, your friend. It’s true, you’re not a fast learner, especially when it comes to card games, but she didn’t have to tell you that you were too stupid to play.

It hurt, and rightfully so, but truth be told you probably wouldn’t care so much about it if you weren’t six drinks deep. Now, it’s too loud. The music, the chatter, everything. You just need it to stop.

You take another long swig of your beer, holding the bottle by the neck as you sway through the sea of people. You’re hoping that if you reach the perfect level of drunk, nothing will matter to you anymore.

You wipe the tears from your eyes before pausing your steps to take another drink, tilting your head back as you attempt to chug your beer, but losing your balance and stumbling backwards into somebody else.

You gasp as your drink pours all over your shirt, and you knock a little bit of the other person’s drink out of their hands as well.

“Hey, watch where you’re going!” They grunt.

The tears halt for a second as you flash them a cheesy, apologetic grin that’s laced with guilt.

“My bad…!”

You try to angle your face just enough so that they can’t notice the tears on your face in the dimly lit night sky, and you figure that it seems to have worked as they shrug and turn back around. You scoff lightly to yourself, letting the tears continue to run as you take another swig of your drink. Then, once your head begins to pound, you decide it’s time to get out of here.

You put your head down and continue your trip around the pool, stumbling into people in every direction as you forget which foot is left and which is right. Warm tears cascade down your cheeks, hugging your skin to tell you everything is alright! but you can’t even see the ground clearly enough to believe it.

Suddenly, you bump straight into a solid surface, nearly falling on your ass before a big hand grabs your shoulder to save you.

“Woah, careful there!”

Oh, you know that voice!

You squint your eyes to try and fight the drunken spinning, cocking to the side as you try to make out the tall figure.

“M-Mr. Afton?” You question, slurring with a squeak in your voice as you swallow a hiccup.

He thumbs at your tears, cocking his head to the side to hum to you.

“Oh, darling… have you had too much to drink?”

Your body heats at his comforting words, he sounds so safe. You can’t help but nuzzle your cheek into William’s big palm, face twisting as you fall apart, tears pouring out of you. You sniffle when you nod, parting your lips to let out soft sobs.

“Oh, dear.” William mumbles, “come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

You shake your head in agreement, feeing him place his hand on the small of your back, wet shirt reeking of beer as he leads you inside. The cool air soaking your hot skin feels heavenly, you take in a breath of fresh air as William shuts the door behind you, separating the two of you from the chaos outside.

He keeps a tight hold on your bicep as you trip through his kitchen, reaching to take the Corona bottle out of your hand and making you whine when you try to chase after it, only being able to go so far with the restraint of his grip.

“Ah, ah,” William takes it out of your reach. “You need to stop drinking, dear,”

You only huff, crossing your arms defensively over your shivering body as tears never stop. William continues to guide you through the house, leaving the beer somewhere on the kitchen counter.

“Let’s get you into the shower, alright bunny? That’ll sober you up.”

You pout. You don’t want to be sober, but you know it’ll make you feel better.

“‘Kay…” you mumble, reluctantly.

You and Michael have been friends for a few years now outside of these parties. If you asked Michael, he’d probably consider you one of his best friends. So, you’d never admit this to Michael, but his dad is hot.

It’s one of the only things you can think about as he leads you through the house, and into the guest room as your head buzzes with toxicity. Once you’re in the bathroom, William shuts the door behind you two and reaches into the shower to turn on the water. In the absence of noise, your tears already begin to slow.

“Here, tell me if this is alright.”

He takes your hand and runs it under the water, letting you feel it on your skin as it sends chills down your spine. You know he asked you a question, but all you can think about is how tiny your hand looks held inside his own. You zone out on the image, you’re like… half the size of him! The length of his fingers tower over yours, and the width of his index is probably double yours. Your mind begins to wander, thinking about what other parts of your body would look as tiny as your hands do in his grasp, or how it would feel to—

“Darling?”

You blink, accidentally echoing a loud and clueless, “what?”

To which William can’t help but stifle a chuckle as he decides that your silence is a good sign, stepping back to sit on the closed lid of the toilet.

“Come here,” he murmurs, pulling you toward him by your waist so that you’re standing in between his man-spread knees. “Let’s get you out of these clothes, shall we?”

You nod, blinking a few more nameless tears from your eyes as you stare into his, or try to, since you’re too dizzy.

William starts with your shorts. He reaches underneath the hem of your large t-shirt, keeping eye contact with you while he pops the button and unzips them, taking note of how disheveled you look. Your eyelashes are clumped together with tears and your face is splotchy… he finds it rather cute, how you look so vulnerable, so fragile and innocent as he undresses you with his own corrupt hands…

Your shorts pool around your ankles. You place a hand on one of his broad shoulders for balance as you kick them off of your feet, letting them discard somewhere else on the tile floor for William to pick up later.

Next, he reaches for the hem of your shirt. Something William notes as he’s pulling off your shirt is that as stressed as your complexion makes you out to be, your eyes look at him with complete and utter trust. You lift your arms when he pulls off your soaked t-shirt, exposing your breasts to him and making something inside of him snap. If you could see straight, you might be able to see the way William’s jaw clenches when he comes eye-to-eye with your soft nipples.

Steam from the running shower fills the room as William’s hands ghost up your sides, raising goosebumps on the back of your neck. He caresses the smooth skin of your chest as the last few of your tears fall, and while he watches his lanky fingers trace your skin, he can’t help but wonder if this is your first time. You’re a young and naive little thing, who knows if you’ve ever been undressed before somebody else, or if you’ve ever been touched, even fucked before. He thinks about it while grazing a thumb lightly over one of your nipples, pulling the air from your lungs as you suddenly tighten your palms on his shoulders, and he comes to the conclusion that nobody could ever fuck you as good as him… if given the chance, of course.

He finds quick interest in your breasts, your big puppy eyes watching carefully as he grazes the calloused pads of his thumbs over your hardening buds, watching as each one raises to a peak under his manipulation. It’s a miracle that he had decided to hold your shirt on his lap, especially now that his pants are growing so tight. Soon, you begin to pant. Hot breaths passing through barely parted lips mix with the shower fog as you let William play with you. You’ve never felt this way before, you feel alive, buzzing with electricity like a race car revving its engine before it sets off. With every knead and trace of your breasts in his rough, tainted hands, you feel lightning in your blood, spiking a libido in your veins and making your pussy soak your panties; the last layer you have on. You have no choice but to squeeze your thighs together in front of him. Both of you get lost in the moment.

A sudden stumble from you breaks William from his trance and he remembers the sound of running water, the heat in his hands, and when he looks up to your glossy eyes he can remember that you’re drunk… he takes his hands off of you so fast that you’d think he’s hurt himself after realizing that this is wrong, that you’re half his age and he shouldn’t be doing this. His head bows, ashamed.

“Alright,” he clears his throat, swiftly reaching up again to pull down your underwear and helping you step out of it. “Go shower, I’ll get you some clean clothes to wear and set them on the bed for you.”

He gathers your dirty clothes and leaves without another word. Dumbfounded, you drag yourself into the shower and let the hot water cleanse your skin, washing the alcohol from your bloodstream.

You’re certain that you’re sober by the time you leave the bathroom, peaking around the corner to make sure you’re in private before entering the bedroom and finding a folded t-shirt and your cleaned panties, cheeks warming at the memory of William as you slip them on.

Is it wrong for you to wish he was still touching you?

Or is it worse to want more?

Almost on cue, a few soft knocks tap on the door. The hinge creaks as it’s pushed open to reveal William, poking his head in to check on you.

“Are you feeling any better?” He asks, voice laced with faux sympathy.

You shrug, “a little,”

He steps closer, closing the door behind him.

He raises his eyebrows. “Are you lying to me?”

Your face heats once more, and you keep your eyes fixated on your lap, playing with thumbs to avoid eye contact with him.

“Maybe…” you mumble bashfully, pulling your knees to your chest.

He sits down at the edge of the guest bed, shaking his head with disappointment.

“It’s a shame, really,” he clicks his tongue. “You’re too pretty to be crying.”

You let out a humorous exhale through your nose, his charm never fails.

As the conversation grows quiet, only the loud party music from the pool area thumping through the house keeps the room from falling silent.

The thought of William still plagues your mind. The curiosity of what it might be like to feel his salt and pepper scruff on your skin, or his calloused fingers skillfully tweaking your taut nipples again… your core aches at the thought, and out of the corner of your eye, you swear you can see his gaze linger at the thin cotton of your panties peeking out from between your thighs.

Maybe it’s the boost of confidence from the alcohol still swirling in your gut, but you wonder what would happen if—

“Come on, now,” he chuckles darkly, “don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to start something you can’t finish.”

The words hang heavy between the two of you. He can see the mischief flash in your eyes, lips curling slightly at his words.

You turn over onto your knees, hesitating for barely a second before you move, crawling slowly towards him until you can feel his breath on your skin.

Your lips stay parted, absentmindedly, too busy thinking about the fine line you’re treading. You want him so bad you’re surprised you’re not drooling, yet.

You glance up to his stormy eyes just once, to see if he really does want this as bad as you do.

Then, he closes the gap.

You sigh into the kiss almost immediately, melting in his grip as a warm hand comes up to cup your jaw, fingers curling around the base of your skull to pull you in closer, slipping his tongue into your mouth.

You hook your knee over his leg, and he stabilizes you, bringing his free hand up to the curve of your waist.

Your senses overflow with him. The lingering taste of whiskey on his tongue, the smell of his cologne, mixed with the musk of his sweat from the humid summer night… You can feel your heart pounding inside your chest, threatening to jump out. You can feel the adrenaline in your veins. You need him like a drug.

The heat between your thighs continues to grow, and soon William finds you squirming aimlessly in his lap, searching for some sort of relief. Then, he tenses the muscle below you, eliciting a surprised hum from you. You can feel the smile grow on his mouth.

He’d be lying if he said that he’s not entertained by how desperate you are, still having the eager libido of a twenty-something year old. He’s barely touched you and you’re already so needy. It’s cute.

It’s even cuter when you start rocking your hips back and forth on his thigh, letting out barely-audible moans with every drag, selfishly using his leg for your own pleasure. You can feel your pussy leaking onto the thin fabric of your panties, head filling with cotton.

Soon, the heat blooms, and you get lost in the moment. You pick up the pace, eagerly grinding your cunt against his thigh with no shame, moving faster and faster, kissing him deeper until you’re practically sucking the air out of his lungs…

William grunts in protest, planting two firm hands on your hips and halting your movements. You struggle against his grip for a moment before letting out a defeated whimper.

“You’re getting ahead of yourself,” he says, voice low.

“But it hurts,” you whine. “Please, help me…”

He watches your eyes gloss over again as you begin to beg, and a pitiful laugh slips through his lips. There’s no way you need it so bad that you’re about to cry because you can’t have it. You’re unreal.

“Oh, you poor thing…” he pouts with faux sympathy as your bottom lip juts out. “Don’t worry, I’m going to make you feel so good.”

His promises only make you ache more as he uses his tight hold on your hips to gingerly lay you down against the pillows of the guest bed. He settles between your legs, hooking two fingers into the lace lining of your panties and looking up to study your expression for any protest before pulling them down and discarding them. A string of drool connects them to your core as he does.

He nudges your knees apart to admire your sorry, swollen cunt as it weeps all over the bedsheets.

“Look at that,” he clicks his tongue, cocking his head to one side. “Your poor pussy’s so desperate it’s just clenching around nothing. It needs this, huh?”

Now exposed and humiliated beneath him, you finally begin feeling some shame and instinctively raise your hands to cover your flushed face, hiding from him.

But William isn’t having any of that.

“Come on, pretty girl, let me see you.” He hums, reaching for your wrists.

At the same time, he takes two fingers from free hand and slides the through your folds, just collecting your slick on his fingers before circling them around your hole, and finally sinking inside.

Your hands fall down as you keen with pleasure, and he can’t help but chuckle to himself.

“There she is,”

He swirls his fingers around inside of you, letting them swim in your soaked pussy. When he finally curls them forward, you gasp. William raises his eyebrows, your reaction having piqued his interest.

“Yeah?” He hums, “that feel good?”

Your face twists in pleasure as he rubs his fingertips back and forth on the newly discovered spot inside you, and your head nods back against the pillow.

“Mm-hmm,”

He can’t hide the proud smirk on his face as he watches you squirm around on the sheets beneath him, toes curling and thighs beginning to shiver around his wrist when he lifts his thumb up to press on your clit.

“Oh, God!” You moan.

He begins kneading it in steady circles while his middle and ring fingers continuing their beckoning motion inside your warm walls. Your jaw hangs slack, soft gasps and mewls falling from your mouth, egging him on to push you closer and closer to your orgasm.

There’s something so gross, disgusting and downright dirty for you to be fucking your friend’s dad, someone twice your age. But yet you’ve never felt better in your life.

Every swipe of his thumb draws a new sound from you.

“Ah, ah, ah!”

His cock strains against his pants.

When your moans suddenly take a turn into whines, William knows you’re close. Your back arches, and a fire burns deep inside of your core that pulls your head underwater. Your swollen cunt is practically swallowing his fingers at this point, and he has every intention to keep going.

“Oh—! P-Please don’t stop,” you gasp, “please, please—!”

He shakes his head. He wouldn’t dare. Having you all spread out like this, just for him, is all he’s ever dreamed of.

The fire in your stomach grows, tightening the all-too-familiar coil that pulls you right to the edge. You get louder, almost like you want the party to hear you, hear how good he’s making you feel.

Maybe you do.

“You’re close, aren’t you?”

“Yes—!” You mewl, tears welling in the corner of your eyes again.

A fire lights behind his eyes, and you can see it for a split second before you arch your back, crying out with pleasure.

He can feel your tight walls spasming around him, he can see your abs tighten as the coil threatens to snap.

You cum around his fingers.

“Atta girl,” he coaxes, watching your orgasm wrack your frame.

Electric sparks shoot from your core, sending shockwaves through every inch of your body.

His cock twitches in his pants as he watches a single tear rolls down your cheek as silent cries escape your mouth, he continues working that soft spot inside you until you sigh, finally coming down from your high.

He pulls his fingers from you, dripping with your heat, then raises them

You watch with glassy eyes, head still fuzzy from your orgasm.

His lips curl as he looks down at you, flushed, hair messy, shirt rolled up, and pussy soaking the sheets below you. Satisfied with his work, he leans down to seal it with a chaste kiss on your forehead.

“Get some rest,” he tells you before rising to his feet.

Suddenly dumbfounded, you prop yourself up on your elbows. You don’t want this to end.

“Aren’t you going to fuck me?” You ask, confused.

“Maybe next time, sweetheart.”

“B-But you—“

“Don’t worry about me.” He interrupts, “just get some rest.”

You watch him flick off the light switch as he leaves, and you lay back down on the fluffy pillows of his guest bedroom.

Music still leaks in from the party outside.

What have you gotten yourself into?

Suddenly, an idea pops in your head — one of great brilliance.

“Tom,” you coo, dragging your words. He hums, no longer paying you any mind and busying himself with his own work again — but you know he’s paying attention from his peripheral. You bat your lashes once, then twice, eyes wide and pleading. Your voice drips in innocence. “Will you do it for me?”

The response comes immediately.

“No.”

You huff, vexed. “Why not?”

“Unlike you, I have self respect,” he answers coolly.

You narrow your eyes, roll them, before smiling as if he made a funny joke. “I’ll give you a kiss!”

Tom scoffs. “I’m not that easily bought.”

You lean in closer, eyes glittering, soft lips ghosting near his ear. He intakes a sharp breath when they brush his lobe. “Two kisses. Pretty please?”

His quill pauses. Some of the other students peak over at the both of you at the sudden silence, having been nosy and overhearing the conversation the whole time.

“I’m not doing your entire assignment.”

“So… half?”

“Assisting,” he reiterates, albeit, still giving in to your demands. For all that Tom is, he appreciated the value of hard work and looked down on cheating… but for you, he’ll let it slide just this once (it does not end up being just once).

“Fine. Assist me then while I lie here and do absolutely nothing,” you hum in delight, patting a cushion and making yourself comfortable.

Tom exhales sharply — a mix between an exasperated sigh from how much you test his patience and a suppressed huff of laughter.

“You are completely unbearable.”

“And yet, you adore me.”

Unfortunately, he did.

Because Tom Riddle is the boy who could bend minds with a smile, and yet, for you — he is currently scribbling out your entire potions essay and rewriting it while you sit back and relax as if you hadn’t just gotten the most feared Slytherin at Hogwarts to do your homework on your command.

Across the room, several members of his inner circle — the so called Knights of Walpurgis — were watching the whole thing in disbelief.

“She didn’t even have to try,” one whispers.

“He just… did it.”

Another scowls. “She’s a mud—”

“Shut up,” a new voice hisses. “He likes her. I heard he hexed Rosier last week for making a joke about it.”

“…”

“Maybe if we get on her good side—”

“Enough.” Tom’s voice cuts through the air like a knife.

The gossipy murmurs stop immediately. The group clears their throats, looking anywhere else except at the both of you in a very obvious, idiotic fashion. None of them dared to meet Tom’s gaze… except you.

You lean over and kiss his cheek sweetly, smug and triumphant and ever so oblivious. “Well, I’ll be back later. I’ll give you the other kiss once you’re done as a reward — promise.”

You stand, dusting off your robes, already moving towards the stairs to leave the common room when he speaks out again, low but heard by all.

“Don’t stay out too long.”

You pause in your tracks, turning to face him with a tilt of your head.

“Why? Gonna miss me?”

Tom doesn’t answer your tease with what he wants to, not in front of the blithering idiots — but he doesn’t have to. The look in his eyes says ‘yes, I’ll burn this world down if it ever takes you from me’ . . . but instead, all that leaves his mouth is:

“Because your friends are irritating, and I prefer when you’re where I can see you.”

‘Sure, it’s only that,’ the students in the common room all thought collectively.

extra:

Later that night, when the common room had emptied, the Knights of Walpurgis gathered near the fireplace, voices hushed but urgent.

“I still can’t believe it,” Malfoy mutters, poking at the embers with his wand. “He ended up doing the whole bloody essay.”

“He didn’t have to,” Lestrange points out gruffly. “He chose to. Like… a domesticated pet.”

A few of them snort at that.

Rosier leans in, whispering like he’s sharing top secret intel. “I swear on Salazar’s beard I saw him almost smile when she came back down and gave him three kisses ‘stead of one like she said. He’s whipped.”

“Three?” Mulciber repeats, incredulous. “Yeah, one for each cheek, and then on the lips,” Rosier confirms, puckering his own and making kissy sounds. “Like a proper fairytale ending — if the fairytale involved a future dark lord doing someone’s potions homework.”

