#(I haven't read that many yet but i own 18

[yourplaceinaugust]

dude im planning on applying to my favourite bookstore and i just realized they have a section of staff recommended books if i get the job im gonna recommend so many trans books!!!!!!!!

[gojonanami]

JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY.

↳ JJK MEN: HOW THEY FUCK YOU WHEN THEY'RE JEALOUS

↳ feat. satoru gojo, suguru geto, kento nanami, choso kamo, yuta okkotsu

cw: 18+ only, nsfw, overstimulation (f!), dick drunk, orgasm delay (f!), riding, semi-exhibitionism, spanking, teasing, dom! geto, soft dom! nanami, breeding, body worship, pleasure dom! choso, unprotected sex, creampie, marking, oral (f!), fingering (f!), facesitting (f!), marking (f!), geto uses the term "monkeys," degradation (slut) in geto's blurb, ijichi and ino mentioned in gojo's and choso's blurbs respectively, a/n: the only way to read the title is to the tune of olivia rodrigo's song. also its my first time writing yuta - be gentle.

SATORU GOJO | overstimulation, dick drunk, orgasm delay

jealous of laughing at another's joke

"T-Toru, ngh, please, I can't—" and you're only met with a laugh, his lips pressed against your neck, as his cock continued to fuck you.

How many times had you cum? You had lost count. Your cunt was soaked with your release, along with your thighs and his cock, slipping down his skin as he fucked you hard and fast.

He was relentless, maybe limitless, especially today.

"You can handle it, sweetheart, know this little cunt can take it," he's grunting, as his fingers dig into your plush thighs, "haven't broken this pussy yet," and you couldn't bring yourself to be concerned about the "yet" as he brought you to cum yet again, and you were sure if every word hadn't been fucked out of your brain— it had now.

Your eyes were glazed over, fucked out, as you stared up at him, as only pauses a moment, to press your thighs to your chest, "gonna fuck you right, baby, gotta kiss your womb," and you're whining, and he's only pistoning in deeper, "not so funny now huh?" he's hissing as you grow even fuckin' tighter — how was that possible?

"what are you—" and you whine as his tip grazes even deeper, and you're sure he's somehow fucking your stomach now, "are you jealous of Ijichi?"

"Don't say his name," he gives a particularly rough thrust of his hips to punctuate his point, drawing another squeal from your lips, and yet he's the one who brings him up, "fuckin' laughing at his joke like I wasn't even there. He isn't funny. Nowhere as funny as me!" and you're already close again, tears pooling in your eyes, as you stammer.

Was he really that upset because you laughed at an old friend's bad joke?

"Toru, a-are you serious—" and he's slowing down now to a tortuous pace, as you whimper, "baby, he just made a joke, I was being polite," you can't even laugh at how ridiculous it is with how badly you want to cum.

"Only i'm supposed to see that smile, that laugh," and he's teasing you with the tip of his cock now, dragging it in teasing circles around your clit, "you're mine, mine to make smile, make to make laugh, mine to fuck," and he's fucking you again, bottoming out in one thrust, "say it, baby, tell me who you belong to,"

And your back is arching, throat raw as you tell him just how much he owns you, as you orgasm for the nth time, and he's not far behind, his hot release spurting into your needy cunt, as he fucks it only deeper.

"Toru," you moan again, "Toru, fuck," you murmur, fucked dumb by his dick, as you both come down from your highs, "were you really that jealous of—"

And he only pouts, pressing his lips to yours again, "Don't say his name," and he's pressing needy kisses to your neck, as he pulls out, your mixed cum leaking out, before he's slipping two fingers in, pulling another moan from your lips, "by the time I'm done with you, you won't even remember his name."

SUGURU GETO | riding, semi-exhibitionism, dom!geto, spanking, degradation (slut)

jealous of you talking about someone else

"Princess, you can do better than that," Suguru is clicking his tongue, as you split yourself open on his cock, warm walls squeezing all too deliciously around his already drenched dick, as only whines and pants left your kiss ruined lips, "gonna have to be quieter than that if you don't want someone else to hear—"

He had you riding him in a side room of a temple he used often to collect money, some his other followers congregated in the room over to hear him "preach of the new world." Bullshit that he fed to monkeys that made them full and happy and complacent -- but right now, he had something else that was making you feel so full.

"C'mon baby, ride me like you mean it," he coos, and his hand is coming down on your ass with a mean spank to your already sore ass, heat blooming from the impact, "you certainly had plenty of effort when you were sweet-talking those damn monkeys, didn't you?"

"Sugu, I was just trying to help," you whine, as his hips snap against yours, making you squeal, as he finds his way even deeper into your already fucked out cunt, "I just was--"

"You were flirting," he hisses, as his hands find their way to your hips, forcing you to meet his upward thrusts, as your hands cover your mouth to muffle your moans, "you love this, love it when I fuck you like this, think you want them to see you like this, grinding on my cock like a slut," you whine, but his words only makes your sweet cunt give a telltale clench around his dick, "that's it — you can lie, but your princess cunt can't, baby,"

"Sugu, please 'm close—can't—" and his hands are pulling back, letting you do all the work, and you do, fucking yourself stupid on his cock, the wet squelch of your pussy ringing in your ears — so loud, you can't understand why someone hasn't burst into the room yet— but you can't bring yourself to care, when you're so fuckin' close to cumming.

"That's it, fuck, s'good for me," and he's pulling your hands away from your mouth, letting your moans resonate and fill the room, as he watches a white ring of your cum form around the base of his cock, as he grunts, dick twitching as your walls cream around his cock, "now moan my name as you cum so these goddamn monkeys know whose cock you're bouncing on."

KENTO NANAMI | soft!dom, breeding, hair pulling

jealous of running into an ex

"Did he ever make you feel this good?" Kento's question murmured against your neck, as he presses soft kisses to your neck, dragging his leaking tip against your aching cunt, "did he love you like I did?" And his fingers sneak under your head, making your neck arch as he tugged your hair.

"N-no, Kento, he didn't—"

"He certainly acted as if we were the same," he scoffed at the thought of your ex, the one you had dated before Kento, who had the audacity to approach the two of you today. Catching up with you and even touching your arm, as if your husband wasn't there, even ignoring him, until you introduced him. They had shook hands, and you knew Kento had squeezed his hand a little too hard, but now those same hands were gripping you softly — but firmly.

"He's nothing compared to you you're everything to me," and he's rewarding you with sinking his tip into your needy pussy, "ah, Kento, please stop teasing me," you whine, a noise leaving your throat that you didn't even know you could make.

"You're practically sucking me in, but did you do the same for that bastard?" he's dragging his cock up and down, driving you insane with how your walls squeezed, trying to pull him in, but he resisted every tempting contraction of your sweet cunt, "did you take him this well?" and his teeth graze against the soft skin of your neck, "did he make you beg for him?"

"Only you make me feel this good, only you, Kento, only you make me this needy, make this pussy so—" and he's sinking into you, slowly, torturously, but pleasurably — inch by inch, until he's bottoming out, but he doesn't move, not at first, "please, Kento, please—move—"

And he obliges you, thrusting into you, fucking you in earnest, his cock dragging against your walls with each snap of his hips agianst yours, "such a needy baby," he grunts, "your cunt is trying to hold onto me even as I pull out — is that how much you want my cock? Want me to fill you?"

You're nodding, moaning his name, as you meet his lips in messy kiss, all tongue and teeth, as he fucks you harder, "Look at me, baby," he orders, and your eyes flutter open, meeting his lust clouded gaze, making you all the more sensitive to his touch, "want you to watch me as I breed you," and you're groaning, pussy twitching at the thought, "how're you even tighter?" he grunts, "want me to breed you, don't you? Want me to fill you with my cum? Make you full with my children," and your head is thrown back, voice raw as you can only groan his name again and again.

"Kento, mmph, 'm s'close, can't,"

"Cum for me, baby, let me fill you," he's finding your lips in another sloppy kiss as you cum, hard, walls gripping him as he fucked you through your orgasm. And he's cumming too right behind you, filling your womb with his hot release, "good girl," he murmurs, pressing sweet kisses to your chest, "but if you think I'm done, we're far from finished," and he's pulling out slowly, before gathering his cum that leaked out on his fingers before slipping it back into your still sensitive cunt, "we're not going to be getting much sleep tonight, love."

CHOSO KAMO | body worship, pleasure dom, oral(f), squirting, implied oral (m!)

jealous of a fellow sorcerer flirting

"Cho-so! Nugh, please—" your fingers buried in his black locks, hair ties long since come loose from your tugging — and you're not even sure if you want to pull him closer, or push him away, "i can't—"

"I know you have more in you, my love," he's only murmuring against your sweet cunt, tongue flicking against your swollen clit, "need to feel you flood my mouth, need to taste every inch of you,” he’s re-doubling his efforts, his hot tongue dragging your gummy walls, making good on his promise, “sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted — how are you this perfect? How do I deserve you?” You look at him, nestled between your thighs, his lips and chin glossy with your release, tongue darting out to lick your pre from his lips.

“Choso, y-you do, I love you, only you,” and he’s peering up at you with a lidded gaze — but you see something else besides lust — insecurity lined his furrowed brow, and then it clicks, “you know that Ino was just being friend—"

But he’s burying his face back, fucking your cunt his his tongue, as his thumb teases your needy clit, your words falling away to pleasure.

“It wasn’t just friendly. He wants you. I know the lustful gaze of a man, especially one who wants what I have,” he mutters, as his teeth graze your inner thigh, drawing a gasp from your lips, “but how do I have the right to you? Half curse, half human — what am I really to have the right to be with you?” And then he bites your thigh, pulling a loud moan from your lips, “but I can’t help but want you.”

“I love you, only you, I don’t care what you are. I love everything about you because you’re mine. My Choso,” you manage between pants, as your fingers tug his hair to force him to meet your gaze — make him see the state he’s left you in — utterly fucked out with your chest rising and falling, your eyes glazed over with lust, “please, I need you—"

And that’s all he needs to redouble his errors, rubbing himself on the mattress below him, certainly soaking through his boxers and the sheets.

“Mmph, Choso, please, I’m—“ and his lips latch around your clit, sucking hard, until you squirt on his face, and he’s eagerly lapping up your release, as you moan his name. He’s slurping and swallowing your cum with lips quirked in a smile, his groans and grunts only making your cunt flutter around his tongue.

And he’s pulling away finally, an unspoken question on his lips whether he did well, and your only response is to pull him into a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips, before flipping him over. You kiss your way down his body, as you tug his boxers down to free his erection, tongue grazing the underside, making him groan.

You grin, “My turn.”

YUTA OKKOTSU | fingering (f!), marking, face sitting

jealous of an ex you just broke up with

“Yuta, please—" the last word comes out a squeal, as his calloused fingers tease the crotch of your shorts, a warm heat settling over your skin all at once but all too slowly — like the start of a wildfire.

"I told you I'd help you forget about him," he murmurs, his long and lithe fingers all too skilled, as they snap the waistband of your shorts against your skin, "he never deserved you - you're special, especially to me," and he's pulling down your shorts, until you're kicking them away at your feet.

And this fire had spread far too fast — especially with his fingers teasing your folds through your soaked panties.

“Still thinking about him?” Yuta asks softly, his words soft but not the intent, and he only sighs at your whine, "I'll have to do better for you then," and his fingers slip past your ruined underwear as they tug the fabric down your thighs, making butterflies bloom in your stomach before they surely burst into flames from the fire Yuta is brewing, as two fingers part your dripping folds, "already so wet? I've barely started,"

"Yuta," and he's pausing, as you try to form a sentence, but only comes out as a single word, "more," and his lips quirk into a smile.

"Of course," and he's fucking you open nice and slow, your pre slipping down his fingers onto your hardwood living room floor, "i've been wanting to do this for so long — has your ex ever done this for you?" and you only swallow, whining when he stops, only continuing when you shake your head, "you deserve so much, you deserve the world," and a third finger sinks into you, making you cry out his name, "that's it, love, let me make you feel good."

"Yuta, please," you moan, as his fingers drag against your needy cunt, as he noses the nape of your neck, placing wet kisses along your neck, before his teeth graze your sensitive skin, sucking and licking marks that surely will dot your skin the next day, "ah—"

"Mine," he murmurs, and that makes your cunt twitch around his fingers — god you were so close, so close—and that's right when he's pulling his fingers out.

"Yut—" and he's licking your release from his fingers, before he's tugging you into a bruising kiss, sticking his tongue out to meet yours in a messy kiss, before he's pulling you on top of him, wet cunt pressed against his chest, "what are you--"

"Sit on my face," he says, his pupils nearly completely dark as he meets your gaze, "i want to show you what you've been missing -- how you deserve to be treated," and the blood rushes to your face, as your head shakes no, but he can feel your pussy say yes -- walls squeezing around nothing, "please,"

"Yuta, you don't have to—" but he's unwavering in his gaze, "what if I crush you?"

"It wouldn't be the worst way to go — you know I did have a secret execution scheduled before," and you smack him, but he only catches you by the wrist and kisses each finger, licking your fingertips, sending heat right to your cunt, "let me make you feel good — better than he ever has," and now you realize what it is — it's jealousy.

So you settle above his face, your cheeks burning as you feel his breath warm your aching pussy, "don't worry," and he's helping you ease yourself onto his lips, and right before his tongue drags slowly along the length of your sopping cunt, "you won't remember your name, much less his, after this."

a/n: i just realized i used a similar line in gojo's and yuta's, but y'know what, like teacher like student. what was this? who knows? will i do something like this again? maybe.

[dreammfyre]

targaryen dynasty ⋆ jacaerys velaryon

SUMMARY. You are the first daughter of Daemon and Laena Velaryon, betrothed to Prince Jacaerys Velaryon whom you have known since childhood. Queen Rhaenyra personally asked you to seek out knights and ladies with Targaryen blood to try and get them to claim a dragon to join the cause. You, always so attached to reading and the most studious and intelligent, did not hesitate to obey your queen, however, it was proving to be more difficult than you imagined. Luckily, Jacaerys knows how to help you.

WARNIGS. (+18) Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!oc. Targaryen incest. Smut, oral (fem receiving).

NOTE. The thuth is that I don't know how thid got 5000 words, but here we are!!!

If anyone asked you, you had no idea how long you had been locked in the castle library. The queen had left you the task of researching in depth about the Targaryen lineage with valyrian blood and the right to claim a dragon, you did not refuse to comply with her orders, you were known for your intellect and interest about history, always with a different book under your arm, you handled data that the others did not, so you were in your comfort zone. However, you did not imagine it was going to be so complicated, you had had breakfast and lunch in the library in solitude, which meant that you had been locked up all day among papyrus, books written in the language of your family, you had read about the dragons still alive, especially Vermithor and Silverwing, but you found more than you needed and your attention jumped from subject to subject, you had never access to such a place and did it hold information on Targaryen history from the time of the conquerors to the reign of Jaehaerys I Targaryen.

"My lady," Elinda's voice, so soft and gentle as she addressed you, dissipated your attention causing you to turn your head up from your reading. The maid was standing in the doorway and you behind the wooden desk in the midst of your own chaos, you had ordered not to be disturbed unless it was an emergency. "why don't you go upstairs to dine with the queen in parlor?"

"I'm fine, thank you." You smiled trying to put on your best face, the truth was you didn't want to appear before Rhaenyra without any advances.

Elinda sighed knowing she wasn't going to be able to convince you to come out for fresh air, she wasn't surprised at your response, always so stubborn and driven to your ideas.

"It's okay, I know you, so I went ahead and brought dinner up here." She said walking over with the silver tray holding a steaming plate and a cup. "Eat before you rest, you've spent a lot of time in this place, you haven't been eating well and we don't want your body to weaken."

You nodded and thanked her before she left. You watched the food from afar without appetite, so you went back to reading, the Targaryen bloodline had expanded to different places, moving out of King's Landing and Dragonstone to other lands. You were writing down the possible names of knights and ladies with what needed to claim a dragon, so far there weren't many options, but you didn't want to be left in doubt you looked everywhere. You stood up to look for another book that you had not yet read, this time from the houses to the north, you had a mess everywhere and on every table, open books, scattered papyrus, the shelves almost empty. Your notes on the other hand, Valyrian texts that you read without problems, as if a hurricane had swept away the order.

You took from the cup that Elinda had brought you with sweet wine to which you gave a generous gulp. You paced back and forth reading and reviewing the history, trying to find useful connections to the present, back and forth, flipping through the pages and drinking. When you started to get dizzy from the spinning you found no better idea than to sit on the table crossing your legs no matter how uncomfortable your clothes were, on your thighs you opened the heavy book so you could hold the glass in your hands.

"Are you still here?" Jacaerys had entered the library, taking you by surprise. The heir found you in the middle of the mess, surrounded by papers, sitting on the table which was frowned upon for a lady. "I haven't seen you all day."

"I think I hate the Targaryen." You sighed, relaxing your shoulders and looking up. Jacaerys smiled coming closer, watching the mess around you out of the corner of his eye, but he was sure you were the one to find what Rhaenyra was looking for. "Is that wine?" he pointed to your goblet raising his eyebrows.

"Elinda feeds me like an imprisoned animal."

"I doubt an imprisoned animal would be fed lamb and wine." This time it was you who smiled. "How are you doing with your mission?"

"I found some names that might be of use, let's hope they are still alive." You replied setting the cup aside, on top of other papers that were of no use to you at the moment. "The children of King Jaehaerys and Queen Alyssane were a great starting point that I cannot yet move on from."

"My mother asked about your absence at the table. I told her you needed time, and that I was going to keep an eye on you." You nodded, a little flushed at the last part, but you knew how to hide it.

"That's Visenya Targaryen?" Jace asked excitedly as he looked at the draw in the book open on your legs, moving closer to you to get a better look, invading your space.

"Queen Visenya," you corrected him causing him to apologize. "Vhagar's first rider." You looked at the image closely admiring her beauty, trying to take in the closeness of Jacaerys. "And the first in her name."

Jacaerys watched you from the corner of his eye biting the inside of his cheek, he liked the way you corrected him, even on some occasions when you chatted privately he would purposely get it wrong to make you angry. You just looked up meeting your fiancé's gaze, which made him realize he had gone silent.

"This place is…" the heir looked around you carefully analyzing the place, he didn't know how to continue the sentence without offending you.

"Say it, a complete mess." You sighed exhaustedly.

The prince nodded with concern for your well being, you are his fiancée and he had to take care of you, he looked at you noticing your tired eyes, your hair a bit messy falling a few unruly strands down your face, the dress disarranged on your shoulders. And somehow, through his eyes, even though it sounded bad and he didn't have the courage to admit it out loud, that was attractive.

He took a lock of your hair and tidied it behind your ear, it was a gesture he repeated and you liked it.

"Do you need help?" you denied immediately, you didn't want to look pitiful or desperate. "Don't be proud, I know you."

"Apparently it's not as simple as I imagined." You said discouraged, looking at the papers scattered around you. You closed the book putting it aside, you couldn't think anymore, you were blocked, tired and your body was asking you to eat and rest, maybe not in that order. You stretched your legs, still sitting on the table with Jacaerys watching you. "Targaryen dynasty is vast and diffuse, complex to trace, now I understand why several names are missing. I don't want Rhaenyra to be disappointed, I'm trying my best."

Hearing you, Jacaerys quickly interrupted placing his hand on your thigh unknowingly unleashing a shiver down your back. "The queen could not have chosen anyone better than you, you are the smartest lady I know." He said sincerely, positioning his other hand on your shoulder. "Go to sleep, you need it."

Tired, you rested your forehead on his shoulder resting on it. Jacaerys stroked your loose hair without removing his hand on your leg. The physical contact comforted you, but you didn't accept it often, so it was a surprise for the prince to have you so close.

"I'll dream of dragons." You joked with your eyes closed, Jace's scent intoxicating you immediately. "I'll stay a while longer, I think I know where to find a thread to pull on."

"Eat something first." He added as he noticed the tray with the untouched plate. His caresses relaxed you, feeling his fingers tangle in your hair made you feel a delicious shiver, so you let him repeat it, even his tone of voice relaxed your muscles.

"I'm not hungry yet."

Jacaerys swallowed hard as your warm breath hit his neck, bristling his skin. He didn't know how the hell she was managing to control himself like that, when she held you close his thoughts were easily confused and the heart was about to burst out of his chest. In a moment of weakness, the prince closed her eyes in order to intensify the sensations, in the middle of the silence and taking advantage of the hidden place where they were, she squeezed thigh on the fabric of the dress, it was not strong, just enough to steal a sigh and that now the tachycardia clouded your reason. You didn't know at what moment that comforting embrace turned into a boundary of something else, Jacaerys Velaryon stirred as he felt the tip of your nose brush against his exposed neck before you, a slow, torturous contact.

The heir's hands were too still, he was controlling himself as much as his duty allowed him. While you had little interest in complying with the damned traditions, they were teenagers, you couldn't ask much of them in that regard.

The tension of their bodies rubbing against each other grew with each movement in a pleasant and affectionate rhythm, but you urgently needed it to increase, so you opened your legs to surround his body with your thighs, the prince did not think a second to position himself between them taking advantage to squeeze your ass tearing you a sigh that vanished in his mouth. You brought your lips to his neck leaving kisses all over, Jacaerys did not want to stop you, he had fallen too easily into the game. The prince's hands were eager to touch as much as possible went up from your waist to your breasts, you had never seen him like that, then your fiancé sought your mouth before you kissed his bristling skin again.

"Jace…" you whispered against his lips touching slowly with yours, your warm breath hitting his face, he could hear the desperation in your call looking into your eyes, but his gaze was focused on your wet lips.

Shit. His name sounded so different when you said it.

It was he who had the courage - or the impulse - to make the move to close the distance between you, an accurate approach to trap your lips between his, his hand took your jaw and prey to your desires you opened your mouth to let his tongue enter your cavity, sticky, wet noises echoed off the stone walls as Jacaerys brushed his tongue along yours. The taste of sweet wine ended up intoxicating him as well. His slow movement caused a wave of heat to grow in the underside of your belly, you rested a hand behind the back of his neck, tangling your fingers in his wavy hair.

Your heart could not calm down, on the contrary, it begged for more. The crown prince began to lift your red dress, a messy piece of infinite fabric, so you clumsily helped him by crumpling it until he slipped his hand underneath it, running his fingers over your bare skin playing with your sanity by how slowly he explored.

"Someone could see us at any moment." You reminded him that they weren't in the privacy of your quarters or his, trying to gesture because your labored breathing was making it hard to think.

"They can listen to whatever they want." He responde kissing your neck moving down to your collarbones, the heat of his mouth on your skin felt like the most exciting thing you had ever tasted. The intense grip on your legs didn't bother you at all because it was him, his deep voice made you bristle complete when he whispered too intoxicated in the moment to be his usual proper prince self. "I said I would take care of you."

You laughed at how little importance he gave to your innocent concerns, too sure that nothing was going to happen, but maybe it was just adrenaline and desire clouding his rational thoughts. Jacaerys kept going down, kissing between your breasts on the fabric, until he knelt before you, you held your breath when you understood his intentions, he raised his gaze towards you, an intense silence where your nobility was at stake for falling into carnal temptation, it was a few seconds until you decided to lift the skirt of your dress so he could have the access he desired.

Your fiancé began to kiss the inside of your thighs gently, just that minimal contact made you tremble on the table. "Don't close your legs." He ordered.

Your cheeks flared in heat as a reminder of the sin they were committing, yes, it was your fiancé who was between your legs unabashedly, but it was still Jace, whom you had known all your life and had grown up together, the most proper prince Westeros had ever seen, so devoted to duty that no one would imagine he would be able to steal your innocence out of wedlock, but there he was, he was the same, kneeling before you like a believer, kissing your thighs feeling his hot breath approaching your cunt exposed to his delight. The sighs coming out of your mouth were intensifying as Jacaerys swollen lips approached your most sensitive area making him beg, you felt he was toying with your sanity but he only wanted to extend your pleasure as long as you would hold out. Your hands clutched at the fabric of your dress, his wet tongue flicked across your cunt, he didn't quite finish his journey when your knees had the urgent urge to close like a natural spasm, but Jacaerys prevented it by holding your legs tightly apart for him, continuing his work of giving you the pleasure you deserved.

"Oh, Jace, gods." You said with bated breath, an emotional torture of not knowing how far you could go before you screamed. His tongue kept licking like candy, unabashedly tasting knowing what he was doing, moving up and down listening to your moans that excited him as much as it did you to feel his mouth on your center, the heir seemed to be having fun taking his time under your dress, reveling in your desperation. The warm wet sensation on your folds sliding down began to make you desperate, in an attempt to quiet your moans so as not to draw attention to yourself you bit your tongue so hard that the moan was one of pain rather than pleasure. You crumpled some papers in search of what to hold on to, you closed your eyes intensifying the spasms even more. "Jacaer…"

Saying his name seemed the most difficult task.

You managed to feel the crown prince's long fingers opening your pussy slippery with his saliva and your transparent wetness dripping. Again he ventured in with his mouth, this time with more euphoria and hunger, making little circles with his tongue, drowning himself in you tasting your cunt as he had never done to any of the whores on the island, with you he took great pains to get it right. Agitated, chest rising and falling from your erratic breathing the prince placed one of his hands on your belly as if he knew you were looking for him, intertwining his fingers you squeezed as his tongue pushed into your entrance. Curiosity as to how he learned to do that had to wait because your legs began to tremble and you began to move struggling against the strength of Jacaerys who wasn't going to stop servicing you until you were done.

"Please… Jace."

"You are so wet." Said the prince as an accomplishment, but you were embarrassed to know how vulnerable you were before him. The sound of his mouth playing with your clit, so wet and wrong, similar to a kiss where Jace was just doing all y he work. You searched for his head with your hand which was complicated by being hidden under your skirt, the damn dress prevented you from looking into his eyes, you wanted to look at him and beg his face not to stop now that you were so close to touching the best orgasm of your life. Jacaerys was struggling with your legs, so he put your thigh over his shoulder without letting go of your hand. "You have to hold on a little longer. I promise you'll like it."

"I c-can't." You cried trembling.

Between your legs, Prince Velaryon was reveling in your pleasure with a painful erection trapped in his pants that only hardened against the fabric with every high-pitched moan coming from your throat. He had to be strong to hold back the urge to take advantage of your wetness and penetrate you right then and there, that wasn't the first time he thought of you that way nor was it going to be the last after tonight, he would go to his quarters overwhelmed to attend to himself just thinking of you for another night. You were so open that with a little strength you could take it, but you were not ready for the moment and deep down, Jacaerys felt just as guilty for giving in to temptation by breaking traditions, disrespecting you to a lady of nobility.

"Jace, oh, like that." You moaned wiggling your hips.

But shit, he couldn't take one more moon without claiming that belongs to him. Your whole body, your every desperate moan and plea. It was an addictive melody that he didn't want it to end.

You reached for his head with your hand under the cloth that was being Jacaerys' salvation because if he saw your sweaty face, pink cheeks and pleading gestures he wasn't going to be able to hold back the urge, fucking you right there on that table. Merciful to your clumsiness, Jace took your hand turning it towards the back of his neck, you tangled his wavy hair between your fingers, bringing it closer to your center than it already was which only encouraged your fiancé to lose control by gently biting your cunt and with his finger caressing your exposed clit like a throbbing button.

"Gods!" You exclaimed so loudly that Jace feared for both of your lives. You covered your mouth yourself, waiting for someone to walk in and find them you sitting at the table with the heir kneeling between your legs under your dress. "I-I'm sorry." You whispered in exasperation.

"Scream whatever you want." It was a command rather than a comfort.

And you listened to him. Your body couldn't resist any longer, the spasms were getting stronger and Jacaerys knew you were close to orgasm, your legs faltered and couldn't hold still. You pulled your fiancé's hair, which instead of annoying him, he liked to feel. You mumbled incoherently, cursing everything, your hips couldn't stay still and Jacaerys' tongue wasn't making it any easier. You let go of the heir's hand on your belly to cover your mouth, however, Jace grabbed your wrist preventing that from happening. The rule had been clear, he wanted to hear you screaming his name to burn it into his memory, he wanted to hear your whimpers and pleas not to stop, your choked moans, the curses and incoherent ramblings.

"Jace!" your chest was rising and falling so fast you felt short of breath. The pressure between your legs was increasing, you closed your eyes tightly trying to hold on a second longer, but it was impossible. "Oh, shit!"

Your orgasm came as a spasm that controlled your whole body, from your hair to your legs. Jacaerys knew it when the tension in your muscles disappeared and he didn't have to exert any more force to hold you back. His pace slowed considerably, he didn't hold back from licking one last time.

Your body was wracked, aroused to return to normal. Your chest was expanding and contracting fast, the sweaty skin made it look shiny. Your body had peaked, and now, you missed Jacaerys' tongue between your legs. The heir stepped out from under your skirt, his mouth wet from his own saliva and your wetness in a mixture that soaked into his pink, swollen lips. The prince was red in the face, his hair falling down his face in the most exciting mess, he looked so good. He wiped his mouth with his clothes and fixed his hair behind his ears without taking eyes off you.

"You were very good lady." He stroked his thumb across your red cheek, you closed your eyes at his gentle, almost brotherly caress, a well-deserved congratulations. You were still weak and rambunctious with ragged breathing and a high pulse, your body wasn't going to withstand another orgasm, not for tonight. Jace moved closer to your face, he wanted to admire you up close, your exposed neck was the target of a kiss. "Did you like it?" he whispered so slowly against your ear that a shiver brought you back to reality. His breath beating against your damp skin was a reminder that you were completely crazy about him, no one in all of Westeros could service you so well.

You nodded in shame and innocence. You couldn't hear him, but you knew he was smiling.

"Y-yes." You replied looking into his eyes. Your innocent look reignited the fire in Jacaerys, who was still holding back the urge to fuck you.

The prince closed his eyes and swallowed saliva in frustration. He had to be aware that no matter how good it felt, it wasn't right.

"We can't do it here again." He took your face in his hands caressing your skin with his fingers. You nodded again, seeing you so obediently at his mercy only triggered his excitement, fighting until the last second. Jacaerys moved closer to your face, you closed your eyes expecting him to kiss you, but you only felt the brush of his lips against yours and his breath against your mouth. "Next time I'll rip that fucking dress off you myself with my bare hands."

[kpopfanfictrash]

Elemental (M) Pt. 1

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Genre: Second Chance Romance / Modern Fantasy

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader (she/her)

Synopsis: Fear has never been a foreign concept to you. Your entire life has been shaped by the knowledge that you’re different, and fear of the stigma which might follow discovery. Although fire, earth, air and water Elementals have been public for decades, the fear-mongering around your kind hasn’t changed; something you have intimate knowledge of, having experienced it firsthand. Since then, you’ve done your best to hide your water powers. This is for your own safety, as your mom likes to say.

Safety flies out the window though, when you fall in love. Jeon Jungkook isn’t just any love, either, he’s the love. The person who makes you feel as though your darkest corners deserve to be seen. Unable to control your magic around him, you find yourself faced with a horrible fact: you need to break up.

A plan which proves difficult when Jungkook simply refuses to go. And maybe, just maybe, you find the constraints placed on yourself don’t make sense anymore.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: death of a parent (past), some emotional abuse

NSFW Warnings: oral (woman and man), multiple orgasms (woman), fingering, hand job, face-riding, sex outdoors (in a secluded, private area), very slight ass-play, breast play

Word Count: 17,287 (32,487 total)

Author's Note: Unfortunately, the new Tumblr text editor doesn't allow for more than 1,000 paragraphs per post. Part I is here, and Part II will be uploaded shortly. Please, please, please reblog both if possible! In my experience, engagement tends to be worse when split into two parts. (also, if you haven't already realized based on the premise, Y/N does break up with Jungkook in the first part of this fic lol so, if that's something you don't want to read; fair warning!)

[ Cross-posted to Wattpad here ]

Magic, to you, has never been a boon.

Despite its romanticization in movies and stories, the reality of magic is messy and unpredictable. As dangerous as it can be fickle, your mom likes to say. Usually followed by a glance in your direction, swift enough for you not to notice, although you always do.

Either that, or an unconscious tilt her chin towards the photograph on the mantle. You aren’t sure she even realizes she does it, acting on instinct alone. The photo is of your dad, holding you on his shoulders with an ear-to-ear grin. He was the other Elemental in your family.

Even with only one magical parent, the Elemental gene tends to be passed on to children. Your dad’s magic was water, skilled in manipulating and calling forth the element. He was lauded for it, which was in itself unusual. More often, Elementals are run out of town by other humans. Although time has gone by since societal integration, there are still many who view your kind with suspicion.

You can’t say that you blame them – not really. Because again, the reality of magic is it can be dangerous. Based on experience, bad things tend to happen when you lose control.

Head tilted, you squint through the fog at your boyfriend’s apartment. For centuries, fog has been heralded as an ill omen and maybe there’s some degree of truth to it. Maybe the first speaker lived near a temperamental water Elemental, unable to keep their emotions from manipulating the weather.

Thoughts souring at how close to reality this feels, you shake your head once and some of the fog clears.

A pep talk, you think. That’s what you need to convince yourself to enter. Unseasonably chilly this late in the summer, your fingers curl into the ends of your sweater. Going inside would be preferrable to standing out in the cold, and yet you can’t manage a single step.

Better to stand in the cold than enter and shatter.

Again, you remind yourself you’re doing the right thing and again, this doesn’t help. If anything, it makes you clutch your sweater tighter. For once, you wish doing the right thing meant what’s right for you. Exhaling deeply, your eyes shut as a train passes and shakes the ground.

You began dating Jungkook three months ago and within a week, you knew it was different. You have a tendency to hide pieces of yourself, knowing most people won’t like what they find. Jungkook never allowed that to happen. The first time you ghosted, he showed up at your favorite coffee shop the next morning and asked what had gone wrong. Taken aback, you responded honestly and to your surprise, Jungkook listened.

He stayed. Stayed when others had run, cementing himself on a short list of people you can trust. Three months into dating, things have moved at once fast and slow. Fast because typically, you exit relationships long before feelings like these ones develop. Slow, because you haven’t given Jungkook every part of yourself.

Physical intimacy comes to mind. On several occasions, this has proved… difficult.

Eyes opening, you stare at the door. Memories of last night rise to the surface. For a long time, you’ve known this relationship has an end date. Knowing this doesn’t prepare you for the difficult conversation ahead.

The last time you saw Jungkook was after midnight. Fat raindrops chased your footsteps while you ran from his place, descending the subway at a record pace. The look on his face remains stuck in your mind and even now, you find the thought hard to revisit.

Imagining hurting Jungkook again is unfathomable. Stifling a gasp, you spin on your heel and march away. Halfway to the gate, you get a grip on yourself. Coming to a stop, you remind yourself this isn’t about you. Jungkook will hate you – there’s nothing to do about that now. Now, this is about Jungkook and ensuring he’s safe.

Slowly, you turn around and make your way forward. In the name of procrastination, you stop at a trash can to clean out your purse. Old receipts, gum wrappers and a crumpled-up napkin shake into the bin. You pause at the napkin, staring at the embossed name of the restaurant you work at. Or – more accurately – worked at.

Slamming the trash lid, you turn. You began work at Pierre’s Bistro two months ago as a temporary measure. Ideally, you paint but lately, inspiration has run dry. Waiting tables pays the bills, leaving time at the end of the day to stare at a blank canvas.

Pierre’s is an upscale French restaurant a few blocks down with semi-decent food and waiting tables would be fine if the owner – Pierre – weren’t a massive asshole. Now that you don’t work there, you can be honest about that. Pierre was the most sexist, elitist, capitalistic piece of shit you’ve ever had the displeasure of working for. While on his payroll, you tried to make the best of it but now, you have nothing to lose. Pierre was a dick.

A point he proved yet again last night, much to your mortification. You prefer working the lunch shift to dinner, and weekdays to weekends. Saturday nights are worst of all, and last night Pierre didn’t arrive until well after six. You were forced to cover the entire front section, picking up for a co-worker who called in sick.

Rushing from the bar, you nearly crashed into your boss removing his coat. Grabbing you by the elbow, Pierre steadied you, his hand lingering.

“Whoa, where’s the fire?” he joked.

You forced a smile. Experience has taught you the best thing to do in those types of situations is to smile and laugh.

“No fire. Lots of customers! Excuse me,” you said and tried to move past.

Pierre didn’t release you. If anything, his grip on you tightened until you turned your head.

“Yes?” you said, impatient.

Pierre didn’t respond, looking you slowly up and down. Eventually, he released you to take a step backwards. “Nothing,” he said carefully. “Be careful out there tonight.”

Trying not to gag on his words, you moved on. Unfortunately, it was hard to escape Pierre’s notice once caught. From that point on, each of your flaws were held under a microscope. First, it was that you didn’t fold the napkins correctly. Next, you took a wandering path from kitchen to table. Each time you entered the dining room, scornful words were covered by simpering smiles.

By the time your shift end approached, you could barely keep going. A large group had entered and, seeing the host occupied, you took it upon yourself to seat them at your last table. Fixing your apron, you hurried through the restaurant and into the kitchen.

Grabbing another table’s dishes, you thanked the cook and pushed open the door. Immediately, arms shoved you back in. Startled, you barely had time to recognize the host, Vanessa, before the doors swung shut.

“Vanessa?” you said, adjusting your grip. “What’s going on?”

Harried, she glanced over one shoulder. “Sorry,” she sighed, curly hair slipping from her messy bun. “I wanted to warn you before you went back out. Pierre is pissed.”

Your stomach sank. “Pissed… at me?”

She nodded, another dark curl escaping. “Something about saving the table up front for his friends? Bullshit, yes,” she said at your expression. “But you know how he is.”

“Yeah, I know,” you muttered. Deciding there was nothing to be done but keep moving, you hefted your plates higher. “Okay, thanks for the warning. I need to get these to table ten.”

“No problem,” she said and stepped out of your way.

You walked inside with slightly less spring in your step. Pierre lounged near the bar, surrounded by a group of people you could only assume to be friends. Although you felt his gaze on your face, you avoided him the best you could while you made your rounds. Taking the long way to the kitchen, you passed in front of the window.

Which was the moment you noticed Jungkook waiting for you on the curb. He stood beneath a streetlight, light pooling around the ends of his dark hair. When he saw you approach, his face lit up and he smiled.

Cursing beneath your breath, you smiled back. You were supposed to be done a half-hour ago, but there hadn’t been a good time yet to stop. Waving back, you mouthed, just a minute, and frantically pushed through the crowd to the back.

Merely seeing his face lifted a weight from your chest. It was easy to be around Jungkook because he liked every part of you. You never felt the urge to pretend, to curve yourself into something someone else would find pleasurable.

Well, he liked every part except one – and you were working on telling him that.

Hurrying into the staff room, you forgot your plan to avoid Pierre. You nearly jumped a mile when a hand grabbed your elbow, spinning you to face your fuming manager.

Pierre stared down his nose. “Follow me,” he snapped, releasing your arm to spin around.

He passed tables full of patrons, leading you to the bar before turning. “Y/N,” Pierre said, his voice dropping. “Are things okay tonight?”

“Yes,” you responded, deciding one-word answers were safest.

“Then why, exactly, are you fucking this up?”

Your jaw tensed. “I wasn’t aware I was doing so,” you said carefully.

“The napkins?” Pierre made a tsk-ing sound. “How many times should I say that presentation is important? Not to mention your laziness. One of your tables had to flag me down to ask for a refill. And now, you gave away the front table.” His expression darkened. “What makes you think you, a fucking waitress, can step in for a host? You sat someone at the table I personally reserved for my friends!”

You shouldn’t have responded. You should have stayed quiet and yet –

“There was no name in the book,” you muttered.

“What’s that?” Pierre waited and, when you stayed silent, shook his head. “I hadn’t had time to write their name down, but I told Vanessa, who assured me it’d happen. Of course, she wasn’t taking into consideration Y/N, the wonder waitress! Taking everyone’s jobs and making them harder.”

At your sides, your hands balled into fists. It took a greater amount of concentration than normal to keep your emotions from spilling over.

Of course, there were explanations for Pierre’s accusations. The napkins were correct before he jostled the table. You had been circulating your tables and if you were unavailable, it was because of his poor staffing. Oh, and – he didn’t make a reservation for his friends.

Slowly, you exhaled and stuffed down the responses. Deep down, with other emotions and magic. Beyond Pierre, a glass trembled but once you relaxed, the water went still.

“I apologize,” you said, not meeting his gaze. “I’ll do better next time.”

Pierre sniffed. “See that you do,” he said, brushing past. Grabbing a beer from the bar, you heard his friends burst into raucous laughter. Apparently, your humiliation was entertaining.

Heaving a small sigh, you turned – and froze where you stood.

Outside, Jungkook stared into the restaurant with murderous eyes. Too late, you realized Pierre had pulled you in front of the window. Away from anyone dining, but in full view of anyone on the sidewalk. Like your boyfriend, who witnessed the entire spectacle.

For a moment, your emotions overwhelmed, and you felt magic crack the walls you kept hidden. Embarrassment crept past your boundaries. Humiliation. Fury. Stuffing everything back, you quickly turned to rush through the tables.

Jungkook’s gaze snapped towards you, his brow furrowing. Reaching the staff room, you paced up and down. Jungkook saw you. He saw Pierre’s outburst, which meant you’d have to explain. You’d have to explain to Jungkook – the only person whose opinion you cared about – why you allowed other people to walk all over you.

He’d start to ask questions. Questions like, when was the last time you really got mad? You’d have no good response. Not because you don’t get mad, because you do. But because you don’t ever allow yourself to act on the feeling.

Faced with the prospect of brushing him off, you buried your face in both hands. Your usual excuses wore thin in your ears.

Pierre isn’t so bad. It was a one-time thing. You promise you’ll talk to Pierre tomorrow.

None of it would be true, and you didn’t want to lie to Jungkook. People never understood why you wouldn’t stand up for yourself, but the answer was complicated.

Your last date said you lacked emotions, but you don’t think that’s it. Of course, you have feelings, but those feelings are buried beneath so many layers, they can be hard to see. It’s not that you don’t feel, it’s that you cannot.

When you feel, your magic reacts, and people get hurt.

That was the last part of yourself you kept hidden. Jungkook is normal and he doesn’t know you’re an Elemental.

You know that by now, you should have said something. Obviously, but the timing was never right. Twenty-five years old, and you still aren’t sure how to broach the conversation. Few people know what you are, so you haven’t had much experience with the explanation. Your magic isn’t something you use if you can help it.

Yet another lesson you learned from your mom.

Your dad, an Elemental, died when you were five. Before, you lived near the ocean on a flat strip of sand. Your memories from before then are faint, but whenever you try, you can hear his booming laugh. Can feel the salt sting your cheeks, your mom tossing you in the air while you spun around.

