#Shooting Apparel

[summerlinarmory]

Entering the world of competitive shooting can be exciting, but having the right gear is crucial for success. Whether you’re a novice or a seasoned shooter, equipping yourself properly ensures not only improved performance but also a safer experience on the range. If you’re looking for top-quality gun accessories in Nevada, here���s a guide to what you’ll need before you hit the competition.

[sunlightfeeling]

[beansnpeets]

I always have to email our daily cash sheet to the girl at the other store and cc my boss so I've started sending it along with a lame joke and so far they have both been really enjoying it 🤣

[artrsw]

Shoot for greatness. 🏀 Every shot is a chance to rise, every game a chance to make history. Aim high, play hard, and leave it all on the court. Click this link : https://tinyurl.com/yc7udbjh

[saintlucyrepresents]

Catherine Falls New Work: Fitness

Catherine Falls collaborated with stylist Anna Woodham on a new commercial fitness shoot in London, England. Catherine photographed talent Kiara Ama Jade, Lola Forsyth, Tabitha Mary, and Nina Lisa in summer fitness attire.

See more of Catherine Fall’s Lifestyle portfolio here.

[koreessentials]

Do You Own. Ratchet Belt? Kore Essentials Belt Review. 

KORE Essentials Tactical & Leather Gun Belts are the Best-Fitting, Most Comfortable Concealed Carry Belts you'll ever wear! Our belts feature 40+ micro size positions to adjust with so you get a perfect fit - every time. Our proprietary Power-Core™ center is ultra-supportive and virtually indestructible. Kore EDC belts (1.5” wide) fit any waist from 24" up to 44” & 54” (EXL Tacs to 72”). One Year Warranty & 30 Day MBG. Thanks to RUN GUN HEATHER for the awesome review.  Visit - http://www.KoreEssentials.com

[rileyslibrary]

You’ve just moved in with Simon. Great.

There’s one slight problem, though: Due to the nature of his work, the guy interprets everything as an order. And executes accordingly.

———————————————————————

You sit on the kitchen’s table, enjoying breakfast together, when you notice the full trash bin.

“The trash needs to be taken out,” you casually mention, not giving it too much thought.

But, to your surprise, Simon shoots up from his chair like a coiled spring, leaving his half-eaten food behind. “Roger that,” he responds and jogs towards the trash bin, leaving you baffled.

“Simon?”

He stops and turns to look at you.

“Hm?”

“You don’t have to do it right now.”

“When do you want it done?” he asks, waiting for your next command.

“Wh-whenever you can,” you reply, uncertain how else to phrase it.

“I can do it now,” Simon declares and proceeds to the trash bin.

“Babe, we’re eating.” You say and point at the semi-eaten food on the kitchen table.

He looks at the food, then back at you. He shrugs.

“No,” you state, “Come sit down and finish your breakfast first.”

He nods as if Price just gave him the objectives for his next mission and jogs to the table to resume his breakfast.

He’s always like this. Last week, you found a cockroach running in the bathroom, and you screamed so loud that he almost kicked the door. When he asked you what you wanted him to do, your first instinct was a very loud and clear “KILL IT!” without thinking about your statement’s repercussions. He chased it around, murmuring stuff like “Target’s on the move” and other nonsense until he trapped the cockroach in a corner. He stepped on it once and twisted his foot. The cockroach was dead. Gone. Kaput. But he wanted to do it again, to “confirm the kill.” When you told him there was no need since the cockroach was already a pulp and left you all to a better place, he refused and ordered an “evac” of the bathroom to “do it properly.” And when you asked if “properly” meant an AK-47 and camo apparel, he thought about it long and hard before agreeing that further escalation would be unnecessary.

Be it his ingrained behaviour as a soldier to execute orders, deeply rooted within his system, or his fear not to let you down, he was finding it difficult to leave his work duties at the door. He always carried them inside—in the living room, the kitchen, and the bathroom. He acted like Ghost, not Simon. Everything was a matter of order to him, and there was no time for relaxation.

But it doesn’t have to be like this; you want him to know that. He doesn’t have to be so rigid at home. He can relax and take a step back from his institutionalised habits.

To prove your point, you decide to give him another instruction, this time more indirectly.

You glance at the sink; some pans are picking out from making breakfast this morning.

“Oh boy,” you moan, trying to pull off an act, “we have to clean the dishes at some point.”

He raises his head to look at the kitchen sink, then sides-eyes you.

“Any particular time you want that done?” He asks, ironically.

“I said ‘at some point’, Simon,” you snap, “there’s no urgency.”

“You also said we ‘have’ to do it,” he snaps back. “‘Have to’ has some sort of urgency in it, doesn’t it?”

You chuckle, impressed by his attention to detail. “You’re right, but it’s more of a general statement,” you reply. “We can do it whenever it’s convenient.”

Simon processes your words and nods.

You stare at him while he eats, and you feel a tug at your heart, urging you to address the underlying issue on your mind. You take a deep breath, searching for the right words to express your feelings without offending him. You reach out and touch his arm to grab his attention. He turns to face you.

“You’re so dedicated to what you do; it’s one of the things I love about you,” you begin, “but our home should be a place where we can both unwind and be ourselves without feeling like we’re constantly on a mission.”

He furrows his eyebrows. “What do you mean?” he asks.

You take a moment to collect your thoughts, wanting to explain them in a way that resonates with him.

“Well, when you jump to fulfil every request or task like it’s an order, it sometimes feels like we’re always on duty,” you explain gently. “I want us to create a more relaxed atmosphere here, where we can enjoy each other’s company and take things at a slower pace.”

He thinks about it for a while.

“Am I doing that?” He asks.

You slowly nod with a gentle smile.

“Affirmative,” he replies, “I’ll try to take it down a notch.”

“No ‘roger’, no ‘affirmative’, nothing like that is needed here,” you explain.

“Is ‘alright’ alright?” He asks.

“Yes,” you smile, “alright is alright.”

He finishes his breakfast and puts his dish in the sink.

“So,” he says, pointing one hand at the dirty dishes and the other at the bin. “Is there any particular order in which you want these two to be done?”

You smile. “No, babe; you take out the trash, and I’ll do the dishes.”

“Underst-alright, alright.” He corrects himself and walks to the garbage. He ties up the bag’s strings and picks up the bin. He spots you looking at him.

“Am I doing something wrong?” He hesitates.

“Why are you taking the entire bin with you?”

He keeps looking at you and places the bin on the floor.

“Just in case the bag’s ripped,” he explains, “I don’t want to spill garbage juice on the floor.”

“Oh.”

“Should I take the bag only?” He asks and begins to remove it from the bin.

“No… that’s pretty smart, actually.”

He raises his eyebrows and points a thumb at himself.

“Yes, Simon,” you nod and smile, “you’re pretty smart and considerate. I’ll carry out the same procedure while on trash bin duty.”

He puffs up his chest and picks up the bin with the bag in it.

“I’m dedicated, smart and considerate.” You hear him boast to himself as he walks towards the exit, ready to execute his mission.

———————————————————————

[evieolo]

Panty Thief

Pairing: Chris Sturniolo x Fem!Reader

Contains: SMUT!!/ Male masturbation / Handjobs / Male!Receiving

“Chris, can you check if my laundry’s done for me?” You call from behind your door, catching his footsteps in the hall. Chris sighs dramatically, his voice loud enough for you to hear, and stops at your door, pushing it open. “Why can’t you do it?” He proclaims, shooting a playful glare your way. He’s dressed in low-cut gray sweats and a plain black t-shirt, carrying a mix of shirts and hoodies, folded messily in his hand.

You stretch your arms out, feigning tiredness. “I don’t want to get up.” You yawn, draping your comforter more over your torso and immersing yourself further in your social media. Chris sighs, realizing since he has to do his laundry he has to get yours out of the washing machine. Begrudgingly, he heads to the laundry room, as if he wasn’t already on his way there.

The smell of fresh laundry fans Chris’ nose as he walks into the dull room, a boring room contradicting the rest of the house, with white walls—no decor, only a window with a drapy shade over it that, on sunny days, beams light into the room, the only exception of furniture being the washer-dryer.

Chris inhales, shamelessly breathing in the fumes of your coconut-scented detergent, a scent he’d grown happily accustomed to after your many years of friendship. In Chris’ mind, you had an excessive amount of clothes. You’re not a messy person if you subtract clothes from the mix; your room is always littered with your latest clothing hauls, mixed but in separate piles from your dirty laundry. When he’d gone down to the laundry room an hour ago your clothes were cycling through the wash; still now you now had one snug load to the side in a circular hamper. The hamper adjoined the running dryer which had a second batch of clothes in it.

He approaches the shaking dryer slowly—there are two minutes left in the cycle—he might as well stay in the room while he waits for yours to finish.

Chris absentmindedly picks up the detergent you use and out of boredom reads the many labels on the bottle, giving up when he reads too many ingredient words with over twenty letters in them; the bottle’s sticky at the top where Chris holds it, he doesn’t realize this until it's slipping out of his fingers. The detergent bottle falls from his hand and spills into the hamper of your clean clothing.

Chris curses silently and snatches the bottle off the haphazard mix of clothes. He sets the bottle atop the drier and inspects the pile, pulling the soiled short on top of the pile off, wincing at the damp stain. He presses a palm to the next shirt down, realizing detergent did seep past the first top. He lets out a dramatic sigh of frustration and pulls the shirt off the top of the pile—discarding it into his basket of dirty laundry, deciding he’ll wash it with his own clothes and return it to you afterward.

He peeks to the pile of your laundry now without your baggy T housing the rest of the apparel. An orange piece catches his attention. It’s his favorite color, plus, he’d never seen you wear this specific shade before. He’s curious.

Chris saunters back to your hamper and pulls the orange bottoms out of the basket. He flushes when he realizes the bottoms are not shorts. They’re panties, peachy orange with a navy frill along the hems.

The man practically freezes in place, the panties were innocently simple—nothing relatively showy but they were his favorite color. There had to be some meaning to that. Right?

Chris runs his wrist along the hem of your bottoms, meshing the fabric of them between his thumbs. The fabric is light and delicate, almost weightless to touch, running his fingers over the hem he feels the jagged texture, so thin it's almost translucent.

He imagines how they’d sit on your hips; flaunt the curve of your ass. The thought of this—of you, shifts the looseness of his pants and he feels a recognizable stiffness arise against the fabric of his boxers.

“Chris?”

You enter the room tauntingly and Chris mutters a ‘fuck’ under his breath. He realized he’d look like a pervert in any situation so he quickly bunches your panties in his fist and pockets them.

Your eyes narrow as you realize he neglected your request and didn’t tell you that your laundry was done, “What have you been doing down here for the past ten minutes?” You ask skeptically.