There is a long pause as they all try to picture it.

Avery finally exhales a laugh, making them all turn their heads his way. “He’s gone mad.”

“Mad?” Nott repeats, smirking into his goblet of wine. “Yes, mad with love.~”

That earns a few cackles and smoochy sounds — the kind that immediately dies the second a shadow falls across their little group. They slowly and carefully turn their heads to look back.

Tom stands right behind them with his arms crossed, expression unreadable, sleeves rolled up to his elbows neatly, the faintest trace of ink still on his fingertips. His gaze sweeps over each of them, cold and sharp enough to make them shudder and bow their heads in submission.

“Something amusing?” he asks softly, tone dangerous.

“No, Riddle,” they chorus at once, faces pale.

He regards them for a moment too long to make them squirm, then turns away in finality, the hem of his cloak brushing against the rug as he makes his way up towards the dorms.

But just before he disappears down the corridor, they all swear they see it — the slight pep in his step and the smallest curve at the corner of his mouth.

If you're too shy, let me know.

Is what Seonghwa had written in your comment section after months of gathering the courage to interact with you.

Much to his surprise, he found a hidden message in your next post.

A peek of your pastel panties showing in your seemingly innocent pose, showing because your skirt has been blown slightly by the wind.

Surely. It has to be. It's your way of responding to him.

You hadn't ignored him.

You really are just that shy, he knows it for certain now. You haven't interacted with him because you're shy, that's it. You must just need to be guided.

Which is exactly why he's broken into your apartment, a syringe held tightly by his side as he stands by the side of your bed; watching you sleep.

You feel the charge in the air through your sleeping state, stirring under the blankets restlessly for a moment before your body urges you to peek your eyes open.

The shadow that looms eerily on the wall makes your heart drop into your uneasy gut.

You turn quickly to face the source, lifting yourself onto your elbows and staring with wide eyes at the man. Your body doesn't know what to do. You don't know what to do as the man leans and cups your cheek, pressing his lips to yours briefly before whispering against them, "you weren't supposed to wake up yet. I'm sorry, baby."

You yelp as a quick pin-prick stings your neck, hand flying up to it before he grabs it with his free hand and laces your fingers together; holding it down to your lap despite your struggle against him.

"Shhh," he coos as he quickly presses the plunger of the syringe. A burning sensation spreads through the area, making you whimper through your quivering lips. Tears are quickly forming a pool against your waterline, blurring his semi-familiar face.

"No-" You groan out weakly as he pushes you to guide you to your back, kicking at him with all your might as he climbs over you. You land a few good connections to his thighs, but it doesn't seem to bother him in the slightest.

By the time he's straddling you, whatever drugs he'd injected into you are taking effect — and you find it increasingly difficult to move your limbs. They feel heavy, like the world's heaviest weighted blanket has been draped over them.

"Please, no," you can manage to move your mouth just enough to whisper, and your eyes are able to flick from his face to his hands beggingly as he peels the blanket away from you.

"It's okay, angel," he hums at the sight of your pajamas, something so simple making his cock stir to life. "I know you want this. You've been sending me all these hints, like we're playing a game." He huffs a chuckle, pushing your top up to expose your chest. "I really wanted to wait for you to come to me first, but now I know you're just too shy to."

Your head moves heavily as you attempt to shake it, tears now streaming down your temples. "Don't worry, Daddy will take good care of you."

You squeeze your eyes shut as he leans over to kiss you again, willing your head to move away but only getting caught in his palm as he cradles your cheek and holds you in place.

He moves his lips against yours for a good few long moments before he kisses his way down your jaw and toward your neck.

You can feel everything. But you can do nothing. Not even as his hand sneaks down your pajama pants and cups your most intimate parts.

"Stop." Your voice cracks under the weight of the drugs that settles over your entire body now.

"Why would I do that, sweetheart? We're finally together, let's make the most of it, yeah?"

"I don't want t-"

"I'll make it feel good for you, don't worry your pretty little head about it... I'll stretch you out nice and slow before I fuck you." To him it's a sweet promise. To you? A threat.

"Please- please don't." You keep your eyes shut tight as he starts circling your clit over the fabric of your panties.

"I know, I know," he coos again, "my little girl is just so shy. It's okay. Let Daddy do all the work. You just relax, baby."

Is he serious? Is all you can think as he slides your pants and panties down in one smooth tug, abandoning them at the foot of the bed before he spreads your heavy legs wide.

He stares down at your bare heat for a long beat, a smile twitching at the corners of his lips. Laying down on his stomach to be face to face with your core, he spits right on it.

You almost want to gag as the warm spit dribbles down your slit, and you can only whine as you put all of your energy into trying to close your legs.

It's all for nothing, because his tongue comes out and slides its way up your slit slowly. "Fuck, baby," he moans, giving a kiss to your clit before he continues, "this is what you've been hiding from me? So amazing..."

You cry out weakly as he starts eating you out like a man starved, sucking and licking every inch of you that he can reach.

His tongue slips its way into your growing wetness, curling and swirling every which way it can.

You're still crying, though your tears have slowed — not because of the unwelcome pleasure, you assure yourself.

When his tongue slowly pulls away, you let out a breath of relief. The feeling of him licking at you is bad enough, and the feeling of any part of him inside of you makes your gut clench.

The relief is short lived, however, because two fingers push their way into you and make you squeal as he quickly starts curling them right up against that special spot inside of you all the while his tongue rolls against your clit.

"That's it baby," he pants softly against you, "you're going to cum for Daddy. Be a good girl, now."

It's too fast building, it's too intense. All too much as he abuses both of your most sensitive spots — inside and out.

You let out a wobbling scream as your orgasm breaks over you in violent waves, your legs twitching with your cunt as you cum around his fingers.

He watches the way your face contorts like a hawk, eyes trained up your body as he continues to flick his tongue on your sensitive nub.

He only stops when sobs start to wrack your chest, a satisfied grin on his slick lips as he removes his fingers.

"Didn't that feel good, angel? Hm?" He licks his fingers clean while awaiting your answer, but one never comes; only your sniffles and soft cries. "Hey," he turns stern, gripping your face in his hand and smooshing your cheeks together, "answer me."

"Y-yes." You tell him what he wants to hear, and you don't lie despite everything. It did feel good. But you didn't want it, and you think maybe you'd prefer if it actually didn't please you at all.

"Yes," he hums, pleased, "I knew you would come around, sweetheart."

The sound of his zipper fills you with dread, and you don't have time to think about it — because he's immediately rubbing his hard member against the mess he'd made of you.

"Wait- fuck!" It's a real, proper scream despite the drugs holding your body captive. Because he'd just plunged his thick, overwhelming inches into you in one smooth thrust.

"Oh, shit, baby," he moans deeply, bending to nuzzle his head against your neck, "you're so fucking tight. So warm..."

"Don't move, please," you stutter, "too big-"

"Awe," he coos well and proper, "is Daddy too big for his little girl?" He presses his forehead to yours as you force a weak nod. "Don't be scared of it," he presses his lips to yours briefly, "I'll be gentle."

Gentle he is, at least for the first few slow, rolling thrusts.

But then your cunt clenches around him and he's suddenly pummeling into you. Rough, hard, and fast. So much so that you can hardly breathe.

"I'm sorry sweet girl," he groans, hands going to hold your waist tightly, "I need to cum- gonna cum inside you."

"No-" You gasp, "no, no! Not on birth control, please-"

"Keep begging, baby," he urges with lust coating his voice, his breath heavy against your face.

"D-Daddy, please-" Your idea backfires immediately. Calling him Daddy to get to his soft side doesn't work. Instead, he's buried balls deep inside of you the second you utter the name, pumping his warm seed straight into your guts.

He nearly falls ontop of you, making it even harder to catch your breath as you cry.

"Shhh, baby, shhh."

His cooing works in tandem with your exhaustion and the drugs, luring you to a deep sleep.

.

.

.

.

.

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“Now, now,” Slughorn drew the attention of students just walking in with barely concealed excitement. “A special lesson, just in time for the season of romance! Today, we’ll be studying the most powerful love potion—,” a ripple of giggles spread across the room, “—in existence,” he finished with a grin.

“Purely academic, of course,” Slughorn had declared, lip twitching along with his mustache in delight as he presented the shimmering contents of his cauldron he had prepared himself before the beginning of class. “One must understand the theory of such things in order to defend against them. Amortentia, my dears — the most powerful love potion in existence. Banned to distribute in Hogwarts, naturally, but perfectly permissible to brew under supervision according to the curriculum.”

As if that was a plausible excuse.

The potion glimmered like liquid mother-of-pearl on the wooden workbench, spirals rising from it in hypnotic coils. One by one, the students (mostly consisting of girls) leaned over to inhale, unable to help but be pulled in — as was the nature of the brew. Amortentia carried a different scent to each person. You watched some of your classmates continue to crowd around it eagerly, faces flushing, expressions turning curious. Some laughed whilst some went oddly quiet in consideration.

You didn’t think much of it personally, staying in your seat, wafts of clean linen and chocolate drifting in your direction. Love potions were rather grotesque things — manufactured obsession masquerading as affection. There was something fundamentally wrong about them, no matter how pretty they looked or how good they smelled. You still felt it was wrong that they weren’t outlawed, or that they were sold in shops at all, making them accessible to the public.

Knowing how reckless some teenagers were and how insidious the minds of some worked, it made itself an easy solution in order to prey on the vulnerable. It was — “naturally” — a recipe for disaster.

Completely and utterly barbaric, in your opinion.

Now, the classroom buzzed with chatter and the scrape of ladles against cauldrons as students got to work. Your peers talked over one another, arguing over measurements or comparing notes in low voices.

The potions professor wandered around the room, observing each student at work and complimenting a few on his way through. His waistcoat strained over his stomach as he waddled between tables. “Observe the pearlescent sheen — yes, exactly! That’s what we’re aiming for. And the steam should rise in spirals. Spirals, Mister Avery, not— oh dear.”

You wiped your hands on a cloth and leaned over your own brew. The cauldron in front of you shimmered faintly, the surface of the Amortentia swirling with a soft, luminous glow. It was beautiful in a way that made your skin crawl. You leaned in closer despite yourself. The steam brushed your face, warm and sweet with notes you were very pleased with.

Decadent and creamy white chocolate, the scent of cleanliness, your favorite perfume, sugar, and obviously more sugar. Your mouth curved slightly, both in satisfaction at your successful potion making skills and amusement at the predictability. You liked simple comforts. You liked things that made you feel safe.

You swallowed and straightened at the insidious prospect of that.

“I bet you smell a candy shop,” your best friend, Cadence, murmured from where she stood beside you, leaning over your shoulder.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“I’m saying,” she smirked, “that anyone who ends up giving you sweets may have a chance,” she sang.

“Or they could try a conversation,” you shot back lightly, throwing Cadence an unimpressed look and an arch of the brow.

“Ah, yes. Conversation. How revolutionary.”

You rolled your eyes. Around you, students were murmuring and nudging one another. Giggles broke out near the Hufflepuffs. A Ravenclaw boy turned pink to the ears as he stirred quietly. Even a few Slytherins were smirking more than usual as they hovered close near their cauldrons, unable to resist the temptations. No one seemed particularly concerned about the fact that what they were brewing was so dangerous that it was prohibited to use inside of these walls. There were different types of love potions, but Amortentia was the most potent.

“Honestly,” muttered a flushed Gryffindor, stubbornly, in hearing range. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she peered into her cauldron, “what possessed him to teach this now? It’s practically Valentine’s.”

What possessed him indeed. Slughorn was clearly having way too much fun with this lesson, doing rounds and asking each student what they smelled, smiling knowingly at the flustered ones who stumbled over their words as if this all had been a ploy, a gentle nudge to some to confront their feelings for a special someone right before the holiday of love — which he would deny and deem it was for research purposes only, of course.

“I think it’s romantic,” the Gryffindor girl’s seat mate sighed almost dreamily.

You almost snorted. Romantic wasn’t the word you would’ve chosen. Your potion reached completion faster than you expected. You glanced up, searching for Slughorn to signal that you were finished. The man was currently bent over another station, fussing over someone’s “almost adequate” consistency before going to the next batch, circling like a pleased bee.

Your gaze wandered mindlessly now that you were done with your brew, and you knew it’d be a while before Slughorn made his way over here. So, you slowly dragged your eyes over the students around you before they collided directly with another’s.

Across the room, through rising steam and flickering torchlight, a boy stood at his station. His sleeves were neatly rolled to his forearms, revealing pale skin and long, steady fingers guiding the ladle through his potion. His Slytherin tie was perfectly knotted, robes immaculate as always. There wasn’t a single fleck of ingredient out of place near him. Even here, in the damp heat of the dungeon, he looked composed — untouched by the chaos around him.

And he was staring at you.

Tom Riddle was staring at you.

His expression was calm, almost blank, a void that sent shivers down your spine. It was unlike any expression you’ve ever seen him make, completely unnatural on a face as handsome as his — not that you’ve watched him much. His eyes did not falter even when you met his unblinking gaze, not flustered whatsoever at being caught gawking so noticeably.

Riddle didn’t look away. The steam rose between you like a thin veil and still — he held your gaze.

The noise of the classroom seemed to dull, your pulse stuttering. For a moment, you forget to breathe, his dead stare like a hand on your throat.

This look wasn’t one of interest in the way other boys sometimes looked at girls. There was something unnerving there unlike the easy charm he wore so well, the one that he showed professors and students alike.

This felt almost… predatory.

Creepy.

Your fingers tightened and whitened around the edge of your desk, body frozen from the uneasiness that washed over you. Then, just as quickly, his gaze flicked away. Riddle adjusted the flame beneath his cauldron with a smooth, unwavering movement as if he’d merely been lost in thought, face now taut in concentration.

Heat rushed to your cheeks, though you weren’t sure why.

He probably zoned out, you told yourself. People stare without realizing it. It doesn’t mean anything, right? Why would he be looking at you? It was easy to drift in a class like this. And you had never spoken more than a passing word to him. You weren’t one of the girls vying for his attention. You didn’t trail after him in corridors or sigh when he walked into a room.

If anything, you made a point not to. You barely paid him mind beyond the general awareness everyone had of him. It was impossible not to at least notice someone like him. Riddle was top of every class. Professors adored him. Students either worshipped him or resented him for numerous reasons.

And yes — he was handsome. Painfully so. Anyone with functioning eyes could see that. But admiration from afar was one thing; interest was another. You preferred to know someone before you decided how you felt about them.

Even if he had dark hair that fell just slightly yet perfectly over his forehead. Blessed with sharp, aristocratic cheekbones and tiny beauty marks on pale skin that added to his devilish looks. Pink lips that seemed permanently on the verge of a polite, measured smirk that made girls swoon. Riddle was the kind of boy that had them whispering and preening and inventing foolish excuses just to brush arms with him in corridors.

But at that moment, he looked like he was out for your blood. Like you were nothing more than an animal in the wild and he was the hunter, pinning his sights on you.

You had better things to think about. So, you forced your attention back to your station, exhaling slowly and capping the flame beneath your cauldron. You willed your shoulders to relax with the release of breath before you frowned faintly to yourself.

You wondered, annoyingly, how long he had been staring before you had even noticed.

Across the room, Professor Slughorn beamed, hovering near Riddle like always.

“Splendid, Tom! Simply splendid. Textbook perfection. A natural talent, as always. Twenty points to Slytherin!”

Different reactions swept the room — admiration and heart eyes from some, irritation and jealousy from others. Riddle only inclined his head modestly, unbothered by all the attention. “Thank you, sir.”

His voice was smooth, distinct from everyone and anyone else’s, and positively heart throbbing in itself. You risked another glance at Riddle, just to reassure yourself that you’d been mistaken.

He was no longer looking at you, thankfully. Slughorn stood at his side while Riddle wore that soft smile that made people melt. He nodded his head at precisely the right moments, listening attentively as the professor praised the clarity of his brew of Amortentia, how it was the perfect viscosity and shade. He didn’t even seem all that delighted, more so expectant like he was used to it and confidently knew he would’ve had the best one in the room before walking in; like clockwork.

Nothing about his demeanor suggested he had just been staring at you like he wanted to devour you alive. You felt faintly foolish for thinking like that. Perhaps, you hadn’t seen him properly? After all, the abundant amount of steam in the room did make it rather difficult.

Lost in your thoughts, you briefly think about what Riddle must have smelled. Tom Riddle had never shown any interest in dating anyone in all his time at Hogwarts, much to the dismay of many pretty girls. Maybe he had a muggle girlfriend outside of school?

You remembered, faintly, a memory from a few months ago.

A girl you knew, Wendy, had asked him out and like always, he politely let her down. He had declined each and every love confession he had ever received with courtesy. And yet, people still had the audacity to be slighted, as if they were entitled to him and his feelings.

She had regaled to you and a few other girls the story in the library. You were all supposed to be studying, but the topic eventually drifted, like always — to boys.

“And then he said, “Thank you, but I’m afraid I’m occupied.” Occupied with what?!” Wendy scoffed, clearly hurt that she decided it’d be better to gossip badly about Riddle, red in the face.

“Honestly, he acts like he’s above everyone. It’s exhausting. And not natural.” Then, her eyes widened in realization. “You don’t think he’s… you know?”

It had bothered you, what she said.

You don’t know why to this day. Maybe it’s because you imagined a boy talking about you like that just because you didn’t feel the same way, and how it wouldn’t sit right with you, how it wouldn’t be fair for them to speculate. That you shouldn’t be forced to like specific people because that’s what was socially acceptable.

So, you defended him without thought.

“Or maybe he just doesn’t want to go out with you specifically,” you mutter, flipping a page.

Three heads turned toward you.

“That’s not the point,” Wendy scoffed, offended by your words but trying not to show it. “It’s rude. He acts like no one’s good enough for him.”

“Or,” you started, “he isn’t obligated to entertain you.”

“You defending Riddle now?” A familiar voice asked in an amused tone after a moment of silence — your best friend, you realized, when looking up from your book at last.

“I’m just saying, you can’t call someone arrogant for having boundaries.”

“We’re just talking,” another one of them snapped, some girl you didn’t know the name of to this day.

“So talk,” you replied calmly. “Just don’t act like he owes you his attention.”

A few of them exchanged glances. One shrugged. Then, the conversation shifted.

You shook your head faintly, dismissing your thoughts. It wasn’t your concern.

The bell chimed faintly in the corridor beyond the door just in time — five minutes to the end of class. Slughorn clapped his hands together to get everyone’s attention. “Time, my dears! Cap your potions, label them, and leave them on this table right here. And remember — no sneaking a sample. I’ll know.”

That resulted in a few groans and bits of laughter.