Everything afterwards faded. At five years old, a hurricane swept past the barrier islands and that, you remember. You recall your mom at the door, pleading with your dad not to go as he donned his jacket. You remember him holding her hand, kissing the top of your head, and saying he’d return soon. Not many Elementals lived in your area, and even fewer had water magic.

You recall the hours passing, stretching longer and longer until dawn approached. Flashing lights followed, a woman climbing from her car to speak to your mom. You recall the sound of your mom sobbing, the policewoman’s voice floating into the house.

The storm surge was stronger than expected, but your dad managed to divert the worst. He saved the town only to be hit by a bolt of lightning. Instant death, the policewoman said, her tone implying this might be a comfort. Chest tight, your fingertips dug into the railing. Comfort meant nothing when your dad was gone. The irony struck you even back then – your dad saved others, and no one came to save him.

For weeks following, your mom was a ghost. At first, neighbors stopped by to drop off casseroles and condolences. Soon though, their sympathy stopped, and the whispers began. You were young enough not to notice, too consumed by the enormity of your own loss.

Eventually though, you noticed something was off. Suspicious eyes followed you down the sidewalk. Mothers clutched at their children, hurrying them to the side of an empty street. One day, you traipsed downstairs and overheard your mom on the phone.

She sat at the kitchen table, facing away from the staircase. You paused on the landing, listening to your aunt’s voice blast on speakerphone.

“Nonsense,” she was saying. “Your husband was a hero, and anyone saying otherwise is cracked. He saved your town!”

“I know.” Your mom blew her nose. “But now, people are wondering if he caused the storm. They’re saying maybe he… made the hurricane. It’s this new mayor,” she said, frustrated. “He hates Elementals and keeps insisting our family orchestrated this to collect money. He says –”

“Oh, no.” Your aunt sounded furious. “Don’t you repeat a single word that hateful man says.”

“He has a point, though,” your mom said, her voice low. “Did you hear about Uniontown? A fire Elemental accidentally set their barn on fire. Nearly burned the whole town. Magic is dangerous. I tried to warn him, but he wouldn’t listen, and now –”

“When was the last time your husband lost control, though? Are you saying you think he caused a hurricane?”

“God, no!” You watched your mom straighten. “But there are people saying… awful things.”

“Some people aren’t worth listening to.”

“I know.” Wearily, she exhaled. “They’re talking about Y/N, too, though. Apparently, she caused a tidal wave at the pool last weekend.”

Hearing your name said out loud, you shrank back in the shadows. You weren’t aware your mom knew about that, or that she cared. Bobby Clemmons teased Judith Bryce about her hair until finally, you snapped. Bobby was swept to the other end of the pool, much to Judith’s relief. She thanked you repeatedly.

Bobby was fine, except for some water up his nose. From the way he carried on though, you’d have thought he broke his arm.

Your mother lowered her voice, as though magic was something to be mentioned only in whispers. For the first time, a sense of shame crept over you. Your dad had always been open about magic, though stern. Stern in his belief magic should help people, not hurt. Never once did your dad insinuate magic itself was the problem.

Magic is dangerous.

Your mom’s words on the phone sank in as, your head pounding as you turned around to run up the steps. Even at six, you felt panic. If magic was dangerous and you were magical – that meant you were dangerous, too.

Slipping beneath your comforter, you stared at your shaking hands. Rain hit your windows, snowballing your worry to full-on fear. By the time your mom rushed upstairs, you were rocking under the covers as a storm raged.

She helped to calm you down, got your magic under control and a month after, you moved far away from the sea. A version of yourself vanished as you passed the pier. Despite this, you felt instant relief at the thought of control.

You remember your mom smiling when you joined the highway. “This will be good,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “A fresh start, away from it all. You can be whoever you want to be, Y/N.”

Except for the person you actually were.

Her meaning was clear, even if she didn’t say it out loud. At the time, you found the thought soothing. If you didn’t want to use magic, you didn’t have to. You never had to become your dad, who all your friends said had caused the bad storm. Even the news had turned against you.

Earth Elemental suspected behind San Raoul earthquake!

Jailed air Elemental claims innocence against onslaught of tornadoes!

Fire Elementals flee after string of arson!

Always the exclamation point. Always the lurid fascination that blame could be pinned on a single person. New rules were implemented in the house. No magic, except in your mom’s presence. This soon became no magic at all, but you didn’t mind. Whenever you did use magic, it felt wild, chaotic – the opposite of how you wanted to feel.

Your early years were marked by the struggle to conceal your powers. Years passed without incident and then, something would happen, and you’d have to move. Your mom never begrudged you, simply packed the house to travel to the next city. Each time, you promised you’d do better but by the time you realized school wasn’t for you, you had moved no less than six times.

Art was a risk, though one you found necessary.

Creation meant tapping into emotion, but you found methods of coping. Painting was the only place you loosened the reins on your magic, and so it became an outlet of sorts. A release, preventing your emotions from spilling into unwanted places.

There were other strategies, as well. Deep breathing. Counting backwards from one hundred. Focusing on one point, then on another until the magic calmed in your veins. Until you forgot the dangerous and destructive water around you.

Some people proved more reactionary to you than others. With some people, your magic responded so strongly, you were forced to cut them out completely. The first person this happened with was your best friend, Katrina. You were fourteen when she confided in you her family was fire Elementals. In response, your magic surged.

For a glorious summer, you practiced magic in secret. Each morning, you and Katrina bounded through the woods towards the far creek. You summoned great waves of water for Katrina to singe into mist. Everything was fine until late one evening, your mom caught you. She witnessed the combined magic and lost her temper.

Dragging you from the woods, your mom slammed the front door in Katrina’s face. She sat you down at the kitchen table, delivering a scolding you’ve never forgotten.

Do you know how reckless you were? What if a tree had caught fire? What if you altered the town’s water supply? What if someone saw and the next time a disaster happened, they blamed it on you – or Katrina?

Stricken by these very real possibilities, you promised not to do it again. Although you begged not to move, your mom packed the next day – your fastest exit ever.

The second time you cut someone out was after high school. Elliot was an artist, a quiet guy who dabbled with oils. He saw you painting one day in the park and silently set up his easel beside yours. This happened for weeks until he asked you out. Your ensuing romance was brief and sweet, and your feelings grew within a short period of time.

When Elliot told you he loved you, you dissolved into panic. You could feel how your magic responded, reaching for water that surged through his tiny apartment. Tossing on clothes, you stammered apologies and fled into the night.

For weeks following, it rained. Enough for the reporters to forecast local flooding. The fact terrified you – imagining people trapped on top of cars, small businesses flooded, the Red Cross called in to ferry locals to safety. It took your mom flying out to put you at ease, clearing the skies and regaining control.

Since then, you haven’t let anyone else past your inner walls. Until Jungkook.

Swallowing hard, you stare at his apartment and wonder if you’ll survive. Breaking up with Elliot is one of your worst memories and you only felt a fraction of what you do for Jungkook. Maybe you’ll conjure a hurricane, bringing the events of your life full circle.

Shutting your eyes, you rub at them dully. There’s no point in wondering what-if. You need to end it now, before things get worse. All day, you’ve gone over the facts and arrived at the same conclusion.

As expected, Jungkook was livid about Pierre last night. He wanted to confront your boss himself, although quickly backed off when he realized this was your battle. This though, turned to confusion when you said your intent to do nothing.

Although you tried the usual excuses, none of them stuck. Even if it was just once, Jungkook argued, it shouldn’t go unnoticed. You snapped slightly at this, insisting you’d deal with things in your own time.

Getting angry near Jungkook was peculiar. Suddenly, you became aware of the water around you. Thick, leaden pipes lacing Jungkook’s walls. Moisture that hung in the air, in the clouds – within his very veins. The thought terrified you, wondering what you might do accidentally.

Your panic must have been visible, because Jungkook instantly softened. Crossing the room, he pulled you into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into your hair. “It’s just… I hate seeing you hurt. Of course, you know what’s best. I’m sorry I doubted you.”

His grip grounded you, enough that your magic dissipated, and that you realized a truth you’d hidden for some time.

You were in love with Jungkook.

No one in your life had ever been like him. Someone who was always in your corner, who protected you when they could and lifted up parts they couldn’t. Someone who liked everything about you – even the parts you weren’t brave enough to admit.

Studying his face, you tried to ignore the sudden ache in your chest. Even last night, you knew the inevitable. Memorizing his face, you tried hard to hold on. Jungkook’s slightly rounded nose, his full bottom lip accentuated by two piercings. Dark hair fell over his forehead; strong features contrasted by a soft gaze.

Jungkook watched you as well, and you wondered if he felt the same. Wondered why he’d commit you to memory, since you were the lucky one. He was the miracle, and you were biding your time.

Bending, he lightly brushed your mouth against his. Instantly, you melted. It wasn’t your first kiss and prayed it wouldn’t be the last, but something about last night felt different. Walking the two of you backwards, Jungkook pressed you against the wall and kissed you harder. His touch became desperate, one hand sliding beneath the lines of your blouse.

Your breath hitched at the brush of his fingers, delicious and warm against skin. His touch unknotted a hidden, tangled piece of your soul.

Ever since you met Jungkook, you’d held yourself separate. When you asked him to go slow in the beginning, he agreed. Touching was fine. Kissing was fine. Anything more, and you lost control.

About a month into dating, you met Jungkook at a bar and got tipsy. Three drinks in, you were frantically making out in an alley outside. Jungkook panted, “my place?” against your mouth, and you nodded. The journey back to his place was fast and slow, pausing in every dark place to drag his mouth to yours.

The second his door shut, you found yourself stumbling – into his bedroom, his bed, the confines of his heart. Shoes were discarded with every step, and Jungkook couldn’t seem to keep his hands to himself. You returned his fervor in spades, nipping his lower lip to watch him smile.

When he fell back on the bed, you saw his pulse quicken. Staring up at you, Jungkook watched your clothing disappear with a gaze so dark, it bordered on onyx. Climbing onto him, you resumed kissing with a newfound reverence. Eyes falling shut, you did your best to stay present.

Each brush of his lips was combustive, each touch of his hands filling you with sharp, pulsing light. And then –

The sink and shower in his bathroom burst on.

Startled, you pulled away and realized it had been you. Your magic had caused it, flooding his bathroom with water. Swearing under his breath, Jungkook scrambled out of bed to hastily turn off both faucets.

You sat there on his bed, heart pounding with fear. By the time he returned, you were already dressed and mortified. Jungkook was all apologies, certain he’d moved too fast, but you assured him he hadn’t. Anything that happened, you were an equal participant – too much maybe, although you didn’t say so out loud.

Lying in bed that night, you stared up at your ceiling. For a moment, it felt as though you were six and under the covers at your old house. Magic was dangerous. You would eventually hurt someone. Dread pooled in your stomach, recognizing the truth. If you couldn’t control your magic around Jungkook, you’d have to end things.

Heartache chased the thought, filling you with so much panic, you nearly drowned. Pushing this aside, you simply resolved to do better. To be better and keep both Jungkook and magic. This was simply another challenge; you owned your magic, not the other way around.

Thus, began the two best and worst months of your life. The best, since you’ve been dating Jungkook and the worst, because at every moment, you’re terrified of hurting him. Walking a line as thin as a razor, you’ve fallen in love while trying your best not to feel.

Until last night, you thought you’d been successful. Life was mostly under control, but then the Pierre debacle took place. Then Jungkook kissed you with such intensity, you forgot who you were and why you’d been holding back. Two long months of restraint and suddenly, you came undone at the seams.

Before long, you were again in his bedroom. Jungkook stripped off his clothes, bare skin pressing to yours with a searing intensity. Pulling you over him, a low hiss escaped while he kissed your throat. Even through his boxers, you could feel how hard Jungkook was. How badly he wanted this; a need you returned.

The thought of him inside you made you frantic. Pushing Jungkook onto his back, you straddled his waist and rocked forward.

Jungkook lay underneath you, his hair a dark halo. Suddenly, you could feel water everywhere. Magic, everywhere – it was in you, around you, in Jungkook’s walls and molecules. Everything felt so utterly fragile, and your magic responded.

Ferocious, it strained at your self-crafted bonds. Realizing how precarious your grasp on control was, your emotions slipped into panic.

You had to leave. Now.

Sensing the change in your body, Jungkook paused.

“I – I’m sorry,” you blurted, scrambling off him. Bending for your pants, you pushed one leg through and hastily zipped. “I need to go.”

Jungkook stared, frozen in place. “I…” Shaking his head, he pushed a hand through his hair. “What’s going on? Did I do something wrong?”

Stomach dropping, you roughly shook your head. Part of you ached to correct him but your magic was barely leashed, and you weren’t certain how much longer it’d hold.

Your magic wasn’t something you wanted Jungkook to see.

Frantically throwing on your shirt, you rushed towards his front door. His dog, Bam, whined from the couch and lifted his head as you passed. Yanking open his door, you escaped to the hall and downstairs. You heard Jungkook call after, but he didn’t follow, for which you were grateful.

Remembering his face broke your heart as you entered the subway. You kept your magic at bay until reaching your building, at which point rain swept the city in waves. Soaked through, you got in the elevator and saw Jungkook had texted. Shaking, you responded you’d talk to him tomorrow and turned off your phone.

Rain poured all night and you barely slept. By the time you woke, your mood had gotten worse. Work was torture. Even the lunch shift couldn’t save you, the looming specter of Jungkook impossible to forget. When Pierre showed up around one, you knew you were doomed. His glower could be felt all the way across the restaurant and no matter what you did, you somehow stayed in his way.

With little to no sleep and haunted by last night, the grip on your magic was tentative at best. Your entire shift, it hovered at the edge of your fingers. When Pierre commented you looked tired, the rain outside worsened. When a table of middle-aged men called you ‘girlie,’ their water glasses shook.

It was miraculous nothing happened until the end of your shift. That was the moment Pierre’s friends arrived, seating themselves at the table you gave away last night. One of them laughed as you poured them water, and you managed to push down your snide remark.

Glasses full, you turned around to go and the same one grabbed your waist.

You went still.

For so long, you’ve hidden your magic to protect others. You’ve kept them from hurting and there you were, broken, and no one cared about you. Just like no one cared about your dad, in the end. Teeth gritted, you whirled – and the entire water pitcher dumped itself at him.

At him, not on him.

You didn’t trip. Didn’t throw the water, although either would have been preferrable. Instead, the water leapt from the pitcher to slap the man in the face.

Horrified, you stared as reality sunk in. You had just assaulted a guest – a friend of Pierre’s, at that.

Shocked, the man wiped water down his visage. The entire restaurant fell silent, every eye in the room locked on you. Panic-stricken, you stammered an apology, flung a napkin on the table and fled into the kitchen.

The moment you crashed through the doors, you were hailed a hero. Izumi, your line cook, wistfully recalled the one time she punched a guy who grabbed her ass. Georgina added that once, she spit in the drink of a man who called her a bitch.

Both tactfully avoided the fact that you were an Elemental, which you appreciated. You were starting to feel marginally better – maybe you wouldn’tbe fired, after all – when the door to the kitchen swung open and Pierre stormed through. Seeing his face, your heart sank.

“You!” Spittle flew from his lips as he pointed. “Y/N – pack your things! You’re done here. Fired. You think you can insult my friend, pull some magic bullshit on him, and continue to work here? Fuck that. Get out – now!”

A pin could have been heard in the silence. Coming to your senses, you did exactly as asked and got your things. Pierre hadn’t mentioned pressing charges, and you didn’t want to stick around long enough to find out.

Outside, you stood on the sidewalk and stared at the bus stop. Storm clouds brewed above, a visualization of your inner turmoil. Eventually, you turned and trudged down the subway.

Things had reached a point you couldn’t ignore anymore. You were beyond out of control. Emotions surged and strained against your internal walls, threatening everyone you held dear. The city didn’t deserve to be punished, even if no one within it knew of your sacrifice. Pierre’s friends were awful, but you could’ve just as easily lost your temper with someone you loved.

Someone like Jungkook, whom you couldn’t seem to be around without incident.

That was the reason most people feared Elementals. It was selfish of you to put your desires ahead of another person’s safety. The only way to protect someone you loved was to stay away.

Starting with Jungkook. You just wished he didn’t have to get hurt in order for that to happen.

Standing outside his building, you take a deep breath and press the buzzer. You wait for several long moments, wondering if he’s home and then –

“Hello?” Jungkook’s voice crackles over the speaker.

Leaning in, you press 316. “Hey. It’s me. Y/N.”

A weighted pause, and then –

“Come in.”

The door unlocks, and you push it inside. Climbing the steps to his place, your heart starts to pound. The last time you saw Jungkook, you were running away. The last text he sent was, ‘ok,’ in response to your message. If you were Jungkook, you wouldn’t be thrilled to see you.

Coming to a stop outside 316, you lift your hand and knock. A howl responds, followed by the patter of gigantic dog footsteps. Unable to stop your smile, you shake your head at the chaos.

“It’s just me, Bam!” you say, and he stops.

Bam’s howl is replaced with a whine and the sharp thwack-thwack of his tail on the door.

“Bam, out of the way,” Jungkook calls, his voice coming closer. A few seconds later, the door flies open to reveal your boyfriend.

You only catch a glimpse before Bam barrels out, nearly knocking you over. Legs and tail akimbo, he slobbers all over until you bend to pet him. Once satisfied, Bam turns around and trots back inside.

Silence falls between you, and you look up to see Jungkook. He’s dressed casually, sweatpants and a t-shirt bought at a concert you attended. He hasn’t moved aside, blocking you from entering.

Uncertain, you straighten. “Can I come in?”

Slowly, he nods and moves. You walk past him, trying not to focus on the heat of his shoulder. This might be the last time you see Jungkook, so you try to focus on that. Not the prospect of what you’re about to do.

Hearing the door shut, you take a deep breath and turn to face him. “I can’t stay too long,” you admit, digging your nails into the palms of your hands.

Jungkook regards you warily. His expression makes your chest ache, unused to him with such a stern expression. After last night, you suppose it’s earned. You should probably get used to it.

“Y/N.” His jaw works. “What’s going on?”

Deciding honesty is the best policy – up to a point – you force out your next words. “I think we should break up,” you say in a rush.

With a low whine, Bam slinks in the direction of the bedroom. Jungkook glances at him, distracted, before facing forward.

“What do you mean?” His head tilts. “Like, you want to take a break?”

Steeling yourself, you shake your head. “No. As in, I want to break up. Permanently.”

A train passes by the building, rumbling the floorboards underneath. Most people would avoid living in this building for that reason, but Jungkook was overjoyed by the prospect of discounted rent.

He doesn’t seem overjoyed now, though. Instead, he looks stricken.

“Walk me through this,” Jungkook says, walking closer. The set of his mouth has turned stubborn. “I don’t follow. Why are we breaking up again?”

The knot in your chest tightens. You should have known Jungkook wouldn’t make this easy on you. “We’re not good together,” you say, only to correct yourself. “I mean, I’m not good for you. I’m not in a place where I can be in a relationship.”

He comes to a stop. “I can wait, Y/N. I don’t mind.”

Reaching for you, Jungkook’s brows crease when you take a step backwards. His hand falls between you, and he stares at the empty space. The crack in your heart widens, made worse by his silence.

“I mind, though,” you force yourself to say. “I can’t ask you to wait for me, Jungkook. That’s not fair to either of us. It’s too much pressure.”

The words make your heart splinter, reaching a point you aren’t sure can be reassembled. Maybe the pieces will simply lodge in your muscle, bruising your insides each time you draw breath.

“I won’t pressure you,” Jungkook says, automatic. His frown deepens. “Tell me what this is really about, Y/N. Is this about sex? It’s fine if we don’t have it.” Stepping closer, he takes your hand and you let him. “I just want you to be honest with me.”

Somewhat manic, you shake your head – and then nod.

Sex is a part of the problem, but it’s not the root cause. Sex with Jungkook is unthinkable. You can barely remain in control when you kiss, let alone allow more. With your past partners, this wasn’t an issue, but your past partners weren’t Jungkook.

Never have you met someone able to scramble your thoughts with a kiss. Whose gaze melted inhibitions and tore down every wall. You have little doubt that with Jungkook, you’d lose full control, and the thought is terrifying. Already, your makeshift barriers are weakened.

Rain splatters against the window, and your stomach lurches.

“Seriously, Y/N,” Jungkook says, returning your attention to him. “What’s this about? I can tell something’s on your mind.”

He takes your other hand, and you realize how close he stands. “Is it work?” Jungkook asks, a crease between brows. “Is there… some reason you can’t quit? You can tell me, Y/N.”

An odd zing of disappointment goes through you. For a moment, you thought Jungkook had guessed your secret, and this could all be avoided. If Jungkook knew what you were and that you lied to him – well, he’d end things for you. Hesitant, you consider revealing that truth but can’t seem to form words. It would devastate you, seeing fear replace love in his eyes.

“Work isn’t the problem,” you say at last. “It’s us, Jungkook. Or – it’s me. I don’t want to be together anymore.”

Disbelief flashes across his expression, and you idly wonder what will happen if Jungkook refuses. Even as you think this though, his expression shifts. Jungkook takes a careful step backwards, dropping your hands entirely.

He’s never been good at hiding emotion. Jungkook is your opposite in that way, revealing every shift of thought and desire. You watch confusion become anger, then bitterness a moment before he turns away. The set of his shoulders is still, staring out the window as yet another train passes.

Restless, he turns to drag a hand through his hair. “I don’t believe you,” he declares. “This is so out of nowhere, Y/N. What aren’t you telling me?”

“I’m telling you everything,” you say, panic rising. “And this isn’t out of nowhere! I’ve been telling you for months I need to take things slow and this – well, this is the opposite of slow, Jungkook!”

Jungkook stares back at you, heated. “Yeah, I guess so.”

The two of you stand there for a moment, the tension thick in between you. Eventually, you look away first and pull your bag tighter.

“Right,” you exhale. “Well, I should go –”

Striding forward, Jungkook reaches you to cup your face with both palms. Gently, he lifts your face towards him, and all thoughts cease completely. Gaze searching, his breath fans across your parted lips.

Jungkook’s gaze intensifies. “I don’t believe you,” he murmurs.

Adrenaline zips under your skin, stirring your magic into a deadly storm. Entire body tense, you suppress the urge to fight or flee. So often, you’re the one running but right now, you feel more compelled to fight.

A knife in you twists, knowing you’re a coward. If you were stronger, you could keep Jungkook. No matter how understanding he is, the fact remains that if he stays with you, Jungkook remains in danger. Each passing day only worsens the pain.

His face blurs. With a start of surprise, you realize there are tears on your cheeks. The furrow between Jungkook’s brows deepens, noticing as well.

“You’re not listening,” you blurt. “I can’t see you any longer, Jungkook. It’s in your best interest, I promise – I can’t do this. It’s too much.”

Reaching up, you remove his hands from your face and head for the door.

Jungkook follows close behind. “Which is it, then?” he demands. “You want me to go slowly, or you feel too much?”

Pressure weighs every inch of your skin, demanding you answer. Anything that comes out now will only make things harder. Reaching the door, you feel Jungkook’s hand on your shoulder. Caving, you don’t fight when Jungkook turns you to face him.

He’s too close to you. Too much and too close, his one hand sliding to cup the back of your neck. Slowly, his thumb strokes the elongated line of your throat. You swallow, hard, and his gaze follows the motion.

Jungkook’s gaze flicks to yours. “You keep saying you’re no good for me,” he says, his voice low. “But what if I don’t care? Don’t I get a say in this decision?”

The force of holding in your magic worsens, becoming near impossible. Hastily built walls threaten to collapse, and reality blurs between one moment and the next.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt, your hand searching behind you. “I have to go.”

Finding the doorknob, you twist and stumble backwards. Jungkook watches you go, the look on his face physically painful as you turn around. Each second that follows is pure concentration, trying not to break before getting outside.

The ocean is only a few blocks from Jungkook’s apartment.

Reaching the harbor, rain pelts your face in a way that feels punishing. Magic makes your limbs tremble, escaping your body in wisps of fog and rain. The moment you arrive at the harbor, you shatter, collapsing forward to grip your knees with both hands.

Eyes pressed tightly shut, you hear the storm howl. Waves churn the harbor, sloshing over the sidewalk in an attempt to get closer. No tidal waves, you plead in an attempt at reason. No whirlpools, no water spouts.

Your magic listens in this regard, at least. By the time your eyes open, a curtain of rain mingles with tears on your cheeks. Staring out at the ocean, each inch of your body is numb.

Jungkook will never forgive you for this.

The thought banishes all the rest. You can’t say that you blame him. Slowly, you exhale as you lift your gaze. The chasm in your chest widens, becoming something unbreachable. This is all your fault. You wish there was some satisfaction in knowing this, but there isn’t.

Eventually, the rain dulls, and you push yourself upright. Your sneakers squish with every step, the silence all-encompassing as you ride on the subway. Entering the building, you remove your shoes and collapse on your bed, fully clothed. Thankfully, your roommate isn’t home, so you aren’t forced to explain the events of tonight. Seokjin would have wanted to discuss, and you aren’t sure you can without breaking down.

Burrowing your face into the pillows, you manage to cry yourself asleep. Rain doesn’t let up the entire night.

“Tell me again.” Taking a seat at the table, Seokjin spoons yogurt and berries into his mouth. “Why did you have to end things with your boyfriend?”

Cracking open one eye, you glare from where you sit, slumped forward. “You know why, Seokjin,” you grumble. “Not all of us can be air Elementals in perfect control of their magic.”

“You could be, though,” he says, pointing with his spoon. “If you put in like, five seconds of training and embraced your water powers instead of running away whenever things got bad.”

“I am not running.”

“No.” Seokjin lifts a brow. “You’re cowering, which is far less attractive.”

“I’m not cowering, either.” Scowling, you bury your head deeper into your arms. “I’m wallowing. Big difference.”

Scoffing, his spoon scrapes the bottom of the bowl. Pushing his chair back to stand, Seokjin heads for the sink and turns on the tap. The water itches a spot deep in your chest, almost taunting.

“I can’t be too hard on you, though,” Seokjin says as he cleans. “You did get fired and dumped in one day – that’s pretty rough.”

“Does it count as being dumped if I did the dumping?”

“I’ll allow it.” He opens the dishwasher. “But only because really, you didn’t want to break up with Jungkook. You’ve just convinced yourself the world is better off without you – something I highly disagree with, by the way, but can’t fault you for feeling. It’s too sad.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, and close your eyes.

Two days have gone by since your decision to end your relationship with Jungkook. It hasn’t been great, to put things mildly. On Monday, you barely left your room and rain poured from the sky. When you did enter the kitchen, the weather person on Channel 9 predicted local flooding.

Seokjin arrived from his business trip that night, took one look at your face and helped stop the storm. You sagged with relief, falling into a fitful round of sleep that only lasted three hours.

Seokjin is one of the few Elementals you know who embraces their power. Both his parents are air Elementals, and he was raised to take over their magical consulting business. Said business does well, leading Seokjin to own a gorgeous, three-bedroom apartment in the middle of the city. He got bored last winter, decided to post for a roommate and here you are. One of the few people in the city willing to room with an Elemental.

You don’t care what Seokjin does with his magic, although his laissez-faire attitude can occasionally be unnerving. You’ve lived your entire life with the assumption your existence is dangerous. All you need is a quick Google search to reinforce this fact. But then there’s Seokjin, living his life, seemingly none the worse for the wear.

He discovered your powers about a month into rooming together. Coming back from a trip, Seokjin opened the door to stare, slack-jawed, as plates washed themselves in the sink. Glancing up from your book at the table, you immediately sent two dishes crashing onto the floor.

Seokjin stared at this for a moment, then looked up. “You owe me new plates,” he declared and walked into his bedroom. After a moment, he popped his head out. “Hey – you think if we combined my wind and your water, we could create a waterspout but on land?”

“That’s… a tornado, Seokjin.”

“Right.” He slapped the doorframe once and disappeared. “Well, something to think about!”

Months later, Seokjin still doesn’t understand your avoidance of magic, but respects the decision enough to leave it alone. At least, until something like this happens and he’s again at a loss.

“Listen.”

Turning around, he shuts the dishwasher with his hip.

“Oh, no.” You grimace. “What now?”

Seokjin raises both hands. “Nothing, nothing. Far be it from me to comment on your mistakes. I’m sorry – did I say mistakes? I meant, ‘learned life experience.’ Through mistakes.”

“Was there a question in all that?”

“No question.” Loosely, he gestures. “Just wanted to say you can stay here, rent-free, until you figure this out. You know I’m only taking your money because you insist. I don’t need it. This place is already paid for.”

“Only because you frightened the seller so badly, they cut the price in half.”

“Listen.” Seokjin’s smile turns slightly sinister. “If they were willing to let their ingrained fear of Elementals influence their selling point, that’s on them. Not me.”

“Fair enough,” you sigh and sit back. “But seriously – thank you. This will give me some time to come up with a plan.”

Seokjin nods, tracing the rim of his coffee. Absently, he glances down the hall at the empty third bedroom. “You know…”

“No,” you say, automatic.

His right brow lifts. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“You were going to suggest I use this time off to work on my art.”

“Okay.” Seokjin shrugs. “Maybe you did know. But seriously, Y/N – why not?”

Weary, you exhale. “Because every time I try to paint, I get this… block. I can’t explain it. Watercolors used to be the one place I felt comfortable using my magic. Now… I don’t know. I can’t seem to use my magic anywhere. Even my art.”

Seokjin tilts his head, thoughtful. “How long has this been going on?”

“Don’t know – a few months?”

“Not long after you started dating Jungkook.”

Staring at Seokjin, you realize he’s right. That’s exactly around when you began dating Jungkook. The block happened not long after. Thinking about the early days of dating are painful though, and so you choose not to.

“I don’t want to talk about him,” you declare with a shake of your head. “Right now, what I need is a job. And to earn money. Preferably in that order.”

Seokjin’s lips twitch. “Let me know if the order changes. I know a guy.”

Before you can consider his offer too seriously, your phone rings on the table. Glancing down, your heart constricts at your mom’s name. It isn’t that you don’t want to talk. It’s that if you do, Jungkook’s name will come up, and you’ll be forced to explain why you two aren’t together. Right now, you’re managing to cope by avoiding the topic. You aren’t sure what will happen if you’re forced to confront it.

Not to mention the very real possibility your mom will be happy. She liked Jungkook, but she always worries whenever someone new enters your life.

Also glancing at your phone, Seokjin scowls. “Don’t answer it,” he says, walking past. “Whenever you talk to your mom, things get even worse.”

Seokjin’s not wrong. Your mom means well – really, she does – but talking to her tends to leave you exhausted. Still, you know from experience it’s better to answer now.

“I know,” you sigh and stand up. “But if I don’t pick up now, she’ll just keep calling. Hey,” you say, pressing answer. “One second, mom.”

Ignoring Seokjin’s sad shake of his head, you scoop up your coffee and head for your bedroom.

Closing the door to your room, you lean backwards. “Hi, mom,” you say, lifting your phone to your ear. “Sorry about that. I was eating breakfast. How are you?”

“Oh, you know,” your mom says, and you can practically hear her smile. “Same old, same old. The better question is, how are you? I saw on the weather there’s some flooding by you. Hope you’re alright!”

Grimacing, you move the phone to speaker. You should have known your mom would check in. Reading between the lines of her question, you can hear what she’s really asking. Your mom wants to know if you caused the flooding – an answer which is undeniably yes, but she doesn’t have to know that.

Setting down your half-empty mug, you flop face-first on your bed. Less information tends to be more with your mom. You’re debating what to say when she solves the problem for you.

“I know you haven’t had a slip in years,” she continues. “But if there’s another water Elemental in town, you should try to steer clear of them! Being around them could set you off – that’s what happened to Becky’s nephew, she said.”

Fighting an eye roll, you roll on your back. Becky Mayweather is your mom’s best friend in the entire world and one of your least favorite people. She’s the type to bake cookies, offer a shoulder to cry on – and then promptly turn and gossip to the neighbors about it. She fancies herself an Elemental expert because a few of her friends married them. Funnily enough, neither you nor your mom have met these friends in person.

“Oh?” you ask. “I never noticed.”

“It’s true! You know that I worry, Y/N. All alone in the city with another Elemental for a roommate…”

Annoyance spikes in your stomach. “His name is Seokjin, and I’m an Elemental too, mom. His mom could say the same thing about me.”

Seokjin’s mom could be saying that, but she wouldn’t because Seokjin’s mom and dad are both magic enthusiasts. The few times you met them, they were nothing but kind.

“Oh, Y/N.” Your mom sighs. “It’s not the same.”

“Why not?”

“Watch your tone,” she says. “I’m only telling the truth. You work hard on controlling your magic. Your roommate, on the other hand, uses his magic willy-nilly. In broad daylight! You two couldn’t be more different.”

Your mom isn’t wrong about that, although not for the reason she thinks. Seokjin does use his magic freely, but you’re the one at risk of hurting others – not him.

“Seokjin is a good guy,” you say tightly. “He’s letting me stay here, rent-free, while I search for another job.”

“Another job?” Her voice pitches. “What happened to the job at that restaurant?”

Cursing yourself for your own stupidity, you close your eyes. “Um… I was let go. Difference of opinions with management.”

“Oh. Well. That’s too bad, Y/N, I’m sorry. It’s probably for the best – you don’t want to be working for someone you don’t respect, right?”

Some of your anger lessens at her genuine sympathy. It’d be easy to paint your mom as the villain but truthfully, she comes from a good place. You know that she loves you; she just doesn’t want to lose you the same way she lost your dad.

Exhaling deeply, you reach to grab a pillow. “I’ve been trying to paint,” you say. “It hasn’t been going well.”

“No?”

You frown at the obvious joy in her voice.

“Yeah,” you admit.

“Well…” Your mom draws the word out. “We always knew art was a risky hobby, Y/N. Painting. With watercolors. Something could easily go wrong and put you in danger.”

“I know, mom.”

“Actually,” she adds, her excitement growing. “Maybe this is a sign. Y/N – what if this means your powers are weakening?”

Your entire body goes still. “What?”

“Yes!” she says, oblivious to the panic in your voice. “You always loved watercolors because they made sense to you, right? Because of your… well, magic. What if a block means your powers are growing weaker? I wonder if other Elementals ever lose touch with their magic. I’ll have to ask Becky.”

Irrational anger surges within, and you hear the faucet in your bathroom turn on. Hastily, you work to turn it back off.

“You don’t need to do that,” you blurt. “I’ll research it myself. Actually, I should get going – I wanted to apply for some jobs this morning.”

“Oh, yes – good call, honey. You go and apply. Let me know if you need help. Becky has connections with the local university. I’m sure someone could help you update your resume – or even apply, if that sounds interesting to you.”

“Thanks,” you say, although it absolutely does not. “That’s a nice offer.”

“Have a good day, honey – I love you!”

“Love you, too,” you say before hanging up.

Dropping the phone onto your bed, you hug your pillow tightly. It takes several long minutes to relax, wading your way through an anxious sea of thought. Although your mom means well, conversations with her tend to leave you feeling drained. Since you were young, it’s felt like your mom has an idea of the perfect child, and they aren’t you.

Eventually, you stand to bring your mug to the kitchen. Seokjin is busy making another pot of coffee, the delicious scent wafting overhead.

Passing him by, you eye this warily. “Isn’t that your third pot this morning?”

“And?” Seokjin reaches for his mug. “You’ve had three cups yourself.”

“Touché,” you sigh, collapsing on the couch.

Minutes later, Seokjin enters the living room and hands you a mug.

Staring into the drink, you say, “Thanks.”

Settling onto the sofa, Seokjin examines you over the rim of his coffee. You ignore him, taking a long sip of your drink. A summer breeze wafts through the window, and with a flick of his wrist, Seokjin sends it back out.

A stab of envy goes through you, although you know it’s irrational. Seokjin always makes magic look easy, but you’ve never found it to be so. Maybe when you were younger, before the crippling fear and anxiety had a chance to set in. The only time magic ever felt normal was when you painted and now, you can’t even do that.

Thinking about painting makes you think about Jungkook though, causing the dull thud in your chest to become a sledgehammer. You miss him. Miss the easy way Jungkook made you laugh. How he insisted on constantly touching some part of your body.

Cupping your mug of coffee, you take another sip and sink into the sadness.

“Far be it from me to dole out advice.” Seokjin interrupts your tiny pity party. “But I think you’re going about this the wrong way.”

Too exhausted to argue, you merely exhale. “What’s the right way, then?”

His head tilts. “I don’t know. But I find it weird your block appeared around the same time you started dating Jungkook. You’ve…” Seokjin hesitates, and you recognize his how-do-I-put-this-delicately face. “You’ve given up a lot over the years, Y/N. Maybe this time, you gave up more of yourself than you realized.”

Silently, you wonder whether he’s right. For too long, you’ve gone through the motions of life without really living. Too scared of letting people in, scaring them off, of being yourself. Perhaps giving up Jungkook will be the final straw. The thought doesn’t comfort you, and you have no response.

After a moment, Seokjin turns on the TV. The morning slips by, though you can’t help but think about his earlier comments – could you control your magic if you tried harder? The moment you think this, you instantly banish the thought. You’ve been attempting for months, and nothing has worked.

With this cheery thought, you allow yourself to sink further into melancholy. Only this time, the water rushing overheard isn’t your friend. You aren’t sure it ever was.

Wednesday morning, you leave the apartment in a haze. You thought that by today, things would be better but if anything, the situation seems to be worse.

Missing Jungkook is painful.

It hurts more than you thought, which might sound stupid, but that doesn’t make it any less true. When you and Elliot broke up, it was sad, but you knew it was for the best and that lessened some of the pain. Now though, each beat of your heart prevents the wound from closing. A tentative scab in one second, only to be torn open the next.

Jungkook always sent you good morning texts. Not because he was up before you, but because he went to bed so late, it was only an hour or two before you awoke. His words were the first thing you read in the morning, smiling sleepily at his rambling. Sometimes, Jungkook would include a late-night snack recipe. Always, he’d end with something he liked about you.

His silence is deafening. Something not even your favorite coffee shop can fix, although you try. Standing in line, you aimlessly flip through songs on your phone. Today, you promised Seokjin you’d attend at least two interviews. The first one is in an hour at a sushi restaurant. Before then, you plan to load up on caffeine and organize your thoughts.

When the line moves forward, you flip to your messages. No new texts. Unsurprising, but it rends the scab in your heart anew.

Facing forward, you remove an earbud to order. “Hi,” you say, mustering a smile. “I’ll have an iced americano with rose syrup.”

“Got it.” The barista barely looks up. “That all?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Want a receipt?”

“Nope.”

“Cool.” She nods. “That’ll be ready soon at the end of the counter.”

Nodding your thanks, you replace the ear pod. Cranking your music louder, you wait for your coffee and lean against the counter. The coffee shop is tiny, empty for a weekday after the morning rush. Aimless, you glance over the clustered tables.

Your thoughts are on Jungkook before they can be stopped. You wonder what he's doing, what he’s wearing, whether he’s blocked your number yet from his phone.

A talented graphic designer, Jungkook works mostly on commission and on his own time. He does well for himself – enough to afford rent on his own place. Your mutual creative streak was something you had in common. Not your sleeping hours, that’s for sure.

Jungkook usually slept until nine or ten, then went to the gym before he made breakfast. You used to tease him about that, saying he couldn’t call it breakfast if –

Your heart falters. Jungkook must be on your mind since you seem to have hallucinated him here, at the coffee shop. You blink once, and then twice, but the mirage doesn’t fade, and you’re forced to conclude Jungkook is actually here.

Unfolding himself from a chair, he heads in your direction. Panicked, you glance at the counter, then back up. Your coffee hasn’t finished, which means that you’re trapped. Straightening, you do your best to seem natural and are certain you fail. Jungkook doesn’t just look natural, he is so as he approaches. At least, until you notice his hands in his pockets.

Jungkook does this when he’s nervous. Likely, he’s playing with the inside pocket lining. It hurts, knowing him so well, and not being his. When Jungkook comes to a stop, you stand mere inches apart.

“Jungkook,” you say, his name punched from your diaphragm.

He nods. “Hey.”

Uncertain, you glance down at the counter to check for your drink. Still nothing and, looking back, you tilt your head. “What are you doing here?”

Jungkook’s hands go deeper, if possible. “Getting coffee. Is that allowed?”

Your lips press together. “Sure. Theoretically, you can get coffee. What I’m asking though, is why you chose this coffee shop, five blocks away from your place. Usually, you’re not awake before noon.”

His expression is inscrutable. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Ah.”

The silence between you lengthens, and not in a good way. You know why you’re quiet but can’t tell what Jungkook is thinking. You suppose that it’s possible he woke up early, forgot this was your favorite shop and went on a long walk for coffee – it’s possible, but unlikely.

At last, Jungkook exhales. “Alright, fine. I wanted to see you.”

“Y/N?”

Both of you turn at the sound of your name. Glancing between the two of you, the barista seems to pick up a weird vibe, dropping the cup to hurry away. Grateful for the interruption, you reach for your coffee and attempt to reset.

It’s not fair of Jungkook, corning you like this. You were already forced to end this once – unfair, making you do so again. Breaking up with him once was barely possible; twice is unthinkable.

“Don’t you have anything else to say?”

His voice interrupts your train of thought and, gripping your drink tightly, you turn.

“Like what?” you ask.

“Like, I don’t know.” His brow furrows, frustration obvious. “Anything, Y/N.”

Behind the counter, the barista fills a tea kettle to set this on the stove. You watch it instead of Jungkook, unsure how you’re going to do this again. The pressure of the water boiling is near tangible, mimicking the internal state of your mind.

Biting your tongue, you decide a safe exit is best. Jungkook will get the hint without you being forced to break his heart. Counting backwards from ten, you exhale and attempt to walk past.

“I’m sorry you came all this way,” you say in a murmur.

You’re nearly past Jungkook when you hear a soft swear. Only one more step happens before his hand grips your elbow.

“Y/N, please,” Jungkook breathes, turning you towards him.

Your gaze lifts and you start at his obvious pain. Staring back, Jungkook searches your face for something unspoken. Whatever he seeks, he must find it, since determination enters his.

You tear your gaze away. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Jungkook.”

“I want to know if you were serious about breaking up.”

He’s still holding your elbow.

You must notice this at the same time, but neither of you move. Your gaze returns to his, drawn like a magnet and you realize your mistake when you can’t look away. Romeo’s line about Julie being the sun comes to mind, making sudden sense. You orbit around Jungkook, whether you like it or not.

In the background, a tea kettle whistles. “I meant what I said, Jungkook,” you say, forcing yourself to speak first. “I’m not good for you.”

A muscle in his jaw feathers. “But why,” he demands, frustration seeping through. You can hear in his voice the long nights of desperation, of little sleep in your absence. “I don’t understand what went wrong, Y/N. What did I do?”

