luffy enthusiast

and yet, in all those encounters, he never truly looked at you. not in the way a man looks at a woman he wants. you were background noise to him. a silhouette in silk. polite smiles, brief nods, nothing more.

until the contract was signed.

it was a merger more than a marriage — a binding of legacies, not hearts. your father said it was an honor. your mother cried while helping you into your wedding dress, whispering how lucky you were to marry someone with such influence, such presence. you didn't feel lucky.

your gown was custom-made, flown in from paris. long-sleeved and ivory, with delicate lace crawling up your collarbones, and a train so long it took three women to carry it down the aisle. you looked like a dream — regal, immaculate, almost untouchable. even your makeup was soft and flawless, like you were born to be admired from a distance.

when you reached the altar, taehyun was already waiting. his eyes swept over you with the indifference of a man examining a sculpture in a gallery — beautiful, yes. admirable, even. but not his. not something he reached for. he looked expensive in his suit. tall, composed, painfully handsome. but there was no joy on his face. no warmth in the way he took your hand.

when he took your hand, it was because the priest told him to.

his palm was cold. steady. his grip was neither too firm nor too soft. you imagined it was the same way he signed business contracts, with precision and detachment.

you told yourself you didn’t need warmth. this wasn’t about love. it never was.

and yet it hurt, in some small, stupid way.

he kissed your cheek when the priest told him to. his lips brushed your skin, and you felt nothing. not butterflies, not electricity. just the cold, aching confirmation of what you already knew: taehyun didn’t love you. and he didn’t want to.

the wedding made headlines. a spectacle of elegance and power. articles praised the "fairytale union" and posted blurry photos of taehyun helping you into the car, his hand on your back like a gentleman. what they didn’t know was that by the time you arrived at the private estate where you’d live together, he was already walking ahead of you, phone in hand, voice low and disinterested.

“you’ll have the west wing,” he said. “second floor. we won’t share a room — i assume that’s fine”

you nodded. your veil was still pinned in your hair, your earrings heavy on your ears.

he didn’t say goodnight. he didn’t ask how you felt. he simply turned and disappeared into his study, closing the door behind him with finality.

his room was on the opposite side of the house.

you didn’t see much of each other after that. in the mornings, you passed him in the dining room — his sleeves rolled up, eyes glued to his laptop as he sipped black coffee. sometimes he nodded at you. sometimes he didn’t.

when he spoke, it was brief. emotionless. professional.

"you’ll need to be at the choi event next week."

"wear something navy. it matches the branding."

"your lipstick was smudged last time. be more careful."

not cruel. not kind. just cold.

still, you played your part. at every family function, every business dinner, you laced your arm around his like the doting wife you were supposed to be. taehyun would place his hand on your lower back, lean in close enough to whisper scripted compliments in your ear, and smile when cameras flashed. you looked like a couple in love — poised, elegant, connected.

but at night, you would close the door to your room and cry silently into a pillow that smelled like perfume and loneliness.

he never asked if you were happy. you never offered to lie.

you had been married to kang taehyun for a year.

twelve months of empty rooms and empty words. of silent mornings, separate beds, and dinner parties where you pretended to love a man who barely remembered how to say your name without flattening it.

your marriage was the kind that looked good in photographs. carefully curated images of a successful union — him in tailored suits, you in designer gowns. your hands always touching, your eyes always soft. a perfect illusion.

but once the flashbulbs faded and the doors closed, so did the performance.

you lived in a mansion, but it never felt like a home. it was quiet in a way that echoed. too many walls, too many shadows. your bedroom was at the far end of the hall, separated by sleek marble floors and silence. taehyun’s was opposite yours, and he never crossed that threshold. not even once.

some nights, you stood by the door and waited. hoping. other nights, you stopped hoping altogether.

he wasn't cruel — not in the way that left bruises or sharp words. his coldness was quieter than that. it was in the way he never asked if you were okay. in the way he answered you with sighs instead of sentences. in how he looked past you at breakfast, eyes on his phone, fingers tapping away at stock reports and news articles, as if you were part of the background — as if your presence was nothing more than ambient noise.

“you need to be ready by seven,” he’d say without looking up.

“don’t wear white. it clashes with the decor.”

and you would nod. always nod. because what else was there to do?

you played the part. you smiled when your in-laws visited. you stood beside him at every event with your hand wrapped gently around his arm, your voice sweet, your gaze rehearsed. when his hand slid onto the small of your back for the cameras, you leaned into the touch as if it belonged there.

but the second you were alone, the warmth disappeared.

you would walk down opposite corridors, into opposite beds, and try to fall asleep beside the ache of being unwanted.

you never asked him why. never begged for attention or tenderness. you had learned, from a very young age, that feelings were fragile, disposable things — and that love had no place in contracts.

your marriage was not a love story. it was a transaction sealed with gold and paper, a deal between two families who saw you as an extension of their legacy. you were beautiful, accomplished, poised — a perfect bride. and taehyun was a perfect son. loyal, brilliant, emotionally vacant. the kind of man who could run an empire and feel nothing when he held your hand.

and you —

you were so good at pretending that it almost felt real sometimes.

until you saw lee heesung again.

the invitation arrived embossed in gold — another affair hosted by the choi family, all shimmer and status. you wore emerald silk that night, low-backed and elegant, with your hair twisted up and pinned with mother-of-pearl. taehyun wore black, as always, his presence severe and pristine beside you.

he didn’t compliment your dress.

you didn’t expect him to.

the ballroom was all crystal and candlelight. strings played softly beneath the murmur of conversation, and champagne flutes clinked like bells. you smiled when expected, danced twice with taehyun in front of curious eyes, then slipped away toward the edge of the room for air.

and that’s when you heard it.

“y/n?”

you turned at the sound of your name — tentative, soft, almost disbelieving.

he was standing near the edge of the terrace, champagne glass forgotten in his hand, dressed in a dark suit that clung to his frame more confidently than it had when you last saw him. his face was older now — sharper jaw, deeper eyes — but the smile… the smile was exactly the same.

“heesung?” your voice was breathless. like it didn’t belong to you.

he stepped forward slowly, as if afraid you might vanish if he moved too quickly. “i almost didn’t recognize you. you—” he laughed under his breath, eyes roaming your face with a mix of awe and disbelief. “you’ve grown up.”

you blinked, unsure whether to laugh or cry. “so did you.”

it had been ten years. ten whole years since he left — packed off to europe for school, his family’s goodbye rushed and quiet. you had cried for two nights straight, then spent years pretending you hadn’t. and now here he was, in the middle of a gala, as if nothing had changed.

except everything had.

you were married now. in name, at least.

but still, when he smiled at you — wide and warm and genuine — something fluttered in your chest you hadn’t felt in years.

“you look incredible,” he said, eyes dancing. “i mean, not just the dress. you— i don’t know, you shine. always did.”

you lowered your gaze, cheeks warm. “you’re still a flatterer.”

“only when it’s true.”

you heard footsteps behind you before you could reply.

“taehyun,” you said quickly, straightening. “this is… lee heesung. an old friend.”

taehyun’s eyes moved from you to heesung in a single sweep. his face didn’t change, but something in his posture did — his jaw just a bit tighter, his stare a little too direct.

“taehyun,” heesung offered his hand, unbothered. “pleasure to meet you. i’ve heard a lot about you.”

taehyun shook his hand. short. firm. “have you?”

“well,” heesung chuckled, glancing at you, “maybe not a lot. but enough.”

you felt taehyun’s hand settle on your lower back — a gentle but deliberate touch, the kind he only ever used in public. you could feel the tension in his fingers, though. not affection. not comfort. something else.

you smiled politely, masking the strange electricity crackling between them. “heesung was my neighbor growing up. we were… close.”