Students began tidying their stations, including you — corking bottles and wiping spills. Slughorn’s back turned as he hurried to inspect a few remaining students brews of the love potion. In the chaos — with robes swishing, chairs scraping against the floor, chatter rising — no one paid attention to Tom Riddle.

His back was angled toward the class, body shielding his cauldron from view. Slughorn was still preoccupied, none the wiser.

Tom moved with hurried precision, covered by the ruckus and cluster of students. One hand slipped into the inner pocket of his robes. The other lifted his ladle. A small, glass vial appeared between his deft fingers. He tilted the utensil ever so slightly and a thin ribbon of pearlescent liquid slid into the container. Not enough to be obvious and change the level in the cauldron, the right amount for him to take.

He corked it carefully and quietly before it vanished into his robes. By the time Slughorn turned back around, Tom busied himself with packing up his things unhurriedly; entirely innocent. He gathered his books neatly, cleaned up his area with a flick of his yew wand, and stood waiting for dismissal like the exemplary student everyone believed him to be — even bidding a polite farewell to the Professor like he does at the end of every class, receiving an oblivious smile from the man in return.

Slughorn clearly did not know.

Soon enough, you’re next to step out into the corridor with your friends.

As you walked with them, curling a strand of hair behind your ear whilst complaining about your next class — behind you, footsteps followed at a distance.

Tom Riddle was staring at you again.

And you walked away, unaware.

Valentine’s Day arrived like a fever spreading inside Hogwarts.

The dormitory had been awake before dawn. You awoke to whispers around you and the rustle of tissue paper. The sharp, sweet scent of perfume clouded the air. Ribbons were tied, taken down, and then retied into hair to perfection. Girls were already sitting cross-legged on their beds in silk nightgowns and perfectly brushed hair, opening velvet boxes and parcels tied in satin ribbon. One girl squealed while another flushed and tried to pretend she hadn’t been waiting for this day all week when opening her package. Someone even shrieked when an owl tapped the window with a parcel of sugared candies.

You rolled onto your back with a sigh, lying still for a moment, staring up at the canopy above your bed as you listened to the excitement around you.

It wasn’t that you cared about today or longed for a boy. It was your decision, countless times, to not have a boyfriend. And you wouldn’t want just any boy approaching you today with trembling hands and a rehearsed declaration of love. In fact, the thought of a public decree made your stomach tighten since you would have to gently decline — and that was humiliating enough for one party. You had no desire in entertaining feelings you did not share like some of your acquaintances.

Still.

It would have been… nice. To be chosen.

You smiled when appropriate as other girls showed off their Valentine’s gifts; a small, traitorous pang in your chest. Ridiculous. You weren’t interested in anyone. You shook it off, rising from the mattress to wash up in the restroom and get dressed for classes that day.

Your uniform was pristine like always, white blouse pressed and colored tie straightened. You smoothed your skirt over your thighs, stockings reaching just below the knee, shoes polished. You brushed your hair until it shone and left it down before fastening your cloak. You dabbed a faint touch of your everyday perfume on your wrists because for you, it was just another day.

When you made your way into the common room, you saw girls clutching bouquets of all different types of colors and chocolates wrapped in boxes.

The corridors were no different, buzzing like a beehive. And by the time you reached the staircases, the castle was alive more than it has ever been — even during the Christmas holidays. Enchanted cupids flitted about and abundant laughter echoed against the stone walls of the castle.

You adjusted the strap of your satchel and eventually met up with your friends at your usual spot, walking towards the Great Hall together, their chatter echoing around you about the latest drama: who got what and from who or who hadn’t gotten anything and ended up splitting on today of all days. You tuned them out until a different name cut through the noise.

“Did you see him?” a pair of Slytherin girls hissed in hushed excitement as you passed. “With a whole bouquet of flowers, I swear! And chocolates too — the expensive kind.”

“Who?”

“Tom Riddle.”

Your steps faltered before you could stop yourself.

The other girl gasped. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not! He was coming up from the dungeons. He had them transfigured so it wasn’t obvious, but I know what I saw.”

You didn’t turn your head. You kept walking before you could linger too long and appear obvious. You had no right to be curious. You barely spoke to him. And you most certainly were not one of the girls who trailed after him like moths to a flame.

Tom Riddle with roses.

With chocolates.

It was almost absurd.

It sounded absurd.

You truly hadn’t meant to listen, truly. Riddle had never shown interest in anyone publicly. He seemed the private type and further more, was single to the point he had never even been rumored to have dated anyone because everyone would know it to be untrue in a heartbeat. But, perhaps he did have someone this entire time. Someone worth keeping a secret of.

You found, to your irritation, that you were curious. It must be someone in school, then.

But who? Who had finally stolen his heart and had the Tom Riddle so enamored?

The Great Hall doors opened to an alive spectacle of owls swooping low through the high windows and dropping parcels into waiting hands, charmed doves fluttering between floating hearts that drifted lazily beneath the enchanted ceiling which had been charmed to a pale pink sunrise with pearly light despite the real one outside being dull and grey like it had been for the last few days, anticipating a storm.

The House tables were louder than usual, scattered with unwrapped sweets and floral arrangements that clashed with everything else in a nearby vicinity.

You scanned the Slytherin table without meaning to.

Riddle wasn’t there.

You exhaled harshly through your nose, annoyed with yourself for searching.

You took your usual place at your table — the same bit of bench you had claimed since first year with your friend group, the same place anyone could find you in the mornings. Predictable. Safe. Like everything you choose. You spooned whipped cream onto your waffles, adding sliced strawberries and a drizzle of syrup on them.

Cadence lightly nudged you with her elbow, a mischievous gleam in her eye. “If someone asks you to be their Valentine today — hypothetically — you’re saying yes, aren’t you?”

“I would hypothetically decline,” you retort dryly, cutting through your waffle.

“How cruel you are to every boy who would be lucky to have you.”

You lifted an unimpressed brow. “I have standards.”

She laughed. “You’ll end up alone at this rate.”

“I’m not afraid of being alone.”

That much was true.

You were about to take your first bite when a shadow fell across your plate.

You looked up, pulse jumping.

A Slytherin boy stood there. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him before. Cute, but not your type. And he looked… nervous. His fingers flexed at his sides with a kind of strained urgency. For a fleeting, mortifying second, you imagined him clearing his throat and announcing — loudly — that he would be honored if you would accompany him today. In front of all these people.

Your heart gave one uncomfortable thud.

Please don’t let him do this here.

“Yes?” you asked slowly, lips drawn in a tight line, already preparing the polite apology on your tongue.

He swallowed. “Er— sorry to interrupt.”

“It’s fine,” you said, your fork hovering midair, frozen like a statue as you wait for the inevitable.

“Professor Slughorn would like to see you.”

Relief washed over you instantly, your features softening and shoulders relaxing. Thankfully, it wasn’t a love confession. Still, your brows knit together. “Now?”

“Yes. In the courtyard.”

You glanced instinctively towards the staff table. Slughorn wasn’t there. Though, a flicker of doubt continued to brush against your mind.

“What for?” you asked, turning your head back to the boy.

He hesitated. “I-I don’t know. He didn’t say.”

Your friend chimed in. “That’s odd.”

You agreed.

Still, there was no obvious reason to refuse. You hadn’t done anything wrong. And if it were truly important, you couldn’t very well ignore it. Maybe it was about schoolwork. You set your fork down with visible reluctance, eyeing your plate with mild mourning and a pout. The whipped cream was already softening into the waffle, syrup pooling at the edges.

A waste.

“If I’m not back in ten minutes, eat that,” you told your friend, gesturing with a tilt of your chin.

“So selfless,” one of them replied solemnly.

“I know.”

You rose, smoothing your skirt, adjusting your cloak over your shoulders before leaning down to grab your bag from the wooden seat and hook it around your shoulder. The boy stepped aside at once to let you pass, relief evident in his posture — as if he had been afraid you might refuse. Though, you can’t imagine what was so frightening about Slughorn that made him tremble so.

The corridors beyond the Great Hall were quieter now, the morning frenzy thinning out as you stepped out into them.

Chatter faded behind you, replaced by the echo of your own footsteps against the stone hallways of the castle. Light filtered through the high windows as best it could with dark skies as you walked further down. When you made your way to the courtyard however, your steps slowed at the sight that greeted you.

You stepped through the arched doorway into the open space. The cold bit at you at once, stealing the warmth from your cheeks. The fountain at the center trickled faintly as water spilled over marble into its basin. Grey clouds sagged overhead, heavy with unshed rain, the stones beneath your shoes damp.

It was completely vacant.

There was always a student or two loitering around, but now, it was unnaturally silent. Not like the peaceful kind you preferred. And there was no Professor Slughorn bustling about. You frowned, uneasiness coiled low in your stomach and sliding beneath your ribs. The courtyard was never empty — even on a day like this.

You shifted your satchel higher on your shoulder, glancing toward the archways as if the professor might appear from behind a column.

You found yourself almost turning back. For reasons you couldn’t explain, you wished you were still at your table in the Great Hall, surrounded by your friends, scarfing down sugary waffles. Thunder clapped overhead like a bad omen.

“I’m glad you came.”

You startled violently despite yourself, breath catching, spinning around too quickly. It unsettled you more than you cared to admit that you hadn’t heard him approach at all.

That voice was unmistakable.

Tom Riddle stood a few paces behind you as though he had always been there. Your heart leapt traitorously in your chest.

Riddle looked striking and flawless as always. Dark hair combed neatly with a curl falling deliberately over his forehead. His Slytherin tie was perfectly knotted, robes falling straight and sharp along his lean, slightly muscular frame. The faintest flush from the cold touched his pale skin, but he did not seem to feel it.

In one hand, he held a box of chocolates wrapped in ribbon. In the other — a bouquet.

Your favorite flowers.

Your breath caught.

It could be coincidence, you told yourself. Flowers were flowers. Anyone could like them. Perhaps he had chosen them at random. Perhaps he was waiting for someone else and you had merely wandered into the scene by accident. Your mind scrambled for reasons because you had a feeling this situation was headed a certain direction that you weren’t sure how to deal with.

Riddle held your gaze steadily, as if he could see each frantic thought as it passed through you.

“I’m waiting for Professor Slughorn,” you said too quickly, the words tumbling out before he asked anything. “He sent for me.”

Why were you explaining yourself?

You avoided his eyes, studying instead the collar of his robe, the way his fingers curved around the base of the bouquet. You felt awkward and absurdly aware of how alone you were with him. Riddle’s gaze rested on you, assessing. There was something faintly amused in the curve of his mouth — and not the warm kind. More like, he knew something you didn’t.

“I’m afraid,” he started gently, “that Professor Slughorn will not be joining you.”

The words prickled at your skin like a bite.

You blinked, looking up at that.

“What?”

“I asked Nott to fetch you.” He tilted his head slightly like he had a habit of doing, studying your reaction with dark brown eyes, ones that felt too intense on you. “I wanted a moment alone.”

For a second, you could only stare at him.

“You lied?” The accusation left you before you could soften it.

Riddle did not falter. If anything, that faint amusement deepened on his gorgeous features, dark and unfairly perfect brows lifting a fraction. “Would you have come if I had asked you myself?”

Your lips parted automatically, ready to retort with something sharp or clever, that he didn’t need deception or to intimidate someone enough to do his bidding — but the truth remained stuck in your throat.

Because no. You wouldn’t have.

You didn’t know him. Not really. You had exchanged perhaps a handful of words in passing. If Tom Riddle had approached you openly in the Great Hall, with half the school watching, you would have declined out of instinct alone.

You pressed your lips together in defeat.

Riddle’s smirk deepened with satisfaction.

“I thought not,” he murmured. He stepped closer, not enough to invade your space, but enough that you could feel his intensity.

Then, “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said suddenly.

It wasn’t a stammering confession you had braced yourself for from some nervous boy. His voice was steady, like a statement rather than a request. He extended the bouquet and chocolates toward you, waiting.

The gesture was immaculate, private, considerate. Exactly the sort of confession you would have preferred without a spectacle or an audience.

The courtyard felt even quieter. Somehow, you couldn’t even hear the single chirp of a bird.

You were acutely aware of the space between you. The way Riddle’s eyes did not leave your face, as if he was deciphering your every thought just from your expressions like how a snake would assess its meal before lunging. He seemed entirely certain of himself.

Then, it hits you that he must have been the one to clear the courtyard. Of course. Who else could have that type of power? Your pulse thudded in your ears, heat creeping up your cheeks. He had orchestrated this entire thing.

And he had done everything right.

For a tiny moment, you imagined accepting. You imagined walking back into the castle at his side, flowers in your arms. You imagined the looks. Too many looks. Too many whispers. Because Tom Riddle was always being watched. Either out of admiration or envy. If you stepped into his orbit, you would not be permitted anonymity again. There would be jealous girls, speculation, and endless scrutiny from every direction. The resentment from those who had tried and failed to get close to him. Your life would no longer be quiet at school.

And beneath that practical reasoning, there was something else — the simple truth being that you did not know him.

And under that, the memory of that look in class — the way he had stared at you through the steam as if claiming something that did not yet belong to him.

And Tom Riddle did nothing without purpose.

So, why you?

You were not one of the girls who trailed after him in corridors. You didn’t blush when he entered a room. You didn’t whisper about him.

Perhaps… that was precisely why.

“Tom,” you began carefully, fingers tightening around your bag’s strap like a lifeline as you swallowed. “Riddle, I mean,” once you realized how familiar you sounded unintentionally. You noticed he straightened a little at that. “I-I’m sorry.”

And you truly meant it. But the next few words caught in your throat when you saw the flicker of the same expression from the dungeon — the one that had frozen you in place. His cold eyes sharpened with displeasure and something possessive. A chill shot down your spine. But, then it was gone, vanishing almost instantly — as if it’d never been there. The polite mask slid back into place so seamlessly that you almost doubted you had seen his other face at all.

“I can’t accept this,” you finished softly. “I didn’t know… I mean, we’ve never even—” You huffed, frustrated with yourself. “It wouldn’t be right.”

A silence so deafening stretched between you.

You couldn’t meet his eye. Riddle hadn’t moved at all from your peripheral. But then, he spoke at last, “I see...”

Surprisingly, he hadn’t looked embarrassed or wounded. There was not a hint of a tremor in his voice or a trace of bitterness — and somehow, it unsettled you more than pure anger might have.

“I appreciate your honesty.”

He sounded thoughtful. So, you found your shoulders loosening.

“I hope there aren’t any hard feelings,” you added carefully, brows furrowed.

“None,” he assured you with a flutter of his dark lashes, polite and unbothered as ever like the proper gentleman he was. Then, almost as an afterthought, Riddle lifted the box slightly to you. “At least take these.”

You hesitated.

“I know how fond you are of them,” he continued, tone mild. “It would be a shame to let them go to waste.”

Your brows drew together faintly. “How did you—”

He gave the smallest shrug. “It isn’t a secret.”

It wasn’t. You were rarely without something sugary in hand. Anyone observant enough could notice. And Tom Riddle was observant. You studied him one last time before slowly reaching out and accepting the chocolates, the edge of the box cool against your sweaty fingers.

“Thank you,” you said, offering a small, apologetic smile. “Truly.”

His gaze dipped briefly to your hand as it closed fully around the container of chocolates, a small smile on his lips.

“You’re welcome.”

“And… I am sorry,” you added once more for great measure.

Riddle smiled reassuringly. “There’s nothing to forgive.” Then, he adds with a tone that sounded innocently hopeful, “But, if you do happen to change your mind, I’ll be at the Astronomy Tower this evening. I hear the stars will be rather exceptionally beautiful tonight.”

The statement seemed so casual that it hadn’t even hit you that it’ll be storming all week, that the skies wouldn’t be visible for the next few days. But, you nodded anyway just to be nice. You had just rejected his feelings after all…

With a step back, hands folding neatly behind him, the bouquet remained there, hidden from your view. He inclined his head with quiet courtesy. You nodded in return, already turning, eager for the warmth and noise of the Hogwarts corridors. With each step away from him, your lungs seemed to fill more easily. You slipped the chocolates into your satchel and adjusted the strap over your shoulder. By the time you reached the archway, you had almost convinced yourself the entire encounter had been harmless. Unfortunate, perhaps — but civil.

You were lucky Riddle was so understanding.

As you walked off, behind you, Tom did not move. He watched you until the stone walls of the school swallowed you from sight as if he could still see you through them.

The polite expression dissolved the instant you disappeared. His jaw tightened, broad shoulders becoming rigid beneath his robes. And behind his back, his fingers tightened around the stems of the bouquet until his knuckles turned white. They bent and snapped under his unforgiving grip. The pretty flowers blackened at an unnatural pace right at the edges before gradually bleeding inward at an alarming speed. The delicate petals wilted, reduced to something lifeless and small.

Tom’s remained eerily calm other than that. A petal fell soundlessly, and he watched as it reached the wet stone at his feet.

He smiled.

Then, he threw the bouquet to the ground like dirt before turning, his cloak sweeping behind him.

Thankfully, the rest of the day passed by in a haze.

The castle’s Valentine’s fever broke slowly but surely. By afternoon, the romance had dulled. Very few couples still walked too close in the corridors, smiling and holding hands. Girls with broken hearts huddled with blotchy eyes while their friends stroked their hair and whispered assurances. The enchanted decor had long since tired themselves out.

You drifted through it, lost in your own head as your mind wouldn’t stop circling back to him.

Tom Riddle had wanted you.

It still felt crazy, but you knew it now. That in Potions, he must have smelled you.

“Are you even listening?” A friend hissed at you during Transfiguration, nudging your knee under the desk.

You blinked, snapping out of your daze, quill hovering uselessly above parchment, dripping ink from the tip in large blots and ruining your work. “What?”

She stared. “Professor Merrythought just asked you a question.”

Heat flared in your cheeks, eyes darting around the class and then apologetically to the Professor.

“Right. Sorry.” You forced your attention forward, ignoring the low ripple of snickers.

Your mind felt like it was moving through syrup, and you kept it all to yourself. In Arithmancy, you lost track of numbers you usually handled with ease. In History of Magic, you stared through Professor Binns as if he were smoke.

You had never truly noticed how many classes you shared with Tom Riddle before today. Now, it felt excessive. Potions, Transfiguration, Defense, Ancient Runes. He had always been there — but you had never catalogued the frequency of his presence until now. Riddle always sat with his back straight. His quill moved with elegant strokes as he took notes. He answered every question asked of him and was always correct.

And he did not look at you once.

Not even once.

A part of you bristled.

It bothered you more than if he had glared across the room because he was unbothered as ever. It was as if the courtyard had not happened. As if he had not offered you your favorite flowers and waited for your answer. Why ask if he did not care?