Chris’ features flush red and he sucks his teeth, his mind blank of any witty remarks. He pauses for a second before speaking, “Wishing your laundry would disappear…Okay, but seriously, why do you have so many clothes?” He whines, alleviating the tension he’d created in his mind.

You laugh, opening the dryer that’d just finished its cycle with a ‘click’

“You’re just mad that I have style.” You rebuttal, a wide smile on your face.

“Mhm”

Chris swallows harshly, standing stiffly as he watches you bend down to spoon your clothes out of the dryer. His eyes focus on the curve of your ass, the way you teeter on your knees to reach the clothes in the very back. It’s not soon before he feels harsher tightening in his abdomen.

He mentally curses himself. Asking himself if he seriously got a boner from watching his best friend do laundry.

Chris makes a light grunting noise—his begrudging goodbye—before he leaves the room. You turn your head at the diminishing sound of footsteps. “Chris, I thought you were doing your laundry?” You press, curious as to why he’s leaving so soon.

Chris continues out of the room, only turning his head slightly to respond to you, “I-I’ll do it later.” He stammers, making his way up the stairs making a beeline to his bedroom.

When he reaches his room he’s flustered, his cheeks are red and you’re running through his mind. There are only two things he can think of: your ass and your panties.

Your panties that are in his pocket.

He pulls his fist out of his pocket and holds your undergarments again. The sight of the frill only turns him on further, making his hard-on tent his pants. Chris curses under his breath for the nth time before retreating to his bed, shooing away his self-accusations of him being a ‘pervert’ and deciding to do something about his boner.

He sits on his bed, scooting back against the headboard and shimmies his sweats down, pushing the band of his boxers down to reveal his hardened-cock.

Feathering a hand down to his base, he groans a sigh from the pressure his hand brings. He pumps his length upward, coaxing pre-cum from his angry tip, smearing the drops in liquid down his base as he pumps himself; picturing you as he does so.

He imagines you—bending down for him instead of a washing machine. How your hands would wrap around him, your small hands; small but oh so gentle. And fuck, those panties, he wished he could see them around your hips, how they would flaunt the curve of your ass perfectly. He’d push the cloth to the side and fuck you with them still on.

He palms your pocketed bottoms, pushing them against his cock and thrusting against the fabric, hips roiling into his hand as he moans your name.

“Fuck Y/N, fuck, yeah just like that.” He whimpers, rutting against his hand so desperately he doesn’t realize how his door creaks open.

“Chris, did you take…” you pause, unsure how to ask if he knows where your missing undergarments are, “Uhm - did you take something from my laundry bin?” You question shyly, too embarrassed to blatantly admit you can’t find your favorite panties. Your eyes are down, and you teeter on your heels, until you grow impatient with Chris’ lack of response and look at him.

Your eyes widen, and you yell out a loud “Fuck!”, meekly covering your eyes with your hands and turning away.

Chris then notices your presence, his jaw drops and his cheeks burn bright red. He tries to shuffle under his comforter, but it's to no avail; he’s sitting on top of it.

You continue to conceal your vision with your hands, only peeking through a small crack at his face until you realize where your panties are. Wet and bunched up in his hand. Your mouth falls slightly ajar in surprise, and you stop hindering your vision.

“Chris, were you jerking off to my underwear?” You ask wide-eyed.

Unsure of what to say, Chris simply nods out a quiet “yes.”

Chris stays silent. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows harshly. “Are you going to stand in my doorway like that for the rest of your life?”

You take this as an invitation to join him in his bed, sauntering to the bed’s foot, and kneeling yourself onto the mattress, crawling over his sprawled-out legs and leaving your hand dangerously close to his hard-on.

“Can I?” You hum, meeting his eyes. He nods eagerly, watching you intently. “If I had known you were this big I would’ve done this a long time ago,” you coo, feathering a hand down to his needy tip and running a thumb over in a circular motion. With this, Chris leans back and lets out an opened-mouth moan.

“Fuck Y/N,” He sighs, lazily running a hand through his hair as you start moving your hand down his shaft. Running your palm up and down and squeezing gently once you reach the tip.

“Wanna suck you off, baby.” You hum, pressing a kiss to his tip. Chris shivers at the contact, groaning at the sloppy peck, “Please.” He whines.

You puff your cheeks out, readying yourself for his size and kitten lick his tip before wrapping your lips around him, sinking your head down slightly to test the waters before speeding up a bit, filling the room with sounds of erotic spit and Chris’ loud groans.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Chris moans, knotting his hands in your hair and pushing your head down further every time you bob down. The sound of your lewd gagging nears Chris’ orgasm.

Looking at you sets him over the edge, the way your back arches towards him, to get easier access to him, how tears prod your waterline every time his dick hits your throat, the hums you let out as he knots your hair tighter and tighter.

His dick twitches in your mouth, signaling to you his upcoming release, and before you can get a breath through your nose, he's rutting his hips into you, pushing your head down to his base, breathing heavily, as his cum sloppily trickles into your mouth.

He holds your head down sternly as he comes down from his high, pushing you down against his base. When he releases his grip on your hair, you pull back, chest heaving as you gasp for air.

“Holy shit.” Chris mumbles, threading his fingers through his hair. You straighten your spine, positioning yourself back in a sitting position on your knees and meet eye level with Chris.

He smirks when you meet his eyes. Your face is red, and your throat is sore from the way his tip bruised your pharynx. Chris watches intently as you wipe his dripping cum off the corners of your mouth with the back of your wrist. “Where’d you learn how to suck dick like that?” He heaves, a playful undertone to his words.

“I dabble,” You smile, shrugging off his question as you give him a crooked smile.

Chris pauses for a second, opening and closing his mouth twice before he actually speaks, “Why’d we do that?” He asks, pinching his eyes shut in embarrassment.

You sense his awkwardness and scoot closer to him, rubbing his shoulder soothingly. “Chris, this doesn’t have to change things between us; best friends fuck all the time.” You say, delicately pressing a kiss to his jaw.

Chris meets your eyes, pulling his boxers back on to leave him less exposed. “You can’t call me your best friend after sucking the life out of my dick.” He laughs.

Meeting his gaze you fold your arms in your lap, “If I shouldn’t call you my best friend, what should I call you?”

“How about boyfriend?” He winks, shifting off the bed and heading for the shower stopping to toss you your dampened panties. “Can you wear these for me tomorrow?”

[earlysunshines]

tutor perks

park jihyo x fem!reader ; fluff, smut ; pt. 2

synopsis: the kid you’re tutoring has a really sweet, charming hot aunt.

warnings: alcohol ; not proofread so many spelling and grammatical errors (probably) ; mmm smut ; smut; and smut ; praise ; overstimulation ; almost fucking in the fancy bathroom ; reader ruined by jihyo ; men mentioned yuck!! ; food ; jihyo is like seven years older than reader ; mmm anything else i’ve missed ; physics mentioned 😵‍💫

a/n: i need her so bad like

(um ALSO i wrote half of this on my phone (that era was...))

- 

you’re assigned to tutor a high school student, some junior boy named matthew park that’s falling behind in a couple of subjects. the lady at the front office had provided you directions to the library, but still, it took you a few wrong turns and another ask to actually get there. 

walking in, you notice the lively yet quiet ambiance filling the room. there are groups of students studying together, giggling and pushing each other around as they do so. another group seems to be much more focused than the others, all furrowing their brows while examining whatever paper is on the table. 

you scan the room and look for a guy who should be alone, and to the right, you spot just that. 

he’s hunched over a little and his eyes are glued to the phone in his right hand while he spins a pencil with the other hand. the guy has on a green crewneck sweater and the headphones he wears squish some of his dark hair, which is parted messily in the middle. you tap on his desk subtly—he looks up with raised brows and takes off his headphones. 

you shoot a friendly smile and begin to speak, “hi, are you—“ 

“matthew, yeah.” he interrupts, “matt is fine.” 

his voice is pretty low, and something about his energy and mannerisms tell you that he’s some type of athlete. he runs a hand through his hair as you sit down next to him and fixes his posture. at least he has some manners, unlike the type of athletes you had to deal with a few years ago. 

“i’m y/n, it’s nice to meet you.” you greet, sticking out your hand—which matt takes—and shaking his bigger, rougher one.  

you clear your throat and look at the slightly creased notes on the table accompanied by the spiral notebook and green folder. setting down your own bag on the floor, you ask, “so, what is it that you’re struggling with the most?” 

matt glances at the entrance for a brief moment then looks down at the work in front of him and clenches his jaw, crossing his arms.  

“physics and precalculus.” he simply says, his voice seeming small and ashamed. you glance over towards where he was before, catching a group of five teenagers—all seemingly athletic from the apparel they wear—and start to catch onto his sudden bashful demeanor. 

“alright, i can help you with that.” you assure, “i’ll try to make this quick and do the best i can to help, just let me know what you want me to explain.” 

matt nods, picking up the pencil and huffing. 

- 

after tutoring math and reliving your high school physics trauma, you’re headed out the entrance of the library and trying to find your way to the main doors.  

“wait!” a voice calls out, “y/n, was it?”  

turning around, you stand a few feet away from matt, whose headphones are resting around his neck comfortably. he rubs his neck and then pinches the bridge of his nose before shutting his eyes tightly. 

you tilt your head, wondering what this boy needs; was it some extra notes or help? 

“yes?” 

“i um,” he begins, tensing his jaw and shaking his head. “i don’t know if this is appropriate to ask you since you’re a tutor—and i swear i’m not hitting on you!” he catches himself, groaning after he speaks. “i just, don’t want to be seen getting tutored, it’s embarrassing because i’m… i’m not doing well academically right now.” 

“matt, it’s okay, don’t feel—” 

“stop,” he says bluntly. “look, you were probably in my place a couple of years ago or something, i don’t know. just, i don’t like being seen like this because i used to be better, but my professors and everything…” 

“i get that, we can work it out! i was actually really good at physics and i know how bad it can be, i was there and precalculus is pretty simple to me.” 

“yes and thank you, i just wanted to ask if we could change locations. somewhere that’s not where i go to school.” 

“where were you thinking matt?” you ask, quirking a brow and ignoring the little buzz from your phone that’s in your pocket. 

he sighs and repeats, “before i ask; i’m not hitting on you, i swear to god.”  

“matt if you’re insisting some type of café i’m fine with that, people study there all the-“ 

“no, i’d be recognized there too.” he mumbles. “can you just come over to my house? i’ll even have my aunt texting you to say it’s okay, i don’t know if you need that confirmation or whatever, i mean, i’m a minor and i get that it might be iffy.” 

“oh, i see.” you mutter in response. “i mean, we can do that, just have your aunt text me, yeah?” 

“okay.” he responds, “can we do this thursday? i have a physics test on friday.” 

“that’s fine, i’ll do my best to help you out matt.” 

he smiles gratefully. “thank you y/n.”  