“very close,” heesung added, too casually.

taehyun said nothing. but his hand lingered longer than usual.

his tone was pleasant. perfectly civil. but his fingers pressed slightly harder against your waist, and when you looked up at him, his jaw was clenched just enough to betray it.

and for the first time in a year of cold silences and empty gazes, kang taehyun looked... bothered.

you met heesung again three days later. this time, alone.

you told yourself it was just a reunion. a friendly catch-up. nothing more.

but he made you laugh in ways you hadn’t in years. he remembered everything — the way you used to hate thunderstorms, the songs you’d sing under your breath, the stupid nickname he gave you for always carrying too many books. he looked at you like you mattered. like you were more than a name in someone else’s contract.

you didn’t tell taehyun. and he didn’t ask.

you met again the next week. and the one after that. coffee turned to lunch, lunch turned to long walks through hidden parts of the city, where no one knew your last name. you smiled wider. your skin glowed. you started wearing the perfume you liked, not the one his mother approved. you began laughing out loud, not just behind a polite hand. and people noticed.

especially him.

the first time taehyun said something, you had just come back from lunch. your hair was windswept. your phone buzzed with a new message from heesung: i miss talking to you already.

taehyun was standing in the kitchen, sipping wine like always. he looked at you for a long moment before saying, “you’re seeing him again.”

you froze. “he’s my friend.”

his stare didn’t waver. “and i’m your husband.”

the silence was suffocating. you didn’t reply. you didn’t need to.

“don’t be careless,” he added after a pause. “people notice.”

but you couldn’t stop. because every time heesung smiled at you, you remembered what it felt like to be loved — or at least wanted. and every time taehyun’s eyes darkened across the room, you felt something crack open between you, something ugly and raw and dangerous.

and it was only a matter of time before it spilled.

you weren’t supposed to see heesung again.

you told yourself that the moment you stepped out of the café that night — that it was enough. enough catching up, enough smiling too much, enough letting your heart remember what it felt like to be looked at like you were something bright. but the next day, he texted. just a simple “remember the old bookstore by the river?” and without thinking, you replied. you remembered everything.

you met there the following sunday. it was quiet, tucked away behind overgrown ivy and the whisper of autumn wind. the inside still smelled like sun-warmed paper, and heesung still laughed like you were the most interesting story on the shelf. you wandered between aisles, letting your fingers trail along spines, and for a little while, it felt like you’d slipped through time — like nothing had changed. like you weren’t twenty-five and married. like your last name wasn’t kang.

he took you to lunch after, somewhere casual, small, a place you never would’ve stepped into with taehyun. there were no cameras, no eyes, no pressure to sit up straighter or speak more delicately. you ate slowly, letting the warmth of soup melt the cold that had crept into your bones over the last year. heesung talked about his travels, the people he met, the music he was trying to write. and when he asked about you, really asked — what do you like now? what makes you happy? — your throat felt tight.

you didn’t know how to answer. not honestly.

later, walking by the riverbank, you laughed when he called you “bookworm” again. you shoved his shoulder lightly and he caught your hand — fingers threading through yours like it was still summer and you were still fifteen.

and just for a moment, it was too easy to pretend.

but as the warmth of his skin soaked into yours, your stomach twisted. not with guilt, not yet. something more dangerous — doubt. was this what you were missing?

“heesung,” you said softly, eyes still on the water. “do you ever think we were supposed to be something?”

he was quiet for a beat. then, “i thought about you more than i should have.”

your heart thudded — but it wasn’t joy. it was grief.

you pulled your hand back gently, wrapping your coat tighter around yourself. “i used to think that too,” you whispered. “but that version of me… the one who wrote your name in the margins of her notebooks and cried when you left… she doesn’t exist anymore.”

he didn’t argue. he just nodded, like he understood.

you parted ways with a hug. longer than necessary, but not intimate. not improper. just... sad.

and when you stepped into the house that night, the silence hit harder than ever. no message from taehyun. no note. no light left on. only the familiar echo of emptiness.

you wandered into the kitchen, fingers still cold. you didn’t expect to see him standing by the window.

he turned, startled for a split second — rare for him — before composing himself.

“you’re late.”

“i went out,” you answered, setting your purse down. “with a friend.”

he didn’t respond. just stared at you like he was searching for something beneath your skin.

you avoided his gaze. “do you want tea?”

“no.”

you nodded, stepping past him. the silence stretched, heavy and full of things unsaid.

“you look different,” he said quietly.

you froze. “different how?”

he hesitated. “lighter.”

you didn’t know what to say. so you didn’t say anything at all.

when you finally made it to your bedroom, you sat on the edge of your bed, breath shallow. you thought about heesung’s smile, the sound of his laugh, the way he made you feel like your teenage self again — untouched by the cold calculations of your family, unburdened by the weight of your name. but you also thought of taehyun — the tension in his jaw tonight, the way his voice had shifted ever so slightly when he said you look different.

and that’s when you realized the truth.

you liked heesung, yes. you liked what he represented. freedom. comfort. the girl you used to be. but taehyun? he wasn’t the boy of your past — he was the man in your present. and despite his silence, his coldness, the way he looked right through you some days... you wanted him.

you wanted him to see you. want you. need you.

and that hurt more than anything.

because you were starting to realize... maybe you already loved him.

the room was all golden light and champagne — delicate strings of music trailing through crystal chandeliers, waiters gliding past with silver trays, women in gowns that shimmered like moonlight.

you stood near the center of it all, wrapped in a dress the color of soft wine. off-the-shoulder silk, cinched waist, a slit that whispered against your leg when you moved. your hair was swept to one side, exposing the slope of your neck. taehyun hadn’t said a word when he saw you leave your room, but his eyes had lingered. too long to be empty. too cold to be warm.

he escorted you, as always, arm linked with yours — not too tight, not too loose. he greeted the right people, nodded at the appropriate times, made you laugh when he needed to keep up appearances. you smiled when the cameras turned. you leaned into him when the board members looked.

but the minute your mutual obligation ended, he released your arm without a word and stepped off to speak with someone from the finance division.

you didn’t follow.

you wandered to the bar instead, thankful for the small reprieve, and that’s when you heard it — your name, light and warm like summer.

“you look like you stepped out of a painting,” heesung said, smiling, holding two glasses of rosé. “guess i’ll have to pretend i belong here.”

you smiled before you could stop yourself. “you look good in a suit.”

“don’t sound so surprised.”

you laughed, taking the glass he offered. his fingers brushed yours — brief, innocent — but still enough to make your heart stutter. you hated how easy it was to feel fifteen again. and you hated that you missed it.

“you didn’t tell me you’d be here.”

“i didn’t know,” he shrugged, sipping slowly. “my manager’s friend works with the caterer. said he needed a last-minute hand. i said yes without thinking. figured it’d just be another fancy party where no one would remember my name.”

“you’re wrong,” you said softly.

his eyes flicked to yours. there was something in them — something unspoken. something that a married woman shouldn’t try to read too closely.

“are you here alone?” you asked.

he nodded. “unless you’re counting all the corporate execs who’ve asked me if i play piano.”

you laughed again, this time quieter. “you do.”

“not for them.”

heesung's voice was low, almost teasing. but there was a weight behind it — an ache, maybe, or just the memory of something never lived.

you didn’t notice the man watching you.

kang taehyun stood on the other side of the room, his glass untouched in his hand. he wasn’t smiling. wasn’t even pretending. his gaze was locked on you — on the way your lips curved when heesung leaned in to say something; on how your fingers played idly with the stem of your glass; on the tilt of your head, the brightness in your eyes.

he hadn’t seen you smile like that since before the wedding. maybe never.

he finished his drink in a single swallow.

when he approached, it was silent — sudden. you only noticed him when the air beside you shifted, cool and sharp. he placed a hand on the small of your back, a gesture you were both used to in public, but this time... his palm stayed. firm. possessive.