You caught yourself watching the side of his face during Transfiguration, tracing the sharp line of his cheekbone, the faint hollow beneath it, the way his long and skillful hands worked his wand. You noticed he liked to fidget with it a lot — running his fingers along the side, caressing, holding it delicately like it was an extension of himself. Riddle suddenly shifted slightly in his seat, and you looked away at once, heart pounding madly in your chest.

You should be grateful. This is what you wanted, you reminded yourself. You would have hated his scorn. You would have hated whispers and pointed stares. This was the better outcome. You didn’t want to be known as the girl who rejected Tom Riddle even when your chest tightened unpleasantly each time he gathered his books without so much as glancing your way.

So, why did it feel like something was terribly wrong?

By the time late afternoon crept in and you finished your classes for the day, you were already making your way to the Hogwarts library.

It was quieter than normal. Valentine’s Day had drained the castle of its usual studious population. Lamps glowed in warm, cozy pools of gold across long wooden tables. The smell of ink and old books welcomed you like an embrace. The tall windows were darker than they were before now. And most of all, it was silent in the way you liked. The library had always been your refuge.

You passed a few stragglers who also had nothing better to do on Valentine’s Day as you made your way to the back of the huge reading area, shrugging off your cloak and draping it over the armrest before sinking into a wooden chair.

As the minutes passed, books started to accumulate around you on the table. You diligently studied for your next exam, burying yourself in the library as evening settled over Hogwarts. The light outside the tall windows dimmed so slowly that you hadn’t even noticed until you took a glance and realized how much time had passed. You rolled your shoulders, flexed your aching fingers, and leaned back over your notes. You read the same line three times, finding yourself unable to focus as hunger gradually gnawed at your stomach.

It hit you that you had not eaten at all today.

Your plate at breakfast had gone unfinished, and you skipped lunch entirely to come here. The dining hall would be closing soon. You considered getting something from the kitchens later. Though in truth, your appetite had vanished after the encounter with Riddle, your mind preoccupied with other things.

Then, you remembered.

The chocolates.

You stilled, hand hovering over parchment. A small feeling of guilt bloomed in your chest. You had nearly forgotten about them.

At least I won’t starve, you thought dryly.

Thanks, Riddle.

When you reached into your satchel, your fingers brushed against something smooth and rigid. After a second of hesitation, you drew out the box. It was elegant, with dark packaging and a perfectly tied ribbon. It felt nice and cool against your warm fingers that had been working for hours.

You set it on the table, undoing the carefully knotted bow, and lifted the lid almost excitedly. You loved chocolate, and you were always curious about the taste of different ones. A container like this would surely hold varying types that you were interested in trying. Some could have a filling of jam, or caramel, or a different flavor chocolate inside. The possibilities were endless.

Where others sought spontaneity in their real lives, you found it in chocolate. Because chocolate was the one thing that could never hurt you.

When you set the top aside, you saw that inside lay neat rows of white chocolates, each one ornate and delicately crafted, faintly glossy under the light. Your breath caught at how stunning they were, and you inhaled. A smile curled onto your lips despite yourself, giddy in your seat like a child.

They smelled exquisitely divine. They looked like the sweet and rich type, very expensive — just as the Slytherin girl from this morning had claimed. Too pretty you didn’t even want to eat them. You didn’t question how he knew of your preference. Because you rarely went a week without white chocolate; anyone paying enough attention could have noticed.

And Tom Riddle paid attention.

Your stomach gave a sudden, sharp pang at the enticing scent.

With the grace of an eager child, you picked one up and brought it to your mouth. The smooth chocolate melted instantly on your tongue, silky and decadent. A soft, pleased moan escaped from your lips before you could stop it. Embarrassed heat rushed to your cheeks, and you glanced around.

Merlin.

You hope no one heard that.

You swallowed quickly, your hunger starting to satiate bit by bit, before your fingers reached for another without thinking. The second tasted even sweeter. A warmth like no other continued to spread in your chest, like something had been wound tight and was now loosening itself. You leaned back slightly in your seat, tilting your head and humming in satisfaction as your eyes shut for just a moment.

Tom’s face suddenly surfaced in your mind with startling clarity, but not with the typical unease that came with it before.

You only remembered the charming curve of his soft, pink lips. The single, adorable curl that always falls over his forehead like it’s dying to be tamed, fixed back into place by your gentle hand. His strong, broad shoulders and the confident, attractive way he carried himself. The way his voice had dipped almost sensually, eyes smoldering when he told you Happy Valentine’s Day.

Your fingers tightened around the edge of the box.

Why had you said no?

You were confused.

Tom had been awfully considerate earlier today. He had known exactly what you would prefer. He had arranged everything so carefully. The lie, the empty courtyard, the timing to give you peace of mind.

Your pulse quickened.

Tom had looked at you like you were the only person in his world.

A soft, almost aching pressure built beneath your ribs. You could picture him so vividly now that it made your breath shallow. He was extraordinary. Brilliant in every class. Admired by professors. Feared, even, by some. There was something absolutely magnetic about him — something no one else had.

And he had chosen you.

A sharp wave of regret washed over you, sudden and consuming. How foolish you must have seemed. How cold. You had rejected him without even trying to understand him. You wanted conversation, you told yourself. You wanted to know someone first.

Tom had been trying to give you that chance.

And you had hurt him.

The realization struck with surprising force.

He had stood there — perfectly composed — while you rejected him. Tom had offered you your favorite flowers and you felt a pang of regret now at not taking them when you had the chance.

Your heart began to race in earnest, a dizzying rhythm that made your fingers tremble slightly. The warmth in your chest deepened, spreading into your throat and then to your limbs like fire. You felt unsteady and lightheaded. The thought of him alone somewhere in the castle, alone because you had sent him away—

No.

The idea of it twisted painfully in your heart like a knife.

“But, if you do happen to change your mind, I’ll be at the Astronomy Tower this evening. I hear the stars will be rather exceptionally beautiful tonight.”

You glanced toward the tall windows of the castle library. The sky outside was darkening rapidly, clouds thick and dark grey. It might storm soon tonight. Tom had said the stars would be beautiful. But perhaps he had only meant it as an excuse. An offering. It didn’t matter.

You had been so careless. Of course you had feelings for him. How could you not? Every glance he’d ever given you now felt charged in retrospect. Potions class — earlier, you figured out he had smelled you. That was why he’d stared. Tom was drawn to you. He hungered for you.

You released a soft gasp, your heart thudding harder.

Better yet, he understood you like no one else did. You were sure of it now. He had watched quietly, learned your preferences and your habits. The thought of him doing just that, of staring at you for long periods of time without you even realizing just to understand you made your heart soar, a flush blooming on your cheeks. Taking his time, he had waited for the right moment to confess. You pressed your fingers lightly to your lips, trying to steady your rapid breathing that sounded almost like panting.

You needed to see him. A need that felt important above all else.

You needed to go. You needed to fix this. Not tomorrow. Now. He must have thought you didn’t care. He must have believed you dismissed him as easily as the other boys who tried.

Standing abruptly, your chair scraped loudly against the floor. A few students glanced up from distant tables, annoyed — you even earned a soft shush from somewhere to your right — but you barely registered it. Your pulse hammered in your ears now, loud enough to drown out reason. Every thought circled back to him — his voice, his eyes, the way he had said your name.

How had you not seen it before?

Tom was perfect.

Handsome. Intelligent. The very idea of him made your stomach flutter and your pulse quicken. Of all the girls who trailed after him, who whispered about him, who would have fallen at his feet if he so much as glanced their way — he had only looked at you.

A soft ache spread beneath your ribs. You had mistaken him. He hadn’t looked unbothered today because he didn’t care. Tom was giving you space.

Your throat tightened.

Tom was waiting for you.

He had said he would be at the Astronomy Tower this evening. It was evening. He might leave. The idea filled you with an unreasonable urgency. What if he thought you truly meant your refusal? What if he decided you were not worth pursuing? What if someone else—

No.

Your stomach twisted at the notion.

Your books and parchment lay forgotten as you close the lid of the chocolate box with careful, trembling hands and slipped it back into your bag, clutching it close as though it were something precious. You didn’t even bother with your cloak. The thought of missing him made your chest constrict. He would understand. He always seemed to understand. Tom was always so understanding.

You loved him.

The realization felt less like a question and more like an admission of truth you had been avoiding. It explained the awareness of him and the irritation at his composure. You had been afraid of wanting him. But he wanted you.

And you wanted— needed to see him desperately. If you didn’t, you think you’d die. You may have wasted the day, but you won’t make the mistake of wasting the night. You belonged with him. And you would not let him slip away.

The staircases seemed endless.

You didn’t remember leaving the library. You barely felt your feet striking stone as you ran, the slap of your shoes against stairs you nearly missed, fingers clutching freezing stone banisters to swing yourself around corners. Students cursed with startled protests as you shoved past without apology; one boy nearly dropped his books.

Someone may have called your name. You weren’t sure. The only thing you were sure of was Tom. Nothing mattered in the moment except him.

The castle was extremely chilly after sunset. Cool wind slipped through narrow slits, raising goosebumps along your bare arms through your thin blouse, yet heat pulsed under your skin — feverish and burning. You had left your cloak draped over the library chair. It did not occur to you to go back for it. So, you had forgotten it. Forgotten your books. Forgotten everything except him.

Tom.

Every minuscule and unimportant thought curved back to him. Your mind whispered his name like a prayer. Your breath tore in and out of your lungs as though you had been running for miles. Up spiral staircases. Through corridors and past suits of armor. The storm had begun outside; you could hear it building — wind battering the windows, distant thunder rolling like a warning.

None of it mattered.

There was only one fixed point in the world, and it was at the top of the Astronomy Tower.

You took the final staircase, breathing shallow in uneven gasps, heart rate frantic and desperate — fingers gripping the metal railing to steady yourself. The tower door loomed ahead, iron latch glinting at you mockingly. You shoved it open with strength you weren’t even aware you possessed just to get to him.

The wind struck you fully at once, brisk and furious, carrying the faint scent of rain washed stone. It whipped your hair around your face, but you paid it no mind. The sky was ominous and frightening, nothing like what he had promised.

Yet, amidst it all was your North Star. Your guiding light. Funny, wasn’t it? That he was in the Astronomy Tower of all places.

The clouds hid the heavens, but Tom glowed as he stood in the dark of night at the balcony’s edge, facing the horizon with his back to you, hands resting lightly on the railings. The storm swallowed the sky, but in your vision he was lit from within. The only thing illuminated. The only thing that mattered. His dark robes stirred with the breeze, the fabric clinging and releasing against his lean frame. You could only see the elegant line of his neck and the sharp angle of his jaw. He looked carved from shadow and pale marble, perfectly still against the raging weather.

You could only stare in awe.

He looked like he belonged to the night.

The beauty of what lay in front of your eyes made your breath catch in your throat.

“Tom.”

The name left you with reverence and breathlessness, almost disbelieving — like you had stumbled upon something sacred.

He turned.

At that moment, thunder cracked overhead. Lightning split across the sky in a violent flare of white, bathing Tom in a sudden light. For a heartbeat, your world froze with that flash. He looked like an angel. The light carved his high cheekbones, hollowed shadows beneath them, kissable lips curved in something that was not quite surprise.

His brown eyes found yours instantly before the faintest smile touched his lips — and somehow, you felt like you could breathe again. Like your entire world had rightened itself under your feet. Because Tom looked so happy to see you.

Rain began to mist in the air, cool against your flushed cheeks.

“I wondered how long it would take,” he finally spoke, voice carrying easily through the harsh winds. Your heart trembled at the melodious sound.

The implication in his tone flew right over your head. You only heard his voice, smooth like velvety chocolate on the tongue. It wrapped around you like warmth which you were in desperate need of.

Tom knew you would come. And he waited, so patiently. He knew you better than you knew yourself.

You stepped toward Tom before you even realized you were moving, like he was a magnet. Then again. And again. The distance— the separation between you felt unbearable.

And Tom watched closely the entire time, tracing over you slowly in a way that made you shudder from the intensity. He took note of everything, studied you. The lack of a cloak and your thin blouse which did nothing against the chill as if you had rushed over here. The flushed cheeks and your heaving breasts. The wild shine in your eyes. The way your hands trembled slightly at your sides.

Tom’s gaze darkened with something akin to pleasure.

“You’re cold,” he observed, though his voice carried no real concern.

“I don’t care,” you whispered.

Every step closed the space and yet it was never fast enough. The wind tangled your hair across your face, but you did not brush it away. You could not look anywhere except at him.

“You were right,” you choked out, your voice unsteady. “About the stars.”

Tom paused for a moment, faintly confused before his lips tugged at the corners in amusement at your state of delirium. It was, after all, an effect of the Amortentia he put in the chocolates you took from him this morning. It was also the last thing he had said to you in parting, and so, it wasn’t surprising you would be fixated on it.

“I’m usually right.”

You know that now, down to your marrow.

“You’re beautiful,” you breathed instead, unable to help yourself from commenting on it. Up close, he was overwhelming. And that smile on his face was devilishly handsome. It gave you butterflies. Satisfaction flickered in his eyes — eyes like dark chocolate. You loved chocolate and you loved Tom.

You reached for him to steady yourself as though you had been falling all along. And the second your fingers touched the fabric of his robes, the world narrowed to that single point of contact. He was real. And he was yours. Tom stood at the center of your universe — like the stars, burning and eternal.

“I—” Your voice trembled suddenly. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see it,” your words tumbled over one another. “I didn’t understand earlier. I was foolish. I thought— I thought I didn’t know you. But I do. I must. I just— didn’t want to be… like the others.”

A huff of amusement came from Tom.

“You are nothing like the others.”

By the look on Tom’s face, he seemed to be telling the truth, so sure of himself and what he had spoken to you. Of course he was. Tom would never lie to you. He did earlier today, but that was because he knew you’d be too stubborn to listen then. Again, an example of how well he knew you.

Another roll of thunder swallowed your words.

You closed the final, treacherous inch between you and collided into him like a supernova, fingers fisting into the fabric of his robes, pressing yourself against his chest as though proximity alone could steady the storm inside you. Your arms wound around his waist, clutching him tightly as though he might vanish into a black hole.

Tom went rigid beneath your touch.

A subtle tension rippled through him as if your unrestrained contact took him by surprise. But it was gone almost instantly. His arms came around you with one hand settled at your lower back, the other sliding possessively at your nape, fingers threading lightly into your hair.

You melted into his burning touch. His hands felt like a furnace on a cold night. You took advantage of the situation, inhaling the scent off his clean clothes. And God, he was the best thing you ever smelt — better than chocolate. Better than the ones he had given you that tasted sweeter with every bite you took. You wondered if Tom’s lips tasted the same.

“I thought I didn’t need anyone,” you continued, your voice breaking as hot tears streamed down your cheeks. “But when I left you this morning, i-it felt like I couldn’t breathe.” Your fingers tightened in the fabric at his back. “It felt like something was crushing my chest.”

Tom’s hand at your neck flexed with subtle pressure, guiding you closer. His chin lowered slightly — so tall, so tall — resting against the crown of your head. He did not hush you. He only listened. Oh, Tom. He was perfect in every way.

“Did it?” He murmured softly in return, voice near you ear. His thumb brushed upward along your spine in a slow, absent movement. Safe. You felt safe in his arms. You only nodded against him hysterically, fingers clutching at his robes, wrinkling the immaculate fabric.

Tom’s gaze lifted to the stormy, dark horizon in the background as you spoke into his chest. He had known you would come. The amount of love potion he put into the chocolates were enough to tilt you gently in the direction you were meant to face. Toward him.

“I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t think. I kept seeing you. And I realized…” Your breath hitched. “I realized I can’t be without you. I don’t want to be. I need you,” you finally confessed, cheeks hot, fisting his shirt. The words trembled as they came out of you, but they were certain. You were afraid for him to leave you, to be alone.

“I need you like I need air, Tom.”

The wind howled faintly around the tower, tugging at your hair and at his cloak with fiercer ferocity. The storm clapped mercilessly above, rain starting to pouring heavily into the balcony which you both stood near at an angle. Tom stepped closer inside to avoid being hit much by it, leading you backwards with him.

You barely noticed, eyes locked on his face like you couldn’t look away; entranced.

Tom tilted your chin up with two fingers. You looked at him through tear blurred vision, cheeks flushed, lashes wet, lips parted and wobbly. Devotion was written plainly across your face. Worship and unwavering loyalty. Tom’s gaze swept over you slowly, drinking you in. He couldn’t help but swallow, pale throat bobbing.

Perfect. You were… perfect like this.

“You want me? You need me?” He repeated very quietly, voice raspy as he cupped your cheek. It sounded like gospel to your ears. You leaned into his hand. Honestly, you could hear Tom speak all day. You almost hated yourself for having to respond because he went silent just to hear you. But Tom wanted you to talk to him, and you would do anything to make him happy.

“Yes,” you gasped, your response immediate and absolute.

Tom’s thumb brushed beneath your eye, catching the edge of a tear as he collected it onto his finger. He examined the moisture on his skin briefly before letting his hand fall.

“I don’t give my attention lightly,” Tom hummed. “You know that.”

“I know.”

“And when I decide something belongs to me…” His eyes held yours, unblinking. You inhaled sharply. “I do not let it go easily.”

A shiver ran down your spine.

“I don’t want you to,” you whispered.

Tom’s hand slid from your jaw to the curve of your waist, fingers spreading there as though testing the shape of you, claiming you. You leaned into him further. He drew you impossibly closer than that, your body pressed against his fully now. You could feel the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your palm. It wasn’t beating erratically like yours.

Your fingers slid higher along his chest, curling near his collar. He doesn’t stop you.

“I want you.”

The statement hung in the air as Tom simply looked down at you.

“You have me,” Tom said at last, and your heart swelled painfully at that. He understood. He always understood. You buried your face against his chest again, tears barely dampening the front of his rain soaked clothes. His hand moved to the back of your neck once more.

“And you won’t run again,” he murmured, and it sounded like seduction.

“No.”

His thumb pressed lightly at the base of your throat, just enough to feel the frantic pulse there, tilting your head back up ever so slightly to meet his eyes.

“Say it.”

You swallowed, and he felt it against his finger. You were completely vulnerable in this position. And yet, your breath shook wildly, eyes dilated.

“I won’t run from you.”

The faintest hum left him, almost content.

“Good girl.”

Your breath hitched at the praise. Good girl. You wanted to hear it again and again until it was etched into your bones. Your lips parted instinctively as if asking for more without words. Lightning flashed again, closer now. The harsh breeze mauled at your damp hair, whipping it across your face again. He reached up and smoothed it back with unsettling gentleness.

“You belong with me,” you practically begged. “Don’t you see? I belong with you.”