A chasm in your chest opens, hating how easily he jumps to self-doubt. Before you can think better of it, you move closer.

“Nothing,” you say, one hand on his arm. “You did nothing wrong, Jungkook. I’m just not in a place where I can be in a relationship.”

“But why not?” His gaze sharpens. “Everything was fine between us until Sunday.”

“Everything was not fine.”

Jungkook pauses, then barrels on. “When you say you can’t be in a relationship… what you’re really saying is you can’t be in a relationship with me.”

“With anyone,” you correct, although you aren’t sure that’s the truth.

Your magic has never been this temperamental. Possibly because this is the first time you’ve fallen in love. Dating someone not Jungkook would be safer, but the thought is abhorrent.

If you can’t have Jungkook, you don’t want anyone. That will be your punishment. Jungkook will move on, fall in love, and be happy with another person. Not you. No one else will compare, and if you can’t now, you doubt you’ll move past this crippling fear.

“You keep telling me that,” Jungkook says, growing heated. “But I’m the one you’re breaking up with, so it’s a little bit about me. You need to give me something, Y/N. Is this about your past? I know you don’t like to talk about your childhood, but I want to know.”

A loud buzzing fills your ears, gaze darting around. You haven’t told Jungkook much about your family, not wanting to invite questions about being an Elemental. The thought of him guessing sparks panic again, and the tea kettle on the stove whistles louder.

“People in my past hurt me,” you say in a rush. Magic itches beneath your skin, begging for escape. “That’s part of it, but not all.”

“What’s all, then?”

Frustration seeps past the wall, and several things happen. Your magic lashes out, a loud noise makes you jump, and the tea kettle shatters while hitting the floor. Water sloshes across the tile, steam hissing as the barista jumps back with a yelp.

Startled, you whirl around. One barista turns off the stove, another grabs a towel while a third finds a broom. Luckily, none of them seem injured – the tea kettle missed their skin. Taking a half-step towards them, you force yourself to stop. Although you want to help, that might make you seem guilty.

Already, the guilt within you is rising. You felt your magic overpowering you and chose to stay. If a barista had been hurt, it would’ve been your fault.

Turning back, you find Jungkook staring at the mess. He looks similarly shocked, twisting the knife in your gut. If he knew you caused this, he’d look at you that differently.

“You see?” you blurt, and he glances in your direction. “Everyone around me gets hurt. I can’t hurt you, too, Jungkook.”

Shoving open the door, you’re halfway outside when his words reach your ears.

“That’s the thing, Y/N,” he says softly. “You already have.”

The door shuts behind you, and you almost make it home before starting to cry. The skies open again above the city.

“This can’t be a coincidence,” you mutter, staring through the window.

The slightly dilapidated Ramen-rama tables stare back at you until the owner walks past. Catching you standing there, he motions you on.

Somewhat chagrined, you trudge down the sidewalk. Reaching a playground two blocks away, you collapse on a bench and attempt to be rational. Four different interviews. Spread across two different days. Each one ending the exact same.

One crappy interview, even two, and you’d understand. But four crappy interviews in the same way? Something weird is happening. Each interview, you arrived, greeted the owner, answered a few questions, and were thus informed the position was filled.

It wasn’t that you hadn’t gotten a job. It was that your interviewers seemed nervous, staring hard at your resume and never your face. They seemed relieved when you left, as though you were liable to break something for fun.

“Hey. Did you interview this morning at Ramen-rama?”

Startled, you turn and find a stranger beside you.

You don’t recognize him; certainly you’d remember if you met before. Dressed in a Ramen-rama t-shirt, his dark hair is gathered in a bun on his head. His hair makes your chest ache, since Jungkook used to wear his like that.

“Um, yeah,” you say, yanking yourself from your daydreams.

He smiles and nods. “I thought that was you. Listen – I overheard the manager talking this morning on the phone while I was unloading the truck. I think he was talking about you, so I thought I should tell you what I overheard.”

Concerned, you straighten. “Uh, okay. What was he saying?”

“He was talking to your old boss – Pierre? Apparently, he’s calling around and warning people not to hire you. Said that you stole from him, or something. Not sure if it’s the same story for everyone, or if he’s making up shit up in the moment.”

Your jaw nearly drops. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah.” The guy’s smile turns wry. “I’m assuming none of it’s true. You don’t look like the thieving type, but the boss is running a business, I guess. Can’t be too careful.”

“Right.” You pause, then shake your head. “I didn’t steal, just so you know. A guest was an ass to me, so I dumped water on him – on accident,” you add.

Laughing loudly, the guy clutches his bicycle. “Wow, I’d love to hear that story. Especially the part about it being an accident,” he adds with a wink, sticking out his hand. “I’m Wooyoung.”

“Y/N,” you say as you shake. “So. Pierre is calling people?”

Brow furrowed, Wooyoung pulls back. “Yeah. Sorry I had to tell you like this. Wasn’t sure whether you’d want to know, but figured I should.”

You push yourself to stand. “I do appreciate it. Thanks for telling me.”

“No problem.” Sheepish, he glances down the road. “I should actually get back if I don’t want to lose my job. Delivery,” he explains, nodding towards his bike. “Need the extra income.”

“Makes sense,” you say, forcing a smile. “Good luck.”

Wooyoung nods, then pauses in a way that feels familiar. He’s checking you out, you realize after a moment. Although flattering, it’s instantly followed by a rush of guilt. Wooyoung is cute and in another life, you’d say yes, but in every life, it’s hard not to want Jungkook.

Waving goodbye, Wooyoung climbs onto his bike and takes off. You head in the opposite direction, needing to put distance between you and Ramen-rama. If Pierre is shit-talking you across town, you’ll be hard-pressed to find another job at a restaurant. Owners are notoriously clicky and for how many restaurants there are, there are surprisingly few out of the loop.

Maybe you can ask the coffee shop if they’re hiring. Although you should probably avoid work with water for a bit. This drops your mood, your thoughts turning desperate. You’re so deep in an anxiety spiral, you nearly run into an open door on the sidewalk.

Jerking upright, you stare at faded, golden letters. Creative Courage is spelled in looping cursive over a frosted window. Art supplies fill a display case, while the other is clustered with art of all kinds. You spot sculpture, pottery, painting, and sketches before losing count.

Before you can chicken out, you push open the door.

Stepping in, tiny bells chime to announce your arrival. Soft, ambient light fills the space – a shop that’s two-fold, you realize now that you’re inside. The front sells art supplies while in the back stands a classroom. There’s a class in session now, several artists seated on stools before easels.

“Can I help you?” someone asks, stepping into your path.

Blinking, you focus. “Um, no – thank you! I was just looking.”

“Of course!” The woman beams, reaching up to arrange a clip in magenta hair. “That’s what we’re here for. If you do change your mind, let me know – we’ve got art supplies out front, and classes are held daily in back.”

“Classes?”

“Mhm.” Crossing her arms, the woman nods. “Mostly still life and figure drawing, but we’re hoping to add some more soon. Are you an artist?” she asks, sounding hopeful.

Immediately, you stiffen. “No. At least, not right now.”

Her lips twitch. “Not sure it works like that, unfortunately. Who you are can’t come on and off like a jacket. I like that, though,” she admits with a laugh. “Might borrow it the next time the muses aren’t singing.”

You can’t help but grin. “Exactly.”

Her head tilts, surveying you with unnerving intensity. “My name is Taryn. I co-own this place with my partner, Micah. They’re the one teaching right now.”

“Oh,” you say, somewhat wistful. “That’s nice.”

“Thanks.” Her smile widens. “So, what was your preferred medium? You know, ‘back when’ you were an artist.”

You can’t help but laugh when Taryn lifts her hands to use air quotes. Some people have a way of making you feel included in their jokes, and Taryn is one of them. She teases you in a conspiratorial way, letting you know she understands. People often call art a labor of love, which can be true but more often, it’s a complicated tangle of love, pain and frustration.

“Watercolors,” you admit. “And my name is Y/N.”

Her eyes brighten. “We’ve been meaning to add a watercolor class for ages. Some of our regulars have asked, but Micah and I are both hopeless. Potter,” she explains, gesturing at herself. “And Micah prefers charcoal. Sometimes sculpture.”

“Wow,” you say. “Those are very different.”

“You don’t say.” Taryn laughs. “Micah likes to keep things fresh. What about you? Have you ever taught be– hang on,” she blurts, her eyes going wide. “Did you say that your name is Y/N? As in Y/N Y/L/N?”

Your cheeks heat. “Yeah, that’s me.”

Whirling, Taryn hustles through the front room to duck behind a counter. Digging through several drawers, she pulls out a print to hurry back.

“Is this you?” she demands, thrusting this in your face.

Even cross-eyed and close, you recognize your most popular work. A watercolor series on the majesty and destruction of sea storms. Looking at this makes you feel raw, and so you look up.

“Yep,” you admit. “That’s me.”

Pulling back, Taryn looks at the print reverently. “You’re amazing. Micah was trying to do something similar but couldn’t capture the right feeling.”

Shuffling awkwardly, you shrug. You’ve never felt as though your work deserved acclaim, although it’s nice to know the series resonated with others. One of your favorite aspects of art is how it can be intensely personal but once shared, takes on a universal quality. You find it constantly surprising; how many people seem to share the same burdens.

“Seriously.” Taryn shakes her head wryly. “If you ever wanted to teach a class, let me know. We’d be lucky to have you here.”

“Thank you,” you say, stuffing both hands in your pockets.

You hadn’t realized your desperation was obvious. Or possibly Taryn is just incredibly good at reading others. Truthfully, it’s been a while since you stepped foot in the art world. Even before dating Jungkook, you felt your passion lagging. It’s been a long time since you wanted to connect with your inner voice, although merely the act of being here calls the tide in your blood.

Dangerous.

Recognizing this, you reinforce an inner wall. “I’m sorry,” you repeat. “I’m not really looking for something right now.”

Taryn nods. “Sure. If things change though, just let me know – before next week,” she adds. “We try to publish our class schedule on the first of each month.”

“Will do. Thanks, again.”

“Anytime!” Beaming, Taryn spins to restock the next shelf.

Realizing your conversation is finished, you continue down the next aisle. The shop’s materials are superb, and your fingers are itching to reach out and touch. Reaching the front, you notice a quote painted over the register: Creativity takes courage – Henry Matisse.

You stare at this for a while, unsure why it hurts. Courage isn’t something you’ve thought about in a long time. When you were younger, you pushed people away because it was safe, but now you find yourself wondering who was that for – others? Or yourself?

Maybe the reason you keep yourself separate is because you are afraid people might leave you. Like Katrina. Or Elliot. Or even your dad.

Suppressing magic was hard at the start. Everything about it felt counter-intuitive but you reasoned doing the right thing often took effort. This is what you told yourself, anyways. It made said effort more bearable.

When you first began painting, the relief you felt was immense. After so long spent ignoring your emotions, you found a space to be free. Your series about the sea was oddly therapeutic, working through complicated emotions; your love for the ocean, coupled with fear of its wild beauty. Similar clashes within yourself about magic. And always, always, the desire for more.

For a few hours though, those feelings could be a part of you. Magic could be a part of you, so long as you remained in control – and with brush in hand, you were.

Only now does it occur to you that maybe, this wasn’t healthy. Maybe you shouldn’t feel the need to compartmentalize, as though certain pieces of yourself can only exist in certain spaces.

Tearing your gaze from the words, you exit the shop and gently shut the door. Pulling your jacket tighter, you head down the sidewalk and let your thoughts drift. Jungkook only saw you paint once, but the memory is hard to forget.

You had just started dating, barely past the stage of calling him ‘boyfriend.’ The constant influx of emotion was difficult to manage, and after a few weeks, you were exhausted. Most of your time spent without Jungkook was seated before your canvas. After one particularly frustrating session, you set down your paint to stubbornly stare at the canvas.

A throat cleared from behind.

Startled, you spun and found Jungkook standing there. His gaze moved quickly to yours, but you realized he’d been staring at your half-finished work. Normally, you felt panic at the thought of someone seeing a work in progress. That night though, the look on Jungkook’s face eased your concerns. Awe; pure and clear.

Yanking down giant, over-ear headphones, you hastily stood.

Jungkook lurched forward. “No!” he blurted, only to halt. “I mean – you don’t have to cover the painting. I liked it.”

He seemed flustered, which made you slightly flustered, but you took a slow step sideways. Eager, Jungkook’s gaze traversed the canvas.

Eventually, he looked back. “Sorry about that,” Jungkook said and walked closer. Warm hands found your waist. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“How did you get in?” you laughed, burying your face in his chest.

“Seokjin.” He paused. “Did he not say I was here? I texted you a half hour ago, but you didn’t respond. I figured I’d stop by, and Seokjin said to come up.”

Softening, you made a mental note to chastise Seokjin later. Tightening your arms, you lifted your head and smiled.

“So.” Jungkook glanced over your shoulder. “This is you.”

This sent a thrill down your spine. He spoke as though he’d known you before, but only on a surface level and now, he understood. Jungkook knew your art was part of you, as much as your heart or your soul. You had often felt the same, but never said so out loud.

Magic swelled, and you pushed it back down, but it was difficult. When Jungkook bent his head, you forgot to be scared and let yourself feel. The brush of his lips. The tightening of his hands. The current within you, swelling against your highest walls.

Loudly, someone knocked on the door. Breathless, you jerked backwards and found Seokjin in the door.

“Hey.” He jerked a thumb over one shoulder. “Wanted to let you know our dishwasher broke. Flooded the kitchen.” Pointed, Seokjin looked at you. “Everything is all good, but I’m calling a plumber tomorrow. Carry on.”

In a flurry of embarrassment, you abruptly ended the evening and sent Jungkook home.

Remembering how the night ended, you stifle a groan and walk faster. Once more, you couldn’t control your magic and put Jungkook in danger. Hardly the creative courage Henry Matisse imagined.

You always assumed suppressing your magic was the best choice. But the best choice for who? Certainly not for you, who lives isolated, inert and in fear of yourself. Your dad used to call your magic a gift, but it’s been a long time since you felt that way.

This memory brings with it a sharp stab of pain. Since your dad passed, fear has replaced any joy your magic brought. Fear of falling victim to the same fate he did. Of others’ rejection. Of failing to live up to your father’s example.

You have little doubt that if your dad could see you now, he’d be confused by your actions.

You push others away in the name of saving them. Again, you think of Jungkook and for once you allow it. The entire way home, you wish that he’d call.

He doesn’t though and eventually, you stop hoping.

By Friday, the threads keeping your feelings at bay are nearly worn through. Intrusive thoughts push against fragile bonds, threatening the haven you’ve carefully crafted.

With more force than needed, you toss clothing into the washer. Your usual laundromat was closed, forcing you to walk five blocks to the next one. Sweaty from suddenly sweltering temperatures, your arms sore from the hamper, the situation does nothing to improve an already crappy mood.

Wiping your forehead with one arm, you slam the door and press start. The machine whirs to life, laundry tumbling in a way reminiscent of your inner turmoil. Up, you did the right thing by ending it with Jungkook. He’ll swiftly move on and find someone else. Down – but you don’t want him to find someone else. You want him to find you.

Teeth gritted, you turn and grab your hamper from the floor. Placing this on the washer, you wearily tug your cell phone from your pocket. By the time you walked home, you’d have to come back, leaving you with forty minutes to kill. You could read more of the book you just started. Or submit your resume to a couple of restaurants.

After yesterday’s disaster at Ramen-rama though, the interview process has stalled. Instead, you’ve found yourself thinking more about Creative Courage. For a brief moment, you even walked into the third bedroom to paint.

You immediately walked back out again, but merely the act was more than you’ve done in months. The thought of creation brought mostly panic, since it’d involve you being honest. Something you haven’t been with yourself in a while.

Because if you were honest, you know what you’d find. You would regret breaking up with Jungkook. Maybe even find that, deep down, you want to be selfish. You want to keep dating him, even if Jungkook gets hurt in the end.

After all, you saw what loving an Elemental did to your mom.

Putting down your phone, you scan the laundromat and find your gaze catching on the person in the next aisle.

No. No, no, no – absolutely not.

The universe – or whoever’s writing your story – must be cruel and unusual, since standing beside you is Jungkook. You’d recognize his head anywhere. Straightening from his hamper, Jungkook turns to face you and goes still.

Eyes wide, he seems stunned until someone slams shut their dryer. Both of you jump, breaking eye contact and time seems to reset. Pressing start on his machine, Jungkook grabs his gym bag and hoists it over one shoulder. He strides towards the exit, halfway there when you spring into action.

Dashing towards him, you cut him off at the dryers. Footsteps slowing, Jungkook meets your gaze with visible confusion.

“Sorry,” he says, tugging his gym bag behind him. The thick, grey strap of it cuts across his hoodie. “I was just leaving. I can come back later if you want to finish your load.”

Again, he tries to move past you, but something inside of you snaps. You aren’t sure what possesses you, but somehow, find your hand gripping his sleeve.

Startled, Jungkook stares.

Equally swift, you withdraw. “I, uh…”

Head spinning, all your words seem to fly out the window. Nothing about this was planned. You have no idea what to tell Jungkook besides I’m sorry, and even this would be woefully inadequate without explanation. Which you can’t give.

“You don’t have to leave on my account,” you say at last.

A singular brow lifts. “No? You didn’t seem to think that way on Wednesday.”

You suppress a wince, although you try your best to hide it. “I know,” you admit. “It’s just… this is your usual laundromat. I don’t want you to leave because of me. I wouldn’t even be here, expect the one near me is broken and –”

“Got it,” he interrupts, the words tight. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have to be.”

Swallowing hard, you stare down at your shoes. You know you deserve this, but it’s just so hard to see Jungkook hurting. He deserves to be happy, not wasting his energy on hating you.

“Okay,” you whisper.

Your eyes start to burn, and you squeeze them shut to prevent a reaction. You absolutely cannot cry in front of Jungkook. Not when you’re the one who started this; the very last thing you want him to feel for you is pity.

“Hey.” Something in his tone shifts, and you hear Jungkook step closer. When you open your eyes, he watches you intently. “What’s wrong?”

A tiny fissure within your chest splinters.

Anyone else could have asked those words, and you would have been able to answer. For Jungkook to do so is unthinkable. You’re the one who ruined this. The one who hurt him, who ended this and still, Jungkook is concerned about your well-being.

“I was fired on Sunday,” you say in a rush. “Before I came to see you.”

He blinks only once before his face hardens. “Before you broke up with me, you mean.”

“Yeah,” you whisper.

Running his tongue over the back of his teeth, Jungkook glances away. His expression is taut, and you feel a sharp pang of envy. It’s so easy to read Jungkook. You’ve spent so long hiding your emotions, it strikes you as luxurious how easily he feels.

A muscle in his jaw tics. “Y/N,” Jungkook says, turning back. “What are you doing?”

“What… do you mean?”

Fear spikes your heart, wondering if Jungkook has finally pieced the facts together. Maybe he saw more than you realized at the coffee shop. Maybe he finally knows what you are.

“Why are you… torturing me?” he clarifies, a slight rasp to his voice. “I don’t know what you want me to say. You were fired? That sucks, but it doesn’t make this okay. It doesn’t make us okay,” he adds, gesturing to the air between you.

“I – I know,” you stammer, nearly blurting out something you’ll regret.

Like that you’re an Elemental teetering close to the edge. One who can feel every pipe, every spin cycle within the walls of this laundromat. All of them churning, pulsing, begging for your magic to release the water inside.

“You know?” Jungkook stares at you, incredulous. “Again, Y/N – what do you want from me?”

Since you started talking, you’ve moved several steps closer. Another breath, another reach and you’d be in his arms. Glancing down, you notice how quickly Jungkook’s chest rises and falls.

He’s afraid, you realize. Jungkook’s fear isn’t the same one as yours, though. He isn’t afraid that you’ll see him, but rather that you’ll destroy him.

Realizing this, a barrier within you crumbles. “It doesn’t matter what I want,” you say, somewhat desperate.

“You keep saying that.” Determined, he steps closer and somehow, your hand entwines with his to press against his chest. “You keep saying you don’t want this, but you won’t tell me why. Won’t tell me anything, Y/N – you were fired, and this is the first time I’m hearing it.”

“I couldn’t tell you!” you blurt. “I can’t explain it, Jungkook, but I couldn’t tell you when it happened.”

His gaze sharpens. “Then, yeah, maybe you’re right. Maybe we are better off broken up.”

Releasing you, Jungkook brushes past you and heads for the exit. You stare blankly at the wall before you, your whole world caving in as your head starts to spin. Magic seeps beyond your fractured walls, flooding your veins in desperate search for an exit.

“That’s not true,” you protest, spinning around. “I’ve told you more than anyone else in my life, Jungkook. I’ve let you in in ways no one else has.”

Jungkook stiffens at the door, his entire body taut. For a single, long moment, it seems as though he might reconsider but the longer you stand there, the more you watch the fight drain from the lines of his shoulders.

“I don’t doubt that’s true,” he says, hand hovering above the doorknob. “But that’s not the same as letting me in.”

He starts to go.

Everything around you becomes white noise.

When you were ten, you passed a famous dam on one of your cross-country moves. Your mom took you to see it, swinging your hand while entering the viewing platform.

The moment you saw it, you went wholly still. Trillions of gallons of water, trapped behind concrete, constantly pushing but unable to break. It felt like your magic. Raw, untamed power contained by a solid wall. You stared for longer than any other visitor, until your mom pulled your arm and said you should leave.

The entire way to the car, your mom was silent and once you were buckled in, she twisted around to see you. “Listen to me, Y/N,” she said, her voice serious. “That dam will only work if the wall holds. If the wall breaks, do you know what happens?”

Silent, you shook your head.

“The water will flood the whole valley. Everyone in its path, all the forest – they’d be gone. The wall can’t break, or bad things happen. Do you understand me?”

Solemn, you nodded because even then, you understood. Although your magical dam was intangible, it held equal importance. You had to hold in the magic, otherwise bad things would happen. So long as the wall was in place, you were safe.

Now though, you squeeze your eyes tightly as the wall starts to crumble.

Emotions break with the force of a tidal wave, racing ahead and drowning all in its path. Memories you thought were long buried continue to rise, crushing you further. Your walls are destroyed in a matter of seconds.

You remember your dad, kissing you on the head before leaving the house. Katrina’s stricken expression when the door shut in her face. Jungkook, asking you what he’d done wrong again.

Each memory drags you under, and you shudder against the onslaught. It takes everything you have to remain standing while your restraint dissolves.

Hands grip your arms.

Surprised, your eyes fly open to find Jungkook before you. His neck muscles strain, yelling to be heard over thundering water. You try your best to focus, to rein your magic back in – only to realize with horror, it might be too late.

The laundromat around you is in chaos. Several ceiling pipes have burst, water crashing down in torrents of water. Already, waves lap at your ankles. Noise filters back in, flickering before solidifying to something substantial.

People are screaming, abandoning their hampers in an attempt to get out. The door has stuck though, unable to open under the onslaught of water. Jungkook yells again, and this time you hear him.

“Are you okay?” he bellows, close to your face.

You stare upward, stupefied. Another pipe bursts, and you think that was you, but it’s hard to be sure. Hard to understand which parts are in control and which parts are not. What particular emotion is holding the reins at any moment.

Determination replaces fear in his face, and Jungkook bends before you have time to blink. In an instant, you’re tossed over his shoulder. A yelp escapes, upside-down but he’s already wading through the aisle of washers.

Jungkook shouts at people to move, but no one is listening. After a moment, you feel him exhale and surge forward. Although you can’t see, the people seem to be moving, so Jungkook must appear confident.

Grasping the door, he pulls on it, hard. Nothing happens. Exhaling, Jungkook grips your waist tighter and mutters, “Hold on.”

You don’t have time to ask why, since he yanks harder and the entire frame shudders. Jungkook does this again and another pipe bursts, drawing your gaze. By the time you look back, the door has budged an inch and water is pouring out. With a final wrench, Jungkook yanks open the door.

People shove past him, rushing into the street with the tide of water. Spinning around, Jungkook shields you with his frame from the wet crush of bodies. His grip never wavers, feet anchored to the ground as though they’ve rocks themselves.

With each breath, your pulse slows until finally, you locate the faint threads of magic. Before, you felt too much at once. The crush was overwhelming but now, you manage to breach the surface. For the first time, you see your panic influencing the tide.

Realizing this, you reach inward and try to – turn. With great effort, you identify the source of your power and disconnect. Water in the ceiling slows to a trickle, and then, nothing.

Exhaling against your neck, Jungkook’s hand moves lower.

You can’t help but shiver. “Jungkook?” you murmur into his shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Could you… you know, set me down?”

“Oh.”

Somewhat sheepish, Jungkook lowers you to face him. He doesn’t step away, and neither do you. If this is the last time you see him, you want to be selfish and make it as long as possible.

He stares back at you, waterdrops caught between his lashes. In the background, water continues to drip from a pipe. The soft plink-plink echoes the thud of your heart.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

Jungkook’s hands remain on your waist, his touch scrambling all semblance of sanity. You aren’t sure how to answer without being honest.

Truthfully, you’re not okay.

An okay person wouldn’t break up with their boyfriend and then, six days later throw themselves in their path. An okay person wouldn’t be hiding their magic, they wouldn’t be lying to the person they love and most of all, wouldn’t continue to place that same person in danger.

Silent, you survey the aftermath of your outburst. Deep down, your magic itches in response to your panic. Seeping outward, it seeks to mold to the fear, but you manage to stop it. Something about the wall being gone makes your power less alien. No longer an unknown variable, but a constant.

“No,” you exhale. Steeling yourself, you take a step backwards. “No, Jungkook, I’m not okay. I… this is exactly why you should stay away from me. Bad things happen, and I can’t control them. I’m so sorry.”

Again, you brace yourself for his anger, but it never comes. Jungkook is unusually quiet, head cocked to one side. He sees right through you, a sensation unnerving enough that you drop your gaze.

“I should go,” you repeat, stepping around him. Reaching your washer, you hastily unload your soggy clothing. “I have to go.”

Jungkook says nothing, although you feel his gaze on the back of your head. Hefting your hamper, you slam the door shut, and turn. The water level at your ankles has dropped, no more than a centimeter remaining in the room.

Sirens wail in the distance, likely on their way to investigate. Your stomach lurches, recognizing the cost of your magic. As soon as possible, you should reach out to Seokjin. His company might be able to cover the damage if the laundromat can’t.

Nearing the exit, you look anywhere but at Jungkook’s face. “I’m sorry,” you repeat, unsure what else to say. “Really, I am.”

Again, he lets you move past. Water rushes out when you open the door, seeking the street, then the gutter. Hurrying past, you can’t shake the feeling something has changed.

Not only with you and Jungkook, but with you and your magic. Silent, you prod the place deep within from which your magic stems. You’re used to a wall, feeling closed off but now, it seems your mom was right.

Once shattered, the dam can’t be rebuilt.

A weightlessness accompanies this that you didn’t anticipate. Despite the terror of your outburst, there was a moment near the end when you stopped it. When you felt what was wrong and controlled your outburst of magic. You haven’t done that before.

The thought is followed by regret, remembering Jungkook. When you broke up, it was supposed to save him. Instead, you’ve only put him – and yourself – in greater danger. Maybe because you’ve continued to see him. Everything would be fine if you moved or kept your distance.

But then, another part of you wonders if you were wrong from the start. Maybe instead of providing distance, you should have come closer. Should have allowed Jungkook to decide whether he wanted to stay. After all, today, he experienced the worst of your powers, and he didn’t run. If anything, he moved closer.

Suddenly exhausted, you hail a cab. The driver grumbles at your wet clothes but allows you inside, and you tip him extra upon reaching your place. What you should do is find another laundromat and finish your load, but there’s an itch in your fingers you haven’t felt in some time.

Dropping your hamper at the door, you shutter yourself within the third bedroom. Not allowing yourself to second-guess, you sit down at your easel and pick up a brush.

For the first time in a long time, you allow the magic to flow. You paint.

 © kpopfanfictrash, 2023. Do not copy or repost without permission.

Author’s Note: thank you for reading so far! Continued in Part II, here.

[munsonslove]

Your smut is top tier, truly.

Would you consider writing something along the lines of a secret admirer situation - Sub reader develops a crush on Eddie after she's been buying weed from him for a while and begins secretly leaving suggestive notes in Eddie's locker detailing some of her fantasies about him until one day he finally manages to connect the dots during their latest drug deal in the woods. Maybe the reader, although had planned to eventually confess her identity, didn't expect him to figure it out at that moment and is initially pretty embarrassed until it all leads to some very sloppy/kinky sex in the middle of the woods. Degradation, spanking, little bit of daddy kink and whatever else you think might make it more saucy, please. Go nuts :)

Mystery Girl

(18+ only)

a/n: sorry i haven't posted in a bit, my life is in shambles. the good news is i think i'm over being sad and have moved on to apathy, so enjoy the filth!

summary:  A stupid mistake leads Eddie to figuring out you were the one leaving dirty love notes in his locker for months.

wordcount: 5.9k

tags/warnings: fem!sub!reader, dom!Eddie, smut, praise kink, degradation, daddy kink, fingering (f receiving), p in v penetration, dacryphilia, spanking, choking, hair pulling, light bondage (hands tied behind back), light drug use, discussions of safe words, no use of y/n

It had been too many months to count since you started leaving the love letters. While you didn’t personally attend Hawkins High anymore, you still find yourself there fairly often thanks to licenseless friends that haven’t yet graduated. They’re all in school clubs, which sometimes leads to them running late when you’ve promised to pick them up. It would be rather annoying if it didn’t grant you the opportunity to sneak into the school and leave your notes to Eddie in his locker. Eddie was your dealer- introduced through a cousin of a friend- and after many late nights of smoking together he eventually became something akin to a friend in his own right. Maybe if you didn’t have such a pathetic crush on him you’d be able to more confidently accept his companionship, but for the meantime you only see him when you’re buying drugs (or doing drugs with him).

“Got another one,” he says, sprawled out in the back of his van while sparking up a joint he rolled for the both of you. “This one was pretty raunchy.”

He passes you the joint once it’s lit, too much of a gentleman to abide by the bad luck rule of the roller being the first to take a hit. “Oh really?” you ask, holding the end up to your mouth and feigning interest. “Raunchy how?”

He told you about it, but you of course already knew how. From the very first letter you left for him, Eddie’s been bragging to you all about his secret admirer. In the beginning, it was all very innocent. You would write about how you’d seen him around, how you found him funny and cute, stuff of that nature. But after a smoke sesh accidentally resulted in over indulging, he confided in you exactly what he’d like to do to this ‘Mystery Girl’ if he ever learned her identity. He would describe sexual acts you’d never heard of before, and was very blasé about it all despite the sensitive nature. The way he explained his fantasies about you (even though he didn’t know it was you he was talking about) brought warmth to your cheeks- and between your legs. It encouraged you to go further with your letters. You started detailing how you’d imagine him late at night, how you thought about his lips on you when you had your fingers circling your clit, how you’d wish your soft fingers were his calloused ones. Eddie seemed eager to share this development with someone, and to your rotten luck that someone was you.

He continued showing you what you wrote, unaware that he was just reading you back your own dirty secrets. Before you knew it, everything had snowballed out of control. The letters were filled with your wildest perversions and the subject of them was none the wiser. The possibility of him finding out and being so uncomfortable that he no longer wished to be kind-of-friends scared the living shit out of you, but no matter how many times you swore you were done with this bad habit you found yourself crawling back to that notebook with so many pages torn out. You really did try to stop it, but the next day Eddie would excitedly pull out a folded up piece of paper and the lovestruck look on his face as he talked about someone who actually wanted him was too much reward to not go through with the risk.

“Well,” he started as he watched the orange glow from your inhale fade away as you blew out the smoke, “she started it off by saying she wants to feel my rings on her neck while I choked her from behind.”

He laughed as he said this, so you laughed along with him. The memory of putting pen to paper and writing this came to you, but you hardly felt embarrassed anymore. You had written much, much worse. The anonymity allowed you to freely express yourself, and he seemed happy enough to hear it. Still, you couldn’t help but feel a little guilty to be keeping a secret like this, especially when you weren’t even sure he would feel the same if he ever learned the truth.

“That’s a little much,” you reply, passing the joint to him. He takes it happily, but shakes his head no.

“It’s sexy as hell, is what it is.” There’s a far off, dreamy look in his eyes as he takes his own short puff. “I’m telling you, whoever this is is my dream girl. If only I could catch her in the act, I’d drag her from my locker straight to this spot without even saying anything and eat her out in the school parking lot.” As he says this, he pays down on the blanket under you both.

“You’re not any closer in this mission?” you ask, squeezing your thighs together and storing that mental image away for later. He’s been obsessed with trying to figure out who was leaving these gifts in his locker, but thankfully he’s never been too hot on your tail.

“I just can’t find a pattern,” he grumbles. “It’s too random! All I got is the notes never show up during classes, so she has to either be coming way early in the morning or leaving them after school.” It was the latter, but you weren’t going to say that. “I’m going to find out who she is though, mark my words.”

“Well, good luck with that,” you laugh, crossing your fingers in the pocket of your hoodie.

A few days pass, and the weight on your shoulders doesn’t lighten. You’ve come to the conclusion that you have to fess up. It was the right thing to do, and Eddie wasn’t the type to judge unless being judged first. So hopefully in the unfortunate circumstance that he doesn’t return your feelings your acquaintanceship would still remain intact. 

The woods behind the school were dim. The sun was just setting and dusk was falling over Hawkins. You were overdue for a re-up, and after a phone call to the Munson residence you were instructed to wait where the two of you usually do deals. You already weren’t overly fond of Eddie’s unsettling choice of a meeting spot, and now that the sun was starting to set earlier in the day that chill in your spine was especially present. The one thing distracting you from your paranoia was the fact that he’d surely bring up the note you’d left for him yesterday, and you were dreading having to play pretend again. You were going to come clean- you promised yourself- but today was not the day. Deep in your thoughts about how and when you were eventually going to do it, you nearly jump out of your skin when a twig snaps behind you.

“Just me,” Eddie calls out from the opening in the trees, “don’t get your panties in a twist.”

“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” you respond with a shaky laugh as he saunters toward you with total ease, completely unaffected by the eerie creepiness of the darkening forest.

“I cannot tell a lie,” he says back once he’s within arms reach of you. He looks you up and down with an unfamiliar expression, but your growing anxiety forces you to hold back the questions that you’re tempted to ask him.

“Here,” you say, holding up a ten and a five. He takes it from you wordlessly and tucks it into his back pocket before slipping his hand into his leather jacket and fishing out a small ziplock baggie. You catch it midair when he tosses it to you, and the prickling sensation of his eyes never leaving your face has you itching to lessen the tension.

“Why do we have to meet here?” you ask, hoping that making light conversation will break Eddie from whatever weird mood he’s in. “You know I hate it.”

He finally takes his eyes off of you so that he can roll them, his teeth glinting in the small amount of light when he smiles wide. “I’ve told you time and time again, no one comes out here. We’re safe, we’re alone.”

His emphasis on the word ‘alone’ strikes you as rather strange, but you elect to ignore it.

“Besides,” he continues with a nonchalant shrug, “it’s not like you ever showed me where you live.”

“Oh,” you murmur, taken aback. You could have sworn you’ve seen him driving past your house before, and you could have sworn he waved back when you did. Maybe he didn’t realize it was you? Maybe he only waved to be polite? “Well, uh… I can tell you now, I guess? Unless you want me to, like, write it down somewhere. Do you have a pen or something?”

Eddie reaches back into his jacket pocket and pulls out a black sharpie before shrugging off the leather and denim vest combo to lay it on the picnic table. “Ink me up,” he says, handing the marker to you and presenting his forearm.

Uncapping the marker, you take his arm in your hands. Your fingers brush his bat tattoos as you angle his arm toward you, and you have to fight to keep your face neutral as you write out your address. Your skin tingles yet again with the feeling of Eddie’s gaze on you as you drag the felt tip over his skin, and you don’t even realize you were holding your breath until you recap the marker and give it back to him. He takes it without breaking eye contact and tossing it next to his discarded jacket. Finally, he looks away to read his arm, and his face breaks out into a toothy grin. He barks out a short laugh, throwing his head back with glee as you watch him with a curious expression.

“What is it?” you ask. You can’t find any reason he would find where you live to be funny, so his uncalled for reaction was very puzzling.

He lowers his head to look at you once more, his smile never faltering. “Your handwriting,” is all he offers as an explanation, and with a start you realize your mistake.

Your eyes go wide as you drop the plastic baggie and it lands at your feet. Your stomach flips, your hands shake, you don’t know what to do. “Uh, i-it’s not… I don’t- um,” you stutter out, desperately searching for some kind of excuse or alibi. From the way you’re scrambling, the truth is crystal clear.

“You left me a note yesterday,” he says, cutting you off and placing his hands on your shoulder to help calm your panicking. “You wrote something that reminded me of the other day, when we were smoking in the back of my van. Do you remember?” You simply shake your head in response, your tongue feels too heavy in your mouth to form words. “I said that thing about wanting to find out who ‘Mystery Girl’ is and eat her out in the parking lot.”

The memory floods back to you, his voice reverberating in your mind. ‘If only I could catch her in the act, I’d drag her from my locker straight to this spot without even saying anything and eat her out in the school parking lot.’ Now that he’s mentioned it, you can’t believe what a foolish blunder you’ve made. His description weaseled its way into your subconscious, and without thinking through your actions you had accidentally echoed his fantasy back to him in your most recent letter. That, combined with the proof of your handwriting, was too much evidence to talk your way out of this situation. The only thing left to do was hope that he felt the same.

“You’re not upset?” you ask, something foreign swirling in your stomach and rising to your chest.

“… Upset?” he scoffs, like the mere suggestion was absurd. “I hoped it was you from the very first note.”

That leaves you speechless. All those long nights of tossing and turning over whether or not he’d ever look at you the way you looked at him suddenly feel silly. You’re so taken aback that you forget to respond, and you stand there unmoving with his hands on you. Time moves slowly as you watch him bridge the gap between the both of you.

His lips meet yours hungrily. You can tell from the determination behind the kiss that he’s done holding back, which works out greatly in your favor considering that you are too. Fingernails scratch your scalp as he tangles his fingers into your hair and tugs, eliciting a high pitched gasp from you. With your mouth now opened, he wastes no time and licks his way in. He tastes sweet, like he had a cola before coming here, but also like he had a smoke or two. It doesn’t bother you, in fact it only turns you on more. Your hands grasp at his shirt, and the fabric is softer than you figured it would be. It’s slightly worn out and obviously well loved, and the thought of you wearing it around his trailer after spending the night in his bed has you almost purring. Without warning, Eddie snakes his arm around your waist and manhandles you to be sitting on the edge of the table. He’s standing over you, staring you down with a wild look in his eyes.

“You’ve been a very bad girl,” he growls as he strokes your cheekbone with his thumb. His other hand rests on the front of your throat, applying light pressure. His grip tightens when you swallow, and his thumb on your cheek moves down to swipe across your lips, threatening to enter. “Acting like a naughty fucking slut. Driving me crazy with your filthy little love letters. I think it’s about time we act out a few of them, don’t you?”

“H- here?” you ask. Warmth trickles throughout your body at the insinuation, and though you know you should be opposed, the suggestion of him taking you right here in the woods sounds like heaven.

His eyes soften briefly, and his hold on your throat loosens. “I promise we’re alone, don’t worry. But we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“I want to,” you quickly proclaim as you wrap both of your hands around the wrist by your neck and keep him there firmly, making sure he doesn’t let go. “I want this, Eddie. I want you.”

He smiles sweetly and tightens his grip on your neck once more. “I want you too, sweetheart,” he whispers before wetting his lips and speaking up, “Okay. If I do something you don’t like, say ‘red light’. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” you confirm, nodding your head as best as you can with his hand in the way.

“I won’t stop unless you say ‘red light’, that’s very important. Not even if you say ‘no’, or ‘stop’, or if you start crying. You get what I’m telling you?” His expression is deadly serious, but his tone is slightly patronizing. For some reason, the manner in which he’s talking like he knows more than you is extremely arousing, and you want nothing more than to give in to him and let him take control. 

He won’t continue until he knows you’re well versed with the arrangement, so you force down any nervousness in your voice as you respond. “Yes, Eddie. I understand what you’re telling me,” you say, eagerness thinly veiled. You sound desperate, even to yourself, but you can’t find it in you to care.

He lets go of you, causing your hands to slip off of his arm, and he pushes you harshly so that your back meets the wood. Your feet leave the ground as he raises your legs and scoots you back on the table until you’re fully laying on it lengthwise. Both of your wrists are pinned above your head before you even realize what’s happening, and he’s climbing on top of you and crashing his lips to yours yet again. You’re completely trapped, unable to move or even squirm with his full weight weighing you down, but you love it. Your head feels dizzy, as if you had already smoked the contents of the baggie that lays forgotten on the forest floor. Teeth sink into your bottom lip- not hard enough to draw blood, but surely enough to leave an indent. The subtle sting has you moaning into him, and he smiles against you.

“You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me this year,” he says as he props himself up on his elbows. His hair and necklace dangle down, swaying in the wind close to your face. “All the times I’ve fucked my fist to what you wrote me. We have a lot to make up for, but I think you need to be taught a little lesson first.”

Your eyebrows furrowed together. “I do?” you ask, wondering what he had in mind. There was a world of possibilities, many of which you’d outlined in your letters.

“I’d say so,” he says as he hooks his hand behind your neck and pulls you up. “So you’re going to do exactly as I say, okay sweetheart?” 

You nod dumbly, already in a headspace that’ll have you agreeing to anything he requested.

He smirks, face full of smug authority. “Good girl.”

Those words of praise fill you with pride. He takes your hips and stands you up before maneuvering you around him and jumping onto the table himself. “Come here,” he says, motioning to his legs, “lay across my lap.”

Immediately, his intention is clear. You had written to him about wanting to feel the sharp sting of him spanking you on the soft flesh of your ass as you were bent over his knee. You quickly crawl over him and rest your stomach on top of his thighs, and the light touch of his fingertips ghosts over your lower back. The sensation makes you noticeably shiver, and you swear you feel him shake with silent amusement. Your knees hit the table- they would surely not survive this exchange without getting scraped up, but the uncomfortable rubbing of wood against your skin feels uncharacteristically pleasant.

“Rings on or off?” he asks. It’ll hurt more with the metal adorning his fingers, but you want it to hurt.

 “On.”

His palm flattens against your backside, rubbing at it up and down in deceivingly comforting motions, before briefly breaking contact and smacking down hard right in the center of your left butt cheek. A loud moan involuntarily comes from deep within you. The blow wasn’t too painful considering the thick fabric of your sweatpants were able to cushion it, but you craved skin on skin impact.