“everything alright?” his voice was smooth, but there was steel underneath.

you blinked. “yes. taehyun, this is—”

“lee heesung,” he cut in flatly, gaze unwavering. “we met.”

heesung offered a polite smile. “good to see you again.”

taehyun nodded, but didn’t return it.

“your wife was just telling me how beautiful the venue is,” heesung continued, tone light. “honestly, this place looks like something out of a dream.”

taehyun’s fingers pressed a little deeper into your back. “she has good taste.”

you froze for a second — not at the words, but the way he said them. not like a compliment. like a reminder.

the silence stretched.

“i should get back to the kitchen,” heesung said eventually, glancing at you. “don’t disappear too fast.”

you nodded. “i won’t.”

he walked away.

taehyun didn’t move his hand.

“you’re close,” he said, eyes still on the crowd.

“we’re old friends.”

“looked like more than that.”

you turned to him, brows drawing together. “why does it matter?”

he didn’t answer. his jaw tightened.

you exhaled slowly, pulling your arm from his and stepping half a pace away. “you don’t get to be jealous, taehyun.”

his eyes snapped to yours, sharp and unreadable. “who said i was?”

you didn’t reply.

neither did he.

but when you walked ahead, you felt it — the burn of his stare against your back. the heat in the silence.

the car ride home had been silent.

not the usual quiet — the polite, professional kind that hovered between you like a well-dressed wall. this one buzzed. like static. like heat trapped under skin. taehyun sat beside you, eyes fixed on the dark city flashing past the window, one leg crossed neatly over the other, jaw locked so tight you could hear it click when he swallowed.

you didn’t speak. neither did he.

not until the front door of your shared home closed behind you with a soft, final sound.

then his voice cut through the silence like a blade.

“do you think it’s appropriate to smile like that in front of the board?”

you turned, slowly, heels clicking against the polished marble. “excuse me?”

“with lee heesung,” he said, dropping his watch onto the side table without looking at you. “you looked like a schoolgirl with a crush.”

you laughed, sharp and humorless. “so you were watching.”

he turned to you finally, his tie half loosened, shirt still perfectly tucked into tailored slacks. he looked angry — but not wild. not loud. just cold. tightly wound. exactly like you’d expect from a man who built walls instead of raising his voice.

“i didn’t have to watch,” he said. “the whole room saw it.”

“saw what? that i was happy for five minutes?”

his expression didn’t change. “you’re married.”

“are we?” your voice rose. not a shout — just enough to cut. “because from where i’m standing, it feels like we’re just two strangers with matching rings.”

he took a slow step forward.

you didn’t move.

“then don’t embarrass me,” he said, quieter now, like it hurt to say it. “not in front of people who matter.”

you stared at him — tall, beautiful, indifferent. you hated how good he looked like this. hated the way his presence still made your skin ache even when his words made you feel disposable.

“i’m sorry,” you said, stepping closer, voice trembling with restraint. “am i supposed to stay quiet and smile at your side like a fucking ornament while you pretend i’m not even there?”

“that was the agreement,” he said flatly.

you blinked.

taehyun flinched.

the silence after that was thick. awful.

you stepped back.

he didn’t stop you.

“you didn’t care before,” you whispered. “why now? why tonight?”

he didn’t answer right away. he just looked at you — really looked, for maybe the first time in weeks. and it wasn’t the way he looked at you at galas, or dinners, or in family portraits. it wasn’t performative.

this time, it felt like he couldn’t look away.

“you were mine tonight,” he said finally. “and you forgot that.”

you stared at him.

you didn’t say anything.

but your hands shook a little as you reached up and unclasped your necklace, one jewel at a time. your earrings. your bracelets. everything expensive he’d helped you put on earlier that evening, now coming off piece by piece like armor being stripped away.

you didn’t cry. you didn’t yell. you just walked past him, brushing his shoulder as you left the room.

“don’t worry,” you said over your shoulder, voice like ice. “i’ll remember next time.”

his footsteps followed you down the hallway. unhurried. deliberate.

“you’re not going to pretend this didn’t happen,” he said, voice low, firm.

you paused at the edge of the bedroom. didn’t turn around.

“what do you want from me, taehyun?” your words were a whisper, sharp and tired. “you barely speak to me. you barely look at me. and then the second someone else does—”

“i’m not just someone else.”

“no,” you said bitterly. “you’re my husband. legally. contractually. nothing more.”

that did something to him. you could feel it — the tension shifting, thickening in the space between you like a storm waiting to snap.

his voice came closer. behind you now.

“do you think i haven’t noticed the way you look at me?”

you turned then. slowly. eyes burning.

“what way?”

his jaw clenched. “like you want something from me. like you want me to be someone i’m not.”

your breath caught. not because he was wrong. but because he wasn’t.

“and you,” you hissed, stepping forward now, chest brushing his. “you act like you don’t want me. like this marriage is just a formality. but the second someone else so much as smiles at me, you break.”

he said nothing.

his eyes dropped to your mouth.

then back up.

“tell me i’m wrong,” you demanded.

silence.

“taehyun.”

his hands moved before his mouth did — gripping your arms, not hard, but with purpose. pulling you closer until there was no space left to pretend with. his breath hit your cheek, fast and uneven.

“you’re not wrong,” he said finally.

and god, it burned.

because that was all you had wanted to hear — some crack in his mask, some proof that you weren’t crazy for feeling the pull between you. and now that you had it, it only made everything worse.

“then why do you treat me like this?” you asked, voice barely a breath. “why push me away every single time i try to reach you?”

“let's sleep together,”

the door slammed shut behind you, hard enough to rattle the frame. your heels clicked against the marble floors of your shared home—too loud, too sharp in the silence. you stormed through the living room, toward the master bedroom, your dress dragging behind you in a frustrated blur of expensive silk and lace.

you didn’t even look back.

“you’re not sleeping here tonight,” you said coldly, pushing open the bedroom door and stepping inside. “use one of the guest rooms. i don't care which one.”

taehyun followed you, of course. always the quiet shadow behind your anger, never raising his voice—but tonight was different. his jaw was tight, eyes darker than you’d ever seen them. something was burning under his skin.

he stepped into the room before you could close the door on him. “the hell i’m not.”

you turned to him, chest heaving, tears stinging your eyes though you refused to let them fall. “don’t make a scene, taehyun. i’m not in the mood.”

“you think i give a fuck about your mood right now?” he bit back, stepping closer. “i watched you smile at him like that. laugh with him like that. and then you come home and tell me to sleep somewhere else?”

“we don’t even sleep together, taehyun!” you shouted, finally losing it. “we’ve been married for a year and you still treat me like some damn business contract! so why should you care who i talk to?”

he was in front of you in two long strides. too close.

“because you're mine.”

his voice was low. not yelling. not angry in the way you expected. but full of something darker—possessive, raw.

your breath caught.

“you don’t get to flirt with old friends like you’re single,” he said, crowding you backwards until your spine hit the wall. “you wear my ring. you sleep in my house. you're my fucking wife.”

“in name only,” you spat, but your voice trembled.

his eyes dropped to your lips.

“no,” he said, fingers brushing the edge of your jaw. “not anymore.”

and then he kissed you.

not soft. not slow. it was messy. angry. real.

a year of silence poured into that kiss — the frustration, the jealousy, the ache of sleeping in separate rooms while pretending to be a couple to the world. it wasn’t romantic. it wasn’t pretty. it was honest.

his mouth moved over yours like he was starving. like he hated himself for needing this. needing you.

your robe fell to the floor.

his hands were everywhere — your waist, your back, your thighs. he lifted you without effort, your legs wrapping around his hips as your back hit the nearest wall with a quiet thud. his mouth never left yours.

you gasped when his hands slipped under your silk nightdress. he groaned when he felt you bare and burning beneath it.

and when he whispered your name — hoarse, like a confession — you knew this wasn’t about duty anymore.

this was need. raw, dangerous, undeniable.

this was taehyun, breaking.

for you.