“I was hoping,” he started carefully, pausing to look over your expression, “that you would come to that conclusion on your own.”

Your heart seized at that. He had believed in you. He had waited.

“I love you,” you hiccuped, the words tumbling out without hesitation.

Silence followed. Droplets of rain striked the stone around you.

“You couldn’t live without me?” Tom asked.

You shook your head helplessly, enamored with him and hanging onto his every word.

“No.”

A faint exhale left him — almost a laugh, but not quite. For all his contempt of love potions, Tom could not deny their elegance.

He had always despised them — weak little instruments for those too pathetic to command any type of devotion on their own merit. The irony of his own conception had burned that hatred into him early. A foolish girl from a crumbling line, infatuated with a filthy Muggle, desperate enough to drug him into counterfeit affection. A love potion slipped into a drink. A Muggle man ensnared. And from that humiliating farce — him. His mother had begged for love. And when it slipped through her fingers, she had withered.

Lord Voldemort would never wither.

Lord Voldemort would never be weak.

He would never beg a filthy Muggle to stay. He would never cling to someone who did not choose him freely. He would never lose control of himself the way his mother had. Tom did not feed you this potion because he lacked control over you. He brewed it because power — which was neither good nor evil — meant using every bit of magic available.

Tom Riddle was nothing like his stupid mother.

Merope had dosed Tom Riddle Sr because she feared he would leave. Tom had dosed you because you would not have the good sense to stay. Because you were stubborn in that infuriatingly, principled way. Because you required… encouragement.

And now?

His hand tightened subtly at your nape, thumb pressing into the pulse at your neck just beneath your skin as if testing it. You trembled for him. You burned for him. You had run through the castle, abandoned dignity, abandoned sense, abandoned warmth — because you needed him.

A memory flickered through his mind.

It would be months ago from now. He had not meant to linger in that aisle longer than necessary, running a simple errand for a professor before he heard his name. Now, Tom was by far not an uncommon name, he admitted to himself with bitterness. But, he recognized the voice. Out of pure instinct, he peeked through the shelves, curious and silent, gaze sharp through the narrow, emptied out spaces between spines of ancient books in the castle library.

Tom saw one of the girls who he had turned down the day before. Clearly, she was not as okay with it as she had pretended to be and would gladly tear him apart for sport in front of her pathetic friends. Not that he cared about such trivial matters. The concept of love was the least of his concerns. He knew what to expect. Tom could read people like an open book. Resentment and hurt; he had grown accustomed to nurturing it in others every time he said the word no.

But then, he heard you.

Defending him.

You hadn’t known he was listening. You had no idea he stood on the other side of that shelf, watching you. You had simply said what you believed to be true. That he owed no one his affection. That boundaries were not arrogance. You had sounded sincere, not a single trace of want in your tone.

It had stuck with him.

At first, he assumed it was typical teenage girl pettiness. A little rivalry using a clever remark to wound another for competition… until he realized you never once looked at him in class or in corridors. You did not smile at him shyly. You did not linger near in hopes of getting his attention. You did not even seem to care that he existed.

It wasn’t always obsession.

That was when curiosity took root.

Then, curiosity became irritation.

Tom Riddle was accustomed to being watched. To the whispers. To the desire and lust in other people’s eyes. But you — infuriatingly — refused to orbit him. Never preened. Never sought him out. You rejected boys without hesitation, as if their offers were minor inconveniences. Including Tom too, apparently.

What did you want, then? What standard did you hold that so many failed to reach? He couldn’t figure you out as easily as anyone else. And ironically, Tom Riddle hated riddles.

After closely watching you for months, he had figured out plenty about you. You lived quietly, guarding your privacy like treasure. You liked silence, he did too. But not the eerie kind like Tom did. You preferred the type that consisted of at least some natural noise. You disliked spectacles, stiffening at anything that would draw attention to you. Like him, you valued control. In some ways, you and him were not so different.

You tucked your hair behind your ear when irritated. You frowned faintly when concentrating, a look he’s seen many times when you never noticed him staring right at you. You were kind. Tom first saw it in the way you protected his name in conversations that did not concern you and he hasn’t forgotten it since.

And then, there was the chocolate — always white chocolate. It was your weakness. He had catalogued it months ago, when you unwrapped one absentmindedly. The faint smile you wore when you thought no one was looking, how you so easily lost yourself in it, brain going numb — the sight made him hungry in a way he never was growing up as a poor orphan. It made him want to ravish you where you stood. He had been looking. He was always looking at you. And you were blissfully unaware.

Tom had known you would eat what he gave you. Your sweet tooth was abominable. How could something so simple bring you so much joy? You lacked restraint when it came to sugar. He had measured the dosage of Amortentia carefully — enough to turn the tide of your stubbornness, not enough to dull your mind completely. He did not want a puppet. He wanted something that felt real, that sounded real — as real as a love potion can get.

Tom had given you the illusion of choice; in a manner of speaking. And when you still rejected him in the courtyard — just as part of him knew you would — cold fury had flared inside him, bright and violent, beneath his composed exterior. You had dared to believe there was someone better suited to you than him? How dare you find him insufficient? Who could possibly surpass him?

No one.

No one would have you.

He had orchestrated every detail to make you comfortable.

And still, you said no.

How ungrateful you were.

He had even planted the seed with Slughorn weeks before, during a late Slug Club gathering. It was a casual suggestion, an offhand remark about the curriculum timing what with Valentine’s Day approaching. Wouldn’t it be amusing to align love potions with the season? Slughorn had beamed at the brilliance of it, utterly unaware he had been maneuvered.

The pieces had arranged themselves beautifully. As they always did, the stars shone in his name — for he was the universe’s favorite. Everything would work out for Lord Voldemort in the end.

As you clung to him now, pliant, Tom felt no guilt. Only confirmation that you were not like the others — he had been right about that from the beginning. You had defended him when you owed him nothing. You had shown him something dangerously close to loyalty before he had even asked for it.

And loyalty deserved to rewarded.

In all honesty, your trust had always been your flaw. You defended him when you did not know him. You believed in goodness where others would not. You believed in him.

You were too good for your own good.

And goodness, in this world, required protection. He would be that protection. Deep down, even a god like him craved to be seen as a man from time to time. So, you would love him like one. Tom would show you how. And you would never stop.

Tom’s lips crashed onto yours with bruising force, a hand fisting in your damp hair. Deep and claiming, his tongue swept into your mouth like he was starving for the taste of you. Like he’d been starving for weeks, months, years. Like this was his first taste of life and death all at once. You gasped against him, overwhelmed — and Tom took the opportunity by deepening the kiss, your body arching instinctively into his chest, a hand gripping your waist hard enough to bruise.

He backed you against the stone walls of the Astronomy tower, thigh nudged between yours, pressure settling exactly where heat pooled most desperately. You whimpered, a broken sound swallowed by another searing kiss.

Tom’s hands were everywhere — rough, impatient, possessive. He shoved your skirt up past your hips without breaking the kiss, wand calloused fingers dragging over bare skin before finding your panties soaked with slick. He growled into your mouth at the feeling. A dark, satisfied sound that made you even wetter.

Tom didn’t let up, your whimpers going straight to his groin. He fed off every breathless sound you made, every tremble that ran through your frame at his touch. When he finally pulled back an inch, his brown eyes burned down at yours, flashing red almost. They were feral.

“So wet,” he rasped against your lips, tone thick with something between disbelief and satisfaction with you. “For me?”

You could only nod frantically as his thumb circled once over swollen flesh like a loving caress one would absentmindedly give an animal, a slow tease, before taking them away. Before you could complain however, without warning, Tom dropped to his knees before you on those cold stone floors drenched by windblown rainwater pooling near your feet and gently pushed up your soaked skirt once more. The second his cold, powerful fingers brushed your inner thigh, you shivered.

Tom looked up at you through dark lashes. Droplets of rain streaked down his pale face. His hands were steady, skillful— too calm for a prodigy that was about to do something so filthy on a magical tower where anyone could find them.

But then again, Tom had never cared about rules when it came to getting what he wanted.

And right now?

He wanted you.

With deliberate slowness, torturous, he hooked one long finger under your soaked panties before he pulled them aside. A cool gust of wind swept over your exposed heat just as his warm breath ghosted across sensitive skin. A soft gasp left your throat at the sensation before your lips parted further in surprise.

Tom had licked once — a long, slow drag straight up your slit — and groaned like it was honey on his tongue, the sound making you clench around nothing. He was starting to understand why you lost control of yourself when it came to sweet things.

All you could focus on was the mouth suddenly sealing over your core like a man possessed. His tongue worked in ruthless circles, relentless and straight to the point, plunging inside before licking back up again with just the right pressure to make your knees buckle.

You cried out, a high pitched and desperate sound as one hand fisted in his hair while the other braced against damp stone wall behind you. You wanted him. You wanted all of him. Anything he’d give you, you’d take in a heartbeat. The wind continued to howl around you, drowning out your noises, rain slashing sideways onto your faces — but neither of you cared.

All that existed was Tom’s mouth devouring you like ripe fruit offered to a god — the wet sounds obscene as he sucked at your clit between sharp nips of his teeth — a low growl vibrating from his chest and against your folds, sending shocks through the sensitive flesh every time another whimper escaped your lips.

Everything about this was borderline animalistic, something you never expected from Tom.

Tom.

Tom.

“Tom, Tom, Tom—!”

Your voice was a broken melody as you worshipped his name like it was the only word left in your world, dazed and drunk from the love potion’s magic. He was the only thought in your head. It confused you how you could love someone so much so suddenly. But you guess that’s what it meant to love someone so great. Each utterance of his name dripped with reverence, laced with the love potion’s haze and raw pleasure as his tongue worked magic between your thighs. And though he despised that name — Tom Marvolo Riddle — hearing it fall from your lips like this? Like you were praying to him?

It undid something in him. Tom reveled in it.

His eyes stayed locked on yours even as he feasted on you, dark pools of hunger and possession flashing with each clap of lightning outside. Rain slicked every inch of his face. His cheeks dusted faintly pink from exertion — but it hadn’t compared to how utterly wrecked you looked above him.

Fingers tightening further at your hip while the other curled under your thigh, lifting it effortlessly so he had a better angle. Tom was relentless. Every lick, every suck — each one was born to ruin you. His tongue dragged up your slick folds with agonizing slowness, the tip playing with your tiny clit just enough to make you whimper before pulling away completely and doing it again. And again; like he had all night.

It was just them, like it was always meant to be — the breeze whooshing around their bodies that were pressed together — and Tom was worshipping at the altar of your cunt like it truly was sacred ground only meant for him.

Tom groaned against you when you ground down harder onto his mouth, hips rocking helplessly as pleasure coiled tighter in your belly. One hand shot out instinctively to brace against his shoulder while the other still clung desperately to his hair — pushing his face deeper without meaning to.

The vibrations of another low growl rumbled through his lips straight into your throbbing bundle of nerves. You were so close, rutting against his pretty face in tandem.

“Tom,” you whined pitifully. Tom knew. He always knew.

He could feel it, from the way your thighs tensed to how your breaths turned into frantic little gasps that dissolved into moans. From the moment you tilted your head back, baring that delicate throat to the sky, breaking eye contact with him although he knew it pained you to do so. Because all you ever wanted to do was look at him now.

Without breaking rhythm, his tongue circled your clit while two fingers suddenly pushed inside you without warning, long and deft, finding that spongy spot deep within instantly, filling you up deliciously.

“Tom— oh! Oh God—”

Tom smirked up at you. Your back arched off the wall while thighs shook around his invading hand. It burned, stretched you too fast — but god it was good, especially when Tom curled them upwards just right. He sucked hard on your puffy little nub and the combination of everything all at once was too much.

A scream tore from your throat, his name ripping out of you in a sob as the orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. You didn’t even recognize your own voice.

Your back arched violently off the wall. Your hips jerked against Tom’s mouth and fingers like a delightful seizure as pleasure washed through every nerve ending in your body. You could see it behind closed eyelids — flashes of light, stars bursting across your vision just like he’d promised.

Tom didn’t stop.

He let you ride out your high, feeling every pulse of your pussy as you clenched tightly around his fingers, slurping gently now to prolong it while his digits kept pumping inside you at an achingly slow pace meant to wring every last drop of ecstasy from your trembling body. You let out a shaky breath, hands carding through Tom’s wet strands endearingly, the wet look making him look even more attractive.

From the rain or your juices, you didn’t know. All you could do was gasp for air and whisper his name again between shuddering gasps as Tom kept going until the last tremor had faded from your body, ignoring the strain in his trousers for now.

Only then did he finally pull his fingers free with a wet pop — lifting them to his lips and licking every drop of you clean without breaking eye contact. Your cheeks grew hotter, eyes glassy and dazed as you peered down at him, pupils dilated and practically the shape of hearts. His expression was pure sin, dark eyes heavy lidded and mouth glistening with your slick and cum.

“Delicious.”

You were still slumped against the wall, legs weak and breath ragged, completely wrecked.

But Tom was far from done with you.

In one fluid motion, he stood up — towering over you again before he yanked off his soaked cloak in one impatient tug. The fabric hit the wet floor with a heavy splash as rain dripped down every sculpted inch of him. His thick cock already painfully hard beneath his pants. Your gaze devoured him, tracking his bulge specifically as he begins to unbuckle his belt without breaking eye contact.

You barely had time to acknowledge how your back ended up on the cold stone floor, or how your clothing now lay torn in shreds, exposing your entire body to him — Tom looming over you like a predator about to claim its prize. His eyes looked wild and free. Your heart skipped a beat.

The cold stone bit into your bare skin but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating off of Tom’s body when he blanketed yours, even when his clothes were soaked and you lay entirely bare in contrast before him. Rain pounded down harsher than before as he positioned himself between your thighs. His cock, his beautiful cock already glistening at the tip from precum, pulled out from between his zipper. It tapped against your soaked entrance before circling it almost teasingly. You don’t remember seeing him taking it out.

One hand gripped your hip tight while the other braced beside your head. Tom’s breath came ragged now too, control fraying at every second spent not inside you.

Tom didn’t give you time to overthink as his hand guided himself between your slick folds already swollen from his earlier attention. His mushroom tip pressed hot and heavy against your hole and you clenched involuntarily, eager to suck him in. It leaked precum onto your sensitive skin. So close. You could feel how big he was, thicker than your wrist, longer than expected — and a pit grew in your gut before it went away like it had never existed.

“Breathe,” he murmured, not unkindly. He must have sensed you were nervous. But, Tom was also impatient as he proceeded to press the tip inside without warning.

As his cock pushed in, stretching you impossibly wide — a groan, deep and guttural, was wrenched from his throat. You were tight. So tight it nearly stole his breath.

“Mmnn—”

You whimpered at the burn. Every inch of him was slowly sheathing itself in your slick heat, gooey walls fluttering around him like a heartbeat. Virgin cunt untouched until now. Until him.

His glorious cock speared into you further like a divine sword until he bottomed out inside you fully. Full. Your lips parted in a silent scream, brows furrowed and eyes fluttered shut. You never felt this good, this full, even though it stung a little in comparison, when you ate chocolate.

You were delirious, lost in your head. On top of you, Tom didn’t move again right away.

Couldn’t.

Just braced above you with trembling arms, your nails digging crescents into his pale skin, drawing a hiss that sounded unnatural for a human to make but it made you clench around him all the same. His forehead pressed to yours as rain dripped from his face onto yours like holy water. His hips twitched involuntarily — a shallow grind that dragged a whimper from your lips.

Then slowly. So. Fucking. Slowly. He pulled back, your head tilting as your eyes rolled back to your skull, toes curling, until just the tip remained before pressing in again.

Thunder and lightning clapped in your ears, splitting the sky in jagged bursts that lit your upturned face for a few seconds. The world above was chaos, black storm clouds swallowing the sky as the heavens raged. Rain hammered down mercilessly, turning the stone floor beneath you into a slick mirror. Your soaked hair splayed across the stone floor like a halo.

You stared up at that upside down horizon with hazy eyes, each thrust from Tom rocking your head back further against wet rock as he rutted into you.

And yet, all you could think about were those stars that you saw behind closed lids whenever pleasure crested too high — the ones only he had shown you.

You smiled dreamily.

Tom was right.

You had seen the stars tonight.

And they were beautiful.

"There she is," Negan says, speaking with his signature cadence that made you want to rip out your hair, "How'd you sleep, babydoll?"

"Fine," you rasp as you slowly sit up. The mornings were the only time you could get away with dull answers like that. Any small bit of attitude could be blamed on you being 'cranky' rather than feelings of hatred that hadn't been broken down by this point.

He smiles at you, his rough hand cupping your jaw.

"You're so pretty in the mornings," he mumbles, sweeping a thumb over your pouty bottom lip.

You pause for a second, but so does he. Like he expects a reply. Unfortunately, you know the words he wants to hear. Swallowing the last sliver of dignity you have, you force out the response you'd been trained to say over the last however-long.

"Thank you, daddy."

He grins even wider if that's possible and pats your head. "You're welcome. Now let's get you dressed. Like I said, daddy's got a lot to do today."

You get out of bed and follow him over to the dresser that held your outfit for the day. The chill of cold air bites at your legs as the lack of blankets leaves them exposed. The generator had been out for the past day or so, leaving the Sanctuary victim to the harsh Winter raging outside. You were hoping he'd take that into account when picking your clothes, but you didn't hold out too much hope.

The two of you shuffle around the gray furniture of Negan's room. Even though you'd been in here more times than you could count now, you still marveled at the quality of the chairs and sofa. Items like these seemed luxurious with how the world was outside these walls.

When you reach the dresser, you follow the routine you'd become used to. You peel the small shirt you're permitted to sleep in off and drop it in the basket nearby. Your panties are next to go. You pull the dainty garment down and toss it to the same place as your top.

You can feel his eyes on you with every move you make. They watch how your breasts bounce when freed from their confines. They admire the curve of your ass when you bend over. They glimmer with smug satisfaction as you stand there nude before him.

"I'll tell you what. I never get sick of seeing this," he teases.

You offer a weak smile in return. The lack of energy almost seems to please him more.

He walks around to stand behind you, giving you a light pat on the ass as he does. His hands land on your hips first and then slide up to cup your breasts. He pulls you back, positioning you flush against his chest.

"You know I'd keep you like this all the time if I could," he murmurs in your ear, "Sweet and ready for me. Ripe for the pickin' whenever I felt the need."

The deep, gravelly rumble of it seems to trigger a flicker of heat in your lower belly on instinct, and you despise yourself for it. Shame burns so hot in your heart, it threatens to take the nausea you felt earlier into a full on dry heave. You're glad there's not a mirror in front of you. It's easier to keep a docile look plastered on your face when you don't have to stare yourself in the eyes.