-- 

once you’re out of your car after parking near the curb across the street, you get a real good view of matt’s house and damn, the place is nice. 

it’s pretty big and modern, but not too modern that it’s uncomfortable, it just stands out. 

you walk down the little pathway towards the door, which is illuminated by dimmed, warm lights, and tilt your neck to the side to crack it before knocking. a few moments later, you hear the locks click as they turn and the door opens, matt opens it and he’s wearing some white t-shirt, which is paired with black sweatpants. 

“thank you for coming, and again, i swear i’m not hitting on you.” 

“matt, it would be very illegal for me to do anything like that with you. i get it, seriously.” 

“just making sure.” he says, “come in, my aunt is coming home soon.” 

his aunt had sent you a text asking if you were his tutor, and she had thanked you for offering such assistance to her nephew. the lady—his aunt—seemed sweet. her tone via text and the amusing emojis she used had given you this image of some woman in her 40s or 50s, probably baking cookies and thanking you with a warm hug for helping her dear relative. you’ll meet her later; hopefully, she does end up giving you cookies. 

matt leads you to the dining area and as you make your way there, the aroma of vanilla fills the air. maybe it was the cookies that were waiting for you, or you’re just really hungry and craving something sweet. 

“i have the things i need to study, he gave us this study guide and i have some questions regarding the velocity equations.” he explains, but stops himself in his tracks and mutters an “ah,” before asking, “did you want anything to drink?” 

“no, no.” you dismiss him with a wave of your hand. “let’s get started, shall we?” 

the rhythmic ticking of the clock echoed through the room as you continued to guide matt through the complexities of his physics homework. frustrated groans and muttered curses painted a vivid picture of the challenges he was enduring—in this case, one of the most dreadful subjects ever—and you found yourself helping him whenever you could. 

as the sounds of the front door unlocking reached your ears, both you and matt instinctively turned towards the entrance. matt, eager to get a small break from the terrible page of paper in front of him, leapt up to open the door just as it swung ajar. 

"hey, auntie," he greeted, the familial connection evident in his tone. 

“hi matt, there are some groceries i need you to take in, would you mind helping me out?” 

“no not at all,” he says, then excuses himself to go help out with the groceries. 

the figure that emerged into the room drew your attention like a magnetic force. matt's aunt strode in with an air of authority that commanded immediate respect. your jaw tensed as you observed her approach, an almost instinctive reaction to the oddly powerful aura exuded from her. how crazy it was for a woman who’s just appeared to have you sit up in your seat. 

she was not what you expected—a far cry from the stereotypical image you had of aunts in their 40s or 50s, definitely not as old as you had assumed. instead, she carried an ageless poise, appearing young but undeniably mature. dressed in a black blazer that teased the line between formal and casual, ending provocatively above her knees, she was a vision that held your gaze captive. 

however, it wasn't just the flawless outfit that ensnared your attention. it was the remarkable contours of her face, the sharpness of her cheekbones that had your jaw dropping just barely as you were in your trance. her steps echoed with a strange power, and even in her approach, you couldn't help but feel a sense of intimidation just by existing within her proximity. 

as matt’s aunt neared, her gaze locked onto yours—a gaze that felt both deathly and tremendously allurin — then, she smiled, a shift in demeanor that caught you off guard. the stern, professional aura melted away, replaced by a wonderfully cute smile that seemed to rival her intimidating presence. 

you—caught in a momentary trance—couldn't help but reciprocate with a dorky smile, your hand instinctively moving to fix your hair, as if trying to match the sudden change in atmosphere. what a mess you were for someone’s aunt you’ve just laid your eyes on.  

"ah, you're y/n, matt's tutor, am i correct?" she inquired, her voice sent a ripple of warmth through the room. the cadence of her words held a subtle allure, a tone that rang with confidence and undeniable charm. her voice was a little on the deeper end, but regardless it was hot and you could for sure get used to it. 

you managed to nod, finding your voice despite the sudden whirlwind of emotions. "yes, that's me. nice to meet you, miss park." 

“no need to be so formal hon.” she chuckles, pleased. “you can call me jihyo.” she assures with a smile. jihyo stretches out her hand and you take it, her hands are soft and smaller than yours, and her nails well manicured. “you have nice hands y/n.”  

that is such a crazy statement coming from someone’s beautiful, striking aunt who you’ve met for the first time ever and just now. your cheeks flush and you laugh shyly before responding, “thank you, your hands are um, they’re nice too.” 

after realizing that you’ve been holding this woman’s hand for too long, you pull away and run a hand through your hair again. jihyo smiles at you before walking over to the desk and examining the paper, she sighs and raises her brows. 

“ah, physics, i was never good at that when i was in high school.” 

“yes it’s something a lot of people struggled with in high school, i was lucky to be able to do well in that class.” you shrug, and jihyo looks at you impressed. 

“i see, you must be smart huh? and how old are you sweetheart?” 

your knees almost give up on you after this crazy hot woman just called you sweetheart, yet you manage to respond to her without stuttering or sounding like a fool. “i’m 20.” 

“ah, pretty young huh. you’re in college?” 

“yeah. education major, actually.” 

“how cute.” she responds amusingly, “well, thank you again for teaching my nephew. i’ll be upstairs, just send a text or shout if he’s a hassle. thanks hon.” 

jihyo shoots you a grateful smile before patting you on the shoulder; you might just die right then and there. you gulp lightly and manage to choke out a response, “y-yeah, no problem.” which makes the older woman giggle softly before leaving. 

you have got to get a grip. 

-- 

the woman you’ve interacted with for no more than three minutes surely left a mark with her first impression. now you’re putting more effort into your appearance than you did for that date you had three weeks ago with the girl sarah set you up with. 

you slip into a white graphic baby tee that effortlessly molds around your figure, the perfect balance of snug and comfortable. the tee you were gifted is paired with your beloved thrifted boyfriend jeans, their wash perfectly complements your top and if you were to stretch just a little bit, jihyo would get a glimpse of the line that runs down your tummy. a hint of effortlessness fills the air as you tie up the upper half of your hair, allowing loose strands to gently caress your shoulders and frame your face. light and natural makeup enhances your best features, purposefully done to emphasize your appeal with a touch of ease.  

when you reach the front door of matt’s house, you brush a strand of hair out and pat down the black cardigan you have on before knocking on it three times. the familiar teenage boy opens it up and greets you with a smile, inviting you in.  

everything goes as usual: you situate yourself in a different room this time and matt hands you his assignments. you take your time to give them a good look, and then ask him what he needs help with. this time he needs help with precalculus, and thankfully, you’re pretty good at that too. 

you watch him work on the assignments for a bit and start to get thirsty, and then you realize you’ve forgotten your water bottle on the counter in your small apartment.  

“ah i forgot my bottle… could i get some water?” you ask him, and he nods without looking away from the paper. 

“yeah, the kitchen is down the hall to the right. there’s bottles in the fridge. could you grab me a coke zero?” 

“yeah, thanks, i’ll be quick. just work on these for the time being.” he hums in response to you and continues to write down various messy scribbles while solving some type of math problem he’s been assigned. 

you do as he says: walk down the hall and to the right to enter the familiar kitchen you were near last time and you’re met with the familiar older woman that had you all flustered before. she’s standing by the stove and cooking something up and it smells great. awkwardly, you walk over to the fridge and she turns after catching you in her peripheral. 

she smiles immediately upon meeting your presence. 

“y/n! hi honey, it’s nice to see you.” jihyo greets, “i’ve been wanting to see you again.” 

“you have?” your cheeks flush immediately, and you manage to recompose yourself, clearing your throat before responding,, “it’s nice to see you too..” 

jihyo looks you up and down, eyes pausing for two seconds on the baby tee hugging your figure before meeting your eyes again. her look does things that she wants her hands doing, but that’s for her to know. 

“did you need anything sweetheart?” she asks, raising a brow. her question doesn’t process through your head until a few moments after. you were too busy admiring her from head to toe, taking in her features, the casual outfit she has on—eyes enjoying the view of her cleavage that slightly shows in that black tank top she wears.  

you clear your throat again. 

“oh i was just getting some drinks for matt and i.” you respond, quickly darting your eyes away from her chest.  

the older woman giggles amusingly, “take whatever you’d like from there.” 

“thank you miss— i mean, jihyo. it’s fine really, just thirsty and matt wants a coke zero, haha.” 

“alright~” she says, dragging her response teasingly. “just let me know, ‘kay?”  

“yeah, thanks.” you smile sheepishly and nod, then grab the drinks you almost forgot about before walking away.  

jihyo looks you up and down as you step into the hall, smirking a bit before going back to cook the dinner she’d been preparing.  

when you get back to the room where you had been tutoring, you spot matt, who is still writing down some equation down on his paper. he looks up once he hears you, then smiles after seeing the coca-cola in your hand. 

“here’s your drink.” you smile. 

“thanks.” 

“it’s no problem, your aunt told me to grab as much as i’d like. is she always so… sweet?” 

“i mean, i guess so. she’s pretty laid back with my friends as long as we don’t do too much.” matt opens the can and shakes his head as a small laugh slips out. “she’s definitely more generous with you, i can tell. she asked me about you actually.” 

“she what?” your eyes widen and your head turns. “what did she ask?” 

“nothing too important, just when you’d be over again.” matt shrugs, then his adam’s apple moves up and down whilst his neck muscles tense and relax as he gulps down the carbonated drink. “damn this is fizzy—” he says, then coughs. “fuck.” 

matt leaves you with an awareness of jihyo’s curiousity towards your own self, and now you’re trying to focus on tutoring the kid whilst thinking of his aunt.  

“good job matt, i can see you’re already getting much better. the concepts and formulas seem to be clicking, yeah?” you praise, he nods. matt stretches his arms out and you roll your shoulders back to release some tension. 

after helping him tidy up, you make sure everything is back in your own tote bag that you had brought. matt turns towards the entrance to the room and his eyebrows raise a bit, then you turn and see the same woman. your jaw tenses—lips part slightly too. 

jihyo walks in and the sway of her hips isn’t unnoticeable. she looks at the two of you, eyes lingering on you longer than her own nephew, then beams. “matt, help me set up dinner will you?” 

“mhm, gotchu. what’s for dinner by the way?” 

“steak and pasta, go mix up the pasta would you?” 

“yes aunt hyo.” matt complies, then shoots you a grateful grin before standing up with an exaggerated, tired sigh. he walks past jihyo, leaving the two of you alone. 

your heart beats embarrassingly fast once matt is gone, it thumps so hard in your chest that you’re afraid that jihyo may hear.  

“done for the day?” jihyo questions, walking over to you. 

you gulp. “yeah, just finished actually.” 

“i see, you must be hungry.” then jihyo locks eyes with you, and you genuinely think it might be something more—or maybe you’re delusional—who knows. “stay for dinner.” 

okay maybe it’s something more, or you’re just a desperate, lovesick gay college student that’s borderline head over heels. 