“Eddie, oh my god,” you whine out, arching your back. Eddie’s other hand moves back to the front of your neck and holds it just loose enough that you can still breathe.

“Now, now. That’s not what you called me in your letters,” he says, punctuating the end of his sentence with another slap to your rear, this time on the opposite cheek.

You know exactly what he’s hinting at. “Daddy,” you correct yourself, “Daddy, please!”

“Atta girl,” he whispers, soothing the area he just struck with a rub. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your sweats and tugs them down to your thighs, and after you lift your hips he pulls off your sneakers then removes your pants the rest of the way. With them gone, the cold air of the evening has goosebumps littering the skin of your legs. “Skimpy panties,” he says, louder this time. “You wear these for me?”

“All my underwear is like this,” you tell him with a shy shrug. They were cotton, dark gray- almost black- and offered barely more coverage than a thong would.

“Oh?” he hums. “So you really are a whore, huh?”

He snaps the elastic without warning and you yelp in surprise. Then, he strikes down again, and his palm slapping your bare skin makes you instinctively attempt to muffle your moans in your elbow. His hold on your throat disappears when he harshly grabs your hand and pins it behind your back, then takes the other and does the same. You feel shuffling, and suddenly there’s fabric being looped around your wrists. When you look behind you, the bandana from his back pocket is tying your hands together.

“I don’t think so,” he says as he finishes tightening the knot, “I wanna hear all the pretty little noises you make for me. We can be as loud as we want, baby. No one’s gonna hear us. You trust me, right?”

“Yes daddy,” you answer. “I trust you.”

“Good girl.”

His hand returned to your throat and squeezed. The sounds of cursing and moaning fill the air as he brutally spanks you over and over and over. The rings you told him to keep on feel like electricity zaps every time they meet your ass, and each time he raises his arm your muscles tense up with anticipation. One tear streaks down your cheek, then two, and they tickle as they fall but you’re unable to wipe them away due to your restraints. They pass your jaw and wet Eddie’s hand, and it’s only then that he stops his attacks.

“Are you crying?” he asks, though there’s no remorse in his tone. “You remember what I told you to say if it got to be too much?” You nod your head, but don’t verbally answer. “Tell me now, as a test. This is the only time it won’t count.”

“Y- you told me to say ‘red light’,” you say with a shaky voice. There was pain present, for sure, but the pleasure was overwhelming.

“Good girl,” he replies while massaging the soreness away from your ass. “And don’t be afraid of disappointing me. I want you to use that if you’re even a little bit unsure. Promise me.”

He’s not asking, he’s demanding. “Yes daddy,” you say, “I promise.”

The crotch of your panties are pushed to the side as he dips the tip of his finger into your folds, then runs it up and down along your slit. A deep guttural groan escapes you and your forehead hits the table with a light thud. He must have let go of your throat at some point when you were distracted by his thumb brushing against your clit, and his newly free hand makes a fist in your hair. He tugs at it- mostly gentle, but the bite is still there. His thumb continues to circle your clit as one of his fingers prods at your seeping hole, pushing up against the outside without entering.

“Please, daddy, I need it,” you beg, trying to force him inside by backing into it as much as you can. “Please fuck me with your fingers, need it so bad.”

“Listen to you. You sound like such a dirty fucking slut,” he laughs, still teasing your entrance. “But that’s what you are right? Say it.”

“I’m a slut,” you say. “I’m a dirty fucking slut, okay?”

He hums his approval as his grip on your hair tightens, pulling it even more. “And whose slut are you?”

“Yours!” you exclaim. “I’m your slut, daddy. I belong to you.”

“That’s right.”

His finger plunges into you, deep and fast, and his thumb keeps its relentless pace as what feels like his middle finger pumps in and out. He reaches a spot in you that you’ve never explored before, and with his finger crooked he hits it so perfectly with every thrust. Something in your belly starts to tighten, and it’s getting dangerously close to snapping.

“I’m gonna cum, daddy!” you cry out, tears still falling down your cheeks. Eddie suddenly releases your hair and pulls his finger out of you, laughing at your whines of protest.

“Calm down,” he says as you start kicking your legs out, “I’m gonna let you cum, I just think you’ll like cumming on daddy’s cock even more.”

He slides his hand under your sweater, takes a hold of the back strap of your bra, and uses it as leverage to hoist you up onto your knees. Then, he wraps his arms around your waist and moves you onto his lap. Hardness pokes your center and the thin cotton of your panties do little to protect you from the harsh denim of his jeans rubbing against you. Now sitting astride on top of him, you can finally kiss him again. He happily obliges, and you feel his smile against your pouted lips when your arms start to struggle. You wanted to run your hands through his hair so bad that you completely forgot about the bandana binding your wrists together. Eddie deepens the kiss, his tongue parting your lips as he holds you so tight you’re half-worried your sides will be bruised. When he pulls away, a string of saliva follows and hits your chin when it breaks. Loose threads of your sweater tickle your nose as it gets lifted over your head and falls behind your back, still connected by your arms. The cups of your bra are pushed up to reveal your breasts, and Eddie’s mouth is on them in an instant. Small whimpers go ignored as he nips at the sensitive skin there and licks over your erect nipples.

After showing love to your bare chest for a couple minutes, he raises you off of him. He’s careful to cradle your head as he gently lays you down on the picnic table again, this time horizontally so that your feet rest on the connected seat. Your weight is crushing your hands that are still tied behind you, so you have no choice but to arch your back. Once you’re situated, he stands back and practically trips over his own feet as he rips his shirt from his body and kicks his shoes off. When they’re out of the way, he pulls off his jeans. Your neck strains to look at him, and the hilarity of him standing there, nude except for socks and boxers, with a very obvious boner in the openness of the woods behind the high school almost made you burst out laughing. The laugh dies in your throat when his thumbs dip into the waistband of his underwear and push them down. His cock springs up to his naval, slightly curving and leaking from the tip. The sight of what you’ve been dreaming of for all these months had your mouth watering and your cunt clenching around nothing.

Eddie shakes the boxers from his ankles and stares at you lustfully as he takes the sides of your panties. You raise your hips to help, and he must be growing restless as well because he yanks them down your thighs and off your legs in a matter of milliseconds. When your feet meet the wood of the seat again, he’s already lifting one of his legs onto it, so your heel touches his. He places both his hands on your knees and spreads them apart as wide as they’ll go. The air feels cold on your soaked center, and there’s definitely some of your arousal that’s dripping onto the table beneath you. It occurs to you that he’ll remember fucking you here everytime he does a deal with someone else, and that thought fills you with pride.

He closes the space between you two and his shaft presses along your slit- evoking a choked groan from the both of you- and his hands begin kneading at your naked breasts. Your clit is still sensitive from the edging you endured just minutes earlier, and the pressure sends shocks throughout your body. You desperately start gyrating your hips, hoping to alleviate at least some of the want inside of you. Eddie gets the message and starts grinding as well, and from his advantage point he’s able to do so with much more force. The head of his dick rubs your clit up and down with each thrust, and it becomes too much to bear.

“Please fuck me already,” you beg. “Need it, need it so bad.”

“Such a fucking whore, begging for my dick,” he says through clenched teeth, still rocking against you roughly. “You want me that bad, sweetheart? You’re that needy?”

You close your eyes and nod yes frantically, so hard that the back of your head bangs the table. The grinding stops, and you cry out in exasperation. When you look back up, Eddie is leaning over and combing through the pockets of his jacket that laid beside you. A noise of triumph tells you that he’s found what he was searching for, and he pulls out a little foil packet that was buried in the leather. He bites down on the jagged edge and tears it open with his teeth before turning his head and spitting out the trash. Once the condom is free and the rest of the packaging is also littered on the ground, he backs away slightly to roll it down his shaft. The rubber tip is placed on his head and you watch on mesmerized as he wraps his fist around his cock and strokes down until the latex is fully in place. Then, finally, he closes the distance again and teases your hole for only a moment before slowly sliding into you. Moans escape from you both. Having him inside after all this time had you cursing yourself for playing games for so long.

“You okay?” he asks, breathy and low. You can tell he wants to let go, but he’s holding back to ensure you’re ready.

“Yes,” you respond in a similar voice. “Please fuck me, daddy. Waited so long.”

“I know, baby, I know,” he says as he leans down and kisses you softly on the lips, then again on your cheek and lastly on your neck. “Me too.”

He starts moving then, still slow, determined to open you up and get you properly prepared for the oncoming onslaught. Your legs wrap around his waist and you use this hold to force him deeper, but he’s stronger than you. His pelvis kept its steady pace, and now you were crying out of impatience.

“Look so fucking pretty crying for me,” he grunts, one word for each achingly slow thrust. “So fucking desperate to be fucked like a whore. Be used like a slut. Is that what you want? For me to use you for what I need?”

“Yes!” you scream, “Yes, please. Please daddy, fuck me harder. Use me like a slut.”

“Okay, pretty girl, you asked for it,” he warns.

His rhythm picks up, and now he’s slamming into you with abandon. The sounds uncontrollably coming out of you are lewd and disgusting, but you don’t feel any shame anymore. All you care about is the feeling of him so deep inside, hitting that perfect spot over and over like he was made for you. It’s never been this perfect the first time, and you never want to have a first time ever again. The vigorous pounding drives you toward your climax at top speed, and you cling to your resolve as much as you can. You don’t want it to be over so soon, but it’s just so, so good. You can’t imagine a world where sex is always this good, but you have a suspicion that Eddie’s going to show you that world many times over.

Your legs tighten around his waist and your nails dig into your palms as his hips snap against your pelvis hard and rough repeatedly. When one of his hands leaves your chest to rub circles on your clit, you know you won’t be able to fight off your orgasm any longer. It washes over you like a tsunami, and the experience is full-body. Eddie falls onto you and mouths at your jaw lazily. He keeping fucking you through it, but the twitching of his cock inside you and the faltering of his tempo lets you know that he’s cumming too.

“F- fuck, Eddie!” you yell with your head thrown back. “Oh god, so good. Daddy!”

“You’re so good, baby. Such a sweet little pussy. So fucking tight, feels so right.” He’s slurring his compliments, head somewhere else as he rambles aimlessly into your heated skin.

The next thirty seconds consists of you switching between crying out ‘Eddie’ and ‘daddy’ as he rocks in and out, his pace slowing with each passing second. Eventually, the overstimulation is too much for the both of you and he stops, still fully sheathed inside. He relaxes on top of you and rests there, catching his breath while you try to do the same. Everything is fuzzy, like you’re trapped in a haze, and you don’t know how best to describe it other than the world feels blurry. You’re brought back to reality when he starts kissing your neck again, mouth open, warm and wet and perfect. His teeth scrape against your throat as his lips make their way to the other side of your neck, and once he’s satisfied with the trail of spit left behind he lifts his head and weakly pulls out of you.

He stumbles back and briefly takes the time to find his bearings before helping you to sit up. Once you’re upright, he wraps his arms around you as if he were going for a hug, and kisses you as he unties the bandana around your wrists. Newly free from your restraints, you wind your hands around his shoulders and hold him close so that you can deepen the kiss. He returns the favor just as passionately. You stay like that for an excessive amount of time until a particularly strong wind reminds you both that you were still outside in the woods, and it was starting to get pretty dark. Reluctantly, he breaks the embrace with a gentle caress to your cheek then collects your pants and underwear from their place on the ground, handing them back to you.

After you both finish getting dressed, you feel Eddie’s hand on your shoulder as he brushes past you to walk a couple paces to the left. He picks up the bag of weed you dropped earlier then reaches into his back pocket and pulls something else out.

“Here,” he says, handing you the baggie as well as the fifteen dollars you had paid him.

“You’re giving me the money back?” you say, confusion and fear creeping into your gut. “I hope you’re not used to getting sex as payment for drugs, cause that’s not what’s happening here.”

“Of course not,” he scoffs as he steps closer and stuffs the weed and dollar bills in the pockets of your sweats, “But being my girl comes with free merchandise privileges. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I had you paying?”

“Is that what I am?” you respond, a smile betraying your faux casual attitude. “Your girlfriend?”

“How many times have I told you that the girl leaving those letters was the girl of my dreams?” he laughs, throwing his arm around your shoulder as he begins to guide you toward the opening in the trees. “You’re mine now. That is- if you want to be?”

The worry behind that question is clear, and you squash it down instantly. “I want to be,” you answer.

“Good,” he says, pulling you into him and kissing your hairline, “Cause there’s no way in hell I’m letting you get away that easily.”

[stuckyslut8]

the wicked witch - II

Pairing : orc ari levinson x witch reader.

A/N : this is quite short but a smutty drabble, there's more coming.

Warning : 18+ smut, fluff, rough fucking, breeding kink, dirty talk , degradation , monsterfucking, overstimulation. Some typos.

Part 1

"fuck ! fuck, just like that little witch ,you're taking me so good." ari moaned praises as he took you for the fifth time since this morning and it wasn't even evening yet. "that's it cum for me sweet girl, this pussy was made just for me." he cooed as you came again, you'd lost count of how many times he'd made you cum, but you were pretty sure it was the most you had cum in your whole life.

when he was sure you were too fucked to speak , ari released his hot cum in you, making your pussy clench, "fuck gripping me so tight, little witch, don't wanna let go till you've milked my balls dry, do you?"

you gave his arms a little slap, " shut up!" you said panting, you were still out of breath but he seemed perfectly fine. "another round?" he asked cockily, as his cock got hard while still inside you, "uhm, i don't know ari-"

"tsk, tsk- thaat wasn't a question little witch" he said as he started fucking into you again, making you cry in pleasure you were too overstimulated at this point making you cum as soon as he gave a couple more thrusts, "fuck look at you, cumming for me like the good slut you are, you know that's good the more you come the more chances of you taking my seed, that's what the orcs say."

he was slowing down his thrusts again, teasing you, more like torturing for his own amusement, "fuck harder ari, just fuck me harder please." you begged him.

"really? and why should i listen to you little witch? you came to me , begging for me to fuck you, to knock you up, i can do whatever i want with you, keep you here as my orc wife forever, " he said speeding up his thrusts, much to the contradiction of his words, " and you won't say no, infact i think by the time we're done, you'll beg me to keep you here, isn't that right little witch?" he asked throwing you legs over his shoulder, hitting your g spot from a different angle now, even deeper.

"aagh! what- fuck -what're you talking about? " you say trying to sound innocent.

"oh come on , you think i haven't noticed, you doing every little thing, playing the perfect little mate, it's like you read the rulebook of being an orc's good little wife." Ari didn't give you time to reply as he made you come one final time before filling you up again. he flipped you both around with his cock still deep in you, making you lay on his chest ,letting you both catch a breath.

To say you've grown fond of your big beefy orc is an understatement, you're in way too deep , you don't know if you could ever spend a day without him now, without his kisses every time you do something for him with your magic, you've never had someone appreciate your simple tricks so much, the way his hand always lingered on you, whenever you'd go to the town market, you've never been held so pridefully, possessively held by someone who is not ashamed or afraid to be seen with you.

you began thinking about his words as he got out of the bed to clean himself up and get a cloth to clean you.

"ran out of words or out of breath from my cock little witch?" he commented as he pressed the wet cloth along your thighs.

you let out a nervous chuckle in response, " i don't know ari...were you serious about what you said?"

"what about knocking you up ? of course-"

"don't play dumb." you cut him off. " the other thing."

"right ." he said in a more serious tone, sitting down on the bed next to you, "you're talking about the part where you want me to make you my little orc wife."

you blushed a little at his words, but tried to hide it, " no i'm talking about the part where you become my little witch husband."

"huh that wouldn't be so bad little witch." Ari brushed the stray hairs out of your face, pressing a warm kiss to your lips ,which you deepened by putting your arms around his neck.

"I love you Ari." You said the words that were at the tip of your tongue for so long, waiting to be spilled. Ari gave you his sweetest smile, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

"I love you too little witch."

A/N : I'm proud to call this my masterpiece so far....should i make a prequel about prince steve and y/n 's relationship, cuz i have a feeling he's gonna make an appearance very soon.

Pls do reblog , it would mean a lot to me if we could get the orc ari fantasy around tumblr, it needs more attention, just like me ;)

[pimosworld]

Bad days

Pairing- Steven grant x f!reader, hints of Marc and Jake x f!reader.

Summary- You help Steven relax and cure his bad day.

CW-18+,MDNI,NSFW, porn with a little plot, angst, fluff, Steven being unsure at first, oral m receiving, cum eating, slight sub Steven,Dom reader, Marc and Jake being teases and helpful because it’s them.

WK-2.4k

A/N- Making Steven feel good is like candy to me so I hope you enjoy this.

Not beta read

[Moon Knight Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

You set the groceries down to knock on the door to Stevens flat. You don’t hear any movement on the other side of the door for a few brief moments. You know Steven wasn’t always punctual but he never missed an opportunity for you to cook him dinner. 

It was a little nerve wracking at first taking over his job in the gift shop. He was promoted to tour guide at the museum but Donna insisted he train his replacement. 

Marc was annoyed in the beginning. How hard could it be to work in a gift shop? He knew Steven had been waiting for so long to be a tour guide and told him in so many words to tell Donna to shove off. Until you walked in.

  For once in his life Steven didn’t bumble his way through an introduction. You loved the way he cared so deeply for the regular patrons and cataloged all the items  in the gift shop. 

  He gave you a taweret plushie on your last day of training and couldn’t contain his excitement when you wrapped your arms around him as a thank you. 

  Ask her now

  It wasn’t often Jake made an appearance, but since you’ve come into the picture he was making himself more and more known. 

  He’s right, ask her

  It was a problem for Steven when Marc and Jake were getting along. He has yet to make his condition known to you, but he’s noticed you smirking when he’s talking out loud or having a stern conversation with his reflection in the glass of the gift shop. 

  “I was wondering if maybe…you’d like to go to dinner with me sometime?” 

  You said yes before he could even get the words out. 

  That was a few months ago. 

  ****

  Steven noticed you at the end of the hallway as the doors to the lift opened. 

  I told you to just give her a key hermano 

  Steven didn’t want to just hand you a key like Marc or Jake would. He wanted it to be special…he already had it made, he just needed an opportunity to present it to you. He’s been so busy with his promotion he’s barely had time for you. 

  You offered to cook him dinner and he couldn’t even bother to be on time for that. 

  He looks so tired, even from where you’re standing. You can tell he’s had a rough day and you’re determined to make it better. It’s not often the boys let you spoil them, always so concerned with your needs. 

  Steven had needs too…he just needed a gentle reminder. 

  ****

  “I’m sorry I’m so late, Love.” He pecks your lips as he drops some scrolls to the ground to fish out his keys. 

  “It’s okay Steven, I haven't been waiting long.” You bend over to pick up the groceries as he drops his keys. 

  “Oh bollocks, can’t even open my own door.” You try to grab his shoulder as he picks them up from the floor. He mutters something under his breath about being clumsy and your certain Marc or Jake aren’t helping. 

  “Steven, honey.” You wrap your arms around him as you slowly grab the keys. “Let me help you.” 

  Steven wants to protest but your hands are like magic covering his. He has to pinch himself everyday to remind himself he’s not dreaming, when it comes to you. Marc and Jake may give him a hard time but he never lets them forget that you were interested in him first. 

  He sighs into your touch as you slowly open the door. “You’re too good to me, you know that.” He scoops the groceries in one arm and the scrolls in the other. 

  “There’s no such thing as too good.” Your lips curve into a smile before you lean in and kiss him and he nearly drops everything in his arms. 

  “Why don’t you set that stuff down and get comfortable.” 

  He goes to protest but you place your finger on his lips. “Go wash off this awful day, change into something comfortable and relax.” You kiss him again a little deeper and longer, you can feel him sigh into it as you start to pull away. “I’m not taking no for an answer.” 

  I would do what she says if I were you. 

  He pinches himself before he heads off to the bathroom.

  ****

  Steven notes the delicious smell wafting through the flat as he pulls on his favorite jumper and sweatpants. Although he knows whenever he comments on how good it smells you always tell him it’s just garlic and onions. 

  You’re a picture of domestic perfection as you finish putting something in the oven. You wipe your hands on the small towel as you look up and smile at him. 

  His feet are rooted to the spot in the living room as you make your way towards him,you look like you want to devour more than just the food. The urge to look over his shoulder and make sure he’s the one you’re looking at is strong. 

  Your soft hand gently grabs his wrist as you pull him toward the couch. Perhaps Marc or Jake took control of his legs because he certainly doesn’t remember how he swiftly ended up seated with you on your knees in front of him. 

  The words are leaving your mouth but he can’t hear anything over the buzzing in his ears as you rub your hands up and down his legs. 

  “What did you say love?” You smirk and lean up, pulling his face to yours as your soft lips meet his. He could stay like this, just kissing you as he melts into the couch. The stress of the day pouring off him like the rain outside. 

  “I said…did you have a bad day?” You trail kisses along his jaw and nip at his earlobe as you wait for his answer. 

  “Yes.” It comes out as a confession, like he’s ashamed to admit that he has bad days doing his dream job.

  Your warm hands roam under his sweater along his chest and trail down as you hook your fingers in his waistband. His breathing is coming in too fast and he tries to calm himself down as your body brushes against the obvious tent in his sweats.

  “Do you want me to make it better?” It’s a whisper in his ear that he hears loud and clear as your hands wait for permission.

  Say yes Steven

Say yes Steven

  It must’ve been too long, because his head mates urge him to answer you before you change your mind. As if you ever would. 

  “Yes…please.” You chuckle at his rushed out response as if you can read his mind and know exactly what they’re saying. 

  It drives him a little bit wild that you’re giving him this attention. He was always a little more reserved than Marc and not as bold as Jake. He’s never been treated like this. The sole purpose of someone’s desires. 

  You tug a little on his pants and bite your lip. He lifts his hips to help you as you pull them down just enough to pool at his feet. He’s achingly hard as your hand reaches out to pump him a few times. 

  He bites down on his tongue to keep from coming at the first touch of you. It’s only been a few days and he’s already so desperate for anything you’ll give him. 

  The genuine look of enjoyment on your face as you stare at it like it’s an appetizer to a four course meal is something he’ll have to frame in his mind. 

  The feel of your hand is quickly replaced with your mouth as you slide down the length of him, your plush lips wrapped around his cock as you hum in approval. Finally provided the relief you both wanted. 

  He chokes back a moan as your tongue slides back up, slowly twirling around the tip. A drop of precum trails down the side and you tilt your head licking it up like an ice cream cone. Not wanting to waste a drop. 

  Fuck

  Your hands are on his legs again as you rub them in time with your head as you bob up and down, moaning around his cock sending chills up his spine. 

  You loved watching Steven let go. It was exhilarating that you could make someone come undone. The  dark look in his eyes is almost similar to Marc’s but you know by the noises coming from him and the way his hands grip the couch it’s your sweet Steven. 

  Put your hand on the back of her head

  “What?” He rasps out above you. 

  You come off with a pop and take in his unruly curls as the sweat forms on his furrowed brow. 

  “I didn’t say anything honey.” He stares blankly at you for a moment before he realizes he must’ve spoke out loud. 

  Idiota

  “Sorry love, you can keep going…if you want to—

  His rambling is cut short as you take him into your mouth again, not wasting a moment as your lips slide all the way down his cock. Your nose brushes the curls at the base and you gag a little. 

  “Sorry love…” Steven begins to apologize but you don’t seem to be stopping. 

  Listen to me and don’t say anything 

  Perhaps he should just listen to Marc, he’s never…well maybe not never, but he’s rarely led him astray. 

  Put your hand on the back of her head and Gently…go with her movements. 

  You glance up at Steven who nods his head as he places his hand on the back of yours. He’s looking at you with those puppy dog eyes like he’s asking for permission to do what you’ve been wanting this whole time. Enjoy it. 

  You hollow out your cheeks and pull him in deeper as he audibly moans a little louder. His nails scratch lightly at your scalp as he pushes you down a little further. His bold movements turn you on even more than you were before. You breathe through your nose and push past the burning in your lungs to stay on the edge of his pleasure for a little longer. 

  “You’re perfect, you know that?” He mostly says it to himself as you whine your response because you can't really answer at the moment. Not verbally at least. 

  You know you probably look a mess as your mascara runs down your cheeks and the drool pools outside your mouth as he takes what he wants. Except he’s looking at you like you hung the moon as his free hand swipes a stray tear from the corner of your eye. 

  It feels like he’s in the duwat again the way he’s floating between this reality and the next. He struggles to keep his eyes on you as he throws his head back against the couch finally relinquishing all control he had over his emotions. 

  The sounds of your mouth and the muttering of praises are all he can focus on as the familiar feeling starts to creep up his back and infiltrate his brain. 

  You can feel his legs tense beneath your hands as the grip in your hair tightens instinctually. 

  “I’m…im close love, you don’t have to.” 

  Cállate y déjale

  “It’s okay Steven, you can let go.” You half pant out as you resume before he can protest. 

  You place your hand on top of his and urge him on as he curses under his breath. His hips stutter slightly as he feels himself let go, spilling hot ropes of come into your mouth. You don’t let up as you swallow every drop until he’s boneless beneath you. His cock twitches slightly as you come off, slowly catching your breath. His hand drops to the couch with a thud as you raise up next to him and brush his curls out of his face. 

  The redness on his neck dissipates with every breath that he takes in. He may have been close to passing out if you hadn’t stopped soon. 

  “That was…incredible.” He half whispers to himself and you chuckle into his neck as you place soft kisses to his sweaty skin. 

  “I’m glad I could help.” 

  The timer on the oven beeps bringing your attention back to the dinner you started when you told him to relax. 

  “Ooohh, the lasagna is done.I hope you’re hungry.” You bounce up off the couch as he stands and pulls his sweats back on. 

  He feels like he ran a marathon and food sounds delightful at the moment. 

  “You made my favorite?” It’s said as more of a question than a statement as he watches you move around his kitchen like you’ve been here all your life. 

  “I made two actually.” You cut into one and place a serving on each of your plates. “Vegan and meat sauce. I’ll mark them for you so you know which is which.” 

  I love her 

Ella es perfecta

  You lick the sauce off your finger and he’s brought back to what you just did for him on the couch. 

  “I have something for you love.” Steven heads to the room briefly and digs through his jacket pocket before he finds it. 

  He sheepishly returns to the kitchen island where you’re digging into your smaller portion of lasagna. He’s trying  to rid his head of these thoughts for a second as you make the same noises from before as you savor your food. 

  His hand shakily slides the key towards you and you set your fork down to pick it up. The beautiful brass key looks so big in your delicate hands. 

  “Is this my prize?” You ask with a mischievous glint in your eye. 

  Smooth

  “Oh no…I’ve been meaning to give it to you for a while. I didn’t plan it this way…it was supposed to be special and well…”

  “Shhh. Steven, relax, I'm just joking.” He eases a little at your words, knowing you’re just teasing him. You and Jake had that down better than he or Marc ever could. “I love it honey, thank you for trusting me with this.” 

  You lean in and place a kiss to his cheek, shorter than he would care for. He never wants you to stop touching him if he could help it. 

  “Eat up, before it gets cold.” 

  Before I take the body and eat my own

No me parece 

  He eats while they bicker, not wanting to waste another precious moment with you. 

  ****

  Your phone buzzes in your pocket as you stare out the window of the bus on the way home from work. 

  Steven: where are you love?

      On the bus I just left work, how was your day?

  Steven: It was quite dreadful 

           I’ll be home soon to make it better 

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

Tagging a few who might be interested

@missdictatorme @chichimisaki @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @melodygatesauthor @simpforbritgents

[getitoutofmymindwrites]

Something impulsive | joel miller x f!reader x marcus pike, 7.1k

Summary: The distance between you and Joel grows. You decide to give Marcus a chance. A chance encounter shifts the balance between you and the two men.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, image just for aesthetic purposes, reader does not have a description, angst, slow-burn, insecurities, first date nervousness, flirting, sexual thoughts, kissing, Joel still being a prick, Joel still being an idiot (bear with him) dog piss (bear with me, too), as always let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: And here I was, thinking that this time I'll keep it short. Who am I kidding. Thank you for taking the time to read anything I write! Love you all!

P.S.: Credits for the final scene go to @jessthebaker and this hilarious comment that I just had to include in the chapter:

Dividers by @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

previous |

Radio silence.

That is what you would call it.

After your last encounter, you haven't seen or heard from Joel for two long weeks. No text, no phone call, nothing. Were you entering the winter phase again? Most likely.

You regretted the way you had challenged him that night. It wasn't really your style, but that's what happens when you bottle things up. Especially things like desire and longing. Eventually, they erupt like a fucking volcano after a long hibernation. Brutally. And yet you haven't got an ounce or a reaction. Something. Anything at all.

You were terrified that your friendship had been broken. You could have texted him. You should have. You felt it was all your fault anyway. You should have apologized. But you were angry. And selfish. And deep down you blamed him for your reaction, for making you feel helpless, a pawn in his hands.

But was that the case? And can you really blame anyone for your own actions? You were responsible for the way you reacted. You could have done things differently. You knew that. But you did not want to admit that to him.

Whether you were angry or not, you missed him all the same. You missed his presence, his voice, his scent. You missed the sound of his name on your tongue. The warmth of his irises and the softness in his eyes when he looked at you. And boy, did he look at you.

He may not have been a man of many words, but sometimes, just sometimes, his gaze spoke louder than any voice in the room. That's how you got into this mess in the first place.

One evening, on your day off, you hang out with Trish at your place. You needed the company, being alone with your thoughts for too long wasn't a good idea. The two of you sit on the sofa, drinking beer and eating pizza straight out of the box. You had already put your girls to bed and this was your happy hour.

"Are you dating Marcus you little weasel?"

"Where did that come from?", your eyes widen in surprise.

"Joel asked me the other day.", Trish reveals, laughing under her breath.

"WHAT?" you squeal in disbelief. Joel was not the type to ask about other people's private matters. Especially yours and especially to his cousin. "OK, please, elaborate."

"He asked me if you’re seeing him.", she continues.

"When did this happen?", you try to draw an imaginary map in your mind, gathering all the information available to you to understand what might be going through his mind.

"A few days ago, maybe?" she says nonchalantly.

"He asked that explicitly? Those were the exact words he used?", you insist like a hound dog looking for clues.

"Of course not." Trish rolls her eyes, "He danced around it for a while, but I pretended I didn't know what he was talking about -which I obviously don't- and then I made him ask directly."

"Oh god, give the poor man a break!", you exclaim, you could only imagine what a menace could she be when she wanted to.

"Well, are you?"

"No, I’m not. But if he asks again tell him I am."

"Why?", she frowns but looks amused at the same time. Oh, she's up to something.

"So he will leave me alone." Well he already kind of did, but maybe it was for the best to cut the ties once and for all.

"What do you mean? Is he bothering you?" Trish insists, curiosity sparkling in her eyes.

"No- he's- it's not- uh-" where would you even start, it's all a fucking mess, anyway. "Forget I said anything-" you try to end the conversation, but-

"I might have kind of implied that, though?" Trish wrinkles her nose, trying to minimize the damage.

"WHAT?"

"Only because he looked desperate" she rushes to explain, "and honestly you two should really fuck each other. So I thought maybe I could spice things up a bit."

A minute or two passes before you answer her. All this information bombarding your mind left a paralyzing feeling in your mouth. He looked desperate? Why the fuck? Was this the classic 'I want what I can't have'? He wasn't that type. And he could have his way with you if he wanted to. Couldn't he? Did he get the feeling that you weren't interested? What more could you have done, he was the one who went cold and hot all the time. "It's not like that." is all you say.

"The hell it isn't." Trish quips, almost offended.

"We don't want the same things Trish, and I won't make the same mistakes again." you draw the line. "What did he say?", you ask without shame, because you just have to know, even if it hurts you.

"Oh, you know, he put on his usual 'Joel grumpy face' and walked out on me. But honestly, what did you expect?" she shrugs and continues, "So, if 'it's not like that'", she air-quotes you mockingly, "why don't you give Marcus a real chance? He's a good guy and I don't often say that," Trish points her finger at you.

"I'm sure he is Trish, but I can't."

"And why is that?"

"Because it's not honest."

"To whom?"

"To him."

"And..?" she presses you.

You close your eyes, because you really don't want to say it and it feels frustrating but comforting at the same time to have a friend who knows you so well. "And to my heart.", you mumble coyly.

"Oh, baby c'mere. You really like my stupid cousin, don't you?" Trish wraps her arms around your shoulders, squeezing you into a tight hug.

"No, I do not." It's more than that. "And don't push it any further, it's not happening.", it's your turn to point the finger at her.

"Ok.", she sighs troubled. "Ok, look at me and listen carefully.", she makes a serious face, holding your hands in hers as she begins. "Joel's my cousin and he is a good man and I love him, but he has his own issues to deal with-"

"What do you mean?" You interrupt her curiously. You never thought to ask about his past before, it seemed invasive.

"It’s not my place." she cuts you off with a guarded look that seems so foreign on her face and continues, "The point is, you cannot wait for him forever."

"I'm not-" you start to deny it, but Trish grabs your face in her palms, squeezing you gently to make her point and you stop mid-sentence.

"You deserve to be happy. And you can't miss something you've never had." her eyes bore into yours, full of care and concern.

Her last words strike you like a slap on the face.

Oh, but you can. You already are.

Another two weeks have passed and you still haven't heard from Joel. He's stuck in your head like a virus, unable to think of anything else. This is the longest you've gone without talking. It's taking its toll on you, making you fidgety and jumpy, irritated by the simplest things. You've reached your breaking point and you're ready to call him, just to see if he's OK.

And, if you're honest with yourself, to give him a chance to make a move. He might think you don't want him to reach out. That thought makes you even more angry, you sound so pathetic in your head, begging for a man's attention. A man who has never made his intentions clear. You should stand up for yourself, hold your own.

You're at the office, shuffling through your bag, looking for your phone, still debating whether to call him. As you reach deep into your bag, searching through the million things you stuff in there, you feel a hard, papery thing on your fingertips. You fish it out and see that it's Marcus' card. You don't even remember putting that thing in there. But you remember him giving it to you.

He was such a gentleman and so thoughtful that night. He didn't ask for your number and he didn't press to put his on your phone. He gave you his card, clearly stating that he hoped you would get in touch with him.

"..why don't you give Marcus a real chance?.."

You take a deep breath and unlock your phone.

"..You cannot wait for him forever.."

This is it.

"..You deserve to be happy.."

You're going to call him. Right now? Yes, right now.

He picks up after the third ring.

"Agent Pike.", his voice deep and smooth, runs like honey in your ears. You remember how much you liked the sound of it.

You’re taken aback for a moment, you'd almost forgotten what he did for a living. It was strange but interesting to hear him like that, it stirred something in you. "Uh- um-" you lose your train of thought for a second, "hi- I don't know if you rememb-"

Marcus says your name instantly, the surprise evident in his tone. "I was beginning to think you'd either lost my card or I'd made a terrible, terrible first impression on you," he says with a soft laugh, vulnerability coloring his voice.

"No, no, god- no, nothing like that.. It was really nice to meet you!" you reassure him, because it really was.

"Yeah, you too.." Marcus replies and you can hear the smile in his voice. He doesn't say anything else, giving you time to collect yourself.

"I just-" you squeeze your eyes shut, trying not to freak out, pinching the bridge of your nose with your fingers, you hadn't planned this, "I've been really busy, with work and the kids, I haven't had a chance to..." the words catch in your throat as you think of the real reason you've been busy.

Obsessing over unavailable men.

But you don't want to lie to Marcus, he's been so kind and open, so you pause, looking for a way out of the hole you've dug yourself into.

"Hey, it's OK," Marcus takes the lead, sensing your discomfort, "you didn't have to call, but I'm really glad you did. I thought about getting your details from Trish in case you lost my number, but then I didn't want to force you into anything in case you didn't lose my number, you know?" he laughs timidly.

"Yeah, I know; that is so thoughtful of you. I'm- I'm glad I called." It feels strange to admit something like that, something so small, to be honest, to be so open and talk about positive things, to make someone feel good with your words on a personal level. You've spent the last few years just doing it for your daughters, loving them, hyping them up, rooting for them, but it's a change that you welcome and you discover that you really, really missed it.

There's a short silence on the other end, which makes you feel anxious, so you decide not to bother him any more. "I'm sorry I called during office hours, I-"

"No, no, no, don't even think about it, there are no office hours at my line of work anyway, so.." Marcus rushes to put you at ease. "I was just wondering if I should ask you out or if I'm jumping the gun," he blurts out and you can feel his hesitation through the phone.

"Well," you try to lighten the mood, "you're the one asking questions for a living, so why don't you earn your keep?" you bite your lower lip in anticipation and then snicker to yourself. You hear Marcus laughing, amused and impressed by your little stunt, and you have a deep desire to hear it again, knowing that it's your doing.

Marcus is not one to shy away from a challenge, so he delivers quite brilliantly. "It would give me great pleasure if you would go out with me," he says your name softly at the end, "I know it can be tricky with the girls and work and all that, but I'm sure we could work something out; my office hours are very flexible," he informs you, cleverly covering all your possible obstacles.

"I thought you didn't have office hours..." you return playfully, feeling lighter already, the thought of Joel still lingering, but the pain of it fading in your heart.

"For you I do." Marcus deadpans with an amazing ability to not make it sound cheesy. And you know exactly what kind of ability it is.

The one of honesty.

Your heart is in your mouth. You're sure of it. You can taste your heartbeat on the tip of your tongue. As much as you've tried to play it down, you're nervous, your stomach is in knots. You spend most of the evening whining to Trish on the phone, freaking out about what to wear and ending up with a "What does it matter anyway? It's one date and that's it, he's not sticking around. Yeah, he's not. I'm good, I'm fine, this is fine." you shrug as you look at yourself in your bedroom mirror.

Trish's voice brings you back to reality, "None of that, everything's going to be fine, you're going to have a good time and you're going to keep having a good time." You looked sideways at the phone as if Trish could see you through it, glancing at the time. "Ok Trish, thanks for the pep talk, but I have to go or I'll be late."

"Sure thing babe, have a great night-"

"Thanks Trish-" you speak over her voice sure she's done with the pleasantries, but-

"-and don't forget to fuck 'im."

The line goes dead before you can reply.

Jesus Christ.

"You got this. You got this. You got this," you chant to yourself, pacing the living room, checking the time on your phone every thirty seconds. "Yeah," you exhale with nervous conviction, "you got this." The doorbell rings and your stomach clenches. Conviction my ass, "No, you don't." you mutter before rushing to answer the door.

Your heels click on the wooden floor and you pin the hem of your dress down once more, just to be sure. It wasn't terribly short, but still, you haven't dressed for a date in God knows how long.

You open the door and your breath catches in your throat. But you could say the same about Marcus. You look at one another for a moment, both admiring each other. He looks sharp, clean-shaven, with a prominent jawline that makes you want to suck on it from side to side.

His hair is combed back and slightly to the side. He looks so handsome and then he smiles at you. A real smile, big and toothy and bright and beautiful. His eyes crinkle and his plush lips stretch with the force of it. His suit is elegant and clean, neatly pressed, and the two top buttons of his shirt are undone, showing a hint of his tanned chest, making it more casual.

"Hey.." Marcus speaks first, pulling himself out of his haze. His eyes drink you in, unable to land on one spot, admiring your simple but elegant black dress that stops mid-thigh, the softness of your exposed skin, the curves of your body and the features of your face.

"Hi..." you say back shyly, noticing his admiration.

"I- Christ-", he stutters almost confused.

"What's wrong?" you fidget with the fabric of your dress, your nerves getting the better of you once again.

"I almost forgot how beautiful you are-" Marcus admits, his eyebrows raised, a hint of pink spreading across his cheeks. "-you look amazing," he compliments, raising his arm and pointing his open palm in your direction.

You pray that you can fast-forward to the actual date and stay right here on the threshold of your house at the same time. "Oh, thank you -" you reply quietly, with a shy smile on your lips.

"These-" Marcus raises his other hand, suddenly remembering what he's holding, "these are for you," he hands you a beautiful bunch of flowers, obviously made specifically for you by a florist, wrapped in a beautiful ribbon. What is it about this man that turns the most clichéd things into thoughtful actions?

"These are so beautiful, thank you, let me-" you point towards the house so you can put them in a vase, signaling him to come in with your head.

"Hope it's not too much..", Marcus wonders as he enters the hall of the house.

"It's perfect," you smile warmly as you return from the kitchen with the filled vase and place it on the entryway furniture, admiring the arrangement. You place the palm of your hand on his bicep, reassuring him as you turn to leave.

His eyes shine with appreciation as he takes your palm in his warm hand, planting a soft kiss on the pulse point of your wrist. His scent fills your nostrils, sweet and masculine, and you can almost smell his shampoo as he leans forward. Your lips part and your eyes widen at the intimate contact, but instead of feeling pressured, all you want is for him to do it again on any part of your skin he likes. His plush lips are warm and soft, leaving the slightest trace of moisture as they part your skin, sending a wave of shivers through your body.

You stifle a gasp but you can't hide the dilation of your irises and he can't hide the hunger behind his. He cups your cheek in his hand, stroking your cheekbone with his thumb. "Ready?" he asks in a hushed tone.

"As I'll ever be."

The drive is bathed in bits of small talk and comfortable silence, appreciating each other's presence without having to fill the quiet of the cabin every second. Marcus' gaze is split between the road ahead and you at his side. He drives with one hand, his right resting comfortably on the gearbox.

God, you're such a cliché, noticing the way his broad palm rests there, the veins bulging between his fingers and on his hand and it makes you squirm in your seat. Your date hasn't even started yet and you're already feeling uncomfortable in your underwear. Are you that needy? Or is it him? Is he doing this to you?

Joel.

No, stop. Don’t think about him. Not right now. Stop.

Joel.

No.

Joel.

NO.

You don't realize you're holding your breath until Marcus is asking if you're all right.

"What?" you snap out of your haze, jerking your head to look at him. He looks worried, his forehead forming a deep crease between his eyebrows. "I lost you there for a minute, what happened?"

"Nothing, nothing, I'm fine."

"You don't gotta do that, you know."

"Do what?"

"Say you're fine. You're allowed not to be."

You start to contradict him, but then you realize he's right.

"You're right," you admit, looking at him sheepishly. "I'm just nervous- and it's not your fault-" you hasten to explain, "I just haven't done this in so long that it feels like it's happening to someone else, like I'm watching myself from a distance."

He smiles at you knowingly and you add frustratedly, "That's so uncool, I'm sorry, I should be-"

"Moment of truth?" Marcus cuts you off before you can finish your thought.

"Um- OK?"

"I'm already hooked." he bites his lip, stealing a glance in your direction, his shoulders shrugging as if he had just told you the most natural thing in the world.

"Excuse m-" you look at him in bewilderment.