The rough pads of his fingertips pinch and tweak your nipples, causing you to squirm a bit where you're standing, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of a noise. You can feel the warmth of his breath fanning across your neck.

You choose not to say anything to his last statement. There's no guarantee that he hasn't actually considered that, and you don't want to find out. Displaying you in that way in front of everyone doesn't seem like his style, but back when he had you lined up on your knees with the rest of your group, you wouldn't have imagined yourself ever calling him daddy either.

As you'd quickly learned in regards to most things around here, the risk just isn't worth it.

"I'd never do that to you though. Don't think anyone could keep their hands off if they saw all of you, and I just can't have that," he whispers, calming your fears for you. He pulls his hands away from your breasts and steps back to grab the pieces he'd be putting you in today.

He starts with panties. This pair is pink and ruffly just like the last. You step into it with rehearsed timing. One foot then the next. He slides them up to your hips and lets the elastic snap into place against your skin.

You had no clue where he got this shit. You didn't want to believe that his hold on his men was so strong that they'd waste an entire supply run raiding a Victoria's Secret, especially for women they never even got to touch.

It wasn't worth thinking about though. It's not like discovering the origins would spare you from wearing the damn things every day.

Next, Negan shakes the wrinkles out of your dress. You step into that too, just like you did with the underwear. Looking down, you catch a glimpse of the garment.

It's just as humiliating as all the rest he makes you wear. The fabric is bright white and baby pink. Like everything else, you have no idea how it was kept so pristine. The waist is accentuated with a pretty pink ribbon wrapped around it, tied into a large bow at the front. It's extra tight up top and melts into a puffy skirt down below.

He shimmies it over your body and yanks the zipper up in back. The dress conforms to the shape of your figure, leaving little to the imagination in terms of how much the neckline shows and how high the hem of the skirt sits.

Spinning you around, he whistles when he gets the full picture.

"Good God Almighty. Pretty as a picture," he praises, reaching out to pinch your cheek.

Again, you force yourself to smile.

He'd already dressed himself for the day before getting you up, so the rest of the time before you leave the room is spent working through the remnants of your morning routine. He takes you into the bathroom connected to his room to brush your teeth and do your hair.

"Say ah, sweetheart," he smirks before jamming the brush into your mouth.

He's not careful or attentive. He only does it long enough to let the weight of humiliation settle in your stomach. It's always obvious when it kicks in. You get this look on your face like that of an abandoned puppy. Only then does he let you spit and move on to the next task.

He styles your hair into something cute, though you hate it anyway. Like the dress, it's only intended to make you stick out. To draw attention to your status as his possession.

The last thing he does is put your socks and shoes on. Your feet get covered in a pair of frilly ankle socks before he slips a pair of chunky sneakers on you. At least if this place got overrun and you had to bolt, you wouldn't be totally fucked.

"You ready to go, honey?" he asks you when the first part of your torture has finally come to a conclusion.

Again, you nod while looking up at him.

He grins at you. "You're quiet today," he says.

"Sorry, daddy," you respond. The way he said it sounded like teasing, but you could never be too careful.

"Don't be. I like it," he says.

You don't know how he does it, how he deflates you so easily without even trying.

He turns and grabs that stupid bat he carries everywhere, swinging it to his side before facing you again and sticking out his hand.

"Got my two favorite girls, now we're really ready to go," he says. He gestures with his fingers. A small impatient reminder. "You know the rules."

Of course you know what he's referring to. Always hold daddy's hand when you leave the bedroom. One of the rules he'd prattled off to you when he first brought you here.

You reach out and take his outstretched hand, earning a kiss to your head.

The way he'd been holding his arm caused the leather sleeve of his jacket to ride up a bit. Beneath the stiff fabric, you could see the fading scar you'd given him around the same time you'd been informed of the rules. Two crescent shaped marks in the pattern of your teeth.

You can barely stand to look at it now. All it does is bring back memories of when you still held hope for escape or rescue. Back then, you'd thought it'd only be a matter of days until Rick or Michonne burst into the small bedroom they were keeping you in.

The day you'd sunk your teeth into him, he'd just finished giving you one of his speeches about your new life at the Sanctuary. According to him, you'd be so much happier here. Sure you couldn't see your family, but now you had someone better than them. You had him. And he would spoil and take care of a pretty thing like you in the way you deserved. Show off to the rest of your old group how generous he could be.

He'd reached forward to pinch your cheek just like he'd done earlier today. You wanted to smack him away, but he had your hands bound. So you did the next thing you could think of and bit him. Hard.

His eyes burned with fury you hadn't seen since. You can still hear in your mind the way he yelled, shouting "Goddamn it" so loud that the walkers out at the fence probably heard.

After that was a bit hazy. He'd snatched that limb away from you before bringing it back and striking you hard across the cheek. You'd nearly fallen off the bed from the force.

"You little bitch, you try some shit like that again, and I'll knock your fucking jaw loose," he growled before yanking you up right and forcing you to look at him.

Involuntary tears leaked from your eyes as you glared up at his face. Blood oozed from the stinging wound you could feel inside your mouth.

That cut had healed by now though.

You squeeze his hand harder while walking down the hall out of his room. Even though it was the hand that struck you, it was the only thing you had to hold onto now. 

Your brain tries to compartmentalize him nowadays. There's Negan, and there's daddy. Negan is the one who gets mean. Negan is the one who yells. Negan is the one who killed your friends. Daddy is the one who cares for you. He keeps you safe and healthy. He'd never hurt you like that. You didn't think you'd survive with a shred of sanity without that distinction.

He feels your little grip and squeezes your hand in return. That's what daddy does.

You stay close to his side as he guides you on the walkway that looks down on the commotion of the main room. Even after what you guessed had been a couple months, if not more, you still didn't like this place. Everything was so transactional. No one cared about each other. It was all about what everyone had to offer. That was by design of course, but it didn't make you any less critical of it.

Your eyes scan the clusters of people below. Although you weren't allowed to socialize on your own, you were starting to get a grasp on the cliques here. Negan's closest advisors all seemed to amalgamate in one area, spare the guy with the burnt face. The table closest to the window was where most of the soldiers ate while the one by the door seated the workers.

You weren't completely sure what class you fit into here.

The most obvious guess would be the group you're about to encounter, Negan's wives. But there are stark differences between you and them that prevent you from feeling camaraderie.

The two of you approach the room where he keeps this group of women. He maintains a tight grip on your hand as you slip through the doors. The disparities between you and the others become obvious as soon as you're within a few feet of them.

All of these women get to dress in black. They stand tall in heels, have earrings dangling next to their faces, and for some, a red tint painting their lips. All of them get to openly glare at him. They don't have to hide their hatred behind a feigned smile or soft laugh.

You know it isn't right to be jealous of them. They're suffering too. This isn't a happy situation for them either. But god, you can't help it. Envy nearly sears a hole through your heart every time you come into this room. What you wouldn't give to be one of them. To be allowed to drink and talk with other people. To not be under the constant threat of punishment.

Despite all these thoughts swirling through your head, you manage to keep your mask on. A simple, thoughtless look on your features as you stand next to him like an oversized accessory.

He looks down at you before dropping your hand.

"Stay right here for me, sweet thing. Daddy's only gonna take a minute," he says.

He stalks off to the back corner of the room with a woman you'd come to learn is named Sherry. They speak in hushed tones, so you can't make out what they're saying. You figure it's about one of the girls sneaking around with some other guy. That's what it's usually about when he makes a stop here with you in tow. Even with their status elevated above yours, they don't get to escape the wrath of his possessiveness.

You stand there awkwardly, arms crossed over your midsection while your weight shifts between your feet. No one tries to talk to you. You can feel their eyes on your pastel form, but their gazes don't hold curiosity or interest. It's pity.

In the beginning, you thought they were looking at you with jealousy. After all, you got your own cell and then graduated to Negan's bedroom while they had to share amenities.

But they weren't naive like you had been. None of them wanted Negan's attention. They didn't want to be his pet or his dolly or whatever the fuck he would classify you as. They had each other, and they got to share the load between all of them.

You sigh quietly and look down at the sparkly trim of your white sneakers.

He finishes his conversation with Sherry and then migrates across the room towards a blonde, crying girl. They speak at the same volume as him and Sherry. It's not worth trying to eavesdrop on.

Instead, you patiently wait the couple minutes it takes for them to finish up and for him to return to you. When he walks back over, you can tell the discussion hadn't been a positive one. His shoulders seem weighed down by whatever information he'd gathered from them.

But the dark cloud above him fades away as his hand slips back into yours. He leads you out of the room just as you'd come in and continues walking with you.

You hesitate but decide to try. "Are you ok?" you ask softly.

His head turns slightly to cast you a look. For a moment, it seems the daddy act has fallen away. He looks at you like he would any other woman who asked him that. Cold. Analytical. But the persona makes its reappearance seconds later as he pulls on a smirk for you.

"Just fine, honey. You don't gotta worry about me," he answers.

You know you should just nod and shut up, but it drives you crazy being led around like a child expected to be seen and not heard. So you decide to try again.

"Did they do something bad?" you ask. You hate how weak your voice comes out. There's no spark to it, no bite or sharp edge. All of that, he'd extinguished in you.

He drops your hand and drapes his arm over your shoulders, pulling you to his side.

"What are you so curious for, huh? You know something about it?" he responds.

You shake your head. Your arm rises and wraps around his torso.

"No. I just don't like when you're upset," you say. You lean your head into his chest to really sell it.

"Oh-ho, look at you. Turning on the charm," he chuckles, "I am just fine, sugar. I swear it. Sometimes those girls give me trouble, but it's nothing I can't handle."

You decide to just take it and nod this time. 

He looks at you with satisfaction. "They can't all be like you, y'know? So well-behaved," he praises.

The compliment makes your blood curdle. You couldn't stand that he would act like obedience was your defining trait.

When you were with your group - your family more like -  you would never have been described as obedient. Whether at the prison or Alexandria, it felt like every other day you were sneaking off to try something. You were always quick to spring into action, never the type to let someone belittle you. Rick got on your ass about deviating from plans in spurs of emotion more than anyone else. Maybe that's how you wound up here.

You had tried to stop them from taking Daryl. On that dark night in the woods, surrounded by the ring of headlights, you had tried. You didn't rush at Negan like your friend. Not wanting someone else to get their head bashed in, you were more subtle than that. But you attempted to get in the way of the guys carting him off. That's what landed you here. Tucked under his arm, the very weapon that took away two people you love swinging a foot away from you.

But you swallow down all of this rage and nod again. You nuzzle into his chest, a way to conceal the tightening sensation in your throat and the sting of tears at your waterline.

This is the worst part about Negan, you decide. The way he makes you act like you want it.

From your first day here, he made sure to tell you over and over how he's staunchly against rape. He's not a monster. He's not that kind of guy. No, no. You are a prisoner, so yes, technically here against your will, but never in a million years would he violate you in that way.

And he'd stuck true to that. Whenever you screamed or cried or yelled "no" on a loop until he shook you around like a bobble head, he always backed off of his advances. He never copped a feel or slid a wandering hand in your panties while you slept, never held you down or physically forced himself on you.

Instead, he broke you down until saying yes seemed like the only sane option.

You didn't want his affection? That meant you must not want to talk to anyone at all. For days. You didn't want to sit in his lap? Maybe you'd prefer kneeling by his feet for a week, in private and around everyone else. You didn't want to sleep in his bed? Fine. You could sleep on the concrete floor without a pillow or blanket while the heat was out.

You reflect on all of this as the two of you trot through the boxy halls. He takes you around on all his errands for the day. You stop by the doctor's office, inventory, and Dwight's room. All over the place. You stay quiet the whole time. busying yourself with your thoughts as you stay attached to him.

Everyday the line between survival and free will becomes blurrier. You tell yourself that you have to be like this with him. You'll be worse off if you don't act the part of the sweet, adoring girl he wants. But then sometimes you wonder if you truly are becoming obedient. Like a wildcat tamed into a lazy house pet. You almost never resist his touch anymore. You even go to him for comfort sometimes.

The idea kills you, so you deem it best not to think about for now.

Rather, you focus on guessing what the rest of the day would hold. It's already the afternoon by now. The sun hangs low by the tree line, shimmering into the Sanctuary through the rectangular windows across the walls. He wouldn't have a meeting with the lieutenants today. Those were almost always around lunch time. You didn't think he'd spend it with one of his wives either. If that was the case, he usually gave you a heads up in the morning.

The most likely possibility you come up with is the dilemma from earlier. You had never been invited to see the culmination of those though. Normally, he kept you safe and sound in his room while he tended to matters like that, ready to provide him some stress relief when he finished.

But things can always change, and now it seems like that's the case.

He guides you back into the main room. A crowd has gathered down below. You can't see the center point of their conglomeration. All you can sense are the nerves vibrating between everyone.

Their feet shuffle around on the hard concrete flooring. They look between each other with anxious eyes. Hushed chatter clouds the area until you and Negan begin to descend the stairs. That's when they all go quiet. Mouths close and pupils snap to the position of their leader.

You look down to lessen the ache of humiliation that came with accompanying the center of attention. The few times you had scanned the crowd for others' reactions, seeing if you could find a sympathetic gaze or outraged expression, all you found was animosity. The male workers and soldiers leered at you. They smiled and smirked, visibly amused by your girly outfits and docile disposition. On the other side of the aisle, the women glared, taking in the details of your appearance with disgust, like somehow it was your fault you got toted around like this.

His voice booms out to his audience as he takes step after step towards them.

"You all know what we're here for today," he starts, "We got simple rules 'round here, but some people still seem to have trouble following 'em."

Your hand stays linked with his as the two of you reach the landing.

"Watch your step, babydoll," he murmurs to you before continuing his speech. Your cheeks burn with shame.

"It feels like I'm doing this every other month. It's getting ridiculous," he lectures, "I don't like having to be so harsh. Truly, I don't. But rules are rules, and I don't know how I can make myself any clearer. They are not optional."

He walks further into the room with you. Being level with everyone else, you can see more of what's happening. They're gathered around a furnace. Dwight stands near the opening to the flames, clearly preparing something. Another man sits a few feet away. Over in the corner, the woman from earlier is looking at him and crying.

Looks like your guess was correct.

"So we're gonna do this again. Hopefully it's the last time," he concludes.

The crowd parts as you and him head towards the center of the room. He leads you over to an empty spot near the wall. Dropping your hand, he cups your jaw and makes you look him in the eyes.

"Stay right here for me. Daddy'll be right back," he says.

You nod and then watch as he turns away, waltzing over to where Dwight stands.

While your eyes are up, they can't help but catch on somebody familiar standing at the front of the crowd.

Daryl.

Your heart stutters, and you can see on his face that his does too. He looks worn down. Eyes dimmed and face hollowed. His clothes, dirty and ill-fitting. You start to feel tears pricking at your waterline from the sight. You weren't the only one they'd broken down.

In him, you find the compassion you'd been searching for. The look that told you at least one person here didn't take enjoyment from your suffering. But it comes from someone who truly can't help you. Who's in a situation as bad as your own.

You sniffle and try to wipe away any beginning tears before Negan or someone who would tell him notices.

The loud creak of a metal door opening drags your attention to the furnace though. You watch as Dwight pulls out the item he'd been preparing. A burning, metal iron becomes the new focus of everyone in the room.

Upon seeing the small object, so many things connect in your head. You know what's going to happen. You realize why Dwight's face is scarred. You understand why that woman is crying. And you know no one is going to stop any of this now or in the future.

Your heart pounds harder, and your breaths become shaky. Tears blur your vision further. You dig your nails into your palm to try and ground yourself, but it doesn't help. The scene in front of you has whipped your mind into a frenzy. You haven't felt this bad since the early weeks of being in this place.

This stupid fucking place. You hate it. You hate how cruel it is here. How disconnected and lifeless everything feels. You hate him for being the only one allowed to really live. You hate everyone else here for letting him get this powerful.

It's a complete spiral whirlpooling in your mind, only made worse by the fact that you have to keep it contained. You try to tell yourself you just have to wait it out. This couldn't take more than five minutes and then you could go back to the bedroom. You'd be ok. You could take off this itchy dress and put your hair back to how you like it. You could kick off these shoes and hide yourself beneath the warm blankets. None of these people would be around, all you'd have is the quiet between those walls where daddy could make it all better.

As you're in the process of mentally talking yourself down, Negan takes hold of the iron. To free up his hands, he offers Lucille off to someone nearby. Your eyes follow his leather-clad limb to the neck of the bat and then up to its new handler. You see Simon.

You have to look down now. If you don't, everyone here will see the look of pure terror on your face. You close your eyes and rein in whimpers that threaten to spill from your lips. Everything feels fuzzy around you, intangible and like your hands would drift right through them. Your head heats up, the sensation making you dizzy. You try to steady yourself by leaning back against the wall, but the cool, flat surface does little to ease your nerves.

It does even less when you hear his voice closing in on you.

"Hey there, princess," he starts, voice laced with mockery, "You feeling alright?"

You're not looking at him, but the image of his stupid face projects with HD clarity in your mind. You swallow hard and nod.

Laughing lowly, he comes to stand beside you. "You sure about that? You're looking kind of lightheaded," he taunts.

"I'm fine," you choke out.

His hand darts up and grabs your jaw. He doesn't gently guide your eyes where he wants them to look. He yanks your face in his direction like an unruly child with a doll.

"I don't know about that. You're looking kind of rough," he says while glaring down at you with those ruthless eyes, "Maybe I should take you over to the doctor's. We both know Negan wants his favorite toy kept in good condition."

Your entire body vibrates with hatred for this creature. Every breath you take acts as an effort of restraint, a way to lull yourself into not ripping out what hair he has left.

You didn't just despise Simon because he's an asshole or because he was the person harassing your group leading up to that horrible night you were taken. Your aversion for him stems from experiences entirely your own.

A few days after the biting incident, you had tried getting physical with Negan one more time. You'd managed to worm one of your wrists out of your restraints, and instead of aiming for escape, you decided revenge held a higher priority. You waited for him to come check on you, keeping your arm tucked to your body as if it was still bound.

When he finally came in, you sat there and took the speech, took the condescension, and took the promises that you would conform. And then he leaned a bit closer. That's when you backhanded him as hard as he had you the few days prior.

After the hit landed, you lunged forward and tried to wrap the rope connected to you around his neck. You pulled as hard as you could, and for a moment, you thought you had won.

But wrangling you off was easier than you anticipated. They hadn't been allowing you much food or sleep, so the strike took most of your energy. It only took him a handful of seconds to snake his hand under the rope and then pry your arms away.

He stood up and slammed you into the wall with his hand around your throat. In that moment, he didn't look at you with the same fury he had before. This time around, frustration dominated his gaze.