“stop pretending,” he growled against your mouth. “you want this too. don’t you?”

you didn’t answer.

you didn’t have to.

because your body gave you away.

he kissed you again, deeper, pressing his thigh between your legs as he cupped your face with one hand and slid the other down your back. you melted into him, your fists gripping his suit jacket. he pulled back just enough to speak.

“bed,” he ordered.

taehyun’s hands were steady as they moved over you, but there was something in his touch that made your breath catch — as if he was testing the boundaries of something fragile, something new.

your heart raced. you weren’t sure if it was the heat of his touch, the way he kissed you, or the slow realization that everything you had felt for him, all the confusion and desire, was now colliding into something far more real.

his hands traveled down your body, slipping under the hem of your nightdress. when his fingers touched your skin, it was like a spark. you gasped, and he froze for just a moment, before continuing, his fingers sliding up your thigh, almost teasingly slow.

he moved, lips trailing down your neck, sucking gently at the soft skin near your pulse. you arched into him, silently asking for more. the way he touched you, the way he made every inch of your skin burn under his fingers — it made you feel like you were breaking open in the best way possible.

you swallowed, hesitating for only a second.

taehyun’s hands were firm as they spread your legs, gently but with purpose, pulling you closer to him. his lips left your neck to trace down to your collarbone, each kiss a promise, each touch a slow unraveling of control. his breath hitched as he touched you where you needed him most, slipping past the fabric of your panties. you gasped, your body instinctively tensing, but he didn’t stop, didn’t falter. he was careful, tentative even, but the heat in his touch made it clear he wanted this, wanted you, desperately.

then you turned and walked toward it—slow, steps shaky—and sat at the edge.

he followed, kneeling in front of you, his fingers pulling off your heels, one by one, then slowly, reverently dragging his hands up your calves.

“your first time?” he asked, voice softer now. darker. laced with something almost like awe.

you nodded.

“i’ll be gentle,” he said, kissing your inner thigh. “at first.”

he lifted your dress slowly, exposing lace panties soaked through from everything he’d said, everything he’d done. he groaned low when he saw the mess between your thighs.

“look at that,” he muttered. “my pretty wife. dripping for me.”

you gasped as he licked a stripe over the lace, tongue hot and wet and slow. he took his time—kissing, teasing, tasting you through the fabric until you were panting, hips grinding against his mouth without shame.

“taehyun—please—”

“you’re beautiful,” he whispered, his voice hushed but intense. “so perfect.”

“let me in,” he whispered, his voice almost breaking, as if he was asking for permission, even though he had already claimed you.

“lie back.”

you obeyed.

he climbed over you, dragging the dress up and over your head until you were bare beneath him—your chest rising with every breath, your skin flushed.

he kissed your collarbones, your neck, your breasts—fingers tweaking your nipples, mouth trailing lower. then he was lining himself up, one hand gripping your hip as he kissed you again, deep and dizzying.

“relax,” he whispered against your lips. “i’ve got you.”

you nodded, the tension in your body thick as he carefully, slowly, pressed into you, watching your face the whole time. it hurt at first — the stretch, the unfamiliarity — but he didn’t rush. every movement was deliberate, tender, as if he were trying to make it as gentle as possible, as if he feared breaking you in the process.

your back arched at the stretch, tears welling up in your eyes from the fullness, the ache. he kissed them away.

“fuck,” he muttered. “you’re so fucking tight. like you were made for me.”

your breath hitched, and you held onto him, your hands gripping his shoulders as he pushed deeper, his lips finding yours once more. his kiss was hard, almost desperate, like he couldn’t get enough of you. his pace was slow, at first, allowing you to adjust, but the need in his body was impossible to ignore.

“you feel so good, baby. taking me so well. fuck—i can feel you squeezing me.”

but it didn’t stay soft for long.

because once you got used to him—once the sting faded and the pleasure bloomed—taehyun changed.

“this what you needed?” he growled, pounding into you harder, “a reminder that you're married? that you belong to me?”

he gripped your wrists and pinned them above your head, fucking into you harder, deeper. his jaw clenched as he watched you fall apart beneath him.

“mine,” he growled. “you belong to me. this pussy’s mine. not heesung’s. not anyone’s.”

“taehyun—god—”

“say it.”

“yours,” you moaned, breathless. “i’m yours.”

“that’s right,” he hissed. “and i’m gonna fuck you like it.”

he flipped you over before you could think—hands on your hips as he thrust into you from behind, one hand fisting your hair, the other slapping your ass hard enough to leave a mark.

“you like this?” he said, breath hot against your neck. “like getting fucked like a wife should?”

you couldn’t answer—you were too far gone.

he pulled you up against his chest, your back flush to him as he kept fucking into you. his hand moved to your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles until you were shaking again, sobbing from the pleasure.

“you’re gonna come again,” he said, voice rough. “you’re gonna come all over my cock while i fill you up.”

and you did.

your whole body convulsed, a scream torn from your throat as he groaned behind you, emptying inside you with a final, brutal thrust.

he didn’t pull out.

instead, he dragged you back into bed, still inside you, kissing your shoulder, your jaw, your lips.

“again,” he whispered. “we’re not done.”

you were still trembling when he kissed the sweat from your temple, when he pressed his chest against your back and held your hips tightly against his.

he hadn’t pulled out.

you could still feel him inside you—thick and hot and pulsing. the room smelled like sex and perfume and expensive cologne. your skin was burning everywhere he touched you. everywhere he kissed.

taehyun’s hand slid from your hip to your waist, then up to your throat. not squeezing—just resting there. possessive. grounding.

his voice was low, rough against your ear.

“feel that?” he murmured. “still so fucking hard inside you.”

you whimpered, thighs twitching. he groaned in response, hips rolling slowly, deliberately, grinding deeper.

“fuck—taehyun…”

“don’t say his name,” he snapped. “you moan mine. no one else’s.”

his hand tightened just a little around your throat, enough to make your eyes flutter closed, to make your breath catch.

“say it,” he demanded.

“…taehyun.”

“again.”

“taehyun—fuck—please…”

he pulled out then, and you almost cried from the sudden emptiness. but he wasn’t done. not even close.

“on your stomach,” he said.

your limbs obeyed before your brain could catch up—body pliant, aching, desperate.

he spread your legs with his knee, dragged your hips up, and slid back into you with a groan so guttural it echoed through the room. your fists clutched the sheets, knuckles white, back arching at the angle.

this time, he didn’t hold back.

his thrusts were deep, punishing, endless. the bed creaked beneath the force of him. his name spilled from your mouth like a prayer, like a cry for help. but he wasn’t stopping. he wanted to hear it.

he needed to ruin you.

his hand tangled in your hair again, yanking you up until your back hit his chest.

“you think anyone else could fuck you like this?” he hissed. “you think he could make you feel this full? this fucking owned?”

your moan was broken, desperate. “no—taehyun—fuck—only you—”

he bent you forward again, pressing your face into the sheets, his hand gripping your ass as he pounded into you harder, messier.

“that’s right. you belong to me.”

“taehyun—i’m gonna—i’m—”

“come for me. now.”

you shattered beneath him, legs trembling violently as he fucked you through it, not relenting, not even slowing.

“god, baby,” he groaned, losing rhythm, “you’re fucking milking my cock.”

he came deep, with a grunt that sounded more like a growl, his hips still grinding into you, desperate to push every drop inside.

neither of you moved for a long time.

his body collapsed over yours—heavy, solid, grounding. your face was buried in the sheets, lungs barely able to keep up, body boneless beneath his weight.

then, slowly, he pulled out.

you gasped softly at the mess that followed, at the mix of fluids dripping between your thighs, down to your trembling legs. he watched it happen with dark, hungry eyes.

“fuck,” he muttered, thumb dragging through the mess before spreading it back into you. “look at this. took all of me like such a good fucking girl.”

you whimpered, shivering.

taehyun leaned down, kissing your shoulder, your spine, your lower back. then he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you with him, both of you sinking into the sheets, tangled together.

he didn’t speak for a while. neither did you.

then, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it:

“don’t ever look at him like that again.”

his voice was low. dangerous.

your eyes fluttered closed, your fingers curling into his chest.

“i won’t,” you whispered.

he kissed your forehead.

“good,” he said. “because you’re mine. and i’m not letting you forget it.”

the room was dim, the soft golden light from the hallway spilling through the cracked bedroom door. taehyun hadn’t let go of you. not since the moment you both collapsed into each other, skin against skin, breaths uneven, hearts pounding too loud for either of you to ignore. the air was still heavy with the scent of last night—sweat, sex, his cologne lingering on your skin. your legs ached. your throat felt raw. but it was a quiet ache. a sore you didn’t mind.

but now, the high was gone, replaced by something raw and heavy.

his fingers traced idle shapes along the curve of your bare spine, but his eyes were distant. not cold — not like before — but unreadable. he wasn’t looking at you. he stared at the ceiling, his chest still rising and falling beneath yours.

you shifted slightly in his arms, pulling the sheets tighter around your body. your voice was quiet when you spoke.

"i know you don’t love me." you felt his breath catch. his hand stopped moving. "you never have."

taehyun didn’t answer at first. the silence made your throat close up. maybe you shouldn't have said it. maybe it was better when everything was unspoken — easier to pretend.

"you’re right," he said finally, his voice low, flat. "i didn’t."

you nodded, heart sinking, even though you told yourself you were prepared for that truth.

"but i loved you," you whispered, eyes stinging.

that made him look at you.

not glance. not flick his gaze and move on.

he turned his head, slowly, and looked at you like he had never seen you before. his eyes searched yours — not just your face, not your lips or your lashes or the outline of your cheek — but you. like he was trying to piece together something he hadn’t noticed until now.

"you what?" he asked, almost breathless.

"i loved you," you repeated. the words burned on your tongue, bitter and hot and trembling. "quietly. without reason. without hope. even when you wouldn’t look at me. even when you kept me at arm’s length for a year. i still—" you paused, swallowing hard. "i don’t know when it started. maybe it was the way you always pulled my chair out at those family dinners. or the way you’d always place your hand on the small of my back when we had to play pretend in front of everyone. it was nothing. always nothing. but it meant something to me."

taehyun sat up slowly, the sheets slipping down his bare chest. he looked like he wanted to say something, but nothing came. he was frozen, and that silence felt worse than any rejection.

you smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. "it’s okay. you don’t have to say anything. i just… i needed you to know. even if it changes nothing."

"stop," he said suddenly. his voice cracked.

you blinked. "...what?"

"don’t say it meant nothing," he said, turning to face you completely. there was a tension in his jaw, his hands clenched in the sheets like he didn’t know where else to put them. "don’t say that."

you stared at him, lips parting, but he beat you to it.

"i saw you tonight," he said, his voice lower, steadier now. "with him. laughing like that. smiling like it didn’t hurt. like you weren’t trying to survive this fucking arrangement. and for the first time, i hated myself for not trying harder. for not seeing you sooner. i thought i could stay distant. keep it clean. keep it safe. but then—"

he exhaled harshly, running a hand through his hair.

"then you looked at me like you didn’t need me anymore."

your heart thudded in your chest.

"so maybe i didn’t love you then," he said, his voice quiet again. "but don’t tell me it meant nothing. because right now, i think it’s starting to mean everything."

you stared at him, breath caught in your throat, chest tight with the ache of all the things unsaid between you.

slowly, carefully, you leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his.

"then let it mean something," you whispered.

taehyun closed his eyes. and for the first time — truly, deeply — he held you like he didn’t want to let you go.

he opened his eyes a little at the time. he stared a moment longer—at your lips, your eyes, the faint tremble still in your voice. then, for the first time, he leaned in without hesitation. without obligation.

his kiss was soft. warm. nothing like last night.

when he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours.

“i’ll draw a bath for you,” he said. “stay in bed.”

you blinked. “you…?”

“you can’t walk properly,” he added, and this time, a tiny smirk curved at the corner of his mouth. “my fault.”

you flushed. “taehyun—”

“don’t argue,” he said, sitting up. the sheets slid down his bare torso, revealing the lines you’d traced with your fingers just hours ago. “you married me. you’re mine. that means i take care of you now.”

you stayed quiet as he got out of bed, the tenderness in his tone still ringing in your ears.

you’re mine.

i take care of you now.

but for the first time, you felt it in the way he walked toward the bathroom. in the way he turned on the water. in the way he reached for a towel and hung it over the warmer. in the way he came back to you with a robe in hand and helped you into it without asking.

he wasn’t warm. not exactly. but he was no longer cold.

he was changing.

and all of this, of course, is completely and absolutely:

not true.

it's exactly what you seem to think in that pretty little head of yours, though, as taehyun often observes; it's quite cute actually, he thinks.

"out of all the guys i could like, why does it have to be the one guy in my life who would draft me onto his football team if he had one?" he'd overheard you complaining to yeonjun one day.

(sorry, but trust me, sweetheart - you wouldn't even make it past tryouts, he'd thought afterwards upon fighting back a laugh and an endeared little grin.)

oh, if only you knew.

if only you knew the steady breaths he has to take whenever you stand so temptingly close to him; or how many filthy images he has to shake out of his mind when he's helping you with your workouts; or that annoying little shadow called jealousy that he has to push down when you smile so sweetly at a man that isn't him.

taehyun is a man of self control, and a man who would do anything for the people that he loves — which means that no matter how much he'd enjoy changing your mind about what exactly you assume he perceives you as, he knows for the sake of your friendship that he can't.

and so he doesn't.

but oh, you wish that he would.

taehyun is quite good at keeping his feelings in check, to the point where you're convinced at this point that if you were to strut naked across the room in front of him, he wouldn't even pay you any mind;

pft, you scoff at your own silly thought, as if something so ridiculous would ever happen. (…well....)

today you've decided that you're getting real tired of your own pining and yearning and eyes that shoot hearts like confetti every time your best friend walks into the room —

you pout at the sight of yourself reflected on the open camera screen of your phone as the self-timer counts down yet again. this has become quite the routine of yours.

body bare save for the lacy lingerie that doesn’t cover much of anything as you perch at the edge of your bed, posing so prettily, so sensually, just the way you imagine taehyun would like; just more photos to add to the naughty little album in your camera roll that you wish you could send to him but know that you never will.

there was a time where you used to try testing the waters a bit, some flirting here, a fleeting touch or two there. but you'd quickly learned how pointless it was. after all, a brick wall is never gonna flirt back.

you sigh. it's time to get going anyway; speak of the devil, he'll be here to pick you up in 20 minutes.

~

taehyun can see in his peripheral the way you keep glancing at him from the passenger seat of his car.

as usual, he maintains an even expression. "excited to see me or something?"

his lips quirk as you jump in your seat a little, quickly looking forwards and crossing your arms as you grumble, "you wish. i just saw you like two days ago."

he merely hums in acknowledgment, which gets you even more grumbly — ("no fair that i can never get a reaction out of you! why is it always me?!" you'd wailed in defeat one time after a failed attempt to get him back, your cheeks flushed pink and pretty).

taehyun smiles.

when he soon pulls up outside your friend's apartment building that you’d needed to drop something off at first on the way to yeonjun’s, he decides to be nice as he asks,

"where was that new cat café you wanted to go to? we can stop there before meeting the guys."

bingo. the smile that lights up your face is exactly what he was looking for as your previous pout melts away and you gasp, "really?! okay wait, i took a screenshot of their instagram page the other day, you can check and put the address in! i'll be super super quick!"

he bites back a laugh as you shove your phone into his hands and excitedly rush out of the car.

"5 minutes tops or i'm going without you!" he calls out the window, to which you shriek and scurry away even faster.

he grins to himself, shaking his head as you disappear into the building and he turns to click open your camera roll.

"alright, cat café, where are............ you."

taehyun feels as if a lightning rod has just shot straight through his entire body.

his muscles tense. all his breath escapes him in a rush.

you...

the sight of you is what greets him through the screen...

you,

completely naked.

it's like his skin is consumed by fire as his eyes roam across the rows of pictures in the album you'd left open; most taken on your bed, some in the shower at the gym that you both go to together, some where you’re donned in sets of delicious lingerie — his eyes widening and pants tightening when he even spots one from his own room, your skirt hiked up in the reflection of his full-length mirror as your panties dangle cheekily from one finger, leaving the delicious curve of your ass on full display.

when did she even take that??

he scrolls, and he's barely hanging on by a thread as his best friend who's supposed to stay his best friend poses so irresistibly pretty from the screen; his cock is so hard that it's painful as your big innocent eyes look up at him in complete contrast to the lewd position that you'd put yourself in.

god, the positions he wants to put you in...

alright, reel it in, kang taehyun. this can't go anywhere. you have to take it to the grave. you’ve gotta think about the friendship. you’ll just pretend you didn't see it. you’ll act aloof like you always do.

but every single ounce of self control that taehyun has spent so long holding together finally crashes down around him like a breaking dam when his gaze lands on the name of the album at the top of the screen.

— t ♡

his cock jumps.

fucking hell, these are for me.

when you skip your way back to the car minutes later, you don't notice at first how firmly he's gripping the steering wheel or the fact that he isn’t even looking at you, remaining staring straight ahead as you climb back into the passenger side.

you don't notice — that is, until your phone catches your eye, set neatly on the middle console with your worst nightmare staring right back up at you from the screen.

it feels as though a bucket of ice water has crash landed down on your head (both the water and the bucket) as you realize what happened.

but you barely even have the time to panic or react or beg for mercy, or perhaps for a lobotomy on you both, before taehyun is asking you:

"back seat or my place?"

his voice is so calm that you almost don't process his words. your thoughts buffer as you pause.

"wh... what?" you breathe.

that's when he finally turns his head to look at you, and the intensity of the hunger swimming in his stare is enough to leave you even more winded than you already were before as a familiar feeling stirs between your legs and your thighs clamp together of their own accord.

"back seat," he repeats slowly, "or my place?"

you swallow hard.

this.. t-this is... he means.…

your head is reeling, and dumbly you stammer back, "w-what about the guys..?" as if the plans with your friends really matter anymore in a moment like this.

fuck the guys. fuck the cat café. taehyun has already decided: he’s done holding back from what he wants, and what he wants is to make you his.

you blink at him wide-eyed as he leans towards you slightly in his seat, his voice low and assertive as he replies,

"we're not going."

he taps your phone as if to draw your attention back to it. as if it should be obvious.

"so, you choose." your eyes fly back up to his —

"where do you want me to fuck you?"

your lower belly explodes with heat as an electric shiver rolls down your spine, and you swear that this is the best day of your entire fucking life as you see the promise that flickers in his eyes.

maybe you won't be finding yourself on the football team after all.

──────────────────────

— taglist: @razsberrie, @saejinniestar, @hyukalyptus, @florestalio, @beomiracles, @kiss4baku, @kejingken, @hyukascampfire, @cherr4es, @stawmerry, @choikanghuening, @dawngyu, @soo-blue, @paradigms13

✧ — 𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄

𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐉𝐈 — 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙜𝙝 𝙧𝙞𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 + 𝙨𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙥𝙪𝙗𝙡𝙞𝙘

𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 — 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚-𝙪𝙥 𝙨𝙚𝙭 + 𝙗𝙤𝙙𝙮 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙥

✧ — 𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐖𝐎

𝐁𝐔𝐆𝐆𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐍 — 𝙘𝙤𝙘𝙠𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜 + 𝙗𝙤𝙣𝙙𝙖𝙜𝙚

𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐔𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐇𝐀𝐖𝐊 + 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐒 — 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙚𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚 + 𝙘𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜

✧ — 𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐊𝐄𝐘 𝐃. 𝐋𝐔𝐅𝐅𝐘 — 𝙨𝙥𝙞𝙩 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙠 + 𝙗𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜

𝐑𝐎𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐀 𝐙𝐎𝐑𝐎 — 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙥 𝙥𝙤𝙠𝙚𝙧 + 𝙙𝙧𝙪𝙣𝙠 𝙨𝙚𝙭

✧ — 𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑

“𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐃” 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐒 — 𝙖𝙜𝙚 𝙜𝙖𝙥 + 𝙚𝙭𝙝𝙞𝙗𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙞𝙨𝙢

𝐊𝐎𝐁𝐘 — 𝙛𝙚𝙢𝙙𝙤𝙢 + 𝙗𝙚𝙜𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙜

✧ — 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍

𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐉𝐈 + 𝐑𝐎𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐀 𝐙𝐎𝐑𝐎 — 𝙖𝙥𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙞𝙖𝙘 + 𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝 𝙨𝙚𝙭

“It’s already past 10:00, I was going to wake you up earlier, but….” Corazon began as he pulled out a tray of freshly baked pancakes, “I wanted to make a little something for you.” You awed at him, before taking the plate of honey-scented pancakes from his large hand. “Where’s the strawberries? You know I only eat them if they have strawberries.” you asked pouting. The rays of sunlight that passed from the window made you take a good look at your lover. He was bedazzled with batter on his face, and the occasional egg splatter on his sleepwear. 

You held your nose to hide the scent of burnt curiosities, “Well, I guess I’m asking too much if you went through the trouble to make them.” You chuckled looking down at the dish, admiring the small touches of smiley faces imprinted on them. There was a cough that directed your attention back to him, “I did find a can of whipped cream, to make up for the other decorations.” You watched him grin as he took the plate from your hands and set it down on the nightstand, “But I didn’t get a thank you, hm?” 

You smirked, teasing him, “I wanted strawberries at least, so I don't know if I should thank you still…” You ran your hand on his cheek, wiping off the batter before pecking him. Corazon dramatically gasped, “No thank-yous? N-no cuddles of love?”  

“Nah,” you teased, reaching back for the pancakes. You were stopped by Corazon who tsked at you, “That’s not fair! You won’t get to eat until I eat then!” You scoffed at him, eyeing his hovering figure and the pancakes. Undoubtedly, you would’ve eaten the pancakes regardless if they had strawberries, but for the moment you’ll indulge him in his hard work.

“Well, I’m not sharing the pancakes honey-bun,” you replied, sticking out your tongue. You watched him smile as he flicked off the cap of the can he held, “Then that means I’d have to eat you then~”  You raised your eyebrows in dramatic surprise, “Oh, anything but that~!” He pinned you to the bed, pushing away the covers that hid your gorgeous body. You giggled as he peppered kisses at your exposed skin that revealed last night's recent activity.

There was a shaking sound and a moist squish as you felt Corazon decorate your body with the creamy substance. You felt him trace the can around your cleavage, down your stomach, and dangerously close to your pulsating heat. You gasped when he finished off the can by adding the final contents on your nipples, “Hey!”  

“Don’t worry sweetie,” he said, kissing your forehead, “I’ll make sure to lick every last drop.” You felt his wet muscle begin to trace the little swirly designs he left on your breast, sucking your little nub. You mewled at the way his hands softly massaged your hips and traced down your navel. Wrapping your legs on his waist, you clutched his bundle of blonde hair, trying to hold on to the waves of pleasure. Corazon used his god-like tongue to trace and ravage every part of your body. You felt a warm knot beginning to form, intensifying as Corazon gently nipped at your thigh. 

“C’mon baby, eyes on me.” he said, sneaking in a new can of the sweet delish, “I’m going to put some more on you, okay? But keep your eyes on me.” Your thighs had traveled its way on top of his broad shoulders, though you still kept a tight grip on his hair. You tried to maintain a stern contact with his golden eyes, relishing at the way he traced the plastic nozzle on your slit. Licking his lips, he drizzled the cream on your weeping cunt for a moment before running his finger through the sticky candy. He sucked his finger for a moment grinning at the taste, “Mmm, you taste so good like this Y/N.”

Your pussy clenched at nothing, wanting nothing more but for him to fuck you on the spot. “P-please Corazonnn lemme cum already!” Your lover held on to your thighs before running his tongue up your cunt, “Of course baby, I wouldn't let my food get cold.” He began to lap his warm tongue on your heat, sucking on your juices that was mixed with the delish. 

You moaned at the lewd sounds that came from him, the slurping and his little sighs of pleasure being the sounds that stimulated your ears. You bucked your hips into his face, mewling when he slipped his wet muscle in your tiny hole. He began to loudly make out with your pussy, hungrily licking and slurping away the sweet liquids from you.

“S-stoahppp!” you warned, already feeling yourself unwind on his tongue, “`M gonna-” You didn’t get to finish as you your eyes clenched shut, mewling at your blissful orgasm. You still bucked your hips on his soft face, chasing out your high. There was a final kiss on your lower lips before it began to travel up your stomach. You dropped your legs from Corazons shoulders, using your grip on him to weakly pull him to meet your face. 

You met his warm, golden eyes blown out in love as he eagerly pressed his soft lips to yours. You tasted yourself and the whipped cream in his mouth, which you mentally noted to buy more later. 

“Let’s eat those pancakes now, love. They’re probably cold by now.” he said breathing on your lips. You stood up, releasing your grip from his hair…or rather his hair on you. There was a moment of silence as you stared at the small bundle of hair that laid on your hand. 

You looked up at him to see him patting the area where you pulled out his roots. Your mouth drew to a straight line, looking up at him innocently. “It's probably not that bad! L-let me see.” you tried to reach up at him before a tear ran down his cheek.

“I-It hurtssss!!!!” he wailed as he dramatically fell on the floor and died. 

Monkey D. Luffy

cw: doggy, cream pie

Luffy’s pace suddenly quickened, his hips slapping against the plush of your ass with a sense of urgency.

“Ack, Luffy, wh-what’s wrong?” You half-moaned-half-breathed, your cheek pressed to the blankets of his bunk.

“It’s almost dinner!” Luffy replied, not slowing his pace.

You scoffed considering this was his idea. He had kind of been pestering you all day, tugging at the waistband of your shorts, being extra touchy with your rear, sneaking as many kisses to your shoulders as he could. You loved stealing moments away with your Captain, so you unceremoniously led him below deck, divested your lower half of clothing, and offered yourself to him.

Which is how you found your hole being stuffed by this rubber man’s cock, his fingers digging into your hips as he railed you into the bed. His pace rushed him towards the finish line, and with a few low-pitched grunts you felt his cum spill inside of you.

His thrusts slowed as he audibly exhaled, making sure every last drop was donated to the cause.

“Did you finish?” He asked, pulling himself from you.

You shook your head no, your mind mostly plotting how you were going to make it to the bathroom without spilling cum everywhere.

He let out his hearty laugh. “Sorry, [y/n]! After dinner, I’ll make it up to you.”

Roronoa Zoro

cw: riding

“You’re so needy.”

Zoro’s strong, calloused hands gripped your thighs as you rode him, straddling his hips, rutting yourself against him.

He was training, but you decided your desires took priority.

Not that Zoro was complaining - he’s a big proponent of active recovery between sets anyway.

So when you laid him down on his bench, spurred on by watching his sculpted body flex and lift and sweat, he hardly protested. His only words were “Better make it quick, I have more reps to do.”

You were pleasantly surprised to see he was already rock hard when you pulled out his cock, and with some spit and a few pumps with your hand, you were ready to take your seat.

Once he was comfortably inside of you, he let you take control of the situation, trusting you to be mindful of his schedule.

While you thought you had the upper hand, it was clearly him. The way he grabbed at your flesh and the occasional thrust that would spike your most sensitive spot to make run your blood hot and cause you to unravel under his touch were all the hints you needed to know that actually, Zoro was in charge.

“C’mon, I wanna watch you cum.” He goaded. One large thumb pressed against the sensitive nerves between your legs which triggered your orgasm. His watchful eye observed as your body shook with pleasure, a smirk on his lips.

“Did you like that?” He asked. You nodded, breathy and euphoric. “Good. Now get off. But stay close, I’ll need you later.”

Eustass “Captain” Kid

cw: fellatio, cum-swallowing

After a particularly rough battle, you felt it your duty to stay besides Kid while he recovered. He took a few hits for you, so now his body was spent.

“Hey, [y/n],” he muttered. You looked up from your book you were reading, seated next to his bed, to see his eyes darting back and forth between your face and his stiffening cock.

“Use your words,” you scolded.

“Suck my cock.”

Straight forward enough.

You tore back the blankets and pulled down his boxers to free his turgid member. Kid didn’t have the energy to jack himself off in his current state, but his libido was as strong as ever.

With some spit in your palm and unceremonious jerking of his cock, you took his leaky tip into your mouth, swirling it with your tongue. Kid’s heavy breaths signaled his approval so you moved to take more of him.

Your head bobbed up and down on him, then twisted left to right as you pulled up. The sloppy sounds of your mouth only brought attention to the spit running down your chin and freckling your cheeks as you took him all the way.

He was close, and you could tell by the way his flesh hand graced the back of your head, providing a steady boundary so that his cock couldn’t escape your lips.

When it was time for release, he pressed your head down and held you in place while the spurts of white hot cum hosed the back of your throat - the sour profile tingling your tongue.

Once he was finished, he let your head go, a smile on his lips. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and you watched Kid’s eyes closed as he went to take a nap.

Before he passed out he grumbled: “When I’m feeling better, I’m going to fuck you so hard.”

Massacre Soldier Killer

cw: missionary, cream pie

“If I burn this stir fry because of you, I will throw you overboard.”

This was Killer’s threat as you laid yourself down on the dining table, legs spread. You laughed for a few reasons:

He would never let the stir fry burn.

The two of you had been unable to fuck the past few days, so you knew he was ready to blow.

He loved fucking you too much to throw you overboard.

Killer undid he belt, pulled out his cock, and slapped it against your stomach so you could see just how much he would be rearranging your guts by stuffing you.

Two of his fingers tapped your lips, which you opened to accept. With a few enthusiastic sucks and even more swipes of your tongue, he pulled those digits out and slid them into your waiting hole.

The sting of the stretch made your blood hot as you anticipated the main course - knowing he just liked opening you up for ease of access.

With a few pumps and scissors and curls, he deemed you ready, sliding his cock past tight rings of muscle. He hissed under his mask at your tightness, milking himself with your body.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, drawing him in closer, the smacking of skin and the pops of oil and your breathy moans the only things you could hear.

His hands gripped your thighs, extracting as much pleasure as he could from your body, trying to be mindful of time.

“Fuck, Kil’” you moaned as he bore into your depths, shallow thrusts lighting your nerve endings on fire until just the right twinge and just the exact swipe set off your orgasm, causing your walls to spasm around Killer, who was pushed over the edge by the sensation.

His cum spilled from him and into you, his grunts from under his mask hasty with the need to get back to the stove.

Once he was finished, he stood and pulled himself out, shoving his cock back in his pants, rushing over to the sink and washing his hands to tend to his pan of veggies and noodles.

“Go clean up for dinner, [y/n].” He called over his shoulder as you dismounted the table. “And when you come back, wipe that down. People eat there.”

Trafalgar Water D. Law

cw: prone bone, cream pie

Law nuzzled the spot behind your ear, coaxing you to stay in bed. His palms groped and probed at the softest parts of your naked body, protected from the air by the blankets he spooned you under.

“I gotta go help with breakfast.” You mumbled, sleep still on your voice.

“Just five more minutes,” he begged softly. His hand trailed from your waist to your hip to your thigh, then slid between your legs. He pulled your thighs apart, hooking your leg over his.

Even after a night of sex, he wasn’t satisfied, and needed to send you off to your chores with one more helping of his spunk.

His hard cock poked at your entrance, the tapered tip opening you up slowly. With one thrust he was an inch within you, the second - two, then with the third, he was halfway, and the fourth, he shoved his whole cock inside of you.

He exhaled breathily onto your shoulder and you hummed in bliss as he crossed his arms over you to pull you close.

His pace picked up quickly, not wanting to keep you from your duties. The sounds of your bodies slapping together was lewd and made your cheeks warm from the eroticism.

Law seemed to want to overtake you, as he pressed his body over yours. The two of you slowly turned at his aggression, and eventually you were laying on your belly as Law continued to shunt into you from behind.

“I’m addicted to this,” he moaned. “I always want to be inside you.” His hips smacked your ass, pummeling you into the mattress. The thrusts were sloppy and desperate as he lay flat against you, kissing your cheek and jaw and neck and shoulders and whatever else his greedy lips could get ahold of.

“Show me how addicted you are,” you challenged with a soft mischievous smile. “Cum for me.”

You watched Law’s eyes widen in your peripheral vision. Like the good boy you knew him to be, his body froze, and you felt him fill you with his seed.

“Fuck, I love fucking you,” Law moaned, pulling out, his cum puddling between your legs. He watched this is fascination before grabbing a discarded shirt to give you a preliminary wipe down.

“you okay baby?” you asked him on the way back home. “you seem a little down. what’s up?”

kid would give you the blind shoulder and mutter an i’m fine before keeping quiet the rest of the way. you made mental note to ask him that question again later. maybe he was just tired.

but it wasn’t until later that night when he was taking a bath without you did you really understand how upset he was. “hey, i thought you were gonna wait for me, kid.” you frowned, getting into the water with him. at his silent huff and slight head turn away from you, you scoot closer to his body, sitting almost in his lap. “come on babe. you’ve been upset all day, please tell me what’s wrong. did i do something wrong?”

“that asshole clerk from earlier,” kid grumbled out, avoiding gaze with you and instead focusing on the ripples of water your naked body caused. “he was fuckin’ annoying. was staring at your tits the entire time we were in line.”

so that’s what this was about. “aww, don’t be jealous, handsome,” you teased, kissing his neck intimately. “you know i love you my big handsome baby. and i’ll have you know—i got us like fifty dollars off them expensive ass groceries.”

“quit it,” kid huffed, fighting the heat that rushed to his cheeks. “you were entertaining that shit.”

you furrowed your eyebrows. “is that what it looked like? he just made some corny joke about to coupons i was using. i was just being polite, baby. what else did you want me to do?”

“not fuckin’ laugh,” kid rolled his eyes. “call that shit fucking corny.”

laughing lightly, you ran the washcloth over his scarred chest. “i’m sorry for upsetting you. that wasn’t my intention and i’ll be careful with my actions next time.” the genuine apology left your mouth as quick as the giggle did, and kid sighed, knowing you were too pure for your own good. and that he was just being an insecure little asshole. “i don’t want you forming no ideas about me wanting anyone else okay? if i wanted anyone else, rest assured i would not be in this bath with you, cleaning your scars right now.”

“tsk, not like i asked for this shit,” your boyfriend grumbled.

you couldn’t help but grin at his failure to appear tough. you knew kid loved how much you did for him. you wrapped your arms around his neck and placed a soft kiss on it. “all seriousness, i love you, okay? it’s always you.” your voice is seductive as you place chaste kisses along his jugular, not missing the way he subconsciously tilted it over to give you more access. “you forgive me, papa?”

kid’s cheeks flush red as he looks away from you. “stop that shit.”

you furrowed your eyebrows at him in confusion. “stop what?”

“being so irresistible. it’s pissing me off,” the red head grumbled. he hated how you always apologize for your actions—even if some of them genuinely were harmless and he was just being a big baby. “you’re probably fucking a new guy right now.”with a roll of your eyes you kiss the back of his scarred shoulder blades before standing up to grab your towel from the hook.

“whatever, eustass. last i recalled you’re the only one who stuffs me full every night but whatever helps you fucking sleep at night.” you were about to crawl out the bath but stopped when a metal hand grabbed your own.

you look down at the interaction between you and kid confused on what else he wanted to say. “your clothes are out on the bed. wasn’t sure which one of those stupid pajamas you wanted to wear so i chose the hello kitty and melody ones.” your lips can’t help but curve into a smile.

Seeing that you probably will not wake up, he grabs the band of your robe and pulls it. When the band is untied, the robe falls to your sides and reveals your naked front. Kid takes a sharp breath. There is a large visible tent on his pants.

His dick is hard. He can feel his dick stir as he takes in those perfectly round, pebbled nipples. Your chest rise and fell in a steady rhythm. He wants nothing more than to lick and suckle them and rubs his fingers over them, pinching and twisting until he hear your delicious moans and whimpers.

He grazes his flesh fingertips over the round globe of your breasts. He glances up at your face to find you breathing steadily, still asleep, as he wishes. He groans softly as he cups your sweet breasts, softly massages it, making sure not to wake you up.

He can’t take it anymore. He unbuckles his belt then unzips his fly and takes off his pants along with the boxers. He grabs his hard dick with his flesh hand and begins to stroke himself while looking at you.

He imagines the feeling of him moving in and out of your soft and gummy walls. How you let out a moan every time he thrust forward into you, his breath on your shoulder blades makes you have goosebumps. Inhaling the scent of the wash you used and smelling in how wonderful you smell.

He strokes faster. The fact you don’t even know what he is doing turned him on even more. The way your legs wrap around him keeping him close to you even though there’s no spaces left between you. Your nails digging through his back, making it stings every time he showered after sex.

He strokes even faster and begins groaning and moaning while throwing his head back. The way your breasts jiggle when he fastens his thrusts. You let out whimpers and squeeze his dick when he says dirty things in your ear. He knows that you love it when he speaks to you like that.

He is so close. His dick feels like it's ready to burst. He longs to grab your thigh so tight it would leave a bruise. To hear her moaning his name continuously when she’s close to her release. To hear her whimpering and crying from below him. To feel her grip his dick so tight and release herself all over him.

He can’t take it anymore and cum all over himself. Some of his cum landed on your robe. He lets out heavy breaths. His eyes are closed. He stays there for a while to catch his breath. Then, he grabs a towel to clean the mess he made and tied up your robe back on. He makes sure not to leave any trace of him being a pervert on you. When everything is done, he climbs up next to you and cuddles you to sleep.