“oh it’s fine, really.” you say it with uncertainty, waving your hands in the air with an awkward smile. “i don’t want to trouble you.” 

“it’d be anything but a trouble y/n.” jihyo counters, “if anything the trouble would be letting a pretty lady like you out my house with an empty stomach.” 

jihyo places her hand on your shoulder, then squeezes it lightly. her eyes have you paralyzed in place, drilling into your pupils and then finding their attention on your lips. jihyo is slightly shorter than you, yet you feel so helpless under than her. an amused smirk plays on her lips and you find yourself clutching your tote bag strap a little tighter. 

“…then i’ll take your offer, thank you.” you nod awkwardly, feeling your cheeks flush. 

jihyo nods, feeling accomplished, then pulls her hand off your shoulder. “i’ll have matt know there’s going to be an extra plate then. come on sweetheart.” 

-- 

now you’re sat at the dining table with jihyo across. she’s grinning and her eyes keep wandering all over you, but most of the time they’re focused on your face. 

matt hands you a plate with steak and alfredo pasta, then some utensils. he places a cup of water down on a coaster and pushes it towards you, then hands his aunt a glass of white wine.  

matt takes a bite of the meal and sighs, pleased with how it satisfies his hunger. jihyo laughs at him whilst he goes on to devour the plate. you follow after him and twirl some of the noodle against your spoon, then stab a piece of steak with your fork. the bite you take is filled with some saltiness, though it’s deliciously savory—just how you like it. 

jihyo smiles. “good?” 

“it’s great, thank you again jihyo.”  

“anytime, i fancy your company.” she responds before taking a bite herself. 

there’s a question brewing in your mind, but you’re second-guessing yourself because it seems a bit rude, well, maybe. jihyo swallows the steak and reaches for her glass again. 

“so it’s just you and matt?” you ask, avoiding eye contact. 

matt turns and raises a brow, then shrugs it off. jihyo simply nods her head. 

“just me and the troublemaker.” she jokes, which earns an eye roll from matt. “he moved here a few years ago, the school over here is excellent for him. great academics, extracurriculars, sports teams…” 

“i see. good for him then.”  

“what about you?” jihyo questions. you look up at her in the middle of chewing down your pasta, rushing to get a response out. 

“sorry, what?” 

“just you? no boyfriend or… significant other?”  

surprisingly, you don’t choke on your food. “oh no, not at the moment.” 

“that’s a shame, and a surprise.” she takes another bite of steak and chews on it in the right side of her cheek, puffing it out a little. “i wonder why no one has made a move, i would’ve if there were a beauty like you around.” 

matt pauses, his brows furrow and he looks at his aunt with some slight concern. “auntie?” 

“i’m only teasing silly, just complimenting,” jihyo says, laughing to ease the tension in the air (though, it doesn’t work. your heart starts racing again and the meal gets harder to finish). “it’s better than whatever you’ve said over the phone to those—”  

matt coughs, then shakes his head. “okay okay, we get it.” he rolls his eyes (again) and shrinks into his seat, making jihyo giggle. you laugh as well and matt scoffs as he pokes at the steak on his plate. 

there’s a sudden buzz that makes the table vibrate slightly. your phone sits next to your glass of water, and you reach for it hastily. due to your clumsy handling, the water topples over, spilling all over shirt—your chest. 

“shit—” you curse and stand up quickly.  

“matt, grab some napkins for y/n.” jihyo orders, quickly walking over to your side of the table. she grabs the napkins from her nephew and hands them to you, then urges you to follow her. she turns to matt and quickly says, “clean up the table, i’ll go help y/n out with her clothes.” 

matt hums in response and you follow jihyo, feeling embarassed from the small scene you’ve made. 

-- 

“i’m really sorry, and really, i could’ve cleaned up on my own—”  

“it’s fine y/n, don’t worry about it.” jihyo assures, leading you to the large master bedroom.  

there’s a king-sized bed in the middle, dimmed lights, and the room screams luxury. jihyo leads you over to the closet and grabs a small towel, then starts to pat down at your chest, making your cheeks burn.  

her hands find their way over to your shoulder to stabilize you, and then she’s shaking her head after trying to dry the spillage on your shirt. “this won’t do, let me get you a shirt. you can take off yours and leave it on the hanger over there.” she says, pointing to the hook. 

“t-thank you.” mentally, you facepalm yourself for sounding so nervous. 

“your cheeks are red,” jihyo giggles. she places her hand on your shoulder, then drags it down to your chest briefly before pulling away. “it’s alright honey, it happens. i’ll get you that shirt.” 

a few minutes later she enters the abnormally large closet again and hands you a gray sweatshirt with some college logo on it.  

“thank you jihyo, i’ll give this back to you when i—” 

“it’s fine, just keep it for pajamas or anything like that. it’s just some old shirt from when i graduated a while ago.” jihyo says. you pray that you look calm and collected, trying to mask your flustered-self with a smile. “i’ll let you change, just come out when you’re done sugar.” 

“yeah, thanks—and sorry.”  

jihyo shakes her head and waves off your apology with her hand. 

-- 

you’re back downstairs in a few minutes—minutes of jihyo (not so) subtly checking you out in her old clothes. 

matt asks if you’re okay, you answer with a nod and a smile. 

“my roommate keeps calling me, i should get going.” is muttered followed by an unnecessary peek into your tote bag, shuffling through to make sure you have everything. “thank you again for everything.” 

jihyo leads you to the door and sends matt up to get ready for school. she flattens out her own clothes, runs a hand through her hair, then watches you slip on your shoes from the front door. 

“you should stay for dinner more often y/n, i enjoyed it.” 

you chuckle awkwardly, then push a strand of hair back. “i enjoyed it too, though i’m sorry for spilling water everywhere.” 

“that’s quite alright, you could always make up for it by staying over. i like your company.”  

looking down at the ground, you smile bashfully and respond, “i’ll consider it. thank you again.”  

“drive safe pretty.” jihyo says, waving goodbye and shutting the door. 

- 

sarah sits on the opposite end of the couch and watches you closely.  

youre hugging your knees to your chest and smiling, making your roommate turn her head in confusion. “why’d you drag me to the couch.” 

“i need to tell you about today. about everything.” 

“make it quick, i have a lecture tomorrow morning for psych.” she sighs, crossing her arms and leaning against the couch. 

“so i’ve been tutoring that kid you know, the high school kid.” you start, and sarah nods as she hums. “yeah so basically i tutor him that one day at his school or whatever, then, he asks me to tutor him at his house.” 

“so he… wants you?” 

“no, absolutely not. plus, that’s like, a case.” you say with a shake of your hand, dismissing hee assumption. “but, speaking of age differences, i went to his house — his aunts house — and i was tutoring him and whatnot. then i hear someone knock on the door and he says it’s his aunt, so im unfazed or whatever because it’s probably this middle aged lady or whatever.” 

“right, so…?” 

“so i was fucking wrong.” you explain, sitting up now. “the most beautiful woman i’ve ever laid eyes on walks in. she’s dressed in work clothes or something, all black, and she looks good.”  

“oh, so you’re gay.” sarah scoffs amusingly, quirking a brow. “am i supposed to be… surprised?” 

“can you just shut the fuck up and listen to me fully for once, please.” 

sarah rolls her eyes. “fine.” 

“okay so she calls me hon, then she says my hands are sweet — and keep in mind, this is the first time i’ve talked to her in person. then she calls me sweetheart?” 

“she’s being nice i think, considering she’s probably older than you. maybe you’re just gay, delusional, and haven’t gotten laid since… months ago?” 

“just because you and your girlfriend do it every time i’m out does not mean you have to shove it down my throat.” you scoff, “anyways, yeah no i thought that too, but then her nephew — the kid in tutoring — he tells me that she’s more generous with me and asks about me. i don’t think that’s being nice.” 

“that might just be curiosity and being nice, y/n.” 

“no hear me out okay,” sarah giggles as she watches you talk all animatedly with your hands moving after every couple of words. “she invited me for dinner — literally wanted me to stay, like insisted — then said i was too pretty to not be taken? and then she was saying that if ‘there were a beauty like you around, i would’ve made a move.’” 

sarah’s eyes widen, then her mouth opens slightly in shock. she leans closer to you, now fully invested knowing that this isn’t just another stretch of your interactions with women.  

“holy shit?” 

“i know.” you say, feeling your cheeks flush just from thinking about it. “and then you called and i spilled water and whatnot, she brought me to her room and—“ 

“you guys fucked?” 

“no!” you immediately say, a little too loud for that matter. “no, no.” you reassure, “though, i’m going to be honest i kind of wish—but that’s besides the point. she helped me out and patted down my tits — well my shirt but who cares, same thing — and then gave me her old sweatshirt. im literally wearing it right now and i remember her checking me out as soon as i changed into them.” 

“oh my god?” 

“yeah, and then you called again for me to come back or whatever and she told me to stay for dinner more often. now i’m here and that’s the end of the story.” 

sarah simply stares at you with wide eyes, her hand covering her slightly opened mouth. you place your hands on your face snd grown, feeling the heat of your cheeks on the skin of your hand. 

“i cant believe someone’s aunt wants you.” 

“i know!”  

“are you going to… sleep with her?” sarah asks, tilting her head. 

you find yourself lost in thought, often drifting into a world where she consumes your every waking moment - both at work and during classes. in these vivid daydreams, your thoughts sometimes stray to a more innocent realm. you envision the possibility of going on a simple date with her, where you can unravel the layers of her personality and just get to know her on a deeper level. because jihyo’s the type of woman that you want to sit down and get to know, that’s for sure.  

but to be honest, most of the time your mind wanders to far more… provocative scenarios. your imagination conjures up images of her completely unveiled, with a tantalizing desire to feel her hands caressing your every contour, leaving you to completely submit to her; to be ruined by jihyo personally. these fantasies consume you, their allure impossible to resist.  

“well, i don’t know.” you answer, pinching the bridge of her nose. “i still have to tutor her nephew.” 

“hmm… then focus on that and then sleeping with his aunt.” sarah suggests, giggling lightly before her phone buzzes. she looks at the screen and sees a text from her girlfriend, then smiles immediately. “speaking of sleeping with people, my girlfriend is picking me up. i’ll be out for the night.” 

you groan, still wanting sarah to listen to you while losing your mind and leave her own comments here and there. it’s almost impossible to get her away from her girlfriend. you’re so jealous and sarah loves to poke at you for being single and insatiable. 

“you’re unbelievable.” 

sarah shrugs, getting up with a cheeky grin. she snickers, “and you need to get laid. good luck with your little milf situation.” 

“she’s not his mom!” 

“same difference.” 