"Was that fun for you?" he asked.

You didn't answer. Your chest puffed with exertion while your eyes stared daggers into him.

"What did I tell you last time? What did I fucking tell you?" he asked. Despite the look in his eye being less volatile, his tone of voice was dangerous as ever. "I told you I would knock that jaw of yours loose. That's what I said, and I meant it. I don't want you thinking I didn't. But I'm not gonna do that right now because I don't think it would work, and I'm not one to waste my own time."

Internally, pride swelled in your chest, thinking you had called his bluff. But then he kept speaking.

"I have a bad feeling that if I struck some sense into you that you'd just try to strike it into me right back, and I can't have that. That's just not gonna fly around here," he said, "So I'll tell you what: I have a better idea. You don't wanna play with daddy? Then you can spend a weekend with your Uncle Simon. See how much fun he can be."

Back then, you didn't know Simon as the right hand man. You didn't have his name and face connected yet. Now, you wished you could go back to that state of mind.

You were with him for three days while Negan did a tour of the outposts and subjugated communities. Only 72 hours. But an hour of him would have been enough to scare you for a lifetime.

When he first came into the room, you didn't get the feeling that him and Negan would handle you so differently. You could tell from the way he looked at you that, like his boss, he looked at you as something to toy with. A source of amusement. The difference, you soon found out, was how they played with their toys.

Unlike daddy, Simon didn't talk just to talk. He didn't warn you of future spankings or timeouts. He hit. And he kicked. And he shoved you down and tossed you around. He didn't offer the same condolences daddy did, there was no "this hurts me more than it hurts you." Nothing he did even bothered Simon. He watched you hurt, and he enjoyed it.

You didn't even get a reward once you'd settled down. Your attitude had disappeared almost instantly. Having the wind knocked out of you once was enough for you to become more amicable, but your change in demeanor didn't phase him. It wasn't his goal.

The only rules Negan left him with were the basic ones for the Sanctuary along with no killing you or causing permanent damage. But that didn't mean he couldn't threaten you with breaking them. He went on and on during the down periods where you cowered in the corner or huddled against the wall of your bedroom cell, telling you stories of how he went rogue before. Any horrible thing he could think of, he dangled in front of you as a potential fate.

When Negan finally came back, you eagerly awaited him. Despite your sleep deprived and bruised condition, your eyes stayed locked on the door like a puppy expecting their master. For the next week, you latched onto him. Didn't want to leave his side. He had made his point. You could hate him as much as you wanted but leave you alone with Simon for a little while, and you'd beg for him back.

That's how you feel right now, staring up into Simon's eyes while he holds your jaw. The pressure his fingers put on your cheeks serve as a reminder of the pain he can inflict while his other hand holding the bat twirls the weapon near your calf. As much as you had been internally preaching your hatred for everything to do with Negan minutes ago, all you want to do now is run into his arms.

You feel more tears wanting to slip down your cheeks, but you try your best to hold them in. The more you cry, the more I like it. That's what he'd told you more than once over those three days.

"Just leave me alone," you tell him. You try to sound as firm as possible, but even your own ears catch the way your voice quivers. "Negan wouldn't like you talking over him."

Your attempt at taking a stand falls flat. He doesn't back off any, rather, he leans in closer.

"Negan, huh? Are you even allowed to call him that?" he mocks and feigns a pout. 

"Just shut up!" you say. You mean it as a threat; though, it hits his ears like a plea. More hot panic rushes down your spine from the stress of having to remain quiet while also trying to be assertive.

His lips flatten into a line before he continues speaking. "Your head's getting too big for those shoulders, little girl. You better watch your attitude, or I might have to suggest you're due for some more correction," he mutters.

A loud scream rips the two of you from your conversation. He drops his hand from your face, and you both straighten up against the wall. Negan stands in the center of the room, pressing the blazing iron to the side of the man's face.

He wails until he passes out, and that's when his leader peels away the device of torture. Sticky skin goes with it before snapping back against his face like a rubber band. You grimace, your stomach twisting at the sight. You'd seen so much blood and guts over the years of living out on the road and fighting with other groups, but melted skin was a new one.

Negan turns to Dwight and gives him the iron back. You breathe an involuntary sigh of relief, subconsciously soothed by the thought of him returning to your side.

The reprieve ends suddenly though when a small, sharp pain slices along the meat of your calf. You whimper and lift your leg away on instinct. Looking for the source, you see the bat twirling from the motion of Simon's wrist. One of the barbs had caught your skin. Your eyes flit up to him.

"Watch out!" you say. The old you would have been seething. She would have pulled out her pocket knife and given him a little receipt for the cut. But now, you watch him with fearful eyes, trying to gauge whether or not you would get in trouble for calling him an asshole.

"Remember what I said," he tells you quietly as a trickle of red runs down to the lacy frills of your sock.

Before you can respond, a warm hand lands on the small of your back. Your head turns to find Negan smiling down at you.

"What's with the long face, sugar? Simon bothering you?" he asks, clearly not meaning it seriously even though to you it is exactly that.

You part your lips to answer, but Simon beats you to it.

"Bothering her? C'mon. I'm just checking up on her. She looked a little dizzy, so I offered to take her to the doctor's," he says, light as ever, "I'm just watching out for her, y'know? Sweet thing like her will get eaten alive here if she's not careful."

Negan raises his eyebrows, and for a second, you think he's about to take your side. But then he just chuckles and shakes his head. 

"She's doing just fine. That was her first time seeing one of those, so she's probably a little shaken up," he says, rubbing your arm.

"Hm... Sounds about right," Simon replies, "I know that's not how her little group did things."

"Yeah. So I'll get her back to the room. Think you can handle shit down here?" he says, gesturing around to the dispersing crowd.

"Always," Simon says with a mock salute. He then hands Lucille back.

Finally, you find some relief, some true sanctuary as Simon walks away. Your body physically relaxes. Negan feels it underneath his arm and spares you a glance as the two of you walk back up the stairs.

"Is something wrong?" he asks.

You want to just take the easy route and say no, to play along with this sadistic charade and not cause any trouble. But you can't get the single syllable out. It feels impossible to even shake your head. Even though Simon's gone, the weight of everything that happened still remains along with the stinging in your leg.

Your throat feels tight, and your eyes feel like they're two seconds from overflowing. The lights suddenly seem too bright, and everyone here is too loud. You can't show him that though. You don't want more correction. You don't want someone to like it when you cry. But you can't ignore him either. That would be the worst thing to do.

All you manage in response is a shaky shrug. You let out a broken sigh with it and lean into his chest. The tension in your shoulders returns as you fight to keep the tears from leaking out against the worn leather.

At first, he doesn't say anything, and the two of you keep walking. Your steps remain in time with his as you traverse the walkway and around the corner. Then the two of you come to a stop when you're out of sight. He turns you by your shoulders, holding you in front of him so that you can't shy away.

"I got one more thing to attend to out by the fence. Think you can handle that?" he asks.

Your heart pulses to an uneven rhythm, trying to decide what to do without devolving into pure panic. You bite your lip as you mull your options over. Say yes and go with him. Then inevitably fail to contain yourself and get in trouble. Or, say no now and risk punishment for being defiant. You're not sure which one will end up worse.

"Can... can we just go back to the room?" you ask. Your voice comes out weak as if every word siphons a drop of energy from you.

He eyes you with uncertainty of his own; though, there's no fear in his look. His gaze is careful, an attempt to decipher if this is some kind of deception. You'd been pretty well-behaved as of late, but one bad day could take even the most obedient pet to a rabid dog, jaws primed to gnash.

But you didn't really have a reason to lie. The bedroom with him would provide the least likely chance at escape, and in the condition you were in now, you didn't seem to be planning an attack.

Slowly, he nods. "Sure, honey. I'll have Arat handle the other shit," he tells you before leading you in the direction of his bedroom.

The words he mumbles through his radio sound distant to you. You watch your legs switch between one and the other as you walk. On your right, you see the small red splotch staining the pristine cloth of your sock.

Before you know it, he's pushing open the bedroom door and bringing you inside. It then closes behind you, creating a barrier between you and everything else out there. It gets a little easier to breathe.

He guides you the few steps over to the edge of the bed and sits down, pulling you onto his lap. You feel his eyes scanning over you in an attempt to figure out the problem without asking. His hand rubs up and down your back over the crinkly fabric of your dress. His other palm focuses on your legs, coasting over your knees and the area of your thighs the skirt doesn't cover.

The code is harder for him to crack than usual. Normally when you got upset, it resulted from something he said. And he knows that because, usually, that's his intention. It was always either that or you'd just generally be feeling down, missing your home. But that doesn't seem to be the case right now. You seem more antsy than your normal bouts of sadness. He doesn't think it was from watching the spectacle downstairs. He knows you hate the saviors indiscriminately. Watching some random guy's face melt off wouldn't have you this upset. Finally, he relents.

"What's wrong?" he asks. He actually makes an effort not to sound like he'll make fun of whatever your answer may be.

"I just don't feel good," you choke out and bite your lip.

He feels you shudder on his lap, and he knows it's not the full truth. Pulling you a little closer on his thighs, he continues to look down at you.

"C'mon, baby. Tell daddy what hurts," he coaxes.

Your face tenses, but you know he won't drop this. "Just... just... I don't know. A lotta stuff," you say. You couldn't decide on a lie to commit to.

He sighs and bounces his leg with you on it a few times. "Did someone say something to you? Was someone bothering you?" he asks as his scope of potential causes narrow.

You're in the middle of trying to think of a cover story when his hand glides down to remove your shoes. He knocks one off. Then the other. The foamy white sneakers clatter to the ground next to his foot.

He goes to bring his hand back up, dragging it over the fine threading of your socks, but his eyes catch on the bloody splotches near the edge. Grabbing your ankle, he tugs your limb upward. It puts you at an awkward angle and nearly knocks you from your perch on his thigh. He stares the small wound down, assessing every detail of the tiny scrape.

"How'd you get this?" he asks. He looks over to you.

In reality, it may have been the most standard question in the world. But it hits your ears like an accusation and brings a fresh wave of tears that you can't control. Your lip quivers as your lids blink a few droplets over your water line.

"Simon did it," you weep.

You're scared he won't believe you, but after a few seconds, he drops your foot and pulls you close. His arms wrap around you tight and keep you flush against his chest. The warmth of the embrace encompasses you. You let the dam burst and cry into him, pouring all your sadness out against his body.

His hand sweeps up and down your back in comforting strokes. "Shh, shh, shh, sweetheart. Daddy's got you," he murmurs.

You feel him shrug off his jacket and push it aside, leaving the plain material of his t-shirt to soak up your anguish. He keeps you as close as possible. One of his hands cradles the back of your head to ensure you don't pull away.

"Does Simon bother you a lot?" he asks.

You nod. "Whenever I'm not with you," you choke out.

He hums in acknowledgement. "I'll talk to him. He's not supposed to hurt you when you're being such a good girl for daddy."

"I was trying really hard," you sob, your voice cracking, "I've been trying to be good. But he just hates me anyway. He's so mean to me."

Your arms snake around him as tight as a pair of snakes aiming to kill. You cling to him with everything you have, as if he's your one true savior from this living hell and not the cause of it.

In your head, you feel like you're annoying him. He's probably waiting for you to calm down, so he can nip this blossom of resentment in the bud. Good girls don't have tantrums or meltdowns, right? And all he cares about is that you act the part of a good girl.

But you only think all of that because you can't see the smile on his face right now.

He's grinning more than any of the times he got you to say something humiliating or cooperate with a punishment. The look he displays now reaches a new level of smugness, higher than the night he killed two of your people and traumatized the rest of them. His satisfaction runs deeper this time because right now, you're truly broken.

This isn't something you agreed to because the other option was worse. It's not something he had to coach you into or manipulate a situation into becoming. You did this all on your own. You came to him. Sure, he had to coax it out of you a little bit, but once he got his foot in the door, you let him right in. You're clinging to him for comfort, looking to him for a solution. He couldn't be more pleased. This is exactly what he wanted - to break you down. Now he just had to reel you back in the slightest bit, get you in that perfect middle ground between too independent and non-functioning.

"You have been doing really good for me, y'know? I'm proud of you, baby," he tells you in the most earnest tone he can manage, "Don't worry about Simon for right now, ok? Daddy's gonna set him straight. He won't bother you again."

You nod, but the reassurance doesn't stop the flow of tears from your eyes. Your fingers stay clenched around the fabric of his shirt.

"No more tears, honey, c'mon," he coos. He pries your limbs from around him and boosts you to your feet, standing you between his thighs. "I'll take care of it just like I take care of you. Let's just worry about what my little baby needs to feel better right now."

You take a few seconds to think about it, but the answer comes with relative ease. The most agitating thing about this situation right now is wrapped all around you, scratching at your sides and digging in under your arms.

"Can you take my dress off?" you sniffle.

His eyes fall from your face over your body. "What? You don't like this pretty little number?" he teases.

For once, you don't feel like you're two seconds away from punishment. You feel like it's a joke, and you don't have to awkwardly straddle the line between playing along with the humor and submitting to the literal interpretation.

"It's ok... it's just kinda scratchy," you say and wipe away your tears with the back of your hand.

"Spin around for me then. We'll get it off you. Can't have it irritatin' that soft skin while you're tryin' to relax."

You take the few steps to turn around. His fingers grasp the zipper and undo the baby pink prison you'd been trapped in for the day. Feeling the chafing fabric pulled away from you lets you take a real breath for the first time in hours. Already a small bit of relief. It only compounds when the garment hits the floor and pools at your feet.

He tugs you back by the waist and lays you across the bed, body on full display for him. Right now, you don't mind his gaze tracking your curves. He leans over you, his hands coasting from the sides of your breasts down to your hips.

"You're prettier like this anyways, princess," he praises.

"Thank you, daddy." It spills out as naturally as water from a faucet.

He rewards you with his lips on your stomach instead of words. Kissing the smooth, warm skin, his lips travel from just above your navel to the divot between your breasts. Your nipples rise to attention automatically.

His hands slide up to cup your mounds of flesh. He fondles and gropes them as his lips migrate up the curves to the hardening little peaks. They don't latch on just yet. He teases them with kisses instead, letting the anticipation of blissful suction build.

You take your lip between your teeth as you watch him. Chills break out across the rest of your body. You know you should be fighting. You know you should kick and scream and cry. You should try to take advantage of his closeness and get towards your revenge. But in your hellish life, are you not allowed one moment of pleasure? You haven't let those plans of escape and vengeance go, but you want this right now. You want to feel good, and he gives you that. 

This isn't Negan. This is daddy. And you don't wanna hurt daddy.

His tongue peeks out from between his lips to trace wet circles around your nipple. The sensation draws a whine from you. Your body squirms beneath him with an eagerness to feel more.

"I think I know how to make you feel better. Take your mind off all that stuff from before," he whispers.

He takes one of your nipples between his lips, flicking the bud with the tip of his tongue and scraping his teeth against the sensitive area. You reward the choice with a mewl and squirm your legs. He chuckles and then switches to the other one.

"That feel good?" he asks.

You nod, your head tilting back and your eyes fluttering.

Grinning, he continues his work on your chest. You whine and squirm for him, giving him all the reactions he craves. Soon, his hand ghosts up your inner thigh. His fingertips drag over the flesh and land on your clothed center. Through the thin pink cloth, he rubs at your clit. That garners a breathy moan and a full body shudder.

"Goddamn, you are so cute," he chuckles, "Just a few little touches and you squirm around like a virgin for me."

Heat floods your cheeks, but you don't bother disputing the claim. It was the truth. You weren't sure what it was about him that got you so amped up and needy.

The pad of his middle finger swirls around the little nub in your panties. He can already feel the fabric getting sticky from the wetness between your thighs.

"Poor baby. You're so easy to play with," he says.

His mouth leaves your breasts now and begins to retrace its path down your stomach. It glides over your skin with open-mouthed kisses all the way down to the hem of your underwear. His fingers fall away from your center to your dismay.

Your disappointment is short lived though. You feel him position your thighs on his shoulders. When you look down, his eyes are staring right back up at you, gleaming like that of a panther ready to pounce.

"You want daddy's mouth on you? Will that help you feel better?" he rasps.

You nod quickly. "Please, daddy," you whimper.

"So polite. You didn't even need me to remind you of your manners," he smirks.

You don't even care about that remark. It washes right over you. All your mind is concerned with right now is getting more of his touch.

He brings his index finger back between your legs. He hooks it beneath the soaked seat of your panties, pulling it to the side and revealing your slick folds to him. The thumb on his opposite hand comes up to rub over the length of your slit up to your clit. Back and forth, nice and slow, just to tease you.

Your hips writhe the slightest bit, and he nips the skin of your inner thigh.

"Tsk. You know good girls are patient. They don't wriggle around. I've taught you better than that," he chides.

"Sorry," you say, backing down quickly.

"It's alright. I know you're having a rough day, so I'll let it slide this time," he says. He then leans in to lay some kisses on your clit.

Your eyes roll back and your toes curl. He never let things slide. This must have been a miracle. The same man who always toted that the rules weren't optional, letting you bypass one? Maybe you were his favorite. That's what you took it as anyways.

He makes out with your cunt like it's the prettiest thing he's ever seen. His lips engulf it, spreading his affection from your little bundle of nerves all the way down, nearly reaching your puckered entrance below. You whine and clutch at the bedsheets. You were still too scared to grab his hair. You weren't sure if he'd like it and groan or glare at you in a way that said you'd pay for it later.

It doesn't matter to you right now though. What you hold isn't important when you feel this good. It feels like a firework show is erupting in your belly, bright bursts of all different colors. Your heels dig into his back, subconsciously keeping him buried between your thighs.

He's tempted to tear your panties off and fling them aside. He would if not for the limited number in his possession. If this was normal life, he'd rip a pair to shreds on a weekly basis. These things were so cute when he put them on, but when he wanted at you, he despised them. If this was normal life, he'd just buy you new ones whenever a tattered one had to be tossed. But then again, if this was normal life, he wouldn't have you at all, so it isn't really worth thinking about.

Refocusing his mind on your pleasure, he dives further into your cunt. His nose bumps your clit as his tongue fucks into you. He pushes it in a few times before pulling back and just lapping at your pussy in broad strokes, getting every drop of you he can. Two of his fingers prod at your entrance before slipping in. They fuck deeper than his tongue, but don't stretch you out like his cock. A happy medium to walk the steps of preparation.

He maneuvers his digits with expert precision, scissoring and curling them at the perfect intervals. You can't help the way your hips buck in response. He doesn't get on you about it though. He just wraps your arms around his hips and holds you in place.