"I know I should play hard to get and do all the stuff everyone does on a first date, act cool and whatnot," he gestures in the air with his free hand, "but really? I'm hooked. Captivated. So-" he takes a deep breath, exhaling forcefully, "if anyone should be anything, it's me, scared that I'm going to screw this up, somehow. But you know what?" he looks at you expectantly, waiting for a response.

"What?" you manage to croak, your whole body buzzing with anticipation.

"I'm going to choose to enjoy this night by being myself-" he stops and scrunches his eyes in thought, "-well, ok, I'm going to hold back a bit," he jokes playfully, making you both laugh at that, relieving some of the tension and he takes your hand in his, squeezing it gently, "because I don't know if I'll get another chance. I can only hope that at the end of the night you'll choose to see me again."

He brings your intertwined hands to his lips and kisses your knuckles tenderly. He's said all the right things, everything you want to hear and dear God, he makes you want to climb him like a tree. You bite your lower lip so hard you're afraid you'll draw blood.

He studies your face and your fluttered expression for a moment, a smile of accomplishment painted on his perfect mouth, before he adds, "And you shouldn't be anything other than what you want to be. Neither of us should."

The date was not what you expected, because it was actually a success. Zero awkwardness, lots to talk about, mutual humor and gentle glances. You started with dinner in a not-too-casual-not-too-formal restaurant and ended up in a great bar, lively but not too loud, where you had delicious cocktails over and over again. Not Marcus though, because he was driving. So responsible, you wanted to sink your teeth into his neck.

Marcus was truly interested in you. He asked you about everything, he really wanted to know about your life. You didn't delve much into the divorce and he didn't push it. But you told him more about your background, your work, your daughters, the challenges of being a single mother and to your surprise, he listened. Actively. When you told him it was his turn to spill the beans, he told you about his job and his specialty; his move to Texas for a fresh start and when you asked him why he felt he needed one, he reluctantly told you about proposing to his girlfriend of two months.

"I know, I know-" he raises his hand in defence as he shakes his head in disbelief, "I don't know what the hell I was thinking, I guess-" he looks down at his empty glass as if searching for answers, "sometimes I have a hard time letting things go."

He dares to meet your eyes through his lashes, to study your reaction. But your expression is neutral, no judgment on your part. "But I'm working on it, letting things happen naturally, you know? If it's meant to be, it's meant to be." he shrugs casually.

"That must be hard for you to deal with." you observe.

"Why would you think that?" he seems curious to know what you think of him, smiling crookedly.

"You strike me as someone who really tries to work things out, to fix what's broken. You don't give up easily, do you?"

His eyes bore into yours as he confirms, "No, I don't," smirking at you. You break eye contact and look down at your lap, biting back a smile of your own.

Suddenly you hear your name being called and you scan the room to find the source. You see Tommy just a few meters away, coming towards you to say hello. Marcus looks between the two of you, his eyes finally landing on yours, catching your faltering smile. "Hey, Tommy, how are you?" you hug him gently and then introduce the two men.

"Hi, nice to meet you." Tommy holds out his hand as Marcus extends his own, "You too."

"Who's the lucky girl this time, Tommy?" you tease with a devilish grin as you wink at him.

"The lucky girl is actually my brother." Tommy laughs breathlessly and your face immediately falls as he points his thumb behind him.

Joel is there at the other end of the bar, sitting on a table, his gaze fixed on you, his whole posture stiff, his jaw clenched and his eyes hard on you. You raise your arm weakly and wave at him, and he nods back sternly.

Marcus misses absolutely none of this.

How long had they been there? How much did he see? Did you do anything inappropriate? you keep checking yourself for any flawed behavior. But then you realize that you don't have to answer to him or anyone else. You can do as you please. So why do you keep hoping you haven't let him down?

"You wanna join us? There's plenty of room, come on.", Tommy invites you to their table.

You feel your legs give out just at the thought of this gathering and you try to decline politely, "We wouldn't want to impose, it's OK-"

Tommy gives you a confused look, as if you haven't spent the best part of the last two years hanging out together. "What the hell are you talking about, love? Come on, move that ass of yours." he waves his head in their direction. You glance swiftly from Tommy to Marcus and then back to Tommy, hoping he'll get the message, but he doesn't. Damn it, Tommy.

Marcus notices your apprehension and puts the palm of his hand on your forearm, caressing your skin with his thumb.

"Are you OK? Do you want to go instead?" he says in a quiet voice, just for you to hear.

You almost jump at his suggestion, "No, no, I just don't want you to think I'm not having a good time with you…" you lower your eyes, feeling vulnerable.

"Hey, hey, look at me." Marcus lowers his head to meet your gaze, "I think I'd know if this date was going south. But if for some reason it is and I'm too smitten to see it, I'm all ears." Marcus searches your eyes and you shake your head with conviction.

"It's not," is all you say, and you lean forward to place a kiss on his cheek, on the side of his face that is hidden from Joel's inspection. As if that would make what you just did any less obvious. Marcus' lips part, and he turns his head sideways to look at your profile, almost brushing it with his own.

His eyes linger on your mouth as you lean back to your seat, and then he licks his lower lip like a starving man preparing for his favorite meal. "Let's go meet your friends before I do something impulsive," he whispers in your ear, his grip on your arm tightening, his nose pressing against your temple and his lips brushing your earlobe.

Goosebumps spread across your skin and you have half a mind to get the fuck out of here and drag him back to your house. But instead you giggle like a schoolgirl and lead the way to hell, feeling the warmth of his hand on your lower back and the moisture of your pussy running down your thigh.

If a person could combust out of stillness, it would be Joel. You're not even sure he's breathing at this point. You train your eyes on his chest, trying to follow the rise and fall of his rib-cage, just to make sure he doesn't faint.

He's sitting directly opposite you, next to his brother, who's sitting opposite Marcus. He's nursing a beer with one hand, the other behind Tommy's seat. He barely speaks to you, he avoids looking at you and that makes you feel like you’re doing something wrong and he's giving you the cold shoulder. It takes everything you've got to swallow the lump in your throat and the tears behind your eyes, but you do it.

The same waitress who took your previous orders comes back and asks what you and Marcus are having. You order a beer, and before Marcus can place his own, Joel spits, "If you're driving her back, you shouldn't be drinking," giving him a disapproving look.

Your cheeks flush with embarrassment, your eyes dart from the waitress to Joel and then to Marcus, ready to apologize on his behalf. You knew Joel could be abrasive, but never so blatantly rude. Those were the first words he said to him.

Jesus, what is his problem?

Marcus seems to be able to handle his own, answering to you instead of Joel without missing a beat. "Good to know you have such protective friends," he says with a twinkle in his eye and then he orders, "I'll have the same as before, thank you.", shifting his gaze to the waitress. "One soda with a slice of orange coming up," she says politely and leaves to get your drinks.

You glare at Joel, but he doesn't seem to be paying attention, although he flinched almost imperceptibly when he heard Marcus' choice of drink. Marcus gives you a gentle kiss on the temple and you begin to suspect that he knows exactly what's going on between you and Joel, whose jaw is twitching at the sight of Marcus' public display of affection towards you.

You envy Tommy at the moment because he seems blissfully unaware, so you turn the conversation to him. Or at least you try, because as soon as you open your mouth to speak, Joel cuts you off and asks Marcus what he does for a living.

You can't help but think that after your first meeting in that god’s forsaken bar, it took him months to strike up a conversation with you, but tonight, for some reason, he just can't seem to shut up.

Marcus, being as polite as ever, gives him the general answer that he works for the government.

"Ah, a white collar," Joel replies condescendingly and your eyes bulge out of their sockets, "must be nice, relaxed." still not looking at you and God does he tick you off. Tommy shifts uncomfortably in his seat, stealing glances at you, not sure what's going on. In any other case you would have found it endearing. Not so much now.

You too are squirming in your seat, trying to think of a way out of this awkward situation. This is not how you imagined your first date would end. And it's certainly not how you expected to meet Joel after all these weeks.

Marcus seems unfazed by the veiled hostility coming his way, smiling back at Joel, almost enjoying the antagonism. "Not necessarily, but I can't talk about it either." This catches Joel's attention and he looks at you questioningly for the first time. You tilt your head slightly to the side, signaling what are you doing? but Joel takes his eyes off you, sipping his beer nonchalantly.

"What about you? What do you do for a living?" Marcus returns the question.

"We're contractors, me and Joel; we're brothers," he gestures between himself and Joel, "and we work together." Tommy chimes in quickly, having reached his limit of awkwardness at the table. You breathe a sigh of relief, but it's not long lived.

"And how do you all know each other?" is the next natural question to come out of Marcus' mouth.

Joel's eyes land on you briefly, something flashes past them and before you can stop him-

"She and I actually met in a bar..." Joel smirks at Marcus, but you speak at the same time-

"Joel-" Your voice is firm as a warning, fully accepting that your tone might be alarming to your unsuspecting company.

"What?" Tommy's voice falters, laughing uncomfortably, completely at a loss. Marcus reads the table, his eyes darting between the three of you, at the same time placing a protective hand over your shoulder, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb.

"What?" Joel repeats in a different tenor to his brother and he shrugs, smiling, "It's no big deal, tell them," he has the audacity to put you on the spot, nodding his chin at you.

You feel the contents of your stomach move up your esophagus, cold sweat coats your skin in a thin layer. Betrayal. That's all you can think of. "Uh-", you try to find the words, but nothing comes out, betrayal, you're not good at it, lying doesn't come easy to you, betrayal, especially with three sets of eyes on you. Joel just sits there with a smug look on his face and you wish you had the guts to slap it out of him.

Betrayal.

Marcus' voice brings you back to the present, are you all right?, a soft whisper caresses your ear and soothes your insides. The bile in your throat begins to return to its rightful place, but your eyes are already moist, your waterline glassy, a look of defeat and disappointment painted on your soft face. Joel sees it all written on those contours of yours that he has come to know and marvel at from afar, and it is as if a sudden realization hits him, snapping him out of his asshole behavior. He is cruel to you.

"All right, all right," he rolls his eyes and continues with a sigh, and Tommy's eyes return to his brother, but Marcus' remains fixed on you. "We met in a bar and we had a heated..." he stops abruptly and your face takes on a look of horror as he searches for the right word. "...argument." Joel finally adds. "We exchanged a few words, but then we ran into each other at my cousin's house and the rest is history." he laughs as he waves his hand in the air and winks at you.

You bite your lower lip as hard as you can to keep your chin from trembling, but a single tear of relief or suppressed anger, you're not sure anymore, escapes from the side of your face that only Joel can see, as you give him a forced, watery smile.

Luckily the bar is dimly lit, otherwise they would all be able to see the redness spreading across your chest, the rage manifesting itself on your body. Used and played is how you feel, and Joel is the last person you would have thought would put you in this position. You'd bet all your money on it.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Tommy wonders aloud, looking between you and Joel. You clear your throat and have no choice but to confirm Joel's lie. "It felt awkward at the time, so we pretended we didn't know each other. It was an unfortunate moment, one I deeply regret," you lock eyes with Joel and see his facade almost crumbling, "that will never recur, ever again." you continue to stare at him as you speak the last words with concealed bitterness. For the first time that night, he looked down at his lap in shame and regret, pretending to peel the label off his bottle with his thumb.

The ride home was silent, you were emotionally drained, something Marcus picked up on easily, so he simply offered his open palm, which you gladly accepted, tucking your fingers between his own. He continued to caress your skin, back and forth, and it was all you needed to calm your nerves.

As he walked you to the front door of your house, you felt compelled to apologize to him in a profound way. "I'm so sorry about Joel," you shake your head, looking down at your feet, your fingers scratching your forehead, a worried look on your face, "he can be intense sometimes -" why are you defending him?

Marcus lifts your chin with a gentle finger under it, his thumb caressing your jawline. "I don't care about Joel." With one simple sentence, he has erased him from your conversation. No more room for him to steal any longer of your night with Marcus.

“But-”

“I'm the one standing on your porch right now am I not?”, the implication clear in his voice and words.

“I'm not sure what-” you try to avoid confirming or denying his assumptions.

"Mhm," he smiles knowingly, his eyes fixed on yours, searching for something. You feel safe with him, but you can't shake the feeling that you've ruined everything. Marcus' eyes drop to your lips and he slowly leans forward, stopping just inches from you, waiting for you to initiate. You can feel yourself unable to relax, your body stiff, frozen. But you want to, you really do, so you ask instead, "Are you going to do something impulsive now?"

He smiles and leans even closer to your lips, his breath gently fanning across your plump skin. His nose gently nudges yours, "Yes, I think I might."

Your lips almost touch when a muffled voice followed by loud barks startles you both, causing you to pull away and look around for the source of the disruption. After a few seconds, you both see a medium-sized dog running down the street. You wait to see if its owner follows, but no one appears. You turn to look at each other, giggling at the strange interruption.

Marcus caresses your cheek with the back of his knuckles and you lean into his touch, the moment gone and lost. "I hope you had a decent time because I know I had a great one and I really hope I get to see you again."

"Marcus," you scowl at him, "are you fishing for compliments?" you chastise him teasingly.

"Well, a man can dream," he smirks playfully as he tries to get some distance between you in case he comes on too strong.

"You don't have to," you coo, grabbing his collar to crush your lips against his.

After the initial shock, Marcus holds your head in his hands, tilting it to return the kiss and deepen it. His soft lips massage yours, sucking and nibbling at your lower lip. His upper lip and tongue capture yours, tugging gently, sending waves of pleasure through your body. He licks into your mouth, exploring every soft cavity, and you suck on his tongue in return.

He grunts into your welcoming cavern and you fist the fabric of his shirt that adorns his chest tighter. He presses his body into yours, trying to keep his pelvic area from pressing into your lower abdomen, but you can feel his growing erection inescapably.

You come up for air and murmur into his mouth, "I had a great time and I'd like to do it again".

This time it is he who presses his mouth to yours, kissing you fervently, sucking all the air out of your lungs. Your body is on fire, your abdomen tingling with desire.

You whimper against his lips as you reach for the short curls at the back of his neck, tugging them gently between your fingers, causing him to growl against your wet flesh, and he can feel your nipples poking at his chest through the thin material of your dress as you press your torso against his in sheer determination.

He's sure he's going to lose it and fuck you in front of your house for all your neighbors to see if he doesn't stop now. He breaks the kiss, panting, his eyes boring into yours, your foreheads touching. "Christ, woman," he closes his eyes and laughs to himself, "you're going to give me a heart attack."

"Better me than old age, right?" you try to hide your teasing smile behind your tightly pressed lips.

"Hey, I'm about to arrest you for threatening a government official," he warns without any conviction or authority.

"Are you going to handcuff me, Agent?" you ask, looking at him through your lashes and it comes out more breathless than it should.

"Jesus." Marcus mutters through his teeth, his resolve hanging by a thread. "OK." he gives you a sharp look, "I'm going to leave for the sake of both of us," he says, but his grip on your hip tightens, as if he's afraid you'll disappear.

"You could come in, you know," you offer, looking at him sheepishly.

His expression is pained when he has to turn you down. "And I'd like nothing more, but I want to do this right. Please, let me do this right." Marcus pleads softly, rolling his forehead over yours in desperation.

"What does that even mean?" you ask, a bit embarrassed by his rejection.

"Means I want to wine and dine you, spoil you, give you the perfect date," he coos into the soft skin beneath your ear, making you shudder at his soft promise. "And when you think you can't go another second without my touch, then I'll come in and spoil you some more," he continues, brushing his moist lips along the pillar of your neck. "I will spoil you in all the ways you deserve." he finishes, planting an open-mouthed kiss on your pulse point under your jaw. Your knees buck and your pussy contracts, squeezing out your sweetness at the feel of his warm and wet tongue.

"OK," you breathe out in a shaky voice, nodding dumbly, cupping his face in your hands and planting a small kiss on the tip of his nose.

He smiles and presses his lips to your forehead murmuring "God, you're something," and his heart swells at your tender gesture.

Marcus takes a deep breath, pauses and seems hesitant, but speaks his mind anyway. "OK, I'm going to skip the whole 'three day rule' and call you tomorrow. Is that OK?" he looks anxiously into your eyes, "Am I rushing you?"

A spontaneous laugh escapes your lips at the sound of that. "I just invited you into my house, you think a phone call is going to rush me?" you frown, "You can call me whenever you want.", you say matter of factly. You turn to leave, but change your mind and face him again. "Actually," you bite your lip mischievously, "I need to make sure I can rely on the American authorities, so I'm counting on your word. I'll be expecting a call by tomorrow," you stifle a grin by pressing your lips together.

"Yes, ma'am." Marcus nods in amusement and gives you one last kiss, pressing his lips to yours for as long as he can before ushering you into the house. "Good night," he breathes against your lips.

"Good night," you whisper back with a shy smile and close the door behind you. Marcus walks to his car with a stupid grin plastered on his face, gets in and drives away, but not before making sure you have closed and locked your front door.

In the stillness of the night, Joel takes a moment to assess the situation and satisfied that the coast is clear, he carefully emerges from the large bush he was hiding behind.

He glances down at his dog pissed shoe and mutters to himself,

"Fuck."

previous |

[bugclot]

Ten Steps Ahead

You've found yourself in a stucky sticky situation after getting caught snooping in Bucky's drawers after he took your favorite thong as a punishment for teasing him and Steve with it on, so the two best pals decide to take it in their own heroic hands.

content: 18+, dubcon, dom!bucky barnes x dom!steve rogers x sub reader, spanking, choking, sort of angst, bucky & steve punishing brat reader, humiliation, hair pulling, edging, bj, cucky bucky, fuck just read all my kinks and have fUn.

"Manners, darling. Now, what do you say to Steve?"

-

"Thank you, Captain."

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Bucky and Steve both just love to find different ways to gain control of you. Even when you think for a second that you're ahead, they just always seem to be ten steps further. Shit. This time, you had gotten in minor trouble with Buck, earning yourself basically a "time-out" in your room at the base while the rest of the crew went out for bowling (or so you thought), also resulting in him taking yet your new favorite lace panties—asshole. Too bad you're too much of a pain in the ass to just stay put, you're gonna go get them back.

You've found yourself walking down to his apartment-suite which was just down the hall from yours, you made sure to check around to make sure the coast was clear—little did you know you missed a few spots. You used your key that Bucky had given you back when you two, well, three, have started your interesting little friendship. Being the fairly new and quite stubborn avenger you were, the two men took it upon themselves to put you in your place whenever needed be. I'll save you the lore. You softly shut the door and slink your way through his cozy yet humble apartment to the bedroom, you head straight for the dresser and begin to rummage.

It isn't long before you're joined by someone else. You hear an "Aha." and it startles you, you turn and boom.

"Ten steps further I see." you say in your mind, feeling defeated once more, staring at the blonde broad. Of fucking course Bucky sent Steve. His right hand man, just to check in on your activities. Steve wasn't really your favorite person to work with, you always hated his captain-savior complex he seemed to always have trailing behind him, at least that's what it seemed like to you. Many times Tony and you enjoyed playfully jabbing at Steve, just to tease him and share your mutual annoyance with the super soldier, with Bucky eyeing you down with a warning look every time.

"Y/N." Steve announces, his voice laced with sternness. "What do you think you're doing?" This tone attempted to pierce through your ego, but you didn't let it. You eye your stolen garment, it's hanging off of his index finger and you scoff, "Did Bucky send you to watch me or something?" you ask while crossing your arms. "Buck had a hunch you'd be out of your room, as did I." He looks down at your undergarment, toying with it and speaks again, "You're definitely not getting these back."

The nerve.

You roll your eyes and walk towards him, he looks up upon hearing your movement, shifts his weight, ready for anything. You stop in front of him—toe to toe, looking up at him, confidence tattooed all over you. "Steve—" "That's Cap to you." He interrupted you, fixed on your stature. Right. Captain and Sergeant when they're in control over you. But, who does he think he is? Playing big and bad with you? You see, it was easy to be such a brat to Steve, he wasn't as harsh as Bucky, that's who truly humbled you when need be. "Aye aye, Captain Rogers," you mockingly salute him, "Give me my shit back. Don't make this harder than it has to be." Steve furrows his eyebrows, "You kiss your mother with that mouth?" he purses, "Do you know what year it is? Shut the fuck up." You spat and make a sudden reach for his hand, he quickly and swiftly grabs your arm, stopping you in your tracks and lets out a huff, "That language back in my day would earn you a good old fashioned punishment. Haven't Bucky and I taught you that yet?" Your heart rate begins to pick up from adrenaline as you try to break from his grip upon him putting his hands on you, "Let me-" you stop yourself as you notice someone behind him—standing tall, buff, and in full tactical gear, not an outfit he'd go bowling in.

Bucky.

Goddamn, does he have to look so menacing? He seems to be burning a hole through you with his icy stare, arms crossed showcasing the definition of his build even more. "Y/N." He says, nothing else.

He paralyzes you, you've been caught.

Steve turns his head to look at his best pal, as he tosses your garment to him, and Bucky gives him a nod. Steve returns the gesture and turns back to you, he chuckles slightly under his breath as he brings you to the side of the bed facing the drawer and sits down, he attempts to bend you over his knee but you put on a struggle, no way he's about to take the reins,

"Wh-" you start,

You remember your other dear dominant friend is watching you. Knowing what he'd do to you, you comply. All of a sudden you feel the sharp sting of Steve's hand make contact with your backside through your Nike Pros, the ones that Bucky loves to see you prance around and train in. You hesitate to protest knowing this is all his doing until Steve makes contact again. "Fuck." You slip out. He lands another three smacks before responding to you, "Language." You try to claw at Steve's pant leg in protest, "Okay, okay, fine! You win." You chirp out as Steve starts up again—hard. Your cheeks on your face begin to heat from embarrassment, and unfortunately slight pleasure from this, along with feelings of defeat striking along with Steve's rhythm. Knowing that Bucky is simply watching, facilitating this, drives you up the wall. This is the ideal punishment for you.

Always ten steps ahead.

What feels like twenty counts later, you feel a nosy hand glide down to your helplessly soaked snatch, you close your eyes and labor your breathing as he slightly thumbs your clit through your pants, causing you to accidentally whine out. That sensation stops as Steve continues to rain down on your backside.

After five more minutes of fighting to get up from Steve and him effortlessly pinning your arm against your lower back, which seems like forever, Bucky's voice surprises you, "Stand up."

Immediately you hop off Steve's lap and step away from him, trying not to meet that look on his face. "Take off your clothes." Bucky growls, his request sent aches straight through your already ruined core, you wrinkle your eyebrows at him and motion to Steve. As if this wasn't enough? He's sitting in victory on the bed. You squeak out, "Buck—" He uncrosses his arms and cuts you off, "Sarge." He corrects. Ah, yeah. You look down nervously and he speaks up again, "You just don't listen, do you? How many times have we gone through this, doll?" Doll. You slowly strip in front of the two fully clothed super soldiers, feeling powerless and humiliated. Ironically, you're not wearing any panties, huh, thanks a lot to Bucky! The weight of the room was heavy, similar to the feeling of a predator stalking its' prey, you knew that if you made one wrong move, you'd be pounced on.

The drift from the room and the eyes from the two men cause goosebumps to form all over. Steve looks at the mess between and on your inner thighs and laughs, him and his old pal exchange looks as if they're speaking in their own language telepathically. Your breathing pattern changes, anticipating the next move from either one of these devils. Your breathing catches Bucky's attention and he smirks seeing his precious little brat being humbled by him and his own best friend, he motions Steve to grab you once again, which he does with ease and pulls you on the bed with him.

Bucky, leaning against the nightstand against the wall facing the foot of the bed, his hands on the stand holding his weight behind him. "So you're enjoying this, huh?" He asks as Steve leans back on the headboard as he positions you leaning against him, head back on his shoulder with your legs spread and womanhood drooling for attention. He has your left arm held with his, with his right arm over your other, giving him perfect access. His right hand clawing agonizingly lightly on your upper thigh. "Not so talkative now, Y/N." He says with rasp in his voice. You wiggle around to try to give your abused backside room to breathe. "Steve, shut the fuck up." You grunt out. Oh, how you hated to be belittled, as stubborn as you are. Without hesitation, he slaps your inner thigh, causing you to quietly cry out. He then says, "You're in the wrong position to be this bold, Y/N." The tone of his voice makes your nipples jump, you know that your body belongs to Steve and Bucky, but your mind has a mind of its' own. Steve lets out a "tsk, tsk, tsk," as he punishes your thigh in the same place again, you flinch, your arm tired from the position Steve has it in. Bucky speaks up at you with a demanding tone, "Y/N, look me in the eyes." You hesitate, then look at the metal armed soldier, "What have I told you about teasing Daddy like that?" he coos, you part your lips to respond but you're cut off with a set of fingers teasing at your clit, agonizingly slow. You have no choice but to moan out in response to this sudden action from Steve, and the exacting tone from Bucky which made you so goddamn sensitive. You try your best to keep your eye contact with Bucky, his emotionless brooding against your drooling, pretty little face. "Prancing around in these?" He holds up the laced, revealing underwear that had gotten you into this, Bucky continues, "Teasing me and Steve like that? You're such a mindless little hot mess. Look at you." He was right. Absolutely right. Naked, hot and bothered under these two, legs spread for the world to see, showcasing your soaked center, sweat dribbled on your face along with the drool coming from your mouth from your mouth being ajar. Steve picks up his pace, driving your heart rate to pick up, causing you to lose your eye contact with Bucky, letting your head fall back into Steve's built shoulder. "Look at me." Bucky snarls, you pick your head up with the little strength you have and your eyes start to water, "I'm sorry, Sarge." You feebly apologize. Steve looks at you, watching your flushed face as you play staring contest with Buck. Steve lets his middle and ring finger slip to your entrance, not going in completely but keeping them there, while he allows his thumb to press down on your center, causing your back to arch and for you to near,

"Hmm," He sings to your ear, "I think I want you to cum for me, Y/N." Those words alone could have sent you over the edge if it wasn't for Bucky to immediately shoot that chance down by opposing to you, "Y/N, not until I say so. You know your place." You let your eyes roll to the ceiling. The opposing sides drives you insane. Listening to Steve would earn you another punishment from Bucky, and listening to Bucky would earn you--well, more of this relentless teasing from Steve.

Bucky glides to the foot of the bed, not breaking his eye contact, "Hey, eyes on me." He snaps and you immediately look back at him, "Don't you dare. You hear me?" His words doing a number on you, he knows exactly what he's doing.

Bucky held the panties that caused all of this with his right hand and climbs on the bed shuffling closer to you, he then shoves them over your mouth, holding them there and holds himself up on your thigh with his metal hand. Your eyes roll back as you use everything in you to follow his orders. Steve looks down at you as well, as you're still leaning back on his shoulder,

"Don't you dare fucking cum." Bucky growls over you, while Steve is telling you the opposite.

"Cum for me, honey,"

"Don't even think about it, doll."

"It feels so good, doesn't it?"

"Don't give me a reason to punish you again."

Overstimulation tears come from your eyes. Embarrassment from this forced submission, pleasure, and irritation sends electric shocks down to your core, you breathe unevenly through your nose, looking Bucky straight in the eyes as he gags you. The cold yet satisfying touch of his metal hand on your thigh not helping at all as the hefty pit in your stomach only grows by the minute. You shake under Steve and Bucky's touch.

You whine out the best little, "Please, daddy," you could against the cloth, your breathing getting heavier, to which Bucky responds to you with a "What was that?" And squeezing your thigh, obviously knowing what you said. The clit stimulation, the teasing at your entrance, the asphyxiation, and slight fear of Bucky's next moves, as well as the back and forth, sends you into overdrive. Your throat is raw from the whining and moaning done. Your eyes flicker as you reach the summit—giving into Steve's soft dominant request, going against Bucky's. Steve smirks down at you and he sighs against your ear, "That's my good girl." You struggle to breathe as you recover from your high. When you seem to be barely caught up on your breathing, Bucky removes his hands and scoots to the edge of the bed, taking you with him by gripping your thighs and sliding you against him. "Trembling under daddies' touches." He growled to himself. The fury in his eyes give you a mix of angst and more pleasurable aches shaking through you once again.

Bucky keeps your right leg up over his shoulder, securing you with his metal arm, he slaps your soaked pussy and you cry out a very pornographic cry, "So, so disobedient. I thought I told you not to cum?" His voice booms through your dizzy head as you apologize meekly. His hand comes down again and again, causing you to arch and wiggle around, "Buc- Sergeant, I'm sorry! Please," You whimper out as he punishes your swollen core, he says nothing as he rubs your slit in between his strikes.

He then takes his arm holding you and places his hand around your neck, restricting your breathing in a more grizzly manner. You don't dare move your leg from his shoulder as you just take everything given to you, not wanting to further press the two —especially Bucky. "You like that, don't you?" He mocks you as you start to see stars, with your poor womanhood crying onto the bed, your shaky hands rise to his metal arm to clutch him, wanting to breathe. Your vision grows blurry and Bucky lets you go, yet still keeping a protective hand on your collarbone.

You bite your lip to hold your tongue when you realize that whining will get you nowhere, you start to regret teasing your nighttime superiors like how you did the night before, you being told to stop, but you, being the stubborn brat you are to them, you kept going. Bucky stops and grabs your face, you felt the wetness from yourself on his hand, he looks at you hungrily. His metal hand slowly guides down your body, finally going over places you craved touch in, a pit stop at your nipples and your lower stomach. His hand never left your face as he begins to tease at your clit with his other, his pace picking up quickly as you liked, he then slips one finger in to fuck you, then his second. You loved when he used his metal hand because of how it felt inside of you. Bucky shocked you by a small slap to your face with his right hand, "Have you learned your lesson?" He asks, not letting up with his busy fingers, you nod your head quickly and he slaps you again, "Gonna pull that stunt again, Y/N?" You feel that same heavy pit once again causing you to tighten around his fingers, "Mmm, n- no sir, sergeant." You practically yell out.

Bucky then flips you over to your stomach and claws both his hands down your back to your warmed ass. "I would have turned this beautiful little ass raw." He chuckles and looks up at his pal. Steve laughs in response, "No appreciation for my work done?" He teases. Bucky—using his metal hand, smacks your backside, you give him a shaky moan, he then grabs hold of your hair and forcefully lifts your head up to face Steve. He was rubbing over his bulge in his pants and looking down at you, raising an eyebrow. "Y/N? What do we say to Steve?" Bucky says with chaff in his voice, you didn't respond, Bucky loosened his grip to allow you to lift yourself onto your elbows and knees and aligned yourself with his groin, arching your back, he tightens his grip once more, waiting for your response, you look to the side as you start quietly, "Th–thank you—" Bucky slaps your ass again sharply and leans down into you,

"Manners, darling. Now, what do you say to Steve?"

"Thank you, Captain." you chirp out, clear as day and attentive.

Steve shifts himself as he slowly reaches down into his pants, obviously rubbing himself, "What was that, Y/N?"

Bucky spanks you again.

"Thank you, Captain." Your face fills with heat again as the words come out of your mouth, 'I'm never gonna live this down.', you think to yourself as you suddenly feel a familiar feeling against your womanhood. You close your eyes as Bucky's tip brushes at your clit, "Fuuuck, doll, you're so..." You hear him groan out, trailing off, he slowly moves himself up and down your slit making you want to grind yourself against him, he takes his time teasing you before he pushes himself inside of you. You croak out upon impact and he growls animalistically as he thrusts himself into you.

This is all what you craved.

Every ridge, every vein, every detail about Bucky's cock always made you into a weak little mess. You grip the sheets in front of you, surely causing them to rip as Bucky doesn't let up from his grip on your hair as he pounds into you, your mouth hangs wide open as you lose control of yourself, drool creating a pool before you. You're certain that the sounds of him smacking into your sensitive skin echoed throughout the entire base--thank fuck it was just the three of you. The moans spilling from you were unreal, especially when Bucky reached his free hand down to play with your core, saying things breathlessly like: "You take my cock so well," and "You're gonna tease me like that again? Hm?"...and, "You deserve every single second of this.", to which you would reply in broken cries, "Yes sir, Sarge." and "I'm sorry, Sarge,"...and, "Thank you, Sarge.".

Steve was enjoying the scene in front of him as he now had his manhood fully out, stroking it and moaning down at you. Bucky takes his hand from under you and once again slaps your ass, he grunts out, "Tell him thank you, doll," you obliged, "Thank you, Captain!" You whimper when he repeats his action and says, "Say it like you fucking mean it." I definitely meant it. "Hmm! Thank you, Cap—" You were then cut off by Steve setting up on his knees and shoving himself inside your mouth out of nowhere, Bucky lets go of your hair and grabs hold of your hips to truly drill into you, surely making more marks against your abused ass, which made you tighten around him. You choke around the red, white, and blue cladded man as he places his hand on the side of your face, bucking his hips into your mouth. Steve uses his left hand to grasp your hair for a better angle, while he moves his right from your face to gather both your arms to pin them on your back. Both men grunt into you as they use you. Control you. Exactly how they like it. You feel powerless against the two super soldiers as they completely wear you out, tears of pain and pleasure stinging in your eyes once again.

Next time, you'll definitely be sure to tease them both harder. Though, always know they'll be ten steps ahead.

[st-eve-barnes]

Leverage (Michael Gavey x fem Reader)

Chapter 2

Summary: When your ex threatens to release some very personal videos you are left with no choice but to do what he asks: seduce the biggest nerd on campus, Michael Gavey. Will you rock his world or will he fundamentally change yours?

This chapter: Michael starts tutoring you but things are off to a rocky start.

Word count: +1900

Warning for the entire fic: 18+ for explicit content and language. Kissing, oral sex (male receiving), dry humping, hand job, fingering, p in v sex. First kiss and loss of virginity. Experienced reader. Enemies to lovers vibes.

Fluff, smut and of course angst (my favorite combination! lol) I haven't watched Saltburn yet so all characters in this fic except for Michael are my own.

Read Chapter 1 Here

***

All my fics are also on AO3

***

After almost two hours of Michael’s tutoring you were beginning to contemplate throwing in the towel and just letting Ben release that video. What’s the worst that could happen anyway?

Michael had been cocky as soon as you had sat down in front of him in the library that evening. Right now he was bordering on rude and very obviously growing more impatient with you by the minute. And the faster he talked the less you listened, leaving you both frustrated.

You had a splitting headache and all the numbers and calculations were just dancing across the page now, mocking you. None of it made any sense, no matter how many different ways Michael tried to explain it all to you. 

You were good with history, languages, art or psychology. Numbers were hell on earth.

“Are you even listening?” Michael sighed impatiently, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms behind his head.

“Yes,” you nodded, followed by a heavy sigh,”No, ugh..I’m sorry, I just…I lost my focus about an hour ago.”

“An hour ago? You didn’t even have it to begin with,” Michael called you out.

“I just don’t know how this is so easy for you, like you don’t even have to think about it at all.”

“That’s because I don’t,” he answered smugly, making you roll your eyes.”Go on. Ask me a sum.”

You sighed some more but indulged him anyway,”33 times 20.”

He gave you a look,”Don’t insult me, a real sum.”

“333 times 444.”

“147.852,” he answered without even blinking. You had no way of knowing if his answer was even correct but you didn’t doubt it for a second.

“How did you do that so fucking fast?”

“I don’t know, I can just do it, in my head, I don’t have to think about it.”

“Lucky you,” you rolled your eyes again.

“They’re gonna get stuck in your head if you keep doing that, you know,” he teased, making you squint your eyes at him.

He shook his head with a little amused grin,“Ask me another one then.”

“It’s fine, you made your point, you’re a genius.”

“Ask me another one, just to be sure,” he insisted.

“Michael, it’s fine, I get it.”

‘Ask me another fucking sum!” he raised his voice, making the few other people in the library look up at you both with annoyed looks on his face. You wanted to crawl under the table and disappear.

“Alright, fucking hell…1245 times 987.”

“1.228.815,” he answered, giving you another satisfied little smile.

You just stared at him without saying anything.

“My brain works different from yours,” he then explained.

“Yeah, no shit.”

You were beginning to see why Ben was so threatened by him, Michael was an actual mathematical genius, Ben didn’t stand a chance at that internship. That thought suddenly filled you with immense joy. And then fear, because if Ben didn’t stand a chance then what were you even doing here?

Michael watched as your face fell.

“Do you want to take a break?” he suggested.

You nodded,”Yeah, a permanent one, I’m never going to get this.” You dropped your head onto the table and let out a desperate little whine.

Michael just shook his head,”So you’re a quitter, I would say I’m shocked but my mum told me never to tell a lie.”

You lifted your head to give him an angry glare but he just ignored you and closed his books, not giving you time to object before he was up and out of his seat.

“When you’re serious about wanting to learn, you know where to find me,” he said,”Until then…stop wasting my time.”

“Michael,” you sighed but he was already walking away from you, and with it your last chance to stop Ben.

You couldn’t let this happen, if you let him go now your fate was sealed.

“Michael, wait!” you rushed after him without thinking, finding him halfway in one of the book shelves. 

You grabbed at his arm to stop him, taking him by surprise. 

He froze, eyes staring wildly at the spot where your hand was touching his arm. But he didn’t pull back or try to stop you. Instead he almost seemed to lean into your space a little, accepting your touch, his mouth opened in a surprised little sigh when your fingers gently closed around his elbow. 

Of course the nerd was touch starved, it was almost too predictable. And was that a blush creeping up on his pale cheeks?

Ben had been right, Michael clearly wasn’t used to being touched, especially not by a woman. But he didn’t seem to dislike it, at all.

Maybe this mission wasn’t so impossible after all.

It was a desperate move, you realized that, but desperate is what you were.

“Please, wait,” you begged again, placing your other hand on his wrist while you gave him your best sad eyes and pouty lips,”You can’t give up on me, Michael. Please, you’re the only one who can help me, I need you.”

You watched him swallow hard at those last words, his eyes flickering from yours down to your lips and back up again.

He was staring now, shamelessly, not even trying to hide it. You used his obvious interest to lean in closer, so close he could almost feel your breath against his cheek and when you slowly and very deliberately licked your lips you could hear him bite back a quiet whimper. 

You took another step forward and carefully pressed your body up against his. That’s when you felt it, undeniably, he was hard. You had barely touched him and yet he was rock hard in his stupid cargo pants. 

You had him right where you wanted him and you could have sworn he was about to close that final distance between you two and pull you in for a kiss.

But then he leaned back and his thin lips curled up into a smug, annoyed grin.

“What are you playing at?” he asked.

“What do you mean? I’m not playing….”

“Stop lying to me, you stupid girl,” he growled and took a few steps back from you,”You say you want a tutor but you don’t give a shit about what I’m trying to teach you and now you want to…what….seduce me? How daft do you think I am?”

“I don’t think you’re daft at all!”

“I know this isn’t about math and it sure as hell isn’t about you wanting to get into my pants, girls like you don’t want nerds like me.”

“Girls like me?” you asked, staring at him with anger in your eyes,”Oh, you mean stupid girls like me? Listen, you little shit…”

“I meant pretty girls like you,” he interrupted you, shutting you up instantly.

He took a step closer again, towering over you and forcing you to lean against the book shelves behind you.

“What is it you want from me then?” he mused, as if he was asking the question more to himself and not you,”You’ve never paid any attention to me before this week…not until…I saw you scheming with Ben in the library a few days ago.”

Your eyes widened at his statement and it was enough for Michael to know he was onto something.

“I fucking knew it,” he shook his head and laughed,”What does that twat want from me this time, hmm?”

“Nothing,” you answered, too quickly.

“You’re a bad liar, girl.”

His stare was making you nervous, you wanted to blurt out everything to him and at the same time run away and never speak another word again. But there was no place to run from Ben and his ugly threats. Michael was your only ticket out of that bad spot.

He stepped back from you with a sigh,“Fine. Whatever. Tell your rich little friend that whatever you and him want from me he’s not going to get it, under any circumstances. Can you remember that or should I write it down for you?”

You nodded, feeling tears well up in your eyes. Michael’s harsh tone combined with the hopelessness of your situation was suddenly too much and you burst out into tears.

To your surprise Michael’s whole demeanor changed instantly and he rubbed his hand over his face with a heavy sigh.

You started crying,“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to involve you in this shit, I’m so sorry, Michael.”

For a moment he just looked at you, your tears and desperation too real for him to ignore.

Then he leaned back against the book shelves next to you, not saying a word. You looked up at him through your teary lashes and it was the first time you could see real compassion in his blue eyes. ”What does he have on you?” he asked softly.

”We used to date, he has some…private material he’s threatening to release.”

“Fucking prick,” Michael spat out.

“Yeah, he really is and I’m an idiot for ever being with him,” you wiped at your tears and looked surprised when Michael reached into his pocket and handed you a handkerchief. It looked like the ones your grandma used to have and you couldn’t help but smile through your tears.

”Thanks,” you sobbed and used it to wipe your cheeks dry.

“So…what did he want you to do in return then?”

”He wants that internship at Charter Inc.”

Michael nodded knowingly,”Yeah, that one is mine.”

“I know,” you smiled weakly,”That’s why he…he wanted me to distract you.”

Michael scoffed,”Jesus fuck, what an idiot. There’s nothing on this earth he can do to keep me from getting that job.”

You nodded,”I know.”

And with that realization came more tears. You used Michael’s handkerchief to keep them at bay.

“Do you think he’d actually do it?” he asked,”Are they just empty threats?”

“I honestly don’t know what he’s capable of and I don’t want to find out.”

You both stayed quiet for a while. Michael didn’t make any attempts to comfort you or touch you, but he didn’t move from his spot right next to you either.

“What can I do?” he asked.

“I don’t know if there’s anything you can do, Michael, this isn’t your problem, or your fight.”

He nodded,”Yeah, you’re right, it isn’t.”

You could feel your stomach drop in defeat.

“But,” he then added,”I’d really fucking hate to see a rich kid win in life.”

You couldn’t help but laugh through your tears.”Got any ideas?”

He thought about that for a little while and then he nodded,”We could…make him believe his plan is working? I mean, for now, until we can come up with something better.”

“How?”

“He won’t do anything as long as he believes you’re on board, yeah?”

“I guess not.”

“So we pretend that you’re…distracting me.”

You laughed bitterly at his choice of words.”He wants me to fuck you, that’s what he means by distracting you. You realize that, right?” you then blurted out and Michael snorted out loud but he regained his composure quickly.

“Then…I guess we pretend that you’re fucking me,” he said calmly, letting his eyes meet yours. You felt a shiver run up your spine, the good kind.

“Alright,” you nodded.

“Alright,” Michael repeated, keeping his eyes on you for a few moments too long before he eventually looked away and nervously pushed his glasses up his nose, smiling shyly,”When do we start then?”

[okiedokrie]

High Infidelity

Summary: There are many different ways that you could kill the one you love, the slowest way is never loving them enough. So what happens when you find someone who was all too willing to give you thee attention you craved, you said you'd only dip your toes into the idea, and yet, you find yourself already drowning. The novel you've been writing has been in progress for the better half of two years now, your writer's block beating you up, and your husband hasn't shown you any sympathy. Maybe a visit to the art exhibit from this new artist would jog your creativity, but what happens when this new artist offers you more than just relief from your writer's block?

Characters/Pairing(s): Xu Minghao (The8) x F!Reader

Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff

AUs/Trope info: Non-idol!AU, Aged-Up!AU, Right Person (not) Too Late

Word Count: 10.6k

Warnings: Infidelity, very inappropriate conversations with a married woman, afab!reader, wears dresses, lmk if i miss something!! (Smut warnings under the cut)

Rating: 18+

A/N: banner and dividers by @daemour!! tysm!! This is also a rewrite/reupload of my own fic, "High Infidelity" on @pyeonghongrie, yes I reskinned my own fic.

A/N 2: Thanks to @nebulousbrainsoup, @kwanisms, @the-boy-meets-evil, @wooahaeproductions, and @gongiz for beta-reading!

Smut Warnings: tipsy sex (not drunk), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, nipple stimulation, masturbation, lmk if i missed anything!

The rain soaked into your skin—cold and icy—piercing you painfully. All your personal belongings were strewn all around you, and your soon-to-be ex-husband was angrily slamming the door shut, but you couldn't help but feel relieved.

After all, you were finally free.

"I'm right here, honey, I love you." He whispers into your skin, slowly unbuttoning your shirt, one button at a time. He kisses your skin every time new skin is revealed to both of you, he kisses your skin so delicately as if you'd break at the slightest touch-

"Y/N, you still haven't dealt with the dishes yet." Your husband, Haru, said monotonously just as you were starting to gain momentum in your writing.

You groan, the interruption making you lose focus and motivation to write. You stare at the last word on your document, gaze burning into each pixel as if hoping that this piece would write itself.

Unfortunately, life said, "Fuck you."

With another groan, you rub and pinch the bridge of your nose, a headache starting to settle in as your husband returns to work as if he didn't just cause you a serious inconvenience.

Standing from your comfortable computer chair, you take calm and even strides toward your kitchen, where only a handful of dishes are left in the sink.

And this little shit didn't even bother washing like, what? 8 dishes? He has to be kidding me, men.

You thought to yourself, your inner monologue only making you more irritated. But you wash them in silence, thinking of ways to calm down and clear your head so you have a clean slate to work with to get inspired again.

I think I should visit the gallery again, there's this new artist that I've been following. He's getting pretty popular, maybe I could draw inspiration from his work?

You think maybe this is the best idea you've had since you put bacon bits on mac & cheese.

Taking the time to visit this gorgeous gallery was the correct move.

Xu Minghao is a passionate man, you can see his dedication to his craft in all the pieces in this gallery. He was a mixed media artist, sometimes his work was pops of color on a canvas, others were sculptures made of clay, made with the most delicate of hands, and others were more niche, like the stained glass piece in another part of the gallery.

One thing about Minghao's work is that his subjects are also subjects of passion.

Paintings of a man's devotion to worshiping his lover's skin, a stained glass recreation of The Birth of Venus by Botticelli, and his latest masterpiece, simply titled "Passion", a sculpture of a woman in the throes of pleasure, with her lover holding her close to him, no gap between their skin, eternally locked in a passionate embrace.

As a romance writer, this is exactly what you need.

You take in this sculpture, the light of the gallery display emphasizing the delicate attention to detail this piece had, you know the man who made this takes pride in this, his work, skills, and dedication finally being realized.

You stare in awe at this piece for a little over 20 minutes, the more you look at it, the more entranced you become of the mastery of this craft.

You feel a presence beside you, a man around 5'11", slightly muscular build, in a turtleneck with glasses sitting delicately on his nose. He has a peculiar hairstyle, a mullet to be exact, and the most gorgeous face you've ever laid your eyes on.

"I see you like this piece in particular," He started, hands in his trouser pockets while smiling fondly at the piece, "'Passion' was a difficult piece for me to finish, ironically enough, I got bored of it quite easily." He continues, turning to face you.

"I'm Minghao, by the way, Xu Minghao. If you haven't already figured it out." He takes a hand out of his pocket, extending it towards you.

"Oh, I'm Y/N, Park Y/N. It's a pleasure to meet you, Minghao. Your exhibit is astounding, I love your dedication to your work." You take his hand to shake it,

He chuckles at the compliment, "Oh please, save your praise, I know that name from anywhere. I love your latest work, that book was what inspired this entire collection, to begin with."

You gawk at him, oh my god, he reads smut. My smut.

"Oh my, what an honor! I'm glad you also enjoy my work." You receive the compliment gracefully, "Although, I do want to hear more about why you got bored of this piece in particular, such a wonder to the arts community, surely you aren't downplaying your work?"

He smiles, perfect teeth on display, you swear you’ve never looked at a man like this in your life. You were down bad for his smile.

"I'm not saying I think it's bad, I just got bored of the creative process." He explains, "Although I do want to continue adding to this collection, perhaps we can go and get drinks together? Exchange ideas?" he offers.

You ponder on this for a bit. Going out to drinks with a budding friend wouldn't hurt, right?

"Could I give you my number? Let's set aside a day to chat. I have to get home to my husband before it gets too late."

A smirk came into his face, something dark about a seemingly insignificant change in his expression, “Of course, I look forward to our time together.”

The mug in your hands warmed your palms, and your focus was fixated on the man in front of you. He talked about another piece of his, titled “Longing”; it was heavily inspired by his desire to find someone who shares the same passion as him, the longing to hold someone in a way that nobody else could, intimacy in its purest form.

“It sounds a bit pathetic, I’m known for my work in the art of passion and, to put it simply, sex; but I haven’t been able to find the company of a lover myself. Perhaps that’s just the consequence of being a hopeless romantic. Then again, you wouldn’t know the feeling of being lonely, I assume.” He said calmly, a small chuckle ending his tangent.

“Oh I wouldn’t say that,” You look into the mug in your hands, your reflection swirling in the tea. Your face looks back at you, eyes sunken in and sad, “To put it nicely… my husband robs me of solitude, but fails to offer me company.” You shouldn’t be talking about Haru like this. Your husband works many hours, tirelessly providing you with the house and connections for you to pursue a career in writing. But that wasn’t the reason why your anxiety was swirling in your stomach.

Looking back up at Minghao, the same dark expression sits on his face, a minuscule smirk, barely there even if you squint, “Well, we’re friends now, aren’t we? I could keep you company.”

That. That was a quality of his that you noticed fairly early on. You can never read his true intentions, suggestive prose with just enough deniability to gracefully reject him without the conversation becoming inappropriate.

But your anxiety wasn’t caused by that, no, it was caused by the fact that you didn’t want to reject him.

“I’d like that, Maybe we could head to a bar and get drinks there too? My husband won’t be back for a few months because of a business trip in a few weeks. I could use the company.” You say, looking at him through your lashes; he knows his effect on you, and the mental gymnastics that both of you play over the table was just appropriate enough that to anyone listening, it’s just two friends agreeing to get drinks sometime in the future.

But to both of you, well, only the two of you know what’ll happen once the sun goes down.

“Of course, my schedule is free for the rest of the month. Be sure to think of me if you need company.” He offers you a soft smile, directly contrasting how intensely he’s making eye contact with you. The way he’s looking into your eyes makes you feel vulnerable like he’s directly using them as windows into your head. You’re half-convinced he could read your mind, if he could, he’s a master at hiding it.

You haven’t learned much about him, but from what you do know, you can never take his words at surface level, much less his actions. The way he’s leaning over the table, elbows on the surface, and his shoulders relaxed. His closing the distance, even if just by a hair, and the way his posture suggested the epitome of familiarity, shook you to your core.

His presence is almost suffocating, his dominance over your mind silencing whatever protest his suggestions may have created. You nod dumbly, “Of course, be warned though, I think of you a lot.” This causes his smile to relax into a smirk, the kind that could pass off as a smile if you don’t think too hard about it.

“I’m glad to hear that. I think about you a lot too.” He says picking up his cup of tea, “So much that a collection was born from the thought of you.” He takes a sip from the cup in his hands, eyes meeting yours over the rim of the cup, the way he holds eye contact with you always makes goosebumps litter your skin, the cup hiding the growing smirk on his face, silently enjoying his effect on you.

“Ah, speaking of the collection,” He started again, after setting the cup down, “Would you do me the honor of visiting my studio sometime? I’ll text you the address right now, you can come by at any time if you’re interested.” Taking his phone out from his pocket, feeling your phone vibrate in your pocket, you pick it up. The small device, usually light, feels like a heavy weight on your palm.

Opening your messages, you see that Minghao already sent the address, a building about 20 minutes from the cafe you’re in right now. “Lovely, could I trouble you to pick me up when I decide to visit?” You ask,

“Of course,” He replies, a gentle smile stretches across his face, “I’d love nothing more than to see you more often.”

The first time you entered Minghao’s studio, it felt like a dream. The studio wasn’t small by any means, the place was neat, neater than what you imagined any artist studio would look like. “Make yourself at home, I’ll brew some tea for us,” Minghao said as he took both your coats. Hanging the heavy fabrics on his coat rack, he gently guides you to the couches with a hand on your back, the light touch helping to ground you in this new environment.

He shoots you a quick smile before turning his back to you, setting his electric kettle to boil the water at the perfect temperature for tea. He rummages through his extensive tea set collection, settling on a simple white ceramic set with wooden handles. His eyes meet yours briefly, taking note of how you watch his every movement with care and curiosity, the way you were fascinated with the way his hand veins jumped every time he set a piece of the tea set down.

The kettle finishes boiling, he finally sets it down next to the tea set. “I want to introduce you to this teacake that my friend from home sent me,” He pulls out a teacake about the size of his head from the drawer under the table, wrapped in a slightly stained paper. He carefully unwraps it to show you the rich brown of the aged tea leaves, “This is a 15-year-old aged pu’er, I haven’t had the chance to try it yet, so I’d like to try this with you.”

“What an honor, I read from a recent interview that you were waiting for a good day to taste that right?” You ask, trying to gauge his reaction, if he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it,

“Of course, making a new friend is a special occasion, isn’t it? I’d consider that a good day.” He replies cooly, taking a tea knife and carving out a piece of tea to steep for a second, you watch as he delicately handles the porcelain set, the control in his movements reminding you of his mastery in sculpting, “You know, making tea is much like cultivating a new relationship,” he starts as he stands up to take the kettle off the stand.

“You carefully carve out your leaves, boil your water to the perfect temperature to bloom them, and steep the leaves a few seconds at a time.” You see him pour the water over the tea leaves, dried blades blooming like flowers under the delicate stream. “Each steep of tea is different, starting from the bloom until the flavor develops; and only then will you appreciate the true complexities of what tea has to offer.”

A small smile grows on your face as you watch him pour the first bloom onto his tea pets, “If my assessment is correct, you’re trying to correlate the developing flavors of tea with how our relationship is progressing?” He nods, confirming your hypothesis, “Then, I’ll ask you a question, which steep are we on?” you say with a cheeky smile.

Minhao grins at this, eyes almost disappearing with how wide his smile was, “Literally? The second steep.” He says as he pours more water over the leaves, you let out a chuckle at his little joke, “Figuratively? The fifth.”

You tilt your head a bit, “The fifth? I didn’t realize we were already at that stage.” you say as you accept his offer of a teacup.

He chuckles, “Well, I don’t just share my most expensive teas with anyone, so I might as well share it with one of the most brilliant minds I know.” he said while bringing the cup to his lips, sipping the drink carefully while making eye contact with you over the rim, winking playfully.

You raise your cup as well, the rising steam not being the only reason for your flushed face, you grin against the rim of your cup, savoring the rich and deep aroma of the high-quality tea.

After a while of banter and small talk, you finish your tea, setting down your cup gently on his expensive-feeling coffee table, he stands from his seat, “Could I show you something?” he said, holding his hand out to you. You place your palm on his, the warmth from his hand seeping into your skin. The touch was negligible, simple, even, but the contact with his skin sent electricity through you, like a violent jolt of excitement.

Minghao notices this and smirks, feeling pride swell up in his chest as he pulls you up from the couch, leading you to the other side of the room with a hand on the small of your back. He finally stops in front of a large canvas, laid across what looks like a bare-bones bed frame. You turn to him, curiosity growing on the expression of your face.

“What’s this? This looks fairly new, the paint on the frame still seems wet.” You ask, eyes raking over the splotches of color seemingly placed without much thought or care, it looked like the aftermath of a messy and angry paint spill.

“It is new,” Minghao starts, “I’m trying a new technique where I release frustrations by getting whatever paint catches my eye and throwing cups of it without much thought.” He shrugs, nothing particularly of note, but you do notice the amount of emotion that is in the piece.

“It’s not an elegant piece, but for a collection centered around passion I find it missing raw emotion.” He runs his hand through his face, frustration taking over his features, something you noticed early on was his emotions were closely tied to whatever art was around him, it seems as though the frustration in this one was affecting him at this moment.

“Yes, the human form and sex are great subjects, but pure, raw emotion is hard to capture.” He mumbled, eyebrows furrowing. “So, that’s why I invited you here. Tell me, as someone who’s written longing, despair, and everything in between. How does this make you feel?”

You pause and take in his words, turning back to the canvas and trying to soak in the colors, the shapes, and the emotion behind this piece. Yes, frustration is here. Yes, anger is here. But how does it make you feel?

“It makes me feel like I’m missing out on something.” You say simply, your stomach sinking just thinking about what that might entail. Minghao has a genuine look of shock for the first time since you’ve met him. His head tilted to give his attention to you fully.

“Really? Interesting. That’s the first time I heard that about this piece specifically.” He said with a lopsided grin, seemingly getting a new stroke of genius with your answer. He looks back at the canvas too, shoulders shaking from his restricted laughs. Your answer seemed to entertain him a lot. That much you can figure out, but you can never be sure what goes on in the mind of Xu Minghao.

Just then, your phone starts to ring, you only know one person who would call you at this hour—your Husband. You watch as the expression on Minghao’s face falls, face contorting into something short of a scowl for a split second before settling on his usual cool neutral expression. It was so quick that you barely missed the change, it happened so quickly that you decided it was all in your imagination as you ran to answer the phone.

You pick up the phone, “Hi honey-” You were cut off by your husband speaking,

“Get home, it’s getting late and you haven’t started dinner yet.” He said simply, before promptly dropping the call.

You stand there, the line going dead as you try to hold back tears. You take a deep breath, too afraid to show your face to Minghao in case tears were about to fall from your face. Grabbing your coat, you turn to face the door.

“Thank you for inviting me over, I have to get home now,” you said, your voice a little shaky, as you roughly opened the door.

You were out of his sight as Minghao stood alone in his studio, pondering. As silence took over the space, a dark smirk on his face.

'How long before you break?' he wonders.

The next time you and Minghao meet, you’re sitting on a park bench watching the autumn leaves dance to the silent song in the wind. You’re pulled out of your thoughts when you hear leaves crunch beside you, seeing the tail of Minghao’s long coat swaying in the wind.

He sees you, a smile spreading across his face, his long hair almost covering his face. His fast-paced walking makes the leaves crunch under his weight rhythmically. You think that he looks beautiful under the soft brightness of the autumn morning, only ever seeing him in the harsh rays of high noon or the constant humming of fluorescent lights.

You feel the heat radiating off his body through your and his coats as he sits next to you on the park bench. “Beautiful morning, the view is exquisite.” He says, looking directly at you. You giggle at this, he’s always been such a charmer ever since you met him. You peel the notebook from your lap, “I’m no artist, but the park is too gorgeous this time of year to not at least try to capture on paper.” you say as you open it to show him a relatively crude sketch of the scenery.

“Oh? This feels like a threat to my career.” He says with a chuckle, “But, genuinely, this is an amazing sketch. Are you sure you aren’t an artist?” You think you could get used to how relaxed you were around Minghao, conversations with him flowed so easily, it reminds you of the times your husband used to be invested in you as a person. Perhaps it was easier to compare the thrill of meeting a new person with feeling the start of a romantic spark, it was a dangerous game to play with him.

“No, I’m not, but I can appreciate a masterpiece when I see one.” You say, this time looking at him. He notices this and laughs at the fact that his joke is being used against him. He closes the notebook, handing it to you to put in your tote bag.

“The weather is perfect for a walk, care to join me?” He said, offering his hand for you to take. You accept the offer, the warmth of his palm being something to ground you on such a dreamy morning. Leaves crunch under both your weights in synch, your hand moves from his to hold onto his arm, and you try not to notice the lean muscle of it or the steady and secure way he guides you through the path.

You breathe in the autumn chill, enjoying the comfortable silence that followed the quiet whistle of the wind. “Your book,” Minghao said, his silky voice cutting through the silence effortlessly, “The one that inspired the collection, I’ve been following your publisher’s updates on the series, and I was wondering if you'd be able to share your progress on the second book?”

“Ah, about that.” You grimace, and you shake your head, quelling the urge to complain about your husband’s lack of sympathy for your predicament. “Maybe I’ll tell you another time, it’s not something I can talk about at the moment.”

He hums, luckily, Minghao was never the type to pry, “I get it, ever the tortured poet you are.” he said in a joking tone, you let out a chortle at this, agreeing that you may or may not be one.

Both of you are stopped by a flower vendor, “You both are a lovely pair,” The old man starts, as he turns to Minghao, he asks, “Could I interest you in some flowers? I’m sure your lady would appreciate them.” He smiles.

Before you can correct the old man, Minghao speaks up, “Of course, could I take three of these?” He said, pointing at the basket of Jonquils.

“Of course, you’re in luck too, these are the last off-season flowers I had in my greenhouse.” the old man said as his nimble fingers wrapped the flowers in some yellow tissue paper.

“I'm really lucky indeed.” He agreed while looking at you, your cheeks warming up at the implication. Minghao accepts the flowers and happily pays for them, gracefully handing the bundle to you.

Holding onto the stems, your fingertips graze over the delicate petals of the bright yellow flowers. “Thank you Minghao, they're beautiful.”

He smiles at the way you look at the flowers fondly, simply adoring the way your face lit up; literally, the yellow from the flowers reflected off your face and gave it a yellow hue.

“Shall we continue to walk?” He asks, offering his arm for you to hold again, you hold onto it, the flowers in your other hand. And you let the silence take over again.

Before you knew it, you've spent the entire day laughing and talking with Minghao, only stopping at several vendors for food and other trinkets, feeding the ducks berries, and watching the fish in the pond.

But the day has to end at some point.

You regretfully leave Minghao at the train station, waving goodbye through the glass of the train doors as you watch his figure get smaller and smaller.

Arriving home, you try to find a vase to put your flowers in, setting it down on the kitchen counter, your husband walks in and sees them.

“They're ugly, don't put them anywhere where I could see them.”

He said coldly, you try your best not to scoff at him, still searching for a vacant vase.

Finally finding one, you decide to place the flower vase on the windowsill of your office, the bright flowers contrasting everything else in the room, the dark and neutral furniture your husband got for you.

You jolt, realizing you're comparing your husband to another man.

You expected guilt to eat you up at the realization, but really, you couldn't find a reason to keep defending Haru.

“Could you come over to the studio later tonight? I don't think I should be alone.”

This text from Minghao worried you a bit, you've been spending a lot of time with him recently, you met him 6 more times after he got you flowers at the park, and you never noticed that he could deal with something so sinister.

Of course, you agree to come, your closest confidant in your adult life needs you right now. You wait for your husband to fall asleep in his office, again, before you leave the house, walking to the end of the block before calling a cab.

Arriving at his studio, you already knew the code, punching in the numbers 150526 on the smart lock, the studio opens with a click.

You take cautious steps into the studio, seeing the silhouette of a man on the couch, his back towards the door, nursing what you assume is a wine glass in his hand.

He turns his head to face the door, “You came.” He said, with relief in his voice, a little slurred from the alcohol you assume.

“You called.” You replied. Shrugging off your coat to hang, you join him on the couch. He looked a lot more disheveled compared to the usual clean and put-together Minghao that you know.

His hair is slicked back, some pieces of hair falling onto his face, his tie loosened, his shirt unbuttoned to reveal his collarbones and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. And glasses resting lowly on his nose.

You look at his face, and you notice dark circles around his eyes.

“Drink, and stay with me. Please.” He asks, no, almost begs you. You don't have the heart to decline. He pours you your glass and you both toast your glasses together.

You take the normal sip and he downs the rest of his, taking in a deep breath as if to steady himself. “Y/N, there's something I need to tell you.”

Your stomach drops at this, anxiety filling the pit of it as you nervously wait for the rest of what he has to say.

“I think I'm in love with-” he pauses, “someone I shouldn't be in love with.” He finishes, leaning forward to pour himself another glass of wine.

Your face falls only slightly, a minuscule change in expression that neither you nor Minghao catch. You cross your hands over your lap as soon as you realize your silence.

“Why can't you be in love with them?” You ask. Your head tilts as you take another sip of your wine. He hums, a smile graces his lips, but it doesn't seem to reach his eyes.

“They refuse to be vulnerable with me, opening up throughout our time together then closing back in the next time I see them.” He says with some fondness, “Also, they're married to someone else.”

“You probably should've led with that.” You mumble lowly, “I see, I know that all too well, wanting someone you can't have, someone so close yet so far. It's suffocating, especially when you haven't felt like yourself in so long, and then this person comes around and gives color back to your sad, gray, life. It's cruel, actually.”

You realize you've been rambling, turning to meet Minghao's eyes, you notice an emotion swirling behind them, something bittersweet, a realization that may change the course of your relationship.

“Anyway, how did you end up falling for them in the first place?” You ask in an attempt to bring the conversation back to him,

“Well, at first it was just a cure for boredom, I saw how receptive they were to my advances and I thought their marriage served as a fun, harmless challenge for me. But I got to know them, spend time with them, I got to witness the color come back into their face and I couldn't help but find it beautiful. That fact that I did that, bring color back into their face, slowly becoming someone again. The moment I saw their face light up with a simple gift I knew I was down, down bad.”

You hum, thinking the person Minghao was talking about is one of the luckiest people in the world right now. To be loved by him was like witnessing Orpheus’ choiceless grief that drove him to save his lover from the underworld, it was like feeling the devotee's dread-filled need to turn around, it was like experiencing the immediate forgiveness of Eurydice.

You wanted to be loved by him.

You both continue to chat and drink, and it isn't long before the two of you finish your second bottle of wine, Minghao offers to pay for your cab home, and he decides he's going to sleep in his studio.

You reflect on the events of that night as you slip into the cold covers of your marital bed, your husband’s side tidy as it was for the past month.

You run your hand over the pristine and cold sheet, imagining someone else filling its space on your bed, as he does your heart.

Minghao added a new piece to his collection, his gallery is still a work in progress and you walk through familiar doors. The very same statue you were entranced by still sits by the entrance, and you see a very familiar figure standing in front of it.

“I feel like this already happened before.” You said cheekily, he snorts at this, handing you a paper bag with tissue paper peeking from the top.

“Maybe this happened before in a dream, maybe we were destined to meet under the judgemental fluorescent lights.” He jokes as you feel the weight of the bag on your fingers.

“What's in the bag, Hao?” You ask cautiously, mischief flashing on his face before he fully turns his body to you, giving you his full attention.

“It's something you might like, maybe.” He said, his confidence faltering toward the end of his sentence. Tucking his hands into his trouser pockets, he eagerly waits for you to open the semi-heavy bag.

You carefully move the paper to the side of the bag, seeing white porcelain peaking back at you, you whip your head with with your face showing an expression of surprise. Minghao smiles, enjoying your reaction to his gift.

“You got me a tea set? That's so thoughtful, thank you.” You say with a smile, inspecting the frog patterns in the glaze.

“You mentioned your husband is leaving for a business trip soon, so I figured you'd like a set so we can have tea at your place. I'll even bring you a teacake to keep.” He said as he pulled a hand out of his trousers, fixing a stray hair that fell from your up-do.

“It's perfect, thank you.” You said, looking up at him, a smile still on your face.

“Do you want to walk around the gallery with me? I added a few pieces since then, and I'd like to talk about them.” he said, offering his arm. You wrap another hand around him, the familiarity of his arm under your palm giving you a sense of calm.

You spent the rest of the day walking around the gallery and chatting, other gallery-goers openly gawked at Minghao. It was obvious, really, the artist is here in the flesh, and he's gorgeous.

Minghao stopped to entertain other guests too, seeing him in his element made pride swell in your chest. His work, and by extension him, is finally being recognized by more people in the community. His hard work and dedication paid off handsomely.

Stopping in front of a mural, you noticed it was a replica of a really old painting. A painting of Ares and Aphrodite getting caught by Hephestus.

“Oof, poor bastards.” You joke, Minghao found this funny too, chuckling with you.

“It’s almost comical how this painting compelled me. I don't know what drove me to recreate the thing as a whole mural, but we both know I'm a little crazy.” He says with a playful groan, you try to hold back a loud laugh by giggling into your palm.

“Well, dear Xu Minghao, everyone knows crazy people are geniuses.” squeezing his arm, you check out the side of his face. His side profile was so sharp and soft at the same time, the dichotomy of his features was an easy subject to study. He's a gorgeous man, too gorgeous for his own good you think.

You both sat down on the bench in front of the mural to chat, and before you knew it, enough time has passed that the gallery was about to close.

Minghao calls a cab for you, and you arrive home in-tact, but not safe.

“Y/n, where have you been running off to these past few weeks?” Your husband questioned you as soon as you entered your home. Your mood instantly dropped, feeling the weight of your actions all at once.

“I'm hanging out with a friend, and it's really not that deep. It's not like I've neglected house work at all. So you should have a reason to care.” You snap back, a little too much for such a simple query. Your husband rises from his seat, cupping your face with a gentle hand for the first time in a long time.

“You’re my wife, of course it's my concern.” He said, just as he was about to make you fall for him again, he said, “We haven't been intimate in a long time, I'm leaving in a few days, so I want to make love to you before I go.”

Ah, there it was. He only ever shows affection for you when he's asking for sex nowadays.

You nod, what followed was unfulfilling and unsatisfying sex. Missionary, a few pumps just to get him off, and he didn't even kiss you.

And obviously, he didn't make you cum.

Your husband is fast asleep in your bed for the first time in months, and yet you can't find it in yourself to be happy about it.

You take out your trusty friend, egg.

The jolts to life with steady vibrations as you press the toy to your clit, relaxing into the sheets as you imagine a pair of calloused hands roaming the plane of your skin.

Controlled pressure and technique only a sculptor could have, his hair falling over his face, and his eyes holding you gaze as if you gave him everything he could ever want by simply existing.

He looks at you like you hung each star in the sky just for him, just so he could watch your skin bathed in moonlight, twinkling like the most precious diamond he could ever have.

This man isn't your husband, It was Minghao.

Your orgasm came unexpectedly, the realization that you were fantasizing about him snapped you back into reality so violently that you ruined your own orgasm.

You huff as you tuck the toy back into its drawer, pulling up the covers to try and sleep off the guilt.

Your husband left for his business trip a few days ago, and you made preparations for your first guest in a while. You finally set up the tea set when you heard a knock at your door, springing up, you head towards the door to look through the peephole, you see Minghao dressed a little more casually, a cap on his head and a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

You swiftly unlock the door for him, he smiles upon seeing you, tipping his cap, he says, “Good evening, it's a pleasure to finally be invited into your home.” You greet him back, stepping to the side to let him enter. As he does, he takes his cap off to let his hair fall onto his face again.

He offers you the flowers and you take them, “I'll go find a vase for these, make yourself at home, dinner is still cooking in the oven.” You said as you turned back to find another vase.

After finding one and setting the flowers in your office again, you find Minghao setting a record on your turntable, a slow tune plays through the air, instantly making the room feel calmer and homey.

“I didn't pin you as the type to have such an extensive vinyl collection, you have good taste too.” He said, swaying to the music by shifting his weight from one leg to another.

“I didn't feel the need to mention it considering I haven't touched those in a while. My husband hates them.” You say solemnly.

“Well, he isn't here now. Let's enjoy the music,” he said, holding his hand out for you to take, “Dance with me?”

You smile as you take his hand, he suddenly pulls you towards him and you land on his chest, his arms wrapping around you securely as you sway to the calm of the music.

You think to yourself, This is nice, this is safe. I wonder if this is what it feels like to be married to Minghao instead.

You turn your head and press your ear to his chest, hear him breathe slowly, his heart beating rhythmically. This is the first time you were ever this close to him, practically holding him in a loving embrace.

His woody cologne almost distracts you, so seductive and masculine and you almost reach up to cup his face, to kiss him. Before you realize that he isn't your husband.

You're both snapped out of your little bubble when the oven dings, signaling that dinner is ready. You break away from him, already missing his warmth as you set the dining table, one that hasn't been used in a while.

You eat dinner with him, talking about your days and how work has been. It's a welcome change of pace from your husband’s tolerance of your presence. You didn't have to beg Minghao for footnotes on his life, you didn't feel like you're taking up too much of his space or time.

It's safe, secure. It feels like you're being celebrated for existing.

You dwell on this feeling long after Minghao heads home, your stomach and heart full. As you slip into the covers you wonder what it'll feel like to hold him under them, for him to kiss the crown of your head and whisper the three words you desperately wanted to hear again.

You fall asleep with the fantasy that when you wake up, he'll be right next to you.

Minghao invited you downtown this time, various pop-up stores of luxury brands recently opened and he just secured a sale of a really expensive painting; so of course, what better way to spend that money than taking a shopping trip with his closest friend.

“This would look amazing on you.” He said while taking out a dress, it's a color that compliments your hair and skin wonderfully. Minghao always knew how to dress.

“Oh, I'm inclined to agree, but I'm not willing to look at the price tag for that one.” You joke, shrugging as you follow him around the store.

“Nonsense, I'm offering to pay.” He said, turning his nose up. “I'm getting this for you, I'll ask the salesperson for more sizes so you can try them on.” He said, turning to the salesperson doing just that.

The salesperson nods enthusiastically, bringing the dresses to the dressing rooms and ushering you in despite your protests. Minghao only smiles in amusement as the curtain hides your figure, he sits on the bench near the dressing rooms in silence, scrolling through Instagram on his phone.

He hears the curtains roll open, it only takes a moment of him looking at you in the dress to take his breath away. It fits you perfectly, hugging your body deliciously. Minghao almost drops his phone onto his lap, his grip loosening, star-struck by your beauty.

“How does it look?” You ask, awkwardly fiddling with the expensive fabric of the dress, feeling a little too expensive to be on your body.

Minghao wordlessly stands from the bench, looking a little dazed, he turns to the salesperson and tells them, “We're getting the dress.” As he walks toward the cashier almost in a trance.

You're a little taken aback by his reaction, but nonetheless you change back into your regular clothes. As soon as you walk out of the dressing room Minghao Pushes you back in with more dresses.

“Please try these on.” He says, not having the strength to look you in the eyes. You comply.

It took you hours of trying on dresses and accessories to the point that you almost bought the store out. Minghao couldn't get enough of the mini-fashion show you were putting on for him, and it's not like the salespeople are complaining either.

You walk out of the first store with multiple bags in hand, you thought that was enough shopping for the whole year maybe, but no, Minghao pulls you into another store, and another, and another, all leaving with bags (multiple) of clothes.

It got so bad to the point that Minghao had to leave your bags in his car so you could free up your hands to buy more stuff.

You stopped trying to fathom the amount of money Minghao was spending on you, yes, he did buy items for himself too, but he looked much more satisfied to provide for you rather than procuring items for himself.

The car ride back home was filled with way too many ‘are you sure's and ‘you really didn't have to's. But Minghao was insistent on you keeping all the items he got for you.

“I'm being serious, you're a gorgeous woman, you deserve to be spoiled like a queen.” he said, turning to you while waiting at a red light, “You need to visit my studio in the clothes I got you, you'll fit right in with my paintings.” He smiles.

Your face flushes at his compliments, a bright and happy smile stretching across your face. You couldn't remember the last time you were this happy with someone. To find joy in the company of another felt liberating, you felt like you deserved this.

Minghao drops you off at your place with your new clothes, helping you get them into your living room like a true gentleman.

“I'll see you next time, Y/n.” He said stopping at your doorstep, annd leaning down to press a kiss on the crown of your head, he took note of what your shampoo smelled like and left. Leaving you awestruck in your doorway as you watch his car drive off.

This studio has become so familiar to you, like a second home almost. Punching in the code was muscle memory at this point, the smell of drying paint and clay becoming a calming scent.

You smooth over the front of your dress, one that Minghao got you, as you enter his studio again. Shrugging off your heavier coat, the beginning of winter creeps closer as the trees lose the last of their leaves.

Minghao just got out of the bathroom, wiping his hands on his paint-stained shirt and apron. He looks at you, the dress, the way it fits on you. And he smiles widely.

“Hey there gorgeous, what are you doing all the way there? You should be over there with the rest of the art.” He says cheekily.

You giggle as you enter the space more, stopping in front of him taking his extended hand and following it, giving him a twirl.

He simply adores the way the fabric flows and shapes around your curves and contours, your skin practically glowing with life.

He fights the urge to kiss you, succeeding for now.

He guides you onto the couch, a turntable sitting next to his stone tea tray on the coffee table. ”Oh? This is new.” You said when you noticed it.

“Oh that? I got it for when you come over. I got a few records too, if you'd like to make yourself comfortable while I brew us some tea.” He said, untying his apron to hang on an easel, turning his back to you and he started preparing tea like before.

His movements and practiced, you'd guess this tea ceremony is second nature to him, considering he always talks about it. This scene is safe, familiar, it's comfortable.

He does this whole song and dance again, you've seen him do this over and over again but you can't seem to get sick of it. It's like you're giving yourself excuses just to keep seeing him.

But they don't feel like excuses, not at all, they're just more reasons why you feel deeply, and so quickly for Minghao.

Again, the both of you talk about everything and anything under the sun, him walking you through all his latest pieces, him plans for new ones creativity vibrating through ever cell in his body.

You imagine him talking so passionately about the future, maybe even a future with you.

Before you could realize what you were doing, you’re holding onto Minghao’s shoulders for support,

and you lean up to kiss him.

Minghao fights the urge to kiss back, he fails.

His hands come up to cup the back of your head tilting his head to deepen the kiss, pouring all his emotions into the simple, gesture of affection.

Your head was spinning, dizzy from his cologne and the wind getting knocked from your lungs as soon as your lips met his. It was electrifying, finally feeling the warmth of his body pressed so close, yet so far from yours.

Oh, you wanted him, so, so badly.

He pulls away first, heaving from the intensity of the kiss, eyes in a daze. Meeting your eyes again, he couldn’t help but lean in for another kiss.

This time he's really pressing into you seemingly drunk off of the feeling of his lips meeting yours. He's just a man at the end of the day, a weak, weak man in the face of paradise.

He came back to his senses once he felt the cool metal of your wedding ring on his neck. Jolting back, he pushed your shoulders back, creating a significant distance between the two of you.

“I, I think you should leave.” He said turning to hide in his studio bathroom to collect his thoughts.

You stood there puzzled, did he not feel the same way you did? But why did he kiss you, twice? Something isn't adding up.

But moreover, you can't ignore the painful sting this rejection gave you. You wanted him, did he not want you? What was the point of trying so hard to make you fall for him when he just decided to back down when he finally had you?

You gather your belongings and leave the studio, the door clicking to lock behind you. The ride back was suffocating, it felt like you left a part of yourself in that studio with Minghao. And you fear that this may be the last time you see him.

You haven’t spoken to Minghao in the weeks following the kiss, your nerves on fire every time you remember how his pillow lips felt so right on yours.

You're standing in front of the mural. The one where Hephestus caught Aphrodite, his wife, and Ares, her lover, having an affair and having sex on their marital bed.

It's funny, looking at this mural. You spent your last weeks wandering his gallery, searching for his shadow, but he always seems to evade you so easily. He's marked you like a bloodstain on a pristine white dress, lingering like fog on a cold autumn day.

Winter is still young, yet you feel cold. So, so cold.

As if your most desperate prayers were heard, Minghao practically materializes next to you.

“Hi. I'm sorry I wasn't able to speak to you for the past few weeks. I'm a coward, a fool to run from you.” He said, both of you looking at the mural and not at each other.

Silence follows, you couldn't look at him, you couldn't speak to him. “Y/n I-”

“This isn't the place to talk about this.” You said coldly.

Minghao flinches a bit, not used to how icy your voice was. It usually greets him so warmly, so lovingly.

“Let's go out to drink, there's a bar that's walking distance from here, if you'd like go go with me. I have too many things to say to you, too many thoughts left unsaid. You deserve to hear them, at least.” He said, remorseful.

You really couldn't find it in yourself to stay mad at him. So you agree to walk with him.

The walk to the bar is silent, unlike your previous walks. You're so far from him, you even refused to hold onto his arm like you usually do.

It's early winter yet Minghao is sweating bullets, he's almost vibrating at a frequency that could shatter glass. His nerves are all over the place, he's acting so out of character, nothing like the calm, cool, collected Minghao you've come to know over the past few months.

He takes a deep breathe before you both enter the bar.

A few drinks in and you’re already tipsy, “You know- hic- my husband is being a dick to me.” You drunkenly slurred, “This novel I’ve been writing for over two years now is fucking me in the ass- I- I want to finish it so desperately but all he does is sucks the soul out of me. He’s a giant pain in the ass-!”

Minghao snorts at this, loudly talking over the music of the bar, “Your husband is a fucking dick! Your work is amazing. If I were him, I would do anything to help you get rid of that writer’s block, you know, inspire you.” He tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’d do that?” You ask, clinging onto his arm, “Thank youuuu hao bear~ you’re the best-!” You giggle into his arm, your weight pressing against his side. You’ve only known him for three months at this point, but his ideas and influence on your work improved your writing and motivation drastically.

“Hao bear? That’s new, you’ve only known me for- what? 3 months? You’re already calling me nicknames!” He holds the back of your head gently, pressing his forehead onto yours, “I should give you a nickname too… Starlight, how does that sound?” At this point, you tune out every other sound other than the sound of his voice and the pounding of your heart.

This man had you in a chokehold the moment you met him, you were fucking doomed from the start.

“Starlight? Yeah, I like it more than a little bit.” You say softly, your words almost getting lost in the noise of the bar.

“Let’s move to somewhere quieter, yeah? Tell me more about your work. We can head to my place to settle down for a bit.” There it is, the same dark, barely there smirk that plagues your stomach with butterflies.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

Arriving at Minghao’s place, you take a quick look around his apartment. Everywhere you look is a pop of color, bold splotches of vibrant hues making the place look like it was pulled straight out of the 80s, “Hao, your place is amazing, the furniture brings me so much joy~” You giggle a bit, sitting down at the plush red velvet couch shaped like a seashell.

“Thanks! Most of the furniture is thrifted from retro thrift stores, I like this style more. It brings so much personality to the space.” He passionately talks about them, “Do you want anything to drink? I have water, juice, and beer here.” He says, rummaging through his fridge.

“Oh, just water, please.” You say you have a feeling that you need to at least sober up for whatever the night brings.

He takes two glasses of water and places them down on the coffee table. It’s the only piece in the entire house that is a neutral color, a fine hardwood. You couldn’t tell what it was at a glance, not that it was important anyway.

“So, let’s talk about this book that you’ve been struggling to write now. Could you tell me what it’s about?” He asks, taking a swig of his water, you stare at his side profile while he does, sharp yet delicate features, his Adam’s apple bobbing from his drink.

Bro’s so majestic.

“Well, it’s about an artist who’s losing passion for his work, told from the perspective of his lover. It’s a spicy romance, with, in my opinion, a correct amount of sex scenes-”

“Give me a percentage of how much of it is smut.” Minghao interrupts you,

“Like… 75 percent?” He snorts at this, “Anyway, I’ve been stuck on the last spicy scene of the book, the climax, pun not intended,” You take a swig of your water, “I mean, it’s not like I don’t have experience writing that sort of thing, or lack experience in sex either, but my sex life’s been such a drag with my husband being gone for long periods and-”

Minghao interrupts you again, “And he doesn’t fuck you right, does he?”

The forwardness of his words made you freeze, you contemplated whether to reject him here, to tell him it wasn’t appropriate to talk about this with you, especially about your husband. You know how Minghao looks at you. It wasn’t a secret to anyone that he wanted you, but he never acted in any inappropriate way. He never makes you uncomfortable.

This was no exception. The swirling in your stomach wasn’t because of unease, no, this was because of arousal.

“No, no he doesn’t.”

He leans in, kissing you. This time he's not rushing, no more pushing and pulling, no more things left unsaid. He wants you, he'll have you. That was a promise.

He lifts you from the couch, lips never parting as he carries you to his bedroom, peeling each other's clothes, bumping into walls and furniture. But you couldn't care less, you were lost in each other's embrace and you can't think of another place you'd rather be.

Half-naked on Minghao’s bed, who, need you be reminded, was not your husband.

His hands roamed your sides, the heat from his palms warming your skin, causing it to flush, his soft, plump lips pressing feather-light kisses to your neck. You could feel his breath behind your ear, his hair tickling your cheek.

“How would your husband feel if he knew what you were doing with me right now?” He asks, clearly getting off on the fact that you were in his bed, getting ready to fuck him, a man who wasn’t your husband.

“I hope he’d be disappointed, but at this point, I think he forgot about me.” You say with a chuckle at the end, trying not to ruin the mood.

Minghao gently pulls away from you from that, “What?” he asks quietly, the word almost getting drowned out by the hum of the air conditioning, “Sorry, I know this was supposed to be a taboo, forbidden relationship thing but… I’m angry at him.” He says, avoiding your eyes.

“I know I’ve only known you for a few months, but I never felt this way before. It fucking kills me to think that a woman like you would be forgotten, for what exactly? Work?” He said anger gradually filling his voice. His hand reaches for your face when your eyes meet, thumbs pressing down on your cheekbone. The controlled and purposeful movement reminds you just how pliable you are under his touch. He sculpted you into what he wanted you to be; beautiful, strong, unashamed.

You gently cup his face, still hovering above you, “Kiss me, Minghao.”

And he did.

His lips met yours in a searing embrace, just the force of his passion against yours was dizzying, fiery desire clashing to make fireworks behind the eyelids that fluttered close. You never felt this type of longing from your husband, never felt his devotion being kissed through your lips like Minghao’s tongue was exploring it.

At that moment, you knew you were gone.

Minghao pulled away from you, hazy eyes meeting yours as the string of saliva that connected your mouths broke. At that moment, Minghao was stuck in a trance, his lips coming to meet yours over and over like he couldn’t stop tasting your lips even if he tried. A sweet ambrosia, too saccharine to stop. He’s become addicted to your lips molding onto his like sickly sweet honey sticking to his lips.

Out of breath, he grabs hold of your waist, rolling over to get you on top of him. He reaches behind you, unclasping the hooks of your bra and letting your breasts fall free from it. He cups both of them while you sit up, grinding on his hardening cock through his boxers, he groans at this, reflexively squeezing your boobs.

Placing both of your hands on his pecs, you also give them a gentle squeeze. Minghao notices this and his gaze darkens, passing his thumbs over your hardening nipples. Your pussy clenches onto nothing at this, a soft gasp leaves you as you started to grind harder against Minghao.

His nails started to dig into your hips, his own desperately grinding up against you for more friction. Soft moans leave him as he throws his head back against the pillows, eyes fluttering close just so he could focus on the sensations of your clothed cunt grinding against his cock through his boxers.

“God, get off of me before I cum in my underwear like a teenager.” He says with a playful groan, lifting your hips off from his crotch.

“Right, you still need to cum inside of me.” You say back playfully, his eyes darkened at this.

“Fuck, you make me want to keep you forever,” taking one of your hands and placing a kiss on your palm.

He lifts his hips only enough to get his boxers off, shimmying them off to somewhere on the floor near his bed. You also take this time to take your underwear off, secretly hiding it under his pillow when you lean down to kiss him again.

When you both pulled away, another string of saliva connected you two. You took two fingers to swipe at the liquid, bringing it down to rub your clit while you lowered yourself down to grind on his bare cock now.

Minghao hisses, “Fuck, I can feel how wet and warm you are, sweet christ.” he breathes out a shaky breath as you grind your bare wetness on his cock, lubricating the shaft for later. You moan at the contact, body slightly shaking from the friction of the tip of his cock hitting your clit occasionally.

“God, Minghao, fuck I need you inside me.” You desperately whine out. You lifted your hips up to finally hold his hard cock to align it with your pussy, slowly sinking on the thick girth. You throw your head back at the satisfying stretch his dick was making you feel.

“Fuck, you feel so good, so tight and warm,” He moans, he’s not shy about letting you know how good it feels with how vocal he’s being, he takes your right hand and holds it tightly, pressing it against his chest. You could feel his racing heartbeat under his skin, “Let me keep you forever, please, don’t make me beg, run away with me.”

You openly gape at him from this, You’d be a fool to accept this, especially since you’ve only known him for a fraction of the time you knew your husband, but god dammit.

“Take me with you, anywhere you want to go. I’m yours, please take me.” You say desperately. You’ve never been wanted this badly before, and god, you wanted more, for the rest of time.

Minghao abruptly thrusts up into you from this, tightly clenching your hand in his, still pressing on top of his racing heart under the skin. You cry out in pleasure, somehow the sensation of his heart under your palm elevates your pleasure, making you go dizzy at the thought that you’re doing this to him, and only you.

You come close to your climax embarrassingly quick, the sensation of his cock rubbing your velvet walls so perfectly made your head spin. Your ears are ringing so loudly that it almost drowns out your sounds of pleasure, and the sound of skin slapping against skin.

Minghao isn’t far from you either, the same dizzying effect taking hold of his mind too. He’s so close to finishing that he could almost taste it, his moans and whines of your name leaving his lips like a mantra, a prayer, even.

“Minghao I’m gonna cum-!” you say frantically, pressing your forehead onto his as he meets your lips with his for the nth time. You swallow the moans he spills into your mouth as you both climax at the same time. His heart still beating frantically under your palm.

“Did you mean that?” You ask breathlessly, “When you said you wanted me forever, did you mean it?” you couldn’t look him in the eyes.

“Exactly, I meant it word for word. Let me replace the ring on your finger with mine.” He smiles at you.

In the end, he did replace the ring on your finger with his, much more extravagant, and elaborate. Your husband wasn’t surprised at your sudden request for a divorce, since your marriage was already failing before you met Minghao.

Still, time was the ultimate truthteller.

Your husband found out about your High Infidelity around the middle of your divorce proceedings, and in a rage, he threw you and all your belongings out onto the driveway. In the middle of winter rain.

The rain soaked into your skin, cold and icy piercing you painfully. All your personal belongings were strewn all around you, and your soon-to-be ex-husband was angrily slamming the door shut, but you couldn't help but feel relieved.

After all, you were finally free.

You finished your book, it received critical acclaim and it was a New York Times Best-Seller.

And you got to marry Minghao, the love of your life. Who you were happily married to until the both of you grew old.

FIN.

[charliehoennam]

karma's kiss

a/n: @harmonity-vibes requested a smutty lil fic with anthony because he is foooooine so here it is

Pairing: Anthony Saint Claire x F!Reader

Summary: Anthony finds himself swindled by a con-artist and tracks her down to get his own justice.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, dark themes like rough sex, asphyxiation, stealing, dub-con, smut (let's remember anthony is not a nice guy like our sweet little adorable professor so read at your own risk)

SHARING IS CARING SO REBLOG IF YOU LIKE IT

The bar you’re in is far different compared to the dive bars you started in your early years.

Your job isn't the kind you include in resumés, but it's paid your bills since college and you've managed to work your way up to a more high-end clientele.

Sitting at the bar, you can feel eyes boring into your side as you sip your daiquiri.

You smile at the bearded man, waiting to see if he'll approach you first. And, indeed, he does taking your smile as an invitation.

"Staring isn't very polite, you know" you smirk setting your drink on the bar as he sits next to you.

"Well, can you blame me? A beautiful woman like you in a dress like that is bound to get some attention, right?" he smiles slyly.

You smile pretending to be flattered by his compliment. It's nothing you haven't already heard before. It might be just bait that he tells all the girls he meets to get what he wants out of them, but you have to admit it feels a little nice coming from someone as attractive as he is.

In order to hide your real name and identity, you give him a fake name as you hold your hand out to shake his.

"Anthony," he smirks shaking your hand lightly before lifting his whisky for a sip. "Are you here with your husband?"

He glances down at the fake wedding ring and band on your finger. There is no husband. You just wear the rings because you've found it makes you more intriguing to most men.

You never really understood why, but if you had to guess, you'd guess it must have something to do with the chauvinistic idea of conquering something that's not theirs or that belongs to another man.

It doesn't exactly surprise to see a gold band on his finger too.,

"Are you here with your wife?" you retort.

"Touché," he smirks raising his glass to your witty observation.

"I'm not here with my husband, but he does know I'm here."

"Your husband lets you go out alone dressed like that?"

"We have an open relationship."

Anthony's smile stretches from ear to ear. Attending underground sex clubs, he's no strangers to forbidden kinks. They arouse him. Your beauty attracted him, but now, you have his full attention.

"That's interesting. You don't hear that every day," he smirks. "Tell me more about this relationship. I'm intrigued."

"Well, once a week, he allows me to go out on my own. I like getting to meet new people and he likes watching me get fucked by other men."

Your bluntness has his cheeks turning pink as he beams with amazement.

"So it's a kink?"

"I prefer the term alternative modern lifestyle," you smile mischievously at him. "Keeps the marriage spicy."

"I can imagine. And how's it work huh?"

"I go out, find a very attractive man," you explain glancing at his lips and making no effort to hide it. "We talk, drink, kiss and I take him home to fuck me in front of my husband."

"Seems simple enough" he smirks catching your glance at his lips. "How do you choose the man?"

"Consent is the most important factor, of course. If he's not alright with that, then everything stops. But I tend to gravitate towards those that are more pleasing to the eye."

"And are there candidates yet?"

"The night is still young. This is still my first drink and I'm already interviewing one," you reply with a cheeky smile.

"Oh, my. I am very flattered," he chuckles pretending to be surprised. "I'm very interested. Although I've never done anything like this before."

"You'd be surprised at how many have."

"I'm guessing a lot?"

"More than you think. Open relationships are becoming more and more common and accepted nowadays."

It hardly takes him any further convincing. You can tell by the way his legs and hips squirm in his seat he's turned on by the sole thought of it.

Moving to a more private table, you sit in the corner of the high-end bar sharing details about what you and your husband enjoy.

Anthony is up for anything. Just the thrill of fucking you in front of your husband already his dick leaking with anticipation.

The hardness in his pants is noticeable when you place your palm on his crotch after he tells you how big he is when you ask about his size.

Granted he is perfectly sized and thick, it doesn't change any of the plans you have for him.

You invite him to come back to the motel you're staying at under the guise you and your husband always go out of town for your escapades to avoid running into people you might work who wouldn't understand your lifestyle.

A sexual deviant himself, he knows just how well it is to have to hide your sexual fantasies and desires from others.

In the backseat of a taxi on the way to the motel, his lips are all over yours mauling yours as his head tilts to the side. His tongue wrestles for dominance between you. The thumb on the hand on your neck strokes your cheek.

His touch warms you from the inside. You can't let yourself give in, but it doesn't mean you can't enjoy it while you can.

You have to focus. This is our opportunity to get what you need.

Your hand glides down his chest under his leather jacket towards his crotch. With a firm unexpected squeeze to his cock, he moans into your mouth.

The driver can't help but glance at the rearview mirror, torn between stopping you from getting too heated and letting you go on to enjoy the show.

You palm Anthony's cock over his jeans. You have to admit, the man does have a nice size that makes your panties wet.

Reveling in your touch, his knees spread to invite you in as his torso adjusts to face the front.

"You like that, huh?"

"Can't wait to get my mouth around it."

"Why wait?" He smirks darkly.

Taking a glimpse at the driver, he immediately looks away and back to the road when your eyes meet his in the mirror.

You smirk back at Anthony as he unbuttons his jeans and pulls his cock out.

Lowering into the darkness of the backseat, you lean down to take it into your mouth, letting your tongue swirl around his tip to lap at his precum.

Anthony closes his eyes as his head dips backwards at the welcomed warmth of your mouth. With one arm stretched along the backseat, he uses the other to rest his hand against your bobbing head.

Too lost in the sensation, he doesn't notice or feel your hand sneaking into his pocket to steal his wallet.

The thrill of accomplishing your mission excites you enough to add a little more enthusiasm into the blowjob until the driver clears his throat to get your attention as the car rolls to a stop.

"We're here. That'll be 8.50."

"I got it" you say quickly to stop Anthony from looking for his wallet.

Taking a 10-dollar bill from your bra while Anthony tucks himself away, you hand the money to the driver and thank him telling him to keep the change.

Climbing out of the cab, you lead him to your room fumbling for your room key.

Anthony follows you inside and takes a look around. The room is nothing fancy as expected but it has a double bed which is all you need. Or so he thinks.

"My husband is on his way. He'll be here soon. Why don't you get comfortable while I freshen up real quick? I'll be just a minute."

You smirk sliding your hands up his chest to gently push at his black leather jacket.

“Don’t mind if I do,” he smirks down at you with lustful eyes.

As he shrugs off his jacket, you walk to the bathroom. While he takes his shoes off, you quickly race to the back wall of the bathroom to open the high shower window. You pop off the bug screen and let it fall to the ground. The collision makes an echoing noise and catches Anthony’s attention.

“Fuck,” you whisper to yourself.

Using the ledge of the dingy tub, you pull yourself up into the window and see-saw on the sill. You planned the escape; should’ve also planned the landing of it.

Your heart races when Anthony knocks on the locked door.

“Hey, sweetheart. Everything ok in there?” he questions growing suspicious.

Your legs flail in the air, knocking the shower rod and one of your high heels down. The clattering encourages him to throw his shoulder against the door to bust it open. Pushing yourself forward, you hold your arms out to soften the drop to the ground outside just as Anthony is able to break inside, catching a quick glimpse your feet just before they slip out of view.

“Hey! The fuck are you going?!” Anthony shouts bewildered as he pats his pockets for his phone and realizes his wallet is gone so he darts to the window, standing on his toes to pop his head outside.

It dawns on him that this is a set-up. Everything you told him was merely a lie to get him alone. And now he’s stuck in a run-down motel with no way to chase after you.

“Hey! Get back here, you little fucking thief!”

Giggling to yourself with his wallet in hand, you quickly limp toward the car you’d left in the alleyway behind the motel specifically for your get-away.

He tries to climb out through the window and, although he’s much better at it than you, you’re already speeding down the alleyway and onto the road when he stands up. He tries to run after you, but he knows his feet are no match to your car.

“Fuck!” he shouts angrily as he pants.

Standing in the alleyway, he quickly whips out the cellphone you thankfully managed to leave behind and types in the digits of your license plate in his digital notes before he can forget them.

Once they’re saved, he goes through his list of contacts which – unfortunately for you – is rather long and full of assorted figures. Some, which thanks to his night job in an underground sex club, happen to be people in powerful positions. Judges, lawyers, law enforcement. You name the job and he’s guaranteed to have someone of the area in his pocket.

Cashing in a favor with a sketchy local sergeant of the police department, Anthony asks him to notify him as soon as they get a hit on your plate. The sergeant doesn’t ask any questions. Anthony wouldn’t answer him with anything other than a threat of blackmail if he didn’t, but the less he knows, the better.

It takes a few days, but Anthony eventually gets a call informing of the car’s whereabouts and original owner. He’s not surprised to know it’s not you.

Assuming you live practically on the run, moving from motel to motel, he knows he has to act fact but still cautiously. There’s still quite a bit that he doesn’t know about you like if you work with any other parties or if you impose any danger. And if so, what level of danger could it be?

With a recently purchased gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans, he sets his helmet on and speeds off to the illegally given address. He lurks from a distance and waits until you finally leave the room.

He keeps his distance from you, but decided to stalk you as you go about your day, buying groceries and clothes with his money. There wasn’t much pocket money, but you were able to clone his cards and identity to cash up a couple thousand.

He could’ve stopped you and cancelled all his cards, filed an official report. But you’ve would known and been caught before he’s had the chance to make you pay. And a couple thousands aren’t going to cause a lot of financial troubles for him, thanks to his fairly wealthy income from the night job.

As you go about your day, you can’t shake the feeling that someone is onto you. You keep looking over your shoulder, but there’s no one there. No one that you notice, at least. But then again, you always get this feeling after a theft.

You head back to the motel where you’d left your car. After a theft gone right, you always opt to get around on foot with the most important things in your bag at the slightest sight of a cop. That way, if anyone is onto you, it could provide you some time to get away.

Assuring the motel is safe, you head to the room you’d paid to stay at for the night and unlock the door. But just as you open the door, you instantly feel cold metal press against the side of your head. Your groceries drop and scatter on the ground as you hold your hands up.

“Don’t get smart again. I found you once and I can find you again.”

You can’t see the face of the figure, but you can tell it’s a man and you’re almost certain who he is.

“Close the door and step away from it.”

You don’t have much of an option. Run away and he’ll find you again. Or worse, shoot you down in the parking lot of this crappy motel and that’s not how you want to die.

With your hands carefully raised, you slowly close the door with your foot and walk deeper into the room just as ordered. You keep your back turned to him as he locks the door and face him only after he says you can.

The newfound power intoxicates him. It swells him with an authority that he's never felt before. You, on the other hand, are filled with fear. You try to play it cool to avoid letting him know that you're actually scared.

With your hands carefully raised, you slowly close the door with your foot and walk deeper into the room just as ordered. You keep your back turned to him as he locks the door and face him only after he says you can.

"I want my money and my documents back."

"I can give your documents back and all the copies I've made. But the money is already gone. I already spent it."

"Well, it seems like we got a bit of a predicament here, doesn't it?"

"I can pay you back, but it's gonna take some time."

"I don't have time," he lies. "I want it back now."

"I don't have any money now. Why do you think I do this?" You sigh. "Look, what if... I paid you back some other way?"

"What other way?"

You lower your hand to unbutton your white shirt and reveal your lacy bra.

"This is what you wanted in the first place, isn't it?"

His eyes lower from your face down to your chest. He stays silent, considering your offer but his gun stays aimed at you. 

"It was..  it still is."

"So why don't you put that away and take what you want?"

A sly smirk grows on his lips. His eyes darken with a sudden and familiar lust that revisits his being.

"I'm gonna keep this, just in case." He stated walking over to sit on the bed, manspreading his legs as he keeps the gun pointed at you.

"C'mere. On your knees."

Glancing at the weapon, you take slow steps to approach him and kneel between his knees.

"You know what to do. You did it so well before. Don't be shy now." 

You nod and raise your shaky hands to unbutton his jeans, pulling down his zipper.

Feeling the end of the barrel rest against the side of your head, you carefully release his dick from it's confine. It's not quite hard as before, but its getting there with you under his will.

You hold his dick up to take him into your mouth, lathering his member with your spit.

"Eyes up here, sweetheart."

His order is your command which you obey. You don't know what he's capable of and you don't want to find out.

Looking up at him, he relishes in the contrast of your teary eyes and dirty mouth full of his dick. He takes his free hand and threads his fingers into your hair, holding it back to keep it away from distracting you. How thoughtful, you think sarcastically.

Anthony's moans and groans fill the room as he breathes heavily, cock twitching with every bob of your head.

The grip on your hair tightens with every twitch. After forcing himself to the back of your throat, you buy yourself sometime to breath by licking up the backside of his heavy cock and swirling your tongue around his dome, putting your saliva pool against your plush lips.

"Fucking Christ" he groans deeply as he watches your mouth working its wonders, his angry cock throbbing with desire.

"Take them off" he orders nodding at your clothes.

Obeying his command, you slowly stand between his knees and unbutton your pants. He tisks as you move too fast.

“Slow… and turn around for me.”

You turn your back to him and slowly push your pants down, gliding your palms over your cheeks as you undress just to tease him a little. You figure you might as well enjoy it.

He smirks at the sight of your matching panties and admires how they perfectly hug your curves. As you bend forward to push your pants down to your ankles, he takes advantage of your position and trails the edge of his gun down the split of your cheeks.

Your body tenses at the touch of cold metal. You remind yourself to take calming breaths to keep yourself together.

“Nice fucking ass you got here, sweetheart,” he simpers, poking the barrel at your clothed cunt from behind. “Bet you got a cute pussy too…. Show me it.”

You gulp and lift your trembling hands to slide your panties down to reveal yourself to him. Although Anthony is undoubtedly attracted, you don’t trust him. The fact that your life is essentially in his hands is still in your mind. You comply to his orders, but you pray that he doesn’t hurt you too much. Not enough to be fatal at least.

“Atta girl.” He says removing the gun from between your legs. You quietly sigh in relief.

“Now come on over here.” Anthony stands behind you and presses the gun into your side.

“On the bed. Face down.”

Accepting your fate, you climb onto the mattress and lay on your front. Out of your view, you hear the jostling of his belt as he removes it with one hand and climbs on top of your legs to lock you in place. Setting the gun beside his foot, he takes the belt and tightens the leather tightly around your wrists.

You wince as the leather pinches your skin, but he doesn’t seem to care if it hurts you. You can feel his emotionless eyes on you, so you turn your head to the side to avoid look at him.

He climbs off of you and the bed, but he stays close. You try to zone out as you listen to him undress.

Walking around the bed now completely naked, he kneels down to pet your hair and wipes a tear from your cheek.

“Listen, sweetheart. I’m sorry for the scare. I’m not gonna kill you, alright? I’m not a monster.”

You nod looking up at him confused.

“I’m just gonna fuck you. Really, really hard. I think I deserve to get my money’s worth, right? Even you gotta agree with me on that.”

His words don’t exactly ease you, but the promise that he won’t shoot you dead is enough. After all, he doesn’t have to. It’s not like you can simply go to the cops to report him anyways.

“Ok,” you agree. “C-can you just please put the gun away?”

“I can do that. But don’t get smart. Deal?”

“Deal.”

He walks back around the bed and takes his gun to set it on the nightstand. You feel like you can finally breathe after what seemed like hours holding your breath.

You feel his weight on the mattress as it dips beside you again. He pulls you up by your arms and stands you on your knees.

“I want you to do something for me first. Sit on my face. Can you do that?”

You’re almost surprised by his request and the contact on your wrists as he unbuckles the belt, letting your wrists go just to bind them again but in front of you this time. He wants to…. pleasure you?

“I’ll make you cum if you’re a good girl.”

Once he’s on his back on the bed, you straddle his head carefully and lower your hips down to meet with his hungry mouth. With your ass spread by his hands, you lean forward to place your hands on his taut abs for balance.

You can’t hold back the moan you release as he licks a long-wet stripe from your hardening clit to your puckered ring of muscle. The hands that keep your cheeks apart squeezes into your flesh when his tongue begins its work on your pussy.

Anthony just can’t enough of you. Your taste is wonderfully delicious to him that he just has to fuck you with his tongue. And the position allows him to flick at your sensitive nub, making your walls slick.

“Jesus, fuck!” you gasp as he toys with your clit bringing you closer and closer to the brink. You’re so turned on although you feel like you shouldn’t be. He held you at gunpoint. This is wrong. So wrong, but it feels so fucking good.

His beard heightens the sensitivity between your legs as his nose pokes at your asshole. He pulls your hips down against his face harder, restricting himself of air.

“T-That feels so good!” you whine with tears prickling at your eyes feeling the pleasure snaps in waves throughout your body.

You’re not sure what comes over you, but you find yourself leaning forward to wrap your mouth around his cock again. The burning heat that bubbles from your core provoking yet another orgasm has you so hot for him that you need to suck him off.

He chuckles surprised by your sudden urge as he lifts your hips up to hiss out in pleasure. It doesn’t take him long to start thrusting his hips violently up, shoving his cock down your throat. He stops suddenly and pushes you off him, feeling himself close.

Shoving you onto your back, he spreads your legs and eagers aligns his dick with your hole before pushing himself into your wetness.

His hips relentlessly thrust against yours as he pounds you raw. The sounds of your wet cunt squelching around him make your cheeks warm as you realize how wet you really are for him.

The lecherous stare down at your body proves he’s getting closer. He pants as he watches your breast bouncing free from your bra. Eager to feel them, he stills and tear the bra in half to expose you completely.

He growls dipping his head to grope and maul at your breasts. Your skin burns with his prickly beard and rough teething kisses.

With one hand squeezing your breast, the other sneaks around your neck. He squeezes your neck and throat, choking you as he restricts your oxygen. His hips drill you into the mattress as you watch him, slowly losing your conscious.

Anthony looks like he’s been possessed by something else and it scares you a bit. You claw at his wrists as you feel the pressure in your head weighing heavy. Your eyes roll to the back of your head from the combination of pleasure and pain.

You gasp for air as he finally releases your neck and fills you with his heavy load, spilling into your pussy in hot ropes.

He pants as he eases his cock out and into you again, admiring how his cum trickles out from your hole and coats his cock.

“We’re gonna have a very long night.”

“Night?” you question. Could you even last a night with him?

“I told you. I want my money’s worth.”

[soaps-mohawk]

Important Things For This Blog

I wanted to make a post with some rules/important things to know for this blog. It will be linked in my pinned navigation post. I know some of you have been asking for this and I apologize for it taking this long to do this.

Probably the most important thing (which is sad that this is something I have to say) but

UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES DO YOU HAVE MY PERMISSION TO USE MY FICS FOR AI

If you see someone using my fics or claiming to have my permission please report them because I will NEVER give permission for my fics to be used for AI

Okay, now that that's out of the way, I wanted to put down some reminders/rules (not that I've had many issues to date) but just in case:

This is an 18+ blog with explicit content. I am trusting a lot of you to be honest and stay away if you are not 18. This is not a minor friendly space.

I am one person running this blog. It's just me, a real person behind all of this.

I am in Pacific Standard Time (PST)/Pacific Daylight Time (PDT) depending on the time of year, so any time I talk about days, I'm meaning that day for me if I forget to add the timezone.

I take a break from this blog on Thursdays (PST), though that can sometimes start as early as Wednesday afternoons and can extend into Friday mornings.

Again, I am a human being with my own struggles and some days are not good days. I try to avoid interacting too much those days, but sometimes I'm not smart enough to do that. So if I seem off or rude or snappy, I do apologize. I always feel guilty after I get back into my normal head space.

I invoke the right to delete any ask that I do not want to answer, or that makes me uncomfortable.

As point number 2 states, I am just one person, and I get a lot of asks some days, so if your ask/comment/reblog etc isn't responded to right away, it's either because I didn't get it/didn't see it, or because I have 30 others in my inbox that I haven't answered yet too.

I try and avoid posting asks/reblogs with spoilers right away for those that don't/can't read the chapter right away. I tend to hold off for a couple days so if I haven't responded to you, that's also probably why.

Responses that have spoilers and are posted the days I post spoilers are tagged with "crcb spoilers" so block that tag if you don't want to see them or have anything spoiled, though after those days I stop tagging things with that tag.

I use my queue a lot, especially on days where I don't plan to be on Tumblr much, or days I post spoilers. I try to remember to use the tag "queue 06" when I'm using the queue.

Regarding CRCB exclusively, I have taken a lot of time to make and organize several lore/FAQ masterlists. If you ask a question that has already been answered there (which to be fair I do miss adding some sometimes) I will direct you there to avoid repeating myself.

The navigation post pinned on my page is there for a reason. Please utilize it.

If you would like to be on my taglist, please follow soaps-mohawk-taglist and turn notifications on as I will post there every time I post a new chapter/fic

I do not tolerate any hate or disrespect on this blog, towards me or others. You will be blocked, anon or not.

Please be respectful of me, my rules, my boundaries, and the reminders above, and most importantly, remember there is just one living, breathing human being behind this blog.

Now for the part most of you have been asking for, the things that I'm not comfortable writing. If it's not on this list, or if you are unsure, please ask if it's something I'm comfortable writing. I won't get upset if you ask for clarification.

Pedophilia (including lolicon & shotacon)

Age Play

Beastiality

Detailed Domestic Abuse

Detailed Child Abuse

Emetophilia

Olfactophilia

Scat

Cheating

Rape*

Child Death

Hurt/No Comfort

Pregnancy (Anything in the realm of pregnancy)**

RacePlay

Formicophilia

Pecattiphilia

Some specific violent situations (including ones with kids)

Embarrassment

*It depends on the scenario/my own state of mind at the time. It's not a hard no, but it really just depends.

**I know I've answered some pregnancy (and child death) things in the past but it's just not something I'm comfortable with going forward.

Honestly it's just best to ask if you're unsure, about anything listed above. I'm just asking for everyone to be respectful of me and my rules, as well as everyone else, so we can keep things as they have been.

Have a Gaz just because

[persephonewritessometimes]

Aaron Hotchner x bau!reader

Where after months ( cuz shes new n young working there)they cant také anymore their attraction to each other.

Key sentences: Hotch: I’m old enough to be your father. R: Should I call you Daddy then?

Smut n fluff

Please

Author's Note: oooo thank you for this request anon!! thinking many thoughts, head very full

Summary: It's no secret that you have a thing for your boss - a man 25 years your senior. What happens when he reveals he has feelings for you too?

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x (AFAB) Reader

Word Count: 5108 (i got carried away hehe)

Warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!! UNDER 18? PLEASE KEEP SCROLLING! SMUT; DADDY KINK; SIR KINK; OVERSTIMULATION; MULTIPLE ORGASMS; UNPROTECTED P IN V (don't be like them y'all, stay safe); DOM!HOTCH, SUB!READER; READER IS HORNY; FINGERING; ORAL (F RECEIVING) reader gets distracted by Hotch's hands, pining, confession of feelings, reader blacks out from cumming really hard; Hotch calls reader "good girl, princess, baby"; Morgan is a cheeky bastard (as per usual)

This work is meant for readers aged 18 and over. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

“Y/N, you're staring, again," Morgan says with a chuckle and I quickly find somewhere else to look that isn't our section chief. Which I was definitely not having rated-R thoughts about.

"Shut up, Morgan," I mutter.

"Why don't you just tell him how you feel?" I turn and stare at him now, eyes wide in disbelief.

"Sure, why don't I just tell a much older man that every time I look at him, I feel weak in the knees and sweaty? That would really go over well." I say, sarcastically.

"We're getting tired of watching you eye-fuck him, Y/N." Emily sighs, jumping into the conversation.

"It's getting kind of pathetic at this point," Morgan adds and I smack him on the shoulder.

"You guys are being mean. Let me pine in peace."

"Y/N, none of us are at peace when you start acting like a dog in heat every time Hotch walks in the room. It's genuinely hard to watch." Morgan shoots back, grinning at me. I feel my cheeks grow hot at his brazen comment. "Just put us out of our misery and get laid for once, damn." I feel my cheeks growing even hotter.

"He - he doesn't like me like that." I'm tripping over my words, embarrassed that everyone can see what's clearly written by my body language when Hotch is around.

"Y/N, sweetie, you're smart, but sometimes you're an idiot," Emily says kindly. "He likes you."

"Trust us, we know," Morgan adds.

"How?" I say and cross my arms over my chest.

"Really? Okay. Whenever he's giving a briefing and you're standing next to him, his body gravitates towards yours, you're the first person he looks for in every room, Y/N, two weeks ago on that case in Charleston he almost throttled the officer that merely tried to flirt with you."

"Wait, that officer was flirting with me?" I've only been here a few months, so I haven't learned how to read people as well as him yet.

"Oh my god, she actually is an idiot." Morgan groans. "Yes! He always got you coffee refills without asking, offered you the first pick of the donuts, and gave you, and only you, a very thorough tour of the precinct. He was trying to impress you." He looks at me closely. "How the fuck did you get this job?" I shrug.

"Impeccable academic record?" I suggest timidly, and he snorts.

"Just pay attention to Hotch. More than you are already. You'll see."

"He's old enough to be my dad," I say.

"Why do I have the feeling that only fuels your fantasies?" Morgan mutters. "I'm done with this conversation. Either you tell him, Y/N, or I will."

"MORGAN!" He just throws his hands up in the air giving me an exasperated look. "Em? A little back up here?"

"As much as I hate to agree with Morgan, he has a point. It’s kind of hard to focus on work when we all know what’s going on except for you two. I mean this in the nicest way possible, but just say something, for the sake of everyone who has to be in a room with you guys. I could cut the tension between you two like a knife.” She gives me a small smile.

“I- I’m just nervous. What if you guys are wrong?” She places her hand over mine.

“We’re not wrong, Y/N. We even asked Reid to weigh in and he agrees with us. Just say something.” I frown and head back to my desk, needing to be alone with my thoughts for a while. I’m deep in a stack of paperwork when Hotch calls the team into a meeting. I sigh, set my pen aside, and make my way into the boardroom. I’m on high alert, due to Morgan’s comment, and as I step into the room, I glance at Hotch to find him already looking at me. He looks away quickly and I watch as the tips of his ears turn pink. Oh my god, they were right.

I’m hyper-aware of him the whole meeting, so much so that I barely heard a word he was saying.

“Y/N? Are you paying attention?” Hotch asks, looking at me.

“Uh, yes, sir.” I blurt out in a panic. I wasn’t expecting him to directly address me.

“YES SIR?” Morgan hollers. “That’s a new one.” Even Em is hiding a smile behind her hand. Hotch glares at him.

“Don’t tease her, Morgan. Y/N, please pay attention.”

“I will, sorry Hotch.” He just nods and goes back to what he was saying. I tried to pay attention I really did but I found myself watching his hands as he talked. He gestures at the screen, then to something in the paper he had given us, then puts his hand on his hip. His fingers are so thick I wonder if two would even fit inside of me. I’m thinking about him fingering me on his desk, pussy splayed and dripping for him, and I shift in my seat, feeling the wetness in my panties. Dammit, Y/N, don’t get carried away.

“Y/N, seriously,” Hotch sighs a few minutes later and I’m dragged from my dirty daydream. “I need you to pay attention or leave. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.”

“I’ve got an idea,” Morgan whispers with a grin. I glare at him.

“I’m trying to pay attention, I swear.”

“Are you sick? You look a bit warm, why don’t you step out for a few minutes.” I just nod, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes. “And I want to see you in my office when we’re done with this meeting.” I nod again and feel my stomach drop to my ass in nervousness. I quickly walk out of the room and am pacing when the door opens up and Morgan walks out, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“What the hell were you thinking about in there?” He whispers, then pauses, “Actually, I’m not sure I want to know.”

“Just leave me alone, Morgan. I’m embarrassed enough already.” I say quietly.

“Oh, baby girl, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to tease you too much. You’re just an easy target. If it helps any, Hotch was downright flushed after you left. He stumbled over his words. Twice. I’ve never seen him that flustered. It’s like he knew what you were thinking about.” He nudges me with his shoulder. “Don’t sweat it, okay?”

“You’re not the one who has to face him in his office,” I grumble.

“Well, just make sure you guys close the blinds.”

“MORGAN! Shut up!” He’s laughing as he walks away. JJ and Em shoot me sympathetic smiles as they walk by and Reid pats me on the shoulder. Hotch doesn’t say a word as he walks out of the boardroom, and I diligently follow him to his office.

“Take a seat.” He says, gesturing at the chair and my eyes follow his hand again. Y/N! Stop! That’s what got you in trouble in the first place! I quickly take a seat, clasping my hands in my lap. “Now do you want to tell me why you were so distracted today?” He asks, looking at me. I feel the heat creep up my chest and onto my cheeks.

“I-um-no. No, I don’t.” He raises an eyebrow at that.

“Really? Because Morgan seems to have an idea. Maybe I should go ask him what he thinks.”

“No!” I blurt out. “Sorry. It’s just…embarrassing.” He just looks at me and I sigh before whispering, “Your hands. I was distracted by your hands.”

“My…hands?” He says slowly.

“Yes, sir, I mean Hotch, sorry. I know it’s not appropriate and I apologize.”

“What is it about my hands?” He asks, his voice low and in a tone that makes my heartbeat travel down to my pussy. I shift in my seat, a movement that most likely does not go unnoticed by him. “Y/N. Look at me.” I take a shaky breath and look up at him, all rational thoughts leaving my head when I see that his cheeks are pink, and his pupils are so blown I can barely see the brown. “What is it. About my hands.” He enunciates every word.

“They’re big,” I whisper.

“And what does that make you think about?”

“Please don’t make me say it.”

“No, no I want to hear you say it.”

In the smallest voice possible I say, “I was wondering if your fingers would even fit in me.” I hear him take in a sharp breath. “What it would feel like to be spread out on your desk with - with your fingers inside of me.”

“Careful, Y/N, you’re walking a thin line.” He murmurs.

“Haven’t I crossed it already, sir?”

“I’m old enough to be your father.” He says, words clipped. I get a sudden burst of confidence and stare him down.

“Should I call you Daddy, then?” I ask sweetly. I watch as he tightens his jaw.

“Watch your mouth, little girl. You don’t want to see how mean Daddy can get.”

“And what if I want to find out, Daddy?” I watch as his nostrils flare and he takes a deep breath.

“That’s enough, Y/N.” He spits out and I still, and fear that I’m about to lose my job to ill-timed arousal. My breath hitches as he leans back in his chair, eyes carefully watching me. “What am I gonna do with you?”

“Whatever you’d like to, sir,” I say simply and I watch his jaw tick again.

“Listen to me very carefully. We are going to go downstairs, you are going to gather your things, and you are not going to say a single word. I’m going to tell everyone that you’re not feeling well enough to drive, so I’m taking you home.” I swallow hard, not believing that this is actually happening right now. “Do you understand?” I nod quickly. “I need to hear you say you understand. Or else this stops now, and we don’t speak of it again.”

“I understand completely, sir.”

“Good girl.” He says in a low voice and a whimper escapes me before I can shove it down. He stiffens. “Do you like that? Hearing that you’re a good girl?” My pussy clenches around nothing, begging to be filled.

“Yes, Daddy.” He hums, getting up quickly and my mouth goes dry when I see the tented fabric of his pants. He shrugs off his suit jacket and slings it over his forearm and in front of his body, effectively hiding his raging boner. He walks over to me, and I hastily get up from the chair, and he grabs my arm, gripping it just hard enough to keep me grounded and lucid despite the lust-filled thoughts in my head. He yanks open his office door and we make our way down the stairs. I keep my head down as we approach my desk, the bullpen so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

“Y/N isn’t feeling well. I’m driving her home.” Hotch says, letting go of my arm so I can grab my jacket and purse. I glance at him, nodding that I have everything, and he grabs my arm again, and we hastily walk towards the elevator.

“GO EASY ON HER, HOTCH!” Morgan shouts, and I hear Em laugh.

“Shut up, Morgan.” Hotch growls over his shoulder, and I glance back at Morgan, who mouths ‘Good luck’ at me. “Don’t look at him. The only person you should be looking at is me, princess.” We get in the elevator, and he pushes the button so hard I think that he’s going to break the damn thing.

“Jesus, what’s got you so riled up?” I say sweetly, not caring that I’d probably pay for that question later. I just want to see him snap, lose that carefully cultivated control and unleash himself on me. He turns on me in a second, caging my body between the wall of the elevator and the hard planes of his body. He grabs my chin, tilting my face up to look at him.

“Watch yourself. I’d hate for you to get into something you can’t handle.”

“I can take whatever you throw at me, sir.” He laughs.

“Yeah, right, princess. Keep talking a big game – we’ll see how far that gets you.”

“Well, it got me here, didn’t it?”

“Right where you wanted, I presume?” He asks, tilting his head and there’s nothing friendly in his eyes. I just nod, sucking in a breath when he pushes his body closer to mine and his hard-on is pressing into my thigh. “Before this goes further: green for go, yellow for slow down, red for hard stop, no questions asked. Do you understand?” I nod, and he raises his eyebrows.

“I understand!” I blurt out.

“Good.” He suddenly dips his head down, nose bumping into mine as we share the same breaths for a few seconds. “I’m going to ruin you.” He whispers onto my lips, not quite kissing me.

“Please. Ruin me, Daddy,” I whisper and he’s kissing me as soon as the last word is out of my mouth. It’s overwhelming, the way he kisses, stealing all the air from my lungs in a millisecond. I gasp when the hand from my chin drops to my chest, reaching into my dress shirt and under my tank top to tweak my right nipple. He takes that opportunity to slip his tongue into my mouth, tasting me. The elevator dings and his hand disappears from my shirt and his lips retreat. I whine at the sudden loss of contact, as we had just gone from 100 miles an hour to 0 miles an hour.

“I know, princess, I’m sorry. You don’t want Daddy to get caught, do you?” I shake my head vigorously and he chuckles, escorting me to his car, and opens the passenger door for me, ever the gentleman. He gets in and starts the car as I buckle my seatbelt. He backs out of the parking spot, placing one hand on the back of my headrest and I suck in a sharp breath. He glances at me. “Really? You’re turned on by my driving?”

“I can’t help it. I’m sorry.” I breathe out, not daring to look at him. My cheeks are warm, and I feel frazzled. I jump when his hand comes to rest on my thigh, dangerously close to where I want him. I shift my hips, trying to get him closer to where I need him. He smacks my thigh abruptly.

“Don’t do that. You can wait.” He says gruffly.

“I can’t. I can’t wait.” I gasp out. “Please. Please touch me. I need you. Please, sir, I’ll do anything.”

“I’ll oblige you, but only because you begged so prettily. I like it when you sound desperate. One rule though: no cumming without my permission.” His hand slips under my skirt and I thank god that this was one of the rare days I decided to wear one. His fingers ghost over my cunt, the lightest touch and my breathing is already starting to labor. When his fingers press my clit from outside my panties my hips buck into the air. “Someone’s responsive.” He says, more to himself than me. His fingers trail lower, and he groans when he feels the wet spot. “Already this wet for me, princess?”

“Only for you, Daddy.” I whimper when he pushes my panties to the side, hand now free to touch as he pleases. His fingers come up to tease my clit again before one deftly slips inside of me. I let out a choked sound, tight around him. Just one finger feels thick, and when he slips in another finger I keen, tightening again.

“Jesus, you’re tight.” He curls his fingers and hits that spot inside of me that I struggle to hit by myself. I gasp, hand closing around his wrist, and I don’t know if I’m trying to stop him or egg him on. He continues to work his fingers in me as he drives and I’m not sure how he’s managing to stay on the road. I know I should reciprocate but the feeling of his fingers plunging in and out of me has made every thought I’ve ever had flee my brain. After a few minutes, my thighs start to shake and I’m panting, so close to a mind-blowing orgasm that I forget he told me I can’t cum without his permission. His fingers slip out of me seconds before I hit my peak.

“NO!” I shout, shaking in the passenger seat, sitting in a small puddle of my own arousal. I hope it stains his impeccable leather seats.

“Only good girls get to cum, and you haven’t been a good girl today, baby,” He says, “Open.” I open my mouth and he slips the fingers he just had inside of me into my awaiting mouth. I suck his fingers off earnestly, just like I would to his cock if he gave me the chance. He pulls his fingers out with a pop and I realize he’s parked the car in his garage. Is this really happening? I think to myself. “Color?” He asks me, turning my face so I can look into his eyes. I could get lost in his eyes.

“Green,” I say quickly.

“Good girl,” He whispers and meets my mouth in a messy kiss full of tongue, need, and teeth.

I don’t know how we made it inside, but as soon as I cross through the doorway, Hotch throws me over his shoulder, and I shriek. He carries me to the bedroom, dropping me on the bed. I’m paralyzed as I watch him rip his tie off, dress shirt following soon after. He’s beautiful, and I want to run my hands all over him and feel every scar. My eyes are tracing his chest and ever the profiler, he notices.

“You can touch. It’s okay.” He walks over to me, planting himself between my legs. I timidly touch his stomach, trailing my hands up his abdomen, running my fingers along his scars in quiet admiration. He suddenly takes my hand, kissing it, a break in the dominant façade. I give him a soft smile, one that has always been reserved for him, and his breath hitches in his chest. His hands cup my face, looking into my eyes, and I’ve never felt safer than I have at this moment. I close my eyes, leaning into his touch, my hands resting on his wrists. It feels like we’re the only people in the world, two souls destined to collide. His next kiss is gentle as if he doesn’t want to ruin the moment, but he tosses his resolve out the window when I bite his bottom lip. He growls, pushing me onto my back and stepping out of his pants and boxers. I push myself up on my elbows to watch him and gasp when he’s revealed to me completely. He’s big. Bigger than I’ve had before. I knew it would be big because of his damn hands. “You’re far too dressed for my liking.” He mutters, and the next moment he actually rips my shirt off of me, buttons flying everywhere.

“HOTCH!” He stops, looking at me.

“Try again, sweetheart.”

“Sorry. Daddy.”

“Much better. And Daddy will buy you a new one, okay?” I nod, suddenly unable to think as he slides off my tank top and unclasps my bra. My nipples are aching to be touched and as if he can read my mind, his head dips down to take my left nipple in his mouth. I suck in a breath, my hand coming to rest on the back of his head. His tongue laves over my nipple, and I swear I see God for a moment. He moves to the other side and my cunt is begging for attention. He slides my skirt and panties off without once leaving my chest. And when I’m naked before him, he kisses his way up my throat, leaving hickeys that will definitely be hard to hide.

“Daddy, people will see.”

“And? They should know whom you belong to.” He says plainly, he leans back, admiring my form and my hips jump up on their own accord, grazing his weeping tip in the process.

“Fuck, princess, don’t do that.”

“Please, please, please, Daddy, I need you so bad.”

“Daddy has to make sure you’re ready for him. I don’t know if my fat cock will fit in your tight little pussy.” I whimper at his words, more turned on than I’ve ever been in my entire life. He slides down my body, pressing kisses into my skin as he goes until he gets on his knees, dragging me towards the edge of the bed. He slings both of my legs over his shoulder, pressing a chaste kiss into my thigh. “Your pussy is dripping for me, princess. Can I taste it?”

“Please,” I manage to whisper, and I watch as his head dips down and he licks up my pussy. He groans against my clit when he tastes me, and I shout in surprise at the added stimulation. He chuckles against me and goes to work, tongue thrusting shallowly in me before coming up to tease my clit. He’s getting me closer to the edge and when I feel two of his fingers slide into me easily, I sigh contentedly. He finds the spongy spot inside of me with ease, hitting it every time he thrusts his fingers into me. I’m hurtling towards my peak when I gasp out, “Daddy, please, I’m close, can I cum? Please? I’ll be a good girl, I promise. Your good girl.” His eyes flick up and he watches me, never stopping, and watches as my abdomen tenses and I start to clench around his fingers, panting. He pulls his mouth away from me just long enough to whisper,

“You can let go, princess.” And resumes his torturous pace on me. My hand shoots down to grip his hair and a few seconds later my orgasm rips through me. I shout loudly, hips moving with abandon against his face, and he doesn’t let up, continuing to lick and finger me through it until I’m twitching with overstimulation.

“Daddy, please, too much.”

“You wanted to cum, princess, so you’re going to cum until I’m done.” He growls and goes back to eating me out. I had no time to come down from my first orgasm and my body is already sprinting full speed ahead toward my second. My thighs clench around his face but it doesn’t stop him. He stills his fingers inside me and simply presses them into my G-spot, never letting up, just putting constant pressure on it.

I’m babbling at this point, nothing coherent coming from my lips except for ‘daddy’ and ‘please’. My orgasm blindsides me and I clench hard around his fingers and scream, not caring if anyone can hear me. My vision goes spotty as I continue to cum until he finally slips his fingers out and I feel like I can breathe again. I’m gasping for air as his touch trails along my hips.

“Still with me, pretty girl?” I nod still gasping. “Color?”

“Green, green, green.” I pant out quickly and he chuckles. He gives me a few more seconds to come down, tracing gentle patterns into my sides and he kisses me once my breathing slows. I pull away to bite my way down his neck, leaving my own marks on him. “Daddy, need you inside me, please.”

“Are you sure you’re ready for me, princess?”

“Yes! Yes! So ready! Please just fuck me!”

“Okay, let me grab a condom.”

“No!” I shout, grabbing his shoulders. “I’m clean. Please, I want to feel you. Just you.”

“You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?” He says, kissing the tip of my nose. I watch as he pumps himself a few times and lines up with my entrance. He pushes in, just barely, and stays there until I’m begging him to push the rest of the way in.

“Please, Daddy, I want to feel full. I feel so empty.” He sheathes himself in me in one quick motion and I gasp. “Thank you, Daddy,” I whisper onto his lips.

“Fucking hell, Y/N, you’re so goddamn tight.” He’s still above me, and I can see his shoulders shaking in restraint. “You feel like heaven.”

“Please move, please. Let go, I can take it.” I whisper, peering into his eyes and he pulls out a little bit to thrust shallowly. He swallows my moan with his lips, kissing me with the fervor of a man starved. He starts off at a slow pace and despite being sensitive from my previous two orgasms, I need more. I dig my nails into his shoulder. “Please, for the love of God, fuck me. Hard. Please. I can take it. All of it.” He looks at me hard, searching for any hesitation, but his dick is literally inside of me, so there’s no hesitation on my part. I nod up at him and he leans down to kiss me as he starts to set a brutal pace. His hips are slamming against mine and when I shift my hips up to meet his thrusts he hits my G-spot with every thrust. “SHIT!” I shout, the words quickly turning into a loud moan as his thumb comes down to flick at my clit. I’m shaking with arousal, and I can feel his balls slap against my ass with how hard he’s fucking me.

“Come on, pretty girl, I know you’ve got one more in you. Give it to Daddy. I want to feel you cum around my cock.” There are no thoughts in my head anymore, everything in me has zeroed in on the feeling of him literally fucking me into the mattress. “You look so pretty fucked out like this, bet you can’t think of anything but my cock inside of you, huh?” I nod and he laughs, kissing me hard. He leans back just enough to change the angle by shifting my calf onto his shoulder. He thrusts, hard, and I whimper. “You make such pretty sounds when I’m fucking you.” He picks up the pace again, moving his thumb on my clit in tight circles. I let out a broken moan as he hits just the right spot inside of me, and he takes note of it, hitting the same spot repeatedly, thumb keeping its pace on my clit. It’s overwhelming and I know that this orgasm is going to ruin other men for me. No one can do it like him. “Y/N,” his voice is low, “Look at me, baby, I want to watch you fall apart.” I drag my eyes open and look at him with dazed eyes. One particularly hard thrust and a drag of his thumb over my clit and I’m cumming violently, thrashing against him and gripping the bed sheets, my body spasming and I feel him fuck me through it and spill inside of me with a shouted curse before I black out.

I come to and can feel a warm washcloth being dragged between my legs gingerly. I hiss at the contact.

“Oh, thank god, are you okay?” I nod, throat raspy from screaming. “Can I get you anything?” I shake my head no, and the warm washcloth returns, I jump at the sensation. “I know, I have to clean you up though, okay?” He finishes in the next couple of moments and throws the washcloth into the hamper.

“How long was I out?” I say softly.

“Five minutes? Maybe six.” I nod.

“Sorry.”

“Sorry? Y/N, that was the biggest ego boost I’ve had in years.” He chuckles and I let out a weak laugh.

“Help me up?” I whisper, holding my hands out toward him. He obliges, gently grabbing my hands and pulling me into a sitting position. My vision starts to go spotty again. “Oh, Jesus,” I say, starting to slump forwards. His arms wrap around me quickly, holding me against his chest until my vision starts to return to normal. His thumbs are rubbing my back and I wish I could stay in this moment forever. “I’m okay, I think,” I whisper after a minute and try to pull away but he only lets me get a few inches away, eyes worriedly searching my face. “Hotch, I’m fine. I swear. Now let me go so I can go pee.” He lets go of me slowly and when I stand up to walk toward the bathroom, my legs buckle underneath me. “Oh, come on!” I exclaim, but Hotch is right there to catch me. He scoops me up despite my protests and carries me bridal style to the bathroom, setting me down on the toilet. “Thank you,” I whisper, suddenly embarrassed.

“No, don’t do that. I can see you trying to hide, getting embarrassed.”

“Am I that obvious?”

“Yeah, when your guard is down, you’re easy to read.”

“So, uh, do we just pretend this never happened? Go back to the way things were. I assume that’s what you want?” I bury my face in my hands, unable to look at him.

“Go back to the way things were? Y/N, baby, no. I can’t go back. This was not a one-time thing. I’m yours if you’ll have me.” I peek at him from between my fingers.

“Wait, you’re being serious right now?”

“Dead serious.” He gets on his knees in front of me. “I’ve wanted you from the first moment you walked into my office. I just didn’t think you’d reciprocate, until Morgan made a comment two months ago about your body language, and that’s when I had the hunch you felt the same way.”

“So, you’ve known I’ve been pining over you for months and didn’t think to say anything?” My pitch gets higher as the sentence goes on.

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Yes, I’m clearly uncomfortable with you as I’m sitting in front of you, naked,” I say drily and he laughs again.

“Yeah, I know, I’m an idiot.”

“Yes, you are,” I say, smiling, before adding, “But you’re my idiot.” His eyes brighten at that.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. As you said, I’m yours if you’ll have me.”

“Good. Because I’m never letting go of you.” I feel my cheeks grow warm.

“Good, because I don’t want you to.”

[yeeterthek33per]

Here we go (Steph Catley x Caitlin Foord x Reader)

Very Adulty, Minors DNI, Do not read if you don't want anything 18+,

You'll bounce back, minor part two, was requested.

*I will mark the sentence with a star if you wanna only read up until the spicy point, though.

The cheers of the stadium were ruthless.

Deafening even.

But none of that bothered any of you. All you cared about was the roar of your own teammates as you ran to meet them on the pitch, jumping into the waiting excited arms of your adoptive older sister. (Unofficial, but your family ensured that it didn't matter after their blatant disinterest in your life.)

Charlie's just about screaming in your ear when you meet her in the air, and you match that.

They did it... they beat Canada. Four to nil at that. None of you had been expecting a blowout, not against the olympic champions.

But here you were, standing on the green pitch of the stadium in Melbourne, watching as your teammates, your real family, surround each other, screaming into the electrified air of AAMI Park.

As you drop from Charlie's grip and give her head a slight rub to make sure she still feels fine, your gaze turns to the Canadians, watching as Vanessa Gilles sobs into her teammates, an old friend of yours, having spent your days at Cincinnati together.

You jog over to her, finding Ellie beat you to her Lyon teammate, holding her and telling her how proud she is of the defender.

You grab the girl as soon as she let's go of the aussie defender, pulling her into you and she buries her face into your jersey, you can feel the tears pouring from her eyes as she shakes softly. "Hey Van, I'm so proud of you hun, you've done so well. You played so hard and did the best you could."

You hold her and rub her back for a bit, whispering (more like just saying with the volume of the crowd at this point) words of encouragement to her.

She nods slightly against your shoulder as you do so. She let's go of you after a quick kiss to the temple, and she goes off to find her other teammates in the lockers.

From there, you continue comforting what of the canadian players you can and turn to your teammates beginning to make their rounds around the pitch for the fans.

Each of them have their moment with the crowd, firing them up, throwing their arms in the air. You chuckle watching as Teagan and Sam take their turns, and you run over to the group, taking the opportunity to run into Charlies side, wrapping your arm around her neck and fulfilling that promise you made her a week ago.

She wacks at you and takes off running when you give chase, laughing the whole way. It only ends when one of the training staff grabs her to chastise her for running around while she's on concussion watch as it is.

You only feel a little guilty, though.

As all sisters do.

Mini gives you a slight shake of her head, though, which has you laughing harder, amused but disappointed with you as she walks beside you now.

The shorter woman wraps an arm around you as a wave to the fans, the noise growing louder with each passing acknowledgement.

You're surprised you haven't been defeaned given the level of noise. The support was something you'd never be able to forget. The turnout was amazing, and the warmth it spread through you to see so many people come to watch this game.

"Oi, y/nn, you gonna go see 'em yet?" Mini subsequently points to Steph and Caitlin as they walk just ahead of you, arms around shoulders. You shake your head. "I'll find them later. Let them have this."

She only raises a brow at you, and hip bumps you. You chuckle, but don't explain.

You'd let them have their moment. They spent the entire game on, this was their time, and you could congratulate them later.

Eventually, once you all round the pitch, you return to where the family section was, watching as Katrina climbs the barrier to go see Harper and her fiance, your impromptu second mom now, and Sam goes to pick up her nephew and throw him in the air in the excitement.

You join them in celebrating after a moment, hugging Clara as she cheers into your ear. You're joined by Cha Cha moments later, Harper very indignantly insisting she goes to her favourite player now. Charlie, of course, that is. You pout playfully and tickle her when she giggles at your expression.

She eventually does climb into your arms and gives you the biggest hug of the day, you hold her tight and proceed to blow raspberries into her cheek to which she squeals and holds out for Mum to take her from you. "Mummy, save me!"

Katrina just laughs, and you give Harps over with a grin. Katrina gives you a kiss on the temple when you lean down to hug them both.

Waving your temporary goodbyes with the family, you slip over to Sam and her nephew, giving Sam a playful whack to the butt as you pass by them.

"Oi! Watch it, missy, there are kids here!"

You laugh when she tries to flick you, dodging just out of reach before making grabby hands for the child nestled in her neck. He turns to you and does the same, leaving Sam with a playfully offended look on her face.

She reluctantly hands him over, and you hug him tight before giving him back to Sam's sibling.

You pat her on the back and eventually move to observe your teammates, watching on as they all celebrate with their families. Emily, with her fiance, Ellie, with her dad, Charlie, with her parents and brother.

You know you have the girls, they're your family, you have your girls, Steph and Caitlin, and they're your family too, but you can't help missing what it was like to have your biological parents cheering you on from the sidelines.

They would come to all of your games, and you'd swear they were always the loudest in the crowd, faces painted green and gold and screaming for you with every touch you made.

Too bad that had to end.

They'd stopped coming the moment you announced you were dating a girl. They stopped talking to you. Their last words to you were, "Get out."

You'd been kicked out, and from then, Katrina was very quick to take you in. When she was transferred to the swedish league along with the birth of Harper, the two of you became thick as thieves, soon joined by Charlie and eventually welcoming in Clara.

As much as you missed the cheering, adoring family you once had, you would never exchange it for the family you have now, the one that treats like you like a real human being, with respect and all the love in the world.

Your eyes water a little, overwhelmed by how far you'd come since then, ever glad to have found the family you'd finally been dealt.

You wipe any remnants away quickly, though, and by the time everyone's finished, you're all being urged to return to the changerooms. All haggard but buzzing nonetheless.

The celebrations are rapid to return in the changerooms, dancing around to what you assume is one players speakers blasting Christina Aguilera's "Feel this moment." Being careful not to test your ankle too much with the movement.

You shout out the lyrics alongside your best friend, arm in arm, as beers are passed around for an hour or so. Come time to leave, and everyone's packing up their gear, you hear Tony yell out. "Alright ladies, party hard, but we need you back tomorrow, ready for recovery and our session with cryo. Congratulations, and I'm so very proud of you all."

Whoops and cheers fill the air as you all file onto the bus. You sit next to Hayley, wanting the calmer aura around the winger, as the air around the bus still buzzes with life. You're met with victory chants. (Courteously led by one Lydia Williams herself) and you’re met with cheers and screams around the bus all the way back to the hotel.

__________(stop here for no 18+ stuff at all)

By the time you've all returned to the hotel, you're all more than a little exhausted and slightly buzzed, and yet the others all call out plans to head to one of the local clubs, ready to party further.

You're left with Steph, Caitlin, Katrina, Sam, and Emily, the only group not wanting to exhaust yourselves any more than necessary.

All of you make your way up to your rooms, and you take the opportunity to shower off fully and slip out into the hallway, making your way down to your girls' room.

You're surprised when you don't even have to knock on the door before you're pulled into the room by hands from both girls.

Steph and Caitlin don't waste any time pressing you between them. Steph takes your lips with her own, and you let out a surprised hum against her. The striker behind you has you gripped by the hips, pulling you back into her as she nips at the skin on your neck.

You moan softly, and Steph slips away from your lips and moves kisses down your jawline, down the column of your throat and nips at the skin of your collarbone, tugging softly.

Letting out a breathy groan, leaning back into Caitlin, "I'm so proud of both of you, my group champs." Caitlin's breathy chuckle in your ear sends shivers down your spine.

"I think a little midnight feast is in order, don't you, Stephy?"

The look in her eyes says all you need to know.

*((Smut ahead))

((Seriously, if you don't wanna read smut, don't read ahead, the story ends at the star))

The defender smirks against your neck, looking up into the eyes of the girl behind you before stepping back from you completely to bring her hand up to your chin to tilt your head back to face her, locking gazes with you directly.

"I think, since you've so eagerly suggested as such, you should go first, pretty girl."

Behind you, Caitlin cocks a brow at the suggestion, barely waiting a second before she tugs at the hem of your shirt with a purr.

"Don't mind if I do."

You whine when you don't feel the warmth of your girlfriend pressed against your back. Your shirt is slipped off, and you're pushed back onto the bed with a heavy layer of eagerness.

Caitlin is quick to press down onto you and push you towards the middle before Steph nudges you to lean down on her front as your legs hang from the end of the bed. The striker's knees are pressed on either side of your hips, pinning your lower half to the matress, and she leans down to hover over you.

Her breath fans your neck for a moment as she kisses a path up your throat and takes your bottom lip between her teeth, tugging lightly at it before letting it go. Your chest is almost heaving at this point.

There's a lightheaded buzzing behind your eyes and heat settling in your gut as she kisses you again, sucking at your bottom lip to soothe her earlier ministrations. She then leans up to press a kiss to your other girlfriends lips, and Steph grabs her by the neck to hold her in place for a minute, Caitlin's tongue giving a cheeky swipe at her own, dragging a small groan from the defender.

Caitlin pulls away with a mischievous grin as she keeps her gaze locked with Steph's. She moves down to the floor, knees resting on the carpet as she moves to tug at your training joggers.

You all too happily lift your hips to allow her access, and when you go to grab her to urge her to move closer, you're met with Steph pinning your wrists to the bed below you.

You whine looking up at the defender. She simply chuckles, using your current position to hold you in place, distracting you just long enough for Caitlin to have grabbed you by the thighs to hold you down.

Their hands are hot on your body, and you feel like you're gonna combust at any point.

"Patience sweets, let her take her time, she's earned this meal, don't you think?"

And you can only whimper in response. Although something along the lines of a plea does come through, you're not entirely sure.

Everything feels so fuzzy, but in an ecstatic way.

Steph's lips on yours are grounding, yet they make your head feel light as you're settled back down onto the mattress. Steph's now sitting back on her haunches, hands still tight on your wrists, leaning over you.

Another kiss to your lips is enough of a distraction that the moment Caitlin's tongue makes contact, it has you keening and begging. It's on the fabric of your underwear, but it still has you gasping into the older girl's mouth.

The girl below you loosens her hold on your thighs, running her fingers gently over the skin above the waistband. She slips the tips of her them under the elastic, letting it snap back into place. Once. Twice. Three times. Your hips cant slightly the third time.

"Hold still for me baby." You let out a high pitched whine but keep your lower half planted firmly. She brushes the skin on the inside of your thighs, sending goosebumps down both of them. Before she sits up fully and

"Up."

You do as your told with little fuss, lifting up to allow her to tug the fabric down.

"Cait, please." It's breathy. It's almost whimpered out, but it gets your point across. She chuckles, but relents and her thumb comes into contact with your clit, pressing enough to have you moaning out loud. Steph hushes you softly. "Shhh pretty girl, we don't wanna be too loud. Wouldn't want to draw attention, would we?"

You obediently bite down on your lip, but it's then Caitlin decides is the perfect moment to lick a stripe up your slit and your mouth drops open. Steph is quick to let go of your wrist to silence you. Leaving your left hand free, but you only grip onto the white sheets, fisting them tightly.

The moan reverberates from your throat, though, and almost echoes in the room.

The smirk on the strikers face tells Steph that was entirely intentional. Not that you're paying much attention to that at this point. You can only focus on the feeling of her arms pulling your legs over her shoulders, holding her head closer to your centre.

"Careful."

It's a light scold, but Caitlin raises a brow cheekily. It's when she dives straight into your wetness, lapping at you before sucking harshly at your clit, that you know she'll be in trouble later. You're preening under the heat of her tongue, and her teeth have you shuddering when she tugs gently.

The knot in your stomach twists in on itself almost immediately, leaving you embarrassingly close to the edge already. She could tell immediately after she slips two fingers into you, pressing inside you just right, leaving you almost fluttering around the digits. Your chest is heaving, breath hot and heavy coming from your nose and into the palm of Steph's hand, intermittent with occasional cries of pleasure.

It's in this moment you realise she's dead set on making you cum as quickly as possible, though that doesn't surprise you given she's always competing with the other girl on how quickly they can get you to finish. You'd never had the heart to tell them who was winning that competition, besides, it certainly didn't hurt when they got into a competitive mood like this, especially with such a big win.

With a particularly harsh suck, and a loud keening whine escapes your throat, you're sent over the edge as your heels dig into the clothed shoulder blades of the girl below you and your other hands fingers intertwine with Steph's. Your hips buck against Caitlin's mouth, and she has to pin your waist down with her other forearm to hold you still.

You're still trembling when you come down, legs shaky as she places one last kiss to your clit before she's being pulled up by Steph into a searing kiss above you. The defender almost growls into the kiss, tongue quickly finding its way into the younger of the two's mouth.

When she feels you nudge her by the hip and your hands slip up under her shirt from beneath her, she pulls away, hand gripping Caitlin by the throat, not quite gentle but enough to cut off air.

"Since pretty girl here wants us to make some noise, I think we can put that mouth to use again. What do you think, puddin'?"

You pull yourself out from under them, hands tugging at her shirt as an idea pops to mind. You chuckle darkly.

"How about we turn that mouth into a nice seat for you?"

Caitlin's pupils dilate a little as she's holding direct eye contact with Steph and Steph's eyes darken with grin.

"Perfect idea, baby girl, down on the bed, pretty girl."

Caitlin can barely get a word out before her shirt and bra are basically tugged from her, and she's pushed onto the bed with a rough grunt. Though she has complaints. Steph steps off the bed for a moment to strip completely before she's hovering over the striker, head near the side of the mattress.

Unbeknownst to her, you're currently knelt in front of her, Steph facing you, watching as you give a smirk, gently running your hands over the muscled thighs in front of you, making her jump at the touch.

However, She's quick to pull the blonde brunette down onto her mouth, diving straight in and not wasting any more time than necessary. Steph has to quickly slap a hand over her own mouth to cover a moan as she leans down on the other, which is placed on Caitlin's abs.

Your eyes are hazy watching the two, and when you blink back to, you slip a hand back up to her slit, running a single digit over it before slipping it into her. Caitlin whines below the defender at your touch, urging you on with a small jump of her hips. You abide and slip another in, her warmth clenching around your fingers as you slowly move them. Your mouth soon joins when Steph lets out soft curses and words of encouragement. Which gives you another moment of clarity.

The moment you can feel Caitlin start to tighten around, you slow your ministrations, making the girl on the bed protest.

"Ah ah." You scold lightly. "You don't cum until she does pretty girl."

Your words make Steph herself moan, and she's nearly thrown over the edge by that alone, Caitlin on the other hand, just about doubles her efforts, tongue flicking harshly and sucking on Steph's clit, and you have a smug look on your face as you return to a moderate pace.

It's when Steph has to steady herself as her thighs tighten around Caitlins head that you curl your fingers just enough in a way you know makes the girl finish every time, paired with a particularly sharp suck and both of them tip over the edge, Steph cumming just before the girl below her, hand tight over her mouth to cover any noises leaving her, Caitlin's own moans being muffled by the girl on top of her.

With a shaky breath, Steph carefully pulls away from Caitlin's head after a tap to the leg from the girl and leans back against the headboard as both of them try to catch their breath, Caitlin more so given she was nearly smothered.

You slip up onto the matress with them, kissing both of them, honestly ready to call it in, but Steph has other ideas.

"Not yet, puddin', I think you still have a couple more in you."

Caitlin sits up suddenly with a grin. She looks directly at Steph with a knowing look, and the girl nods at her.

The striker pushes you back down onto the bed. This time, your head lay on the pillows as the other crosses the room to her suitcase, pulling out a dark green and yellow pouch.

What she pulls out of it both almost makes you laugh and moan at the same time. "Really?" Is what comes out instead.

They both laugh, and Steph shakes her head, "I'm not the one who picked it, but I didn’t mind. We have one in Arsenal colours already anyway."

The strap in her hand is bottle green and sparkly gold striped, which looks ridiculous, but at the same time, you can't help the pride you feel when you see it.

"Touché."

You grin as you watch her step into it, the harness, tightening it around her waist and legs. Caitlin is about to slip a pillow under your hips when Steph then motions for you to turn over onto your stomach instead.

This sends you reeling back into a dazed state almost, breath hitching when you feel her spread your legs out against the pillow now under your hips, bent back at the knees.

She grips your hips, pulling you just back enough to lift you up enough off the bed to get access to you. She runs her fingers through your folds, dipping two finger into you before bringing them back to her mouth to suck off the juices with a small groan.

She grabs the bottle of lube Caitlin had pulled out of the pouch for her and douses the dildo and a little bit in you as well. She spreads it evenly before tossing the bottle back to the striker.

One hand splayed in the dip in your back, Steph guides the dildo into you with the other before sinking down to the hilt. You gasp and gulp, trying to take in air as she fills you with the silicone toy, your hands gripping at the sheets as your face is buried into the them as well before turning it to the side to look at the mirror attached to the wall.

You watch as her hips press into yours deliciously, holding there until you can give her the go-ahead to continue. You adjust a little to give her more room to move, and she takes it, pulling out slowly and pushing back in a little harsher, leaving you to pant out her name.

She does it again, and you cry out this time as she does it repeatedly before setting a rough pace. She sets herself on her knees as her hips thrust into you roughly, one hand holding you hips, pulling you into her, the other gripping the back of your neck, pushing you into the matress.

Your moans turn louder, and you find yourself chanting Steph's name paired with swears as you clench your eyes shut with a grit of your teeth.

Suddenly, she slows much to your disapproval, and with a tut, she turns your head back to face the mirror. "Watch me fuck you baby girl, or you dont get to come again."

You nod, and she picks up her pace again, pounding you into the pillow, your ass bouncing every time she thrusts into you. It throws you closer with every nudge of your g-spot and sends you gasping into the open air of the bedroom.

"F-fuck Steph!".

Meanwhile, you can see Caitlin in the mirror, pupils dilated as she watches the defender fuck a you shaped indent into the matress. However, she slips off the bed, and you find out why, snatching up the underwear she tossed earlier, she balls it up and uses it to muffle you.

Your eyes roll back when she does, and Steph has to hold back her own orgasm at the sight, feeling you tighten around the strap, starting to push back to meet her thrusts. You almost push up to your elbows, but she only doubles down on you, and you cry out into the soaked fabric, vision blurring, and your thighs clench around hers from the back as your orgasm rips through you, Steph soon joining you afterwards with a muffled cry of her own, hips shuddering as she slows her thrusts, a slew of curses and praises leaving you preening as you just manage to hear them over your heart beating into your ears.

Caitlins hand rests on the girl's back, rubbing gently as she unclips the strap from her hips suddenly.

You shiver when the strap is pulled from you, and Steph has to push herself up to go sit on the other bed. However, you nearly protest hearing the clips of the strap being clipped back in again, and she turns you over onto your back.

"Jesus baby, I don't think I can-." You're cut off by your own moan when she kneels down to lap at you for a few moments, as she raises s questioning brow at you.

"I- oh- for the love of- oh- okay! Okay!" You just about squeak out.

She chuckles and lines you back up, hands on your hips, thumbs dipping into your hips bones to pull you down onto the strap once again.

Not waiting a second longer, she's pounding into you with the same ferocity, panting into your neck as she settles on her feet and elbows. Your legs wrap around her waist as she fucks you. Your vision is already starting to blur again, only this time the sensitivity is higher, leaving you canting and bucking as she takes you.

Your hands grip onto her shoulder blades, fingers digging into the skin of her back, panties still settled between your teeth. Your nails bite into her back, and she has to hold back a growl of pleasure. She loves it when you and Steph mark her, leave bites and scratches in her skin when she fucks you both. Her ego is only boosted by the shouts of pleasure she draws out of you two.

To which, when she hears you cry out louder, she fastens her pace, doubling down and angling her hips slightly more up to hit your spot better. With that, your vision goes flash hot white as you release with a muffled scream.

Caitlin cries out with you, hips jutting, and she moans when she feels the mess you've left on the fronts of her hips and thighs and the sheets below you.

Slowly moving to bring you down, she stops and waits for your breathing to slow as she pulls out of you. You gasp, finally feeling empty as the strap is unclipped and tossed at the suitcase once again, the girl just about collapsing on top of you, still placed with your legs around her.

Steph gets up off her own bed with a slight wobble, and that's when you notice the lack of feeling in your trembling legs. You let out a laugh of disbelief, and Caitlin can only smugly grin, one at having made you squirt and two at having left you with jelly legs. It's only happened two other times, and they were both times done by Steph.

You yank the pillow from under you both and toss it at the doorway to sneak into the wash later.

Steph helps you onto your side, having grabbed a cloth from the bathroom and carefully wipes you down.

If it wasn't for the fact they were professional athletes on a high, you'd be amazed by the energy they still had in them after all of that and 90 minutes of gameplay. After that, both of them clean themselves with a relatively quick cloth bath and settle back into bed with you as you begin to doze slowly. Caitlin settles against your back, and Steph settles against your front.

They both wrap their arms around you, bringing the single bed sheet up to cover what they can of the three of you. Your breathing finally recovered. You press a deep but slow kiss to Steph's lips, and Caitlin sits up on her elbow, so you do the same with her. The mumble whispered words of affirmation against your skin.

"God I fucking love you both."

They both laugh, hands caressing your face, shoulder and hip. "We love you too baby girl."

_________

Breakfast the next morning is a shit show. Emily can't quite look you all in the eye, though she does poke fun at Steph, and Sam lets rip into you about keeping her up for three whole hours. Katrina just shakes her head, rubbing her temples, glad she remembered earplugs for Harper before she left sweden.

The other girls who were out had returned just an hour later to find a dead looking Sam, Mini, and Em, and they all nodded at Caitlin and Steph's door. Of course, they all then just layed into the three of you, teasing and pointing out visible hickeys, Charlie poking the most fun at you, with several hickeys now visble on your collarbone as you sit there with your face in your hands at the day ahead of you all.

"Y/L! CATLEY! FOORD!."

"Oh shit." Caitlin.

Steph just facepalms.

Sam looks vindicated but slightly scared for you at the same time.

All the other girls just ooh and whistle at you all.

Except for Mini, she just slaps you upside the head and glares as you all walk away in a way that only mothers can.

All you can mutter as you all skulk into the meeting room where a furious looking Gustafson is standing, is.

"Here we go."

*Oh my lord, and we're done folks, here you guys go.

[megamindsecretlair]

The King and I, Part 2

Pairing: King Ghezo x Virgin!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Mentions of violence, killing, slavery, forceful touching, and suicidal ideation. Kissing, mentions of female and male body parts. Doesn't follow canon of the movie.

Summary: You have waited in agony for King Ghezo to send the guards or the Agojie after you, after the stunt you pulled. He invites you on a morning walk instead where you have to address that he is not the man you thought he was.

Word Count: 2,856k

A/N: OMG! I am outdone by all the love and support for this one. Thank you!! I'm not so sure this will still be 3 parts. I'm not yet ready to say goodbye to these two. We'll see, bear with me! I haven't been feeling well, so this is a little short. Forgive me. Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!

Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Taglist: @planetblaque @browngirldominion @notapradagurl7 @honeyoriginalz @gg-trini @eggnox @naj-ay444 @sheepywritesfics @westside-rot @twocentuar @pinkpantheris @tchallasbabymama @sevikasblackgf @slippinninque @abeautifulmindexposed @neawarren @monaeesstuff @blackerthings

You did not know what to make of the King. You walked beside him, heading outside of the palace. There were no guards to follow you or servants to trail behind like ghosts. He had come to your room early this morning, looking fresh and radiant.

You, however, had not been able to sleep at all. It was too quiet in the palace. You were used to your father’s loud snores, your mother’s quiet murmurings. The noise from the surrounding forest. 

When he came to your door, you had sleepily answered it, holding the door open just a crack. The crack had been enough.

“Will you kill me today, my Queen?” King Ghezo asked, like he did every day this past week. You didn’t understand him. 

You feared that an Agojie would swoop in the middle of the night. Would hold their hand over your mouth and stab you through the heart. Night after night, you prepared for death. And morning after morning, it was kept at bay.

Beside you, the King walked with his head held high, shoulders back, and magnificent in royal blue robes swishing behind him. It was as if the air itself parted for him. 

“The day is still young, my King,” you had told him. You don’t know why you said it, only that it seemed to please him. He smiled and invited you on a morning walk with him. He encouraged you to bring the knife with you. 

Was this a trap? 

Leaving the palace, you were greeted by just how large his land was. True, you knew he ruled over the whole kingdom, but his palace lands were huge. Jungle stretched in front of you. A worn path was set off to the right. In the distance, you saw the valley open up and the fruits of the palm oil trade were under way.

But the King set off to the left, towards the cliffs. The sun with its rich oranges and golds was starting to lighten the world. Like a giant’s eye waking up. The King kept moving, without a sound.

If he was finally going to kill you, he chose a fine morning to do it. The air was still, calm, and peaceful. The grass beneath your feet was soft. Its blades softly crunched beneath you. 

You looked to the King once more. To the way he carried himself, flitting from one task to another. This past week, he had attended so many meetings. You were now expected to attend these meetings and sit by his side. You had moved to sit in one of the seats before him, but he had beckoned you to his side. You looked to his first wife, who merely smiled kindly.

She rarely spoke, so you didn’t bother to either. Once you sat by his side, in a place of honor, you had looked at him the entire meeting. It was hard to think that this man and the cruel man your father taunted you with were the same person. You kept your defenses up, but you were growing weary. 

Maybe today was the day, after all. He had not come to your room since that night. You quickly learned that the eunuchs were horrible gossips. They would let everyone know that the King had not touched you. Had not planted a baby inside you yet. Every servant you passed gave you funny looks.

You wondered if they cackled and laughed at the skittish new wife who will not give the King a baby. Did they think you defective? Why should you care? You had not cared that your father treated you like elephant dung. You had not cared that your mother let him take you away forever. You did not care that you were married to the King. 

You looked to the ever brightening sky as if you could see straight into Mawu-Lisa’s eyes. If they wanted you dead, so be it. 

The King held out his hand to you. You looked at him and he only smiled patiently. You took his hand and he helped you climb the hill. At the top, there were trees with heavy foliage. He moved a branch aside and pulled you ahead of him. 

Your breath escaped you. Before you, you could see the ocean. You sank clumsily to your knees as you looked at the sight. You had never seen it before. You lived too far inward and the river was fed from the ocean, so there was no reason to venture half a day there and back. 

The sun rose over the water, stretching rays of red, orange, and gold across. The light refracted off of the water, like diamonds. The sound of the waves were mighty yet soft at the same time. As if that same giant heaved sighs as it awakened. 

“I wanted to show you something that would make you smile,” King Ghezo said. He moved beside you and knelt down, running a finger across your cheek. You had not realized you were crying until you tore your gaze from the ocean and looked at his finger.

“Do not weep, my Queen.” His eyebrows drew together as if he cared about such things. As if it wounded him to see tears in your eyes. 

You bowed your head, shook it. You were in such disbelief, you had no words. None. Such an everyday sight for him reduced you to silly tears. 

“Why? Why do this?” You asked. Why allow you to see such beauty before he took it away forever? 

The King looked towards the ocean. He sat so still, you did not think he would answer you. “How can I ensure my people’s happiness, if my own wife is unhappy?” He asked. He folded his hands in front of him. 

“Your first wife…” 

“I have a special relationship with her. As I hope to have with you. I do not see you as one of many. You are one. Unique. I thought giving you space, seeing me as a just ruler would help you come out of your shell. Perhaps I was wrong,” he said. 

You chewed on your bottom lip, completely dumbfounded. Your head spun. There were too many conflicting emotions to make sense of any one. Somehow, he made you feel special even with the knowledge that you are not his only wife. In fact, there will be more after you. Each one thrown at his feet as you were. Or offered from other tribes in hopes of allyship against the Oyo.

A burning coil of anger knotted around your heart. You pressed your hand to it. What kind of feeling was that? It continued to burn and pressure burrowed. You did not have a name for that so you focused instead on the King. 

“I am not unhappy,” you said, softly. And it was true. For the first time in your life, you felt…quiet. You have fought your entire life to be heard or seen. To make a mountain of yourself in the eyes of someone who saw you as a rock. 

Here, you didn’t have to do that. People saw you. You had dreaded a life of invisibility. To be passed like stewed meat from father to husband, your role nothing more than a broodmare. To live an unremarkable life. To die never having known joy. Love. 

Here…here was different. And you did not know how to put that into words for him. 

“But you are not happy either,” he said. 

He glanced at you, turning the full weight of his gaze on you. You searched his eyes with unspoken questions. What did he want from you? Could he not simply find someone easier, daintier, more demure, more accommodating, more…wifely.

Again, the burning coil squeezed your chest harder. You took deep breaths as you looked out over the ocean. That wondrous sight. The sky had lightened, the rich blue racing across the sky and beating back the paint splattered hues of the sun. Heat was starting to press in from the sun.

“Have you plotted yet, how to kill me?” He asked.

You huffed a laugh and he toppled over, holding his chest. “Ah, the first real smile I have seen on your face. Does my death bring you happiness?” 

“N-no! I would never-” 

He chuckled. His entire body shuffled as he did so. He still confused you so. It was frustrating! He stalked through life with his heart on his sleeve, emotions given freely. You ached with the desire to be the same way.

You were so mired in your own thoughts, you did not know which way was up. How could he identify them so quickly? Give them without reservation? 

“I am messing with you. So tell me,” he said. He leaned up from the ground, resting his hands behind him to support his weight. The vivid blue of his robes ought to clash with the surrounding greenery, but he looked as home there as he did on the throne. 

You fiddled with your hands, unsure what to say. Were you really going to joke about killing the King? 

“If I told you, you would see it coming,” you offered. You peeked at him from underneath your lashes and he grinned. Oh, that grin. He was handsome, you had to admit. 

“Beautiful and smart. A deadly combination in a Queen. I shall keep my eyes open then,” he said. 

The tips of your ears burned looking at the intensity of his expression. 

“Did you play here often as a boy?” You asked to break the tension. When he looked at you like that, it was far too easy to be ensnared. To remember that you were his wife. And you were all alone with your husband. 

The stirrings of arousal made your belly flutter. Your core ache. You shifted on the ground and cleared your throat. You could not lose focus.

King Ghezo smiled. “I did. My father was busy with my brother, the heir. I was left alone, free to explore. Read. I used to watch the kingdom from here,” he said. He jerked his chin into the distance and you followed his line of sight. 

There was a little alcove of land that you could see from this height. Then he turned his head and you did the same. You could see the entire expanse of the kingdom. 

“Did you know? That you would one day be king?” You asked. 

“No. Had I known, I would have run away,” he said.

You looked at him. A small smile hovered his lips. “I did not wish to be king. It is a heavy burden. So many look to you for safety. I have to fight tradition and the minds of men who see us only as property. How they can come here, look me in the eye, and wish I toiled their fields fills me with such…hatred.”

“But still you sell Oyo prisoners?” You asked.

“We cannot fight two wars. They know this. I know this. It is an ugly reality,” he said. 

He never looked away from you or shied away from your questions. He did not tell you that this was not appropriate for someone who looked like you. Who had breasts instead of a penis. That you were incapable of understanding the harsh reality you all lived in. 

“Will we ever be free? Truly free?” 

“Yes. They cannot kill us faster than the hope in our hearts,” he said. 

You nodded. You played with the hem of your orange robes. You did not know what to make of the king. But he was so passionate in everything he did or spoke of. 

For the rest of the morning, you asked him questions about growing up, becoming King, and how he wished that one day, women would have more freedoms than they did now. That little girls would not be thrown away at the king’s feet.

“I will not kill you today, my King,” you said and smiled at him. Genuinely smiled. He matched your smile. He held out his hand and you took it without reservation. You will not kill him today. And it appears he will not kill you either.

He suddenly cocked his head, looking at you. “Since I am safe from your blade today, wife, may I ask you for something?” 

“What?” You asked, an edge of wariness creeping into your tone. 

“May I kiss you?” He asked.

Your lips parted. That was the last thing you expected him to ask. Your father had ensured that you were never left alone long enough to experience a kiss from any local boy. He didn’t want even a hint of impropriety when it came time to sell you. 

Not trusting your words, you nodded. You wanted to know what his lips felt like against yours. It was a crazy notion, but it was there. 

He leaned up from his relaxed position, never having left it throughout your entire conversation. He inched closer, settling next to you until he was pressed into your side. 

You were as still as a statue. Your hands were planted on your thighs, fingers bunching up the fabric of your robes in a death grip. You watched everything he did. Every move of his powerful arms. His thick legs. The way his robes slanted over his exposed chest. A single droplet of sweat running between his pecs and down the front of his pants.

You swallowed hard, fighting the rising panic in your chest. 

He reached out his hand and carefully extricated the fabric from your fingers. He massaged the feeling back into your fingers. Wasn’t he going to kiss you? You had said he could. 

Your mind began to spin with anxious thoughts. Did he change his mind? Was he still going to?  

“You must relax, my Queen. It is a kiss, nothing more,” he said. 

You nodded and took deep breaths, willing your body to cool down. To be present. You were back to breathing normally, not quite holding yourself so stiffly. 

He lifted a hand to run his finger across your cheek. His touch was warm, feather light against your skin. His finger trailed to below your chin.

“Close your eyes, my Queen,” he whispered.

You closed them slowly. Somehow not wanting to look away from him. He was so close. Your head screamed that this was inappropriate. But it wasn’t. You were his wife. 

Once closed, he tipped your chin up. His breath fanned over your face. Smelling somehow sweet, as if he had sucked on fruit before coming to you this morning. 

You felt his face get closer. Your belly flipped once more. You knew you grew damp and you half wondered if he’d be able to tell. Then, all you could think about was how wet you felt. How badly you wanted him to lift your dress. See how he made you feel since you had no words nor bravery to tell him. 

His lips descended on yours like a bird landing on a delicate branch. His nose pressed into yours. You breathed in the heady aroma of the palm oil and other oils he rubbed into his hair and skin. He smelled earthy. 

His lips moved over yours, pressing and retreating. You matched him, following his lead. He suckled your bottom lip into his mouth and a faint moan escaped you. Your clit throbbed. That was a new sensation, even for you. 

It was as if he’d awakened something in you with each pass of his lips. He licked your lips and you gasped. He swooped in, slanting his tongue to play with yours. Your hands drew up to cup his wrist, still holding up your chin. 

His skin was still warm. There was a faint bump bump of his heartbeat. 

You grew out of breath but you didn’t care. His breath supplied yours. His kisses filled you with all the sustenance you needed. The world was so quiet where you sat, that you heard the smack of your lips. The wet plop and suckle of his tongue meeting yours. The gentle groan in his throat.

The heat of the day paled in comparison to the heat of his lips. The strength of his arm. The delicate way he held your head up to meet him. Savor him. Crave more and more.

His kisses slowed until your breaths mingled, panting for air. He rested his head against yours. Then, he kissed your cheek and your forehead.

Your eyes slowly opened and he looked at you with unbridled lust. You wondered if he’d go further. Demand more from you. You gave him this, what was more? 

“If you do not kill me tomorrow either, my Queen, may I kiss you again?” He asked.

“Yes.” Yes, of course he could. Your lips tingled. You licked your lips, tongue searching for any remnants of him. More, your heart whispered. You looked at him as he pulled back to look at you too. 

You smiled, knowing that pretty soon, your head and heart would gladly meet him in the middle.

The Secret King Ghezo Files | Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5