— 

the next time you tutor matt, you never get to talk or see jihyo. matt explains that she’s out for the night, something related to a business trip that he seems to not really care about. 

but you care, and you need to know when she’s back. unfortunately, tutoring comes first and the last thing you want to do is make it obvious that you have a crush on the aunt of the kid you’re tutoring. 

(matt has a little hunch; he notices the stares the both of you give each other when you two think no one is looking. matt is looking and definitely suspicious of how nervous you get around her and how generous his aunt is to you. though, he doesn’t have time to dive deeper in that since another physics test is clouding his brain for the time being.) 

you run into jihyo the day after that session with matt, but not as his house.  

there’s a place near the campus that’s now you and your friends’ signature study and hangout spot. it’s this cozy café and restaurant that the five of you have spent countless hours at either conversing and laughing for hours or losing your mind over whatever classes you guys take. this time, you’re all getting brunch together and debating something small. 

you excuse yourself and get in line to grab a drink since you only purchased a panini, thinking that would satisfy you. you were wrong. so, you stand in line for a bit, not really minding your surroundings while you tap through various instagram stories and scroll mindlessly. a minute later, you feel a tap on your shoulder while you’re halfway through a video your friend had posted. when you turn around you’re met with the face that has you lost in a momentary trance.  

“ah y/n, it’s nice to see you.” jihyo says. 

“oh, jihyo.” you respond, trying to hide your surprise and sudden nervousness. “it’s nice to see you too.” 

oh for sure it’s nice to see her. sunglasses sit on the top of her head, loose strands fall over her face, and the dress she’s wearing under her long coat looks divine. your eyes scan her whole body for a short moment, and then you’re clearing your throat as she starts to speak again. 

“are you here alone?” she asks you, looking you up in down in the process. 

“oh i’m with friends actually, they’re over by the window—“ you point to the group of four laughing together, all invested in the conversation at hand as the afternoon light brightens their smiles. “—we were just getting together and eating brunch.” you explain. 

“i see…” jihyo mumbles, looking over to your friends. she sounds a bit dissapointed, but you could be wrong about that.  

“what are you doing here? i mean, i don’t mean that in a rude way it’s just—“ 

jihyo smiles again, putting her hand on your shoulder as she laughs. “oh honey,” one of many things she calls you that makes your breath go short, “it’s fine, i get what you mean.” she trails down to your bicep, her skin warm on yours. “i was going to grab a drink before work, this is one of my favorite cafes.” 

“what a coincidence, it’s one of mine too.” 

jihyo subtly acknowledges your presence, her gaze gracefully trailing along your figure, delicately fixating on the tantalizing hint of skin peeking through your attire. her probing eyes pause there momentarily, capturing every nuance of the tempting groove down your tummy, accentuated by your low-rise jeans and revealing crop top. the ensemble effortlessly enhances your allure, inducing an irresistible appeal that’s impossible to ignore. as her gaze eventually retreats, it effortlessly returns to meet your own.  

“i suppose we have lots in common.” jihyo notes. 

“yeah,” you breath out, “i guess so.” 

“next in line please!” one of the the cashiers yells out, snapping you out of your daze. you apologize to him and then smile at jihyo before walking over and shuffling for the wallet in your shoulder bag.  

after getting your pistachio latte, you walk back to your friends and they beam at you. setting your bag down, you listen in on the conversation. 

“—and so, as i was saying, he kept making me pay for everything on the first date.” mai scoffs, crossing her arms. she’s a friend from your intro to education, lively and always has something to say. this time, it seems to be quite interesting. “look, i am a 50-50 girl and whatnot, but he asked me out and expects me to pay? i felt like there was a whole beard on my face and my balls dropped or something after paying for him. yeah, never again.” 

you laugh loudly, covering your mouth upon hearing the entertaining story.  

again – similar to just a few minutes ago – there’s a tap on your shoulder. your friends look at the woman behind you before you can, and once you set your look on her; your heart starts to beat again, a blush settling on your cheeks. 

“hey pretty, i was about to leave for work.” jihyo says with a smile, “can we talk for a bit? alone.”  

to your left, another one of your friends raises his eyebrows subtly. just with that small gesture alone, he manages ask without speaking: who’s this woman and why is she calling you pretty? though, you can’t answer him just yet. there’s no way you’d embarrass yourself in front of jihyo. 

you clear your throat and stutter just barely in your response. “hey, hi. um, yeah, sure. excuse me guys, i um, need to talk with her.”  

after sending an apologetic smile and earning various cheeky smiles, you nod at jihyo and find a spot near the window to talk to her. alone. she brushes a strand of hair out of your face and leans back to sit upright in her seat; you try to stay calm 

“i just wanted to ask for a favor, i completely forgot about it until i got a notification from my calendar.” 

“oh, what is it?”  

she looks out the window and sips on her iced drink, then turns back to meet your eyes. “well, i have a work dinner thing, a lot of… men will be there for the most part. i was wondering if you’d accompany me? i’m afraid i’d grow tired of their dull efforts to impress me, but it’s completely fine if you can’t make it.” jihyo says, although her tone near the end suggests that she’d be pretty disappointed with an answer other than yes. “i know it’s a big ask, but i’ve grown quite fond of you. is that ridiculous?” 

quickly, you dismiss her by waving your hands a bit frantically and shaking your head. you assure her, “it’s not ridiculous at all!” unintentionally, the volume of your voice spikes. “i’m actually um, really flattered that you feel that way, seriously. it also wouldn’t be any trouble – the dinner thing – id, um, i would love to accompany you.” 

jihyo finds herself blushing, surprisingly. she sips on the drink before setting it down on the marble counter side, then places her elbows on the table and her eyes smile, then her nose scrunches a bit.  

“right, that’s wonderful.” she says, “come over to my place tomorrow at 5:30 then?” you gulp upon hearing her words – practically an order with that tone and raise of her brow – then nod. she smiles and places her hand on your shoulder again, this time terribly close to the crook of your neck, her thumb brushing against your throat. “good, see you then.” 

“yeah,” you respond, not wanting to leave yet; your friends are waiting for you and jihyo has to go to work, so you begin to stand. “i’ll see you… my friends um, they’re—” 

“oh, yes, sorry for dragging you away—” 

“no!” you shake your hands again, cringing at how loud your voice grew (again). “they’re fine with it and i don’t want you to be late for work. we weren’t doing anything important anyway, just catching up.” 

she giggles and stands up to face you, eyes angled up slightly since she’s an inch or two shorter. she takes her hand off her skin and it feels specifically frigid in that area now that the warmth radiating off her fingers isn’t there, you almost shiver. 

“right, thanks hon. i’ll see you tomorrow yeah? shoot me a text when you get there, you have my number.” 

you nod and she hands her work bag on her shoulder, then starts to walk away – but not before winking at you. you smile, feeling your heart do a flip. 

when you return to your table, your friends are already eyeing you mischievously. mai has her straw sitting on her teeth, giving you that look. your jaw tightens and you smile at them before awkwardly sitting back in the previously empty seat, mentally preparing yourself in those two silent seconds before they all start bombarding you with questions and relentless teasing. 

- 

you arrived at jihyo’s house ten minutes early, a little earlier than you’d expected since the traffic wasn’t as bad. you walk down the small path leading to the steps, then up those three steps and onto the doormat. before you can even knock, the door opens and matt nearly bumps into you. 

he apologizes immediately, then looks at you with scrunched brows. 

“were we supposed to tutor today?” he asks, scratching his head with a finger. “if we were, sorry but i’ve got plans.” he says, nudging his head forward, making you turn around to see a honda civic parked on the street across. the windows are rolled down, revealing another guy that looks around his age in the drivers seat, another in the passengers side that you can barely see, and two girls in the back.  

“oh, no. jihyo called me over actually, not for you.” 

matt raises his brows, then his body relaxes. “oh.” 

“yeah, didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“no it’s… fine.” he assures, looking at you skeptically. “have fun with… my aunt? um, whatever you two are… doing. i’m staying at a friends house tonight so…” 

“yeah, have fun.” you respond awkwardly, looking up at him as he observes you for a few seconds longer. the makeup on your face is slightly heavier than usual – not that it’s a bad thing, in fact he wouldn’t have even noticed if it weren’t for the nice dress you were wearing. quite odd, he figures, but it’s not his business. he shrugs his shoulders and forgets about it, waving at you before he leaves, running over to the black honda civic that’s playing music at a volume so loud that you can hear it from the door. 

you forget about the whole encounter for a moment, instead redirecting your attention to the opened door in front of you. stepping inside, you get a whiff of the familiar lavender scent that fills the house, then close the door behind you. the house is silent until you send jihyo a text, and she responds a few seconds later by yelling from upstairs. 

“y/n! come upstairs darling!”  

you freeze in place, suddenly feeling intimidated for no reason. nonetheless, you walk on over to the stairs, then up to jihyo’s room. 

as you enter the room, her image captivates your attention in the mirror. the black dress she has on a pulls you towards her, reciprocating the intense attraction you both feel. the attraction that’s most definitely there, but jihyo’s a tease and you’re cautious. she likes that she has you wrapped around her finger. it’s amusing how easily flustered you get around her. 

the sight of her is nothing short of exquisite, and your gaze fixates on the enticing curve of her hips, igniting a subtle pulse in between your legs hunger that has you subconsciously nibbling on your lip. glancing further upwards, you indulge in the sight of her exposed shoulders, showcased gracefully in the mirror's reflection. they exude a provoking attraction, tempting you to succumb to your countless daydreams. you want to explore the softness of her skin, want to leave indelible marks on her delicate collarbones. 

in the midst of your blatant stare, her eyes lock with yours through the mirror, catching you in the act of unabashedly admiring her. she laughs, then she turns around to face you, a mischievous smirk playing on her lips. 

“like what you see?” she teases you, making your cheeks burn.  

you clear your throat and pretend to busy yourself by looking into your bag, but manage to respond politely, “i um—sorry. matt let me in, he just left.” 

she starts to step towards you, and you feel yourself gulp unintentionally.  

“mhm, he told me about the sleepover.” she says, then stands inches away from you. using her pointer and thumb, she tilts your chin up and away from the bag hung on your shoulder, intensely gazing at you for a moment before speaking again. “you look remarkable.” 

your breath hitches as you look at her, eyes drilling into yours while you try to stay calm. “t-thank you.” 

she eyes you for a while longer before nodding, then smiles at you like she didn’t just eye fuck you. 

“let’s get going, there’s good parking if we arrive early. less of a hassle for us.” 

all you can do is hum and follow her, afraid of embarrassing yourself from how flustered and inaudible you are. 

- 

the car ride consisted of you trying to not stare at her sharp, defined features the whole time. it was very difficult to not glance here and there, a few times you had your eyes glued on her godly cheekbones and sometimes you even eyed the way her bones would pop out when she turned the wheel.  

during the car ride, you found it increasingly challenging to avert your gaze from her captivating, exquisitely sculpted features. the temptation to steal a glimpse here and there proved irresistible, as her godly cheekbones held your attention.�� 

at times, you couldn't help but be captivated by the protrusion of her bones as she maneuvered the steering wheel. after eyeing it for too long, jihyo caught you in her peripheral and turned to face you – the light was red anyway – then smiled cheekily. she moved her hand towards your thigh, placing it dangerously close to the dampening area in between your legs. 

“you alright lovely? you seem a little tense.” jihyo asks, rubbing your thigh with her thumb just barely. “something on your mind?” 

you fought back a low whimper before you respond, “i’m fine, thanks.” you try, voice small as she adds more pressure to your skin. you try your best to remain calm and composed, but god it’s so hard when she’s touching you there and like that. “it’s not important, i was just daydreaming.” 

(your daydreaming will be increasingly explicit from now on.) 

the light turns green and jihyo puts her hand back on the wheel as she turns away from you, redirecting her attention on the road. your jaw tenses and you shift in the seat a little, thighs closing and rubbing together. 

jihyo pretends not to notice and fights back a smirk. 

-- 

the two of you would enter the restaurant together with jihyo linking your arms and smiling at you like she didn’t just make you ten times hornier than you already are daily. 

as you enter, you are immediately mesmerized by the extraordinary interior. the lighting casts an enchanting, almost mystical ambiance, wrapping the space in an intimate aura. the arrangement of tables is meticulously planned, each one positioned with precision and attention to detail. the sheer beauty of the place is breathtaking, leaving you in awe. it’s evident that reservations at this place come with a hefty price tag, most definitely surpassing the cost of more than half of your apartment's monthly rent; maybe almost as much as what you and sarah pay together.  

jihyo leans in closer to your ear, lips brushing against your skin and it sends a shiver down your spine. “come lovely, let’s find our seats.” she says, then walks you over with her to the man with slicked back hair and an impossibly perfect posture. he gives you the table number and holds his arm out in the direction of it, then jihyo thanks him with that weirdly arousing voice she has and tugs on your arm lightly. 

there are other men that are scattered around the dining area, they all notice jihyo as soon as she steps in – who wouldn’t? 

she’s stone faced as she walks with you and towards the table, her stern expression unfazed by the stares from men that aren’t accompanied by their respective lovers. though, maybe those with their own lover took a small glimpse. 

you feel a little small, most eyes are on jihyo though a good amount also land on you. it seems that the two of you have taken the attention of the majority, which freaks you much as much as it flatters you. jihyo seems to notice the attention on you too, then subtly brings you closer to her.  

jihyo sits down first and flattens out her outfit before she fixes her hair, then pats down the seat next to her. you sit down and she brings your chair a little closer before leaning towards your ear and speaking again. 

“thank you for coming, i wouldn’t have been able to make it to the table this quickly if it weren’t for you.” 

you hum, then ask, “why is that?” 

“the men here are shameless, they hit on me dinner after dinner.” jihyo sighs, then lowers her voice when she says, “i guess they were too distracted by you. you’re a sight worth skipping dinner for.” 

you gulp, laughing off her suggestive compliment before boldly responding, “i think most would much rather… indulge in you. i get their standpoint, though.”  

as you begin to fix the delicate fabric of your dress, a subtle flicker of surprise dances within jihyo's widened eyes. with her grip on her handbag growing tighter, her gaze shifts towards you, a newfound intensity in her look. you turn to look right back in her eyes, almost challenging her with this new confidence of yours. it’s in this moment that the unspoken connection seems to deepen, the tension drawing you two closer. the allure she now feels towards you, layered with a hint of curiosity and urge to undress you, is palpable yet carefully restrained. 

three more men greet jihyo formally and she smiles forcefully at them before they take their seats and indulge in their own conversation. the menus are handed once everyone settles in and everyone glances at the options. the selection intimidates you; half the dishes incorporate foreign words that you had never heard of.  

jihyo places her hand on your thigh again, this time higher than before. she looks at you with those drilling brown eyes and squeezes a bit.  

“know what you’d like?” 

your breath shakes reluctantly, but you respond with a leveled tone. “yeah, the chicken chasseur.” there’s a ninety percent chance you butchered that pronunciation, half of the reason was because you never really paid attention in your french three class your junior year of high school, and the other half was because jihyo’s fingers started tracing patterns into the flesh of your thigh. 

“right, the chasseur,” she says teasingly, pronouncing it correctly. “that’s one of my favorites.” 

“i see, i’ll definitely like it then.” 

“mhm.”  

the waiter comes by – the same guy with the slicked back hair – he introduces himself in a deep, formal tone. it catches you off guard that his name is so simple: michael. he takes all of your orders, then collects each menu. as soon as he leaves, one of the men at the table attempt to strike up some small talk with jihyo, and she responds with blunt, uninterested answers. the men are left intimidated and out of luck, then try to succeed in initiating a meaningful conversation with you. 

“what was your name dear?” one says, his features implying that he’s not too far off from how old your parents are.  

hesitantly, you respond with a polite “y/n,” before smiling respectfully. he narrows his eyes and smirks before glancing down, it leaves you uneasy. jihyo clears her throat and sends daggers at him with her glare. 

“how are you and your wife, samuel?” she questions, quirking a brow before your waiter arrives with a bottle of white and red wine. the man who’d bee blatantly chekcing out your chest area grimaces, then fakes a smile. 

“we’re doing fine.” he says a little sternly, then halts his attempts at socializing with you. 

you send jihyo a thankful glance, she responds with a grin before swirling the white wine in her glass and giving a sip, then sips. 

“this is good, have some dear.” she says, urging you with a tilt of her head to try some of the identical wine in your own glass. “do you like wine?” 

“kind of, i mean, i never really indulge...” your response gives you a quick flashback of the various cheap selections of alcoholic drinks you’ve downed at house parties you’d attend here and there. you grab your glass and copy what jihyo does – you don’t really know how to sip on wine without it looking like you can’t even afford three sips – then raise your brows in surprise once you get a taste. it's sharp and fruity, much richer than the past drinks you’ve had. 

“good?” jihyo says amusingly, observing your expression. 

“it’s wonderful.” 

she grins at you, then gances around the table hastily. two of the men continue to glance over even as they talk withe ach other, it seems that you two just can’t escape the attention. the appetizers arrive a minute later and the two of you indulge, unable to create any small talk or anything like that with your company. jihyo decides she’s craving a different type of appetizer as soon as she sees you wipe your lip subtly. 

“come with me to the restroom, the main courses won’t be out for a little while.” jihyo insists, then looks around at the men busy with their bread, butter, and various other appetizers that sound too complicated for how they look. “besides, i'd rather be alone with you than surrounded by them for the time being.” 

once again, a tremor of anticipation seeps through you, your breath quivers with a mix of nerves and eagerness. jihyo just get’s bolder by the second. 

although it’s a simple trip to the restroom – a countless number of times you and your friends have scurried off to the comofrting ‘sanctuary’ of the girls’ room for meaningless conversations and minuscule touches of makeup – yet, with jihyo accompanying you now instead of your stupid best friends, your mind is propelled into an intricate labyrinth of scenarios, infused with explicit scenarios that jihyo stars in.  

- 

jihyo gracefully positions herself before the strangely exquisite mirror, which is not only unreasonably large and fancy, but it also manages to delicately enhance her plump lips after applying a fresh coat of lipstick. as she caresses her captivating pout, you become mesmerized by the subtle dance of her lips, gently gliding against each other like silk. she releases her pursed lips with a faint “pop” sound before she looks at you through the mirror. 

“daydreaming again?” jihyo asks. you shake your head and walk over to the sink next to her before fixing your hair for no apparent reason. a smirk tugs at her lip sbefore she turns so that her back is facing you. “zip up my dress for me? seems to have gone loose.” 

without a word, you move your hands over to deftly maneurver the zipper along the length of her dress. the entire tableau unfolds so quickly, though there’s an unexpected intamacy that lingers in the air, seeming slightly out of place but it’s also undeniably enticing. your hold your breath unknowingly. 

“you know y/n,” jihyo starts, your hands still on the zipper. “you’re so easy to rile up, it’s cute.” 

“what?” you respond with disbelief, pretending that her statement isn’t the turth. she turns around and tilts her head, eyes narrowing as she draws her attention down to your lips – now parted – then brings a thumb to graze the bottom lip. 

“c’mon baby, think i didn’t notice how you were in the car?” she chuckles, now moving her fingers down to your chin and moving and pushing down on your chin to tilt your head down just barely. “staring at my chest and all of me so clearly in my own house... darling, do you think i’m a fool?” 

you gulp, her eyes peering into yours and waiting for an answer. you’re absolutely dumbfounded, cheeks burning violently. 

“i’m sorry i didn’t mean to--” 

“oh honey, i'm not against it.” she assures, smiling at you and bringer her hand down to play with the dainty necklace around you rneck. “if anything, i want you just as much as you seem to crave me.” 

“i--” 

she cuts you off, pressing a chaste peck to your lips. when she pulls away, you subconciously lean forward to catch her lips again, whining lowly. jihyo giggles softly before putting her thumb against your lips, adding pressure to halt your eagerness. 

“gosh, you’re adorable.” jihyo says, “i could just ruin your pretty little self right here.” 

“jihyo, please” 

she laughs, pleased, raising her brows and smirking at this new, desperate y/n she’s brought to the surface.  

“tell me how much you want me and i'll let you have more, can you do that?” 

your cheeks are on fire and so are your ears. jihyo pulls away further so she can fully see your face, stroking her knuckles down the curve of your cheek. you swallow shallowly before opening your mouth to speak, but hesitate.  

“c’mon baby, use your words for me. you can do that, can’t you?” 

“yes, yeah,” you sigh, trying to keep your voice stable. jihyo smiles, then presses a haste kiss to your jaw. your breath out shakily, bringing a hand to jihyo’s forearm.  

this has to be a dream, there’s no way matt’s aunt is this close to you – and like this. jihyo's pressing kisses down your jawline and neck, nibbling softly and eliciting sharp breaths. everything feels unreal, it’s so unexpected and you don’t know what to do while she brings a knee in between your legs. 

“i’m going to stop if you don’t tell me what you want pretty girl.” 

you sigh, almost moaning at the way her voice bounces off your skin.  

“someone’s going to walk in...” you mumble, placing your hand on her waist. 

“isn’t that part of the thrill?” jihyo asks, “tell me what you want.” 

“kiss me, please jihyo.” 

“that all?” 

of course it’s not all, you want to be pushed to the point of tears and incoherent sobs – but not here, not now. you can only groan at the untimely situation, wanting jihyo to take your time with you someplace less unorthodox. 

“when we go back... i want you to... do more.” you mumble shyly, watching jihyo move away from your neck so that she’s inches away from your face. her lips curl up into a mischievous smile as she twirls your hair. 

“i’ll take it easy on you for now,” jihyo chuckles, “come here.” 

without hesitation you lean forward, messily and eagerly meeting jihyo’s lips again. the two of you get used to everything and ease into each other’s contact, jihyo leading the way. she tugs on your bottom lip gently and you gasp, which gives her the chance to slide her tongue in and explore your mouth. 

you’ve madeout with girls countless times, but it’s always been messy, rushed, and the only thing you could taste and smell was cheap aochol. your past experiences have been nothing like what’s happening right now. 

you can taste the hints of fruit and slight vanilla in that expensive white wine from earlier, it’s even better when you get to taste it off of jihyo. she tastes divine. she’s so precise and skilled with her tongue and lips, immediately adjusting to the pace of the moment and ultimately leaving your knees weak. jihyo's fucking skilled, she knows what she’s doing and everything feels so goddamn euphoric. 

she pushes you against the marble of the sink area and you moan into her mouth when she squeezes your ass, making her smirk against your lips cheekily. you’re like a puppet in her control, and she knows just the right movements and subtle touches to get you going. 

jihyo pulls away suddenly and you whine, trying to pull her back. she holds you in place firmly, lingering near your lips and chuckling against them.  

“why-- why did you stop?” you ask desperately, pathetically pinching the fabric of her dress tighter.  

“pretty girl, you’ve forgotten where we are haven’t you? the main course might be out.” 

“but jihyo--” 

“listen,” she says sternly, sending a shiver down your spine. a soft smile is displayed, which soothes your nerves after witnessing it. jihyo tucks your hair behind her ear. “let’s make a deal, how about that?” 

“okay,” 

“if you can...” she starts, twirling the hair on the nape of your neck. “...be good for me and stay patient, then i'll reward you when we get back to the house. can you be good for me pretty?” 

a lump forms in your throat, making it difficult to respond. you try your best to do so anyway. 

“mhm, i can.” 

“good. i'd love to ruin you right here, don’t get me wrong, but there’s other guests that expect me to be present.” 

fuck those other guests, you need to take her right here and right now. she can’t just rile you up like this, give you the best makeout session of your life and then end it so abruptly. regardless, she possesses an innate power - she's jihyo. you're completely enthralled and under her control anyway, whether you know it or not. 

she lets out a cold, menacing chuckle and flashes you a provocative grin. she delicately reshapes your disheveled hair and then tends to her own cascade flowing down. you can feel the lingering presnce of her own lips on yours -- slightly swollen and vividly tinted -- and although jihyo remains unfazed by the evidence of her artistry, it's clear she revels in your visible discomposure. if others were to connect the dots, she couldn't care less; if anything, she welcomes it. she's evil, and all you want is more of her. 

so you’ll have to behave for the time being, because who knows what she’s capable of. 

- 

“ah, you’re back park. the food got here ten minutes ago.” samuel says, raising a brow in suspicion.  

the men’s plates are already half eaten, and then there’s two plates that are left untouched on the table. jihyo eyes you, raising her brow before elegantly reaching for her utensils. 

she clears her throat and lies, “lady troubles.” which earns a flush on each of the men’s faces, and a brief apology from samuel. 

the remainder of the dinner becomes utterly unbearable. it’s not just the men engaging in dumb, uninteresting conversations -- which require you to perform an artificial smile, direct focus, and provide meaningless responses - but underneath the table, jihyo teases you. her delicate hand grazes your thigh intermittently. the whole thing is excruciating, causing an overwhelming surge of sexual frustration that genuinely throbs between your legs. the only thing you crave right now is her touch again; you don’t know how many more times you can utter “oh how interesting,” before exploding completely. 

an hour passes and it’s finally time for jihyo to bid her farewells, finally. 

the farewells’ had to take at least ten minutes, since jihyo’s pretty high up there in whatever she does. you never really knew, but it wasn’t your place to ask. 

jihyo unlocks her black porsche, which is remarkably eye-catching, though not as much as the driver. you get in the passenger's side and she’s already inside turning the engine on, one hand on the stick. she backs up smoothly, then gets out of the parking lot quickly. 

the car ride is almost silent for three-quarters, the only thing that pokes at the tension is jihyo’s hand on your thigh. she's driving one handed, it’s a common skill – you drive one handed here and there – but when jihyo does it, your thighs try to ease whatever is going on in between. 

“did you enjoy the meal?” jihyo asks, eyes on the road. 

“yeah, it was great.” 

“mhm,” she hums, then squeezes your flesh a bit. “how was the dessert? did it suit your tastes?” 

you let out a shallow breath, “yeah.” 

“good.” jihyo says, then smiles to herself. “we’re almost home.” 

you can only hum in response, growing impatient. 

jihyo clicks a button and the garage door opens, then drives in slowly. she has to be doing this on purpose, just to test you. you’re going to endure the aching, because at the end of the rainbow there’s always gold, and you’re her good girl. 

when you enter the house, it’s completely dark, then jihyo turns on the light and you have to fight the urge to kiss her again. 

“come,” she orders, turning to walk towards the stairs to the second floor. she's swaying her hips a little on purpose, she must be – or you’re just horny, or both. 

finally, after what seemed like centuries, you make it to her room. she closes the door behind you as you walk in. 

“sit down on the bed for me.” you do as you’re told wihtout hesitation, sitting down on the soft mattress of the king sized bed. the sheets are perfectly set on the bed, so are the blankets and pillows, but something tells you that it won’t be like that by the end of this night. “good girl.” 

she glides towards you, delicately raising your chin and fixing her gaze upon you, like an artist admiring a masterpiece. she revels in the sight of your flushed cheeks, the gentle parting of your lips, and the slight up turn of your brows, all traits that make this vulnerable rendition of you enticingly irresistible. her eyes grow dark, consumed by a yearning that she has now ardently realized; this is what she’s been wanting ever since she first laid eyes on you. 

“clothes off for me sweetheart.” immediately, you start to slip yourself out of the dress. jihyo decides to be generous, helping you out a bit since she’s quite eager herself.  

now, you find yourself perched delicately on the edge of her bed, goosebumps on your skin even as warmth envelops you. you’re nearly exposed, clad only in delicate undergarments that hold jihyo's gaze captive. a sigh escapes her lips, swiftly followed by a mischievous smirk, a telltale sign of her satisfaction.  

jihyo's going to have the meal of her life, nothing she had for dinner that night would ever compare to you. she hasn’t even gotten a taste of your arousal yet, but she already knows. 

“you’re beautiful,” she mutters before closing the distance, kissing you on the lips. you sink into all of it: the hand on your cheek, the knee shifting in between your legs, and simply her touch.  

she maneuvers your body onto the bed, positioning herself on top, ensnaring your legs with her own. with an air of urgency, she kisses you harshly, whisking away the very essence of oxygen from your lungs. she pulls away to see you all hot and heavy, watching the desperate rise and fall of your chest while your eyes meet hers in a gaze brimming with insatiable lust.  

“up,” she mutters, to which to respond by propping yourself on your elbows. she skillfully works away at the clasp of your bra, unclipping it and throwing the garment some place off the bed. “god, you’re so beautiful, you know?” jihyo says before fastening her lips on your neck, sucking violently. 

as your voice becomes stifled, attempting to form words proves worthless under jihyo's intimate touch. she delicately explores your body, her lips grazing your neck, causing shivers to cascade down your spine. the symphony of your helpless moans resonates wonderfully, she just wants every ounce of pleasure you can offer, greedy for all of you. 

“f-fuck, oh my god...” you groan helplessly, squirming under jihyo as her mouth starts to tend to your tits. your hand lands in her hair, gripping tightly as her tongue swirls around your perked up bud. her tongue was great in your mouht, but holy shit it’s ten times better when pushing you near your climax. she hasn’t even touched the ache in between in your legs and you feel like you could cum right then and there. 

jihyo gets up and looks down on you like a predator would with its prey, eyeing your vulnerable, exposed body that she’s ravenous for. there are marks along your neck and chest, jihyo’s artwork looking better than anything a museum could hold. 

she still has her dress on, though it swiftly finds the floor in a few moments. your gaze becomes fixed upon her, witnessing a new prize the further the dress drops down. in the wake of this unveiling, she stands before you, clad only in undergarments—pricey, hot looking ones. your eyes fixate upon her chest and the sight of her tits leaves you wide eyed. the alluring contours of her abdomen draw your attention next, effortlessly accentuating her absolutely unreal, fit body. she leans back slightly and her ass catches your attention, rendering you speechless. everything about her is divine and you find yourself completely engulfed in desire.  

all of this is so unreal and you figure it has to be one of those dreams that gets cut off by the alarm for your morning classes; but no, this is real, it’s especially real as jihyo slides her hand down from the top of your chest to just above your waist. her fingers tease the fabric covering your cunt, tantalizingly grazing it. 

“want me inside baby?” jihyo asks, subtly sticking her fingers under the edges of the fabric. you nod desperately, which makes jihyo laugh. “gosh you’re so wet honey, need me that badly?” she teases, and you can only respond with a weak hum. 

she slides off your panties quickly, you whimper pathetically in response as her skin encounters wetness. 

her fingers glide slowly along your folds, easily moving up and down with how aroused you are. she brings her fingers back to her lips, getting a faint taste as your back subconciously arches against the mattress.  

“want me inside?” 

“please.” 

“beg harder.” jihyo chuckles, moving her fingers back to your pussy and teasing you carelessly as she lightly slides up and down the damp folds.“i won’t let you get it that easy. if you want something i want to hear you say it, sugar.” 

you whine, breathing out through your parted lips.  

“please, i need your fingers inside jihyo,” you sigh, voice all nasally and airy. “i want you to fuck me how you want, just make me cum please, you can have your way with me i don’t care. fuck, i'm all yours.” 

“perfect.” she says, then harshly pushes two fingers into your dripping cunt. your head shoots back into the pillow it’s on and your fingers grip the sheets tightly, the curse you cry out practically echoes throughout the room.  

she pounds into you with those slender fingers, maneuvering skillfully inside and out, curving at the right spots and leaving you breathless. tears form at the corners of your eyes, her other hand holds you down, pushing down on the middle of your torso to keep you from squirming so much. 

the amount of pressure she adds to your clit occasionally renders you weak, you’re a moaning, squirming hot mess and jihyo has never been this turned on in years. 

an indescribable sound escapes your lips, a melodic symphony of affirmation and inclination. jihyo's fingers plunge in and out, in and out – delving deeper into the depths of your core with each intoxicating thrust. she retreats momentarily before venturing even further, introducing a third digit into the hypnotic rhythm.  

i'm fucked. 

there was this sensation of being utterly reinvigorated, inside and out, in the most euphoric way that only your moans could describe. you've never been fucked this good, seriously, you can’t remember the last time you’ve been this turned on and goddamn submissive. it's insane how quick and easy jihyo managed to do it. 

the knot in your stomach seems tighter and you’re about to find out just how goddamn well it feels to come undone because of park fucking jihyo. matt's aunt. 

“f-fuck i'm, hnnh i'm so close--” you whimper, voice dying down in your throat, “p-please,”  

“god you’re so beautiful,” jihyo says right before hitting your clit with her palm as she pushes into you. then, with a stronger arch and near sob, you tighten around her fingers and grip the sheets tightly, clinging on for dear life as you reach your high.  

jihyo pulls her fingers out and massages your clit lightly, still stimulating you as you recover. your legs are shaking, still, and your ribs are exposed as you lay there and breathe heavily.  

“be a good girl for me, y/n, you can do that. you will.” jihyo says before slamming into you again with three digits, making you gasp from surprise and pleasure. you've barely had time to recover, and yet jihyo is torturing you yet again. 

it feels like your pussy is being torn to shreds, you can hear the “squelch” and clap with every point of contact. 

you try to say something – exactly what, jihyo doesn’t know or minds because she’s too infatueted with every jolt and twitch of your body – and then you let out another loud cry that sounds something like “fuck,” before your body goes limp, twitching every now and then.  

she pulls her hand out – dampened with your clear arousal – and gets a taste of her middle and pointer finger. she drags her fingertips up along your torso -- sending a shiver down your spine – then brings her damp fingers to your mouth. 

“open.” 

without hesitation, you comply, tasting your own arousal off her skin by swirling your tongue messily. your eyes lock with hers before you suck, going down to the base of where her fingers connect and sliding up until you get all of your arousal off. 

“good girl.” 

she slides down your body, now she’s facing your cunt directly. you shiver in anticipation, a little scared but for the most part turned on one hundred times more than ever. she presses a sweet kiss to your pussy – quite different from how ruthless she was earlier – before she indulges, making you press the back of your hand against your forehead. 

god her tongue, it’s like it’s made to leave girls like you fighting for air. she holds your thighs, pressing her fingers into your flesh as she absolutely devours you. it's not too long before you feel that same knot in your stomach, and this time to leave you screaming she simply flattens her tongue against your sensitivity and sucks on your clit harshly. 

there's tears on your cheeks now, and more start to trail down as jihyo starts to fuck you dumb again. whatever is leaving your mouth is incoherent, practically gibberish as you squirm around. she forcefully spreads your thighs apart – which says a lot about her stretngth considering how you’re getting fucked into oblivion – keeping oyu in place even as you start to turn your body and roll onto your side desperately.  

“you taste so, mmh, good.” jihyo mumbles, “fuck, this is better than the dessert we had.” 

you can barely comprehend what she’s saying because your minds so goddamn foggy and you’re literally sobbing from how overwhelming everything is. but it feels so good, if she stopped you’d be crying for a different reason rather than pleasure. 

jihyo feels your thighs shake beside her head, then feels a hand on her head gripping her hair tightly and pushing down against your cunt before the trembling stops. the cry you let out stops before it leaves your mouth, so you cum with an airy, choked out sob.  

jihyo's gaze fixates upon your pulsing, swollen cunt – dripping with your sweet arousal. she rises to her knees, gracefully straddling you, drawing her attention to the rise and fall of your chest. your disheveled hair frames your features, adorned with a rosy flush and the remnants of tears. a soft smile dances upon her lips, a testament to the mess she’s made. 

jihyo falls down to your tummy, scattering feathery kisses. she ascends to your chest, your neck, and at last, your lips. you kiss her sloppily, weakly reaching to cup her cheek while she traps your top lip between both of hers. she pulls away and fixes up your hair, then rubs her thumb along your tear stained skin. 

“you did so good for me baby,” she assures, watching you sniffle. “are you alright?” 

“yeah.” you mumble weakly, smiling softly at her. “i just, need to relax.” you chuckle softly before jihyo pecks your lips again. 

“i’ll help you clean up, stay here pretty.” jihyo says, rubbing your rib with her thumb softly. 

-- 

the two of you wake up an hour before lunch the next morning. jihyo rubs your thigh with her hand, massaging it to reduce the soreness. she insists that you two get up since matt is coming over in a few hours and it takes a while for you to get down the stairs without falling – jihyo did a great job, your legs are wobbly and aching– but nonetheless you make it downstairs to the kitchen. 

jihyo lets you set your head on your cross arms over the counter since you’re so drowsy, she laughs and presses a kiss before fetching ingredients for lunch. you watch her with tired eyes; her muscles flex and tense as she assembles the ingredients for the sandwiches, leaving you stupidly mesmerized. 

you get up and stretch your arms out, then walk over to the older woman. a short giggle leaves your lips as you wrap your hands around jihyo’s waist, she laughs wholeheartedly. 

“did you need something?” 

you kiss her head and linger before responding, “no, you just looked good from the back.” 

“i have to cook lunch, matt is coming home in an hour.” jihyo says, turning to face you, lips inches away from yours.  

as you carefully adjust the stovetop temperature to a low, your gaze lands on jihyo, prompting a mischievous smile to play upon your lips. your hands rest on her waist, you turn her body to face you, drawing her nearer with a subtle bite of your lip. jihyo rolls her eyes, a familiar exchange between you both, before your lips meet, you smile into it as you always do. 

jihyo guides you towards the kitchen island, never relenting on the heat of her kisses. an involuntary groan escapes your lips as she playfully bites your lower lip, igniting subtle throbbing sensations in you. her lips, feather-light, wander along your jawline, slowly tracing the curves of your face like a breeze meeting petals of a flower.  

mindful of your pleasure, you tilt your head back, granting her unrestricted access. her tongue traces your sensitive skin, a captivating and sensuous touch that sends shivers down your spine. jihyo has this power of leaving you breathless in seconds. in the moments between kisses, delightful giggles escape jihyo's lips. 

“you’re such a--” another kiss to your jaw, “--tease.” jihyo says unbelievably.  

“and you’re the one who’s ah- enjoying this.” 

jihyo squeezes your ass gently before kissing your lips again, backing you into the marble of the counter and placing her hands on the edge as she smiles into you. 

lost in pleasure and eagerness, the two of oyu fail to hear the sound of the door being unlocked, opened, and then closed. jihyo's hand slides just barely under your shirt, tickling your ribcage with the brush of her fingers. you wrap your arms around her neck and pull her closer, turning your head a little more to get a better taste, to get more of jihyo. 

“um, y/n?” a voice interrupts the two of you, and it’s too familiar.  

it unfolds like a movie scene; you and jihyo turn to find matt standing there, gripping a backpack strap tightly, his visage a mix of appalled and perplexed. in a rush of apprehension, both of you instinctively release each other, striving to create as much distance as possible while smoothing down stray strands of hair and meticulously adjusting wrinkled garments. 

“matt,” jihyo says, trying to recompose herself—but the blush on her cheeks doesn’t die down whatsoever. “you’re home early. i thought you were coming back at 1?” 

“yeah...” he says awkwardly, embarassed and flushed as he tries to avoid any eye contact. “i was just going to say hi and um, work on homework.” 

“alright, i was just making dinner with--” jihyo clears her throat, “y/n.” 

matt looks between the two of you, narrowing his eyes and sighing.  

“how long have you two been... doing this?” 

you and jihyo exchange a look before you decide to speak up this time, “let’s all sit down at the table and talk about this, how about that?” 

now, you’re trying to form the words to explain that you’ve fucked some kid's aunt the night before, and jihyo’s trying to do properly conjure up a sentence that explains the marks on your neck. 

[therealcocoshady]

Hi, coco!

You could make a third part of Eminem x Young Actress Reader, where the reader accompanies him to a game in Detroit and the cameras can't stop focusing on them because Em has never been seen so smiling and affectionate with someone. For the rest you can add what you want. By the way, I love your work and I love that you write about Eminem since almost no one does.<3

Family Game

Eminem x Younger Actress Reader

Part 1 : Daddy’s Spaghetti

Part 2 : Red Carpet Appearance

AN : thank you for your request ! I hope you liked it. I added my own little twist to it 🥰

Ever since your remarked outing at the Oscars, everyone knew you and Marshall were dating, much to your delight. Sure, you would gladly do without the press coverage, but you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t a tiny bit satisfying to have everyone know that Eminem, hip hop’s most eligible bachelor was spoken for, by yours truly, no less. After all, you were not the first (nor the last) public figure to thirst over him and it felt nice to have the “competition” know that they should back off. Especially when you were in a long distance relationship : him in Detroit, you in LA. Sure, you trusted each other and often traveled to make it work but, still, it’s easy to get jealous, especially when both parties are public figures. Marshall was well aware of your status as Hollywood’s rising star and, since he had been your crush for years, you knew for a fact that he has tons of ladies throwing themselves at him. 

In spite of the distance and a couple of jealousy episodes, the two of you managed to make your relationship work, however. Marshall frequently flew out to LA to record with Dr Dre and other artists and to visit you and, whenever you weren’t shooting a movie, you joined him in Michigan. Your relationship was now in the serious state of « we’re both hope at each other’s place ». Your living room table was full of CDs and notepads and his living room was made cozy with your favorite crystals (which he always made fun of), scented candles (which he secretly loved) and fuzzy blankets (which he stole whenever you weren’t around). The whole relationship, despite trials, felt cozy and domestic. And it was made even better by the fact that Marshall had finally managed to ease up. You tended to blame it on the good critical reception after the Oscars : as soon as the two of you had been spotted together, holding hands, Marshall happily gushing about you to the press, both your fans and his had showered you with love and showed nothing but support. Whenever you were positing, fans (most of the time, respectfully) asked about him and they seemed truly overjoyed by the relationship. From what you gathered in the social media comments, they were also dying for the two of you to be spotted together again. Marshall was pretty much an hermit and not the kind to go out and about when he knew he might be spotted but, on one occasion, he had to oblige the fans. 

His beloved Detroit Lions were playing your Los Angeles Rams at Detroit’s Ford Field Stadium and there was no way in hell you would miss the occasion to attend. Knowing how protective of your relationship he could be, you made plans to attend on your own, with a couple of friends who would fly in for the occasion, but Marshall surprised you by actually requesting your presence. 

Don’t you want to go with me ? He asked. 

You mean… on a date ? You clarified. 

I mean there would be other people around, like family, friends and shit but we could be together, he said with a smile. 

You mean you would agree to being spotted with me ?! You asked jokingly. You know I wouldn’t be caught dead in Lions apparel ! 

What I mean is that I’d be proud to hold your hand, even if you’re wearing that stupid Rams hoodie, he grinned. 

Ok, you giggled. As long as I’m not forced to cheer for your team ! 

You ended up attending the event in a private suite with a lot of other people. Of course, his children were in attendance, as well as a couple of D12 friends. You had met everyone previously. A couple of months into the relationship, Marshall had