Your thighs squeeze around his head too. Luckily, that wasn't against the rules. He loved feeling the heat of your plush legs wrapped around his skull, keeping him close.

He pumps his fingers faster, curling them right against that spot that got you to squeal and cry out his name.

"Cum for me, babydoll. All over my face. I wanna feel it," he rasps.

It's a fortunate coincidence he gives you that command because you were about two swipes of his tongue away from doing it on your own. You melt against the bed, eyes fluttering and body jerking and quivering as rushes of pleasure sweep through you.

Your fingers grip the blankets so tight they threaten to tear into them, but then they loosen completely and go lax next to your hips. He licks your cunt through the entire thing, not letting you come down until the euphoria has thoroughly washed through you.

While you're lying there, dazed and blissed out, he untangles himself from your legs and stands at the edge of the bed. He wipes your nectar from his facial hair before pulling his shirt over his head and unzipping his pants.

"I think daddy deserves a little reward for making you feel so good, pretty girl. What do you say?" he asks.

Of course, you nod. There was no way you would reject him while still so close to the high of your last release. He grins at your hazy movement and shoves down his pants, jerking his cock a few times and crawling on the bed to hover over you.

"You're such a good girl for me. Better than I ever thought you'd be," he says while looking down at your face.

"Wanna be good for you, daddy," you say softly, blinking at him with your misty doe eyes.

His grin spreads even wider. In your sane mind, you probably would have thought it looked like some creature out of hell. But right now, the look just makes you giggle and squirm.

Down below, he lines up at your entrance. He slides his tip through your arousal a few times, getting it nice and wet before he sinks in. A smile of your own rises on your face, and he groans at the deep satisfaction of having your cunt embrace him so readily.

"Perfect little pussy, fuck," he grunts, "Think it's the best I've ever had."

You preen at that compliment. He balances his forearms on each side of your head as he begins to thrust. Your legs rise up and lazily wrap around his waist, which he loves. He can't get enough of the fact that you want him, that you're pushing him deeper and not letting him pull out too much.

His head falls beside yours, letting you hear every pant and grunt that falls from his lips. Your walls squeeze around him every so often. The noises make your tummy flutter for him. It drives you wild to know you brought him to such a state of lust.

"Christ, you're so fucking tight," he mumbles.

You giggle again and drape your arms around his shoulders. Your eyes flutter shut. You just get lost in the feeling of him inside you, his cock battering all your sweet spots just right. He leans in and kisses at your neck. His hips pump deeper, ramming his shaft further into the warm depth of you.

In this moment, everything feels so good and pure. You can't even imagine any of the pain he inflicted on you before. It all feels like a distant dream. Memories that belonged to someone else, not you. At this second, it feels as though this bliss will last forever. Just you and him tangled in the throes of passion without a concern for anything else happening beyond the privacy of his room.

When you open your eyes, they're a little watery from all the stimulation and how good it feels mixed with your saccharine thoughts. You arch off the bed a few inches, pushing your pert breasts against the warmth of his chest. He pushes you back down with ease, keeping you angled exactly where he wants you.

Pulling back a little to look at your face, he smiles when he sees the water gathering in your eyes.

"Oh, those are the tears I like to see," he croons.

You moan, a little shiver coursing through you. It only encourages him to pound his hips harder against you, in and out, in and out, until you're both approaching the edge.

"You gonna cum again for me, sweetheart? Show daddy how good he's making you feel?" he murmurs.

"Yeah, mhm, ah-" you whimper, "I wanna cum daddy, wanna cum for you."

"I know you do," he chuckles, "I can feel it."

Your cunt contracts and releases around him with increased frequency now. He knows you're moments away from reaching the peak. Swiveling his hips, he tries to strike that chord and bring you crashing down.

You whimper, the pitch getting higher as the glass gets closer to shattering. Finally, with one good jerk of his pelvis, you tense up and cry out. A couple tears trickle from your eyes. Your nails dig into his shoulder blades.

Your body trembles and rolls with the feeling. He fucks you through it, savoring every delicious squeeze of your cunt around him. A few breathless groans rumble out of him. He gets every last second in your hole he can before he has to pull out.

He snaps his hips back, replacing the tightness of your pussy with his hand. It's not the same, but it will do. He gives it a few quick strokes before he explodes and spills on your belly. You lift your head and watch as the ropes of hot, sticky cum land on your skin.

His hips jerk with each surge of release firing from him. When he finishes, his head hangs, and he takes a moment to catch his breath. He scoots off of you and cools down beside your body on the bed. It's quiet for a few moments; though, he's never one to be vulnerable, so he doesn't let the silence linger for too long.

"You feeling better?" he asks and rotates his head to look at you.

You nod, visibly more relaxed than before.

"Thank you, daddy," you say, sweet as can be, before leaning in and pecking his lips.

He stares at you for a few moments in fond satisfaction. Then he gets up, and pulls you to your feet with him.

"C'mon. Let's get you cleaned up," he says.

You follow obediently to the bathroom where he wipes you off with a damp rag and makes sure you're all set to get some rest after. Both of you make your way to the dresser next. He pulls another set of those panties out and slips you into them. They don't feel so horrible this time around, but in the back of your mind, you're sure that won't be the case tomorrow morning. A soft, thin shirt covers your upper body next. It's the same baby pink color as the dress, but you don't mind since it's much more comfortable.

On your own, you tuck yourself to his side for the short walk back to the bed. He climbs in first and then tugs you into your spot next to him.

"I want you to try and get some rest," he tells you, stroking down the side of your face, "When you wake up, I'll get you something to eat, but for now, I want you to take a nap, ok?"

You aren't particularly tired, but while living here, sleep has become your greatest method of escape. You never reject a chance at it. The only thing is, right now, you don't really want to escape. You don't feel a horrible gnawing sensation from being so close to him.

However, you agree anyways because daddy knows best for you, and you don't want to make him upset.

You lie your head on his chest and snuggle up to him. He holds you close, rewarding the compliance by rubbing your back.

"Sweet dreams, babydoll," he murmurs.

She had been the one to befriend Y/N, they met at Mystical Falls High School when Rebekah tried out for the cheerleaders. Caroline had been salty about it but Y/N was happy to invite new people in.

Rebekah took a liking to her in an instant and ended up inviting her round.

That's how Klaus met her. Finding an unknown girl stood in his kitchen in only a tiny little skort and what could barely be called a top. Y/N only smiled at him and introduced herself as Rebekah's friend.

The idea of his younger sister making a friend so easily would have amused him but his thoughts had quickly ran away from him as he took her in. His viewing was cut short when Rebekah shoved him out the way.

"Sorry Y/N, that's Nik." She mumbled as she opened the cupboard to look for something for Y/N to eat. "Damn. We'll have to order something, come on." She shrugged and grabbed Y/N's hand, pulling her back upstairs.

Y/N was over often and Klaus had become accustomed to seeing her in her cheer outfit but that didn't mean he didn't feel anything.

Rebekah had only noticed it when she saw him pull a pillow over his lap part way through a movie. She knew that Klaus had a little crush on Y/N, that wasn't hard to realise with how often he looked at her and how easily his lips upturned in her presence but realising the extent made her smirk.

Rebekah would start 'lending' clothes to Y/N the day after a sleepover, having her dress in tight little shorts and tube tops. Convincing her that she didn't need to wear a bra round the house.

Klaus was almost drooling.

His fingers dug into the couch when she sat beside him after Rebekah had spread herself out across the other sofa. Klaus was too focused on not staring at Y/N's nipples to notice Rebekah's obvious game play.

When it had gotten late and Y/N started getting tired but the film wasn't finished Rebekah decided to push it. "You can always lay down. Nik doesn't mind, he even has a pillow. Just rest on his lap." Her words sounded to passive and innocent that Y/N just glanced to Klaus who, no matter how badly he knew he should've said no, nodded his head and adjusted the pillow.

Before he knew it his fingers were stroking her hair, his hips desperately holding back when she made small sounds on contempt.

Once she was asleep he couldn't help but touch her face, trace each feature. Bekah had gone to the bathroom, leaving him alone with her and his thoughts. He couldn't help but stroke her bottom lip with his thumb. As soon as he heard the door shut his hands were pulled away and he was sat back against the cushions but Rebekah knew what he wanted.

She started having lollipops on hand, always having one to give to Y/N. Klaus was losing it.

Once or twice she'd forgotten to finish her lolly, leaving it somewhere by accident. Klaus would end up licking her taste fresh from it, his eyes closing as he sucked her flavour down.

He could just about restrain himself from acting on his feelings.

Until all his other siblings were woken and also caught onto the situation. Kol would shamelessly flirt with Y/N, purposefully trying to make Klaus flip out. Even Elijah had picked up on it. He'd clear his throat and glance Klaus down, reminding his brother to cover his arousal with an amused smile on his face when Niklaus would go a beat red and pull a pillow over himself again. Kol had started calling it his 'problem pillow'.

Rebekah was subtle but Kol? Brutal.

"Don't tell me Nik's cum on his pillow again!" He'd call loud enough that it made Klaus shoot up out of his seat in panic that Y/N had heard but not quite loud enough that it would travel up the stairs to where Y/N actually was.

"Someone's in a sticky situation-" He'd jest before a book was lobbed at his head.

"You know Y/N if you're feeling stressed, I'm positive Nik would pound it out of you." He'd grin but Y/N didn't get it; thank god.

Klaus would shove Kol out the room, out the house sometimes and storm up the stairs.

Was it embarrassing? Of course. Was it hilarious for the others? Obviously.

you had no premonition of the hurricane that was about to tear through your life, lounging comfortably on your best friend's couch, chatting idly about nothing while a movie played on the living room television, ignored.

you both do this often, relaxing in each other's company at her home, she seemed to always have the house to herself, and the quiet was nice in contrast to the bustling, loud of the apartment that you shared with roommates.

she was telling about a seminar she had been working on for class when you heard the jingle of keys and the sound of the front door opening. you turn to look at her in question, and she rolls her eyes.

"my dad," she deadpans, and when you turned to look at the man who had just walked in, you felt your entire body stiffen.

"you're home early." your friend sighs, and you watch the neatly combed head of hair pop out from behind the wall, clad in a dark brown suit, daintily framed glasses sitting on the bridge of a pretty nose. sharp cheekbones, and bitten lips that part when he speaks.

he turns to face his daughter, but his eyes stop, and snag on you. curled up on his couch, your legs tucked under your body and your eyes wide and curious, subconsciously chewing on your inner cheek, your fingers nervously pulling at a string that flays from the cushion.

his eyebrows raise, and his lips spread into a wide smile.

"ladies." he acknowledges politely, his eyes never leaving yours. he catches the way your shoulder twitches when he speaks, and it intrigues him in a dangerous way.

"didn't know you were having friends over, honey." he drawls lowly, and then he's turning to shed his blazer and finally gives you a moment free from his burning gaze.

you find yourself letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

"i didn't know i needed to tell you," she replies, a playful yet annoyed tone in her voice.

"you don't." he replies matter-of-factly, turning and locking his eyes on you once again. "but at least introduce your dad, yeah? haven't i taught you manners?"

he reaches out a hand for you to shake. "hongjoong. pleasure to meet you, sweetheart. i raised that brat over there." he smiles wider and his little canines poke over his bottom lip. you swallow the dry patch in your throat and force your hand to unstick from your side to take his.

his hand swallows yours, rough skin, warm flesh. it makes your neck tingle. you blink dumbly when his hand squeezes yours, before he's leaning down, landing a chaste kiss on the top of your knuckles.

your friend scoffs next to you, and hes pulling away before you could think of anything to say in response.

"dad, please. its the 20th century, you've gotta start acting like it."

hongjoong laughs softly, adjusting his glasses as they've begun to slip down his face. "it's the respectful gesture for when a gentleman greets a lady. maybe you should read a book, dearest."

your friend snorts and pokes your side, rousing you from your stupor. "oh please, (name) is the farthest thing from a lady, and you are certainly no gentleman dad."

he laughs again, pure whipped honey in your stomach, and he cranes his head to the side, his eyes swimming over your face, his expression painted with blatant captivation.

"is that so?" he murmurs under his breath, and something inside you flicks alight.

so when he's got you backed into a corner in the far left wing of his home mere days later, he's made you promise to keep that pretty voice of yours down so he can prove to you just how much of a "gentleman" he can be.

he kisses you stupid, his warm mouth molded with yours, his tongue curling and mapping out the length of your teeth. his hands slip around the back of your head, craning your neck upward so he can help himself to the maw of your mouth, greedily kissing you like he was starving.

your back pressed to the hallway wall, his thigh slotted between your thighs, pressing up against your clothed cunt just enough to have you teetering on that mouthwatering promise of bliss.

he pulls from your mouth with a slick pop, trailing his kisses along your jaw with wet 'mwahs' that make your stomach coil. his fingers scrape against the nape of your neck like he is trying to slither your spine out from your body.

“hi pretty girl.” he moans between kisses, slipping one hand from your neck and finding a home at your hips, pressing your body down to help your grind against his thigh. you gasp when your clit catches the rough denim of his pants, and he shushes you, hovering his lips over your mouth, his low breaths brushing against the soft skin.

his eyelids lowered beneath his fogged-up glasses, the darkness of the hallway making him all the more alluring.

“i can’t fuck you the way i want right now, but i think if i go one more day without having you, i’ll start tearing up my own house.”

the desperation in his voice makes you whimper. he pulls his body off of you, turning you around so your front is pressed hard against the cold wall. he pressed against your back, his hand curling around and gripping the front of your throat, his blunt nails digging into the thin skin.

his other hand slips under the waistband of your pants, slipping them down just far enough to pool at your knees. next you hear him fiddle with his belt, the metal clacking loudly in the empty hallway. your face is smushed against the wall, his hold on your throat making you dizzy. he litters wet kisses along the back of your shoulders, along the side of your neck, and then, when you feel him slip the crotch of your panties to the side, all coherent thoughts fly out the window.

you moan wantonly, and he clicks his tongue. keeping his hand on your throat, his index finger slides up and slips into your mouth, pressing down against your tongue.

hongjoong feels your drool start to drip down his fingers, and it makes his cock twitch as he pulls it out from his pants, immediately slotting it between your soaked thighs and coating himself in the wetness that drips from your cunt.

he cranes your head back, just enough so he can see your expression, your head lolled back over his shoulder. not an inch of space between your melded bodies, his breath hot against your neck as your stomach coils every time the fat tip of him slips over your clit.

“not a sound, baby,” he whispers against your skin, and you choke back a groan when his tip breaks into you, followed by the slow, agonizing drag of each inch he slides into your pussy.

his breath shivers against your cheek, a low purr slipping past his lips when he feels you clench around him so tight he can’t move.

“dammit, baby. pussy’s too tight, can’t move.”

“b-big…” you slur around his finger, and he laughs so low it sends a fresh gush of arousal between your legs.

“i know pretty, sorry. didn’t have time to loosen you up.” he pushes into you a little more, and you can feel every vein slide against your warm walls. his groans come broken from his throat, and the hand on your neck only squeezes tighter each inch he manages to slip into you.

“almost there, relax beautiful.” he coaxes, kissing the shell of your ear, before finally feeling his hips press flush against your ass, buried as deep inside of you as he could go.

“ff-fuck…” he moans under his breath, the scent of his fading cologne making your brain fuzzy. “your pussy sounds so messy, it’s going to echo down the hall, baby.”

to prove himself right, he slides his hips back, the deep stroke of his cock hitting all the right spots makes lights flash behind your eyes, and the sticky sound of your cunt makes you tighten around him even more.

he eases into a torturous rhythm, thrusting nice and slow and deep, pulling back as languidly as he could manage so you could feel every inch of his dick inside of you, pushing back inside with a low groan next to your ear to make you wetter for him, grinding his hips against your ass so his tip rolled against that sweet spot in your tummy.

he knew what he was doing, and fuck was it making you utterly stupid. your drool dripped down his wrist the harder he pressed his finger against your tongue, his own pleasure-ridden breaths and groans filled your head with sick fantasies and thoughts of him. you wanted to see him, you wanted to touch him.

but he was in control at the moment, holding your body to his like your flesh belonged to him, keeping your voice down while he pounded your cunt deep against his hallway wall. his free hand slips around the front of your body, his rough fingertip tips gently ghosting over your puffy clit, and you choke around his fingers as the pleasure rocks your bones.

“oh she likes that. responsive little one, aren’t you?” he teases by your ear, and he starts to fuck you with rougher, deeper strokes, every thick inch of his cock gliding against your walls with little to no resistance, and you start to feel like you might start melting into the wall.

“mm, h-hongjo- ah!” speaking was useless, his cock dissolving your brain inside your skull, the finger in your mouth making your words garbled.

“don’t try to talk.” he bites out, licking up the back of your neck with a whispery coo. “mm-mm, pretty little thing like you doesn’t need to talk. nooo… she doesn’t. she just needs to feel, yeah?”

to emphasize, he pulls his cock out of you just until the tip threatens to slip out if you, before grinding back into you with one deep, heavy thrust. your groan comes out low and shivery, and hongjoong grins mean and toothy at the way your body falls apart around him like you needed him to breathe.

“feel me doll, every inch of me. show me how badly you want me to ruin you.”

he eases back into that bullying, deliberate pace, working your cunt out like he was trying to mold his shape into you. you heard the sound of his glasses falling off his face and clattering to the floor in his bliss-stricken haze.

hongjoong’s moans shatter into something uncontrolled, obsessed with your willingness to bend for him. deep down, he wished he never met you, because he just knew that this could not be good for either of you. but god, he couldn’t push the fantasy out of his head, the one that told him you would look so pretty when you cum.

“focus, sweetheart. focus.” he instructs, pinching your clit between his fingertips as he rolls his hips into you, his lower stomach flowing smoothly like a practiced dance.

“need to feel this sweet little cunt cum for me. be nice baby, please? focus on cumming for daddy. okay? concentrate.”

your entire world flipped upside down, and then you shattered. like he’d dropped you on pavement, your entire body shakes and twitches, his thick cock dragging you through your orgasm with every rock of his hips.

“oh god, there she goes. that’s it, baby. good job. goooood job…” he kisses up the side of your neck, finally detaching his hand from your throat and cupping over your mouth to muffle your noises as your cries started to get louder as he continued to fuck you through the throes of your overstimulation. “doing so good for me…”

he doesn’t stop, because of course, he hasn’t cum yet. and hongjoong is a selfish man. plus, he wouldn’t mind forcing a couple more pretty little orgasms out of you; he’s sure you wouldn’t mind either.

if he hasn’t scared you off by time he’s done with you tonight, he’d be more than happy to shed that so-called self-appointed “gentleman” title once he can fuck you properly.

and if this wasn’t proper? god forbid you found out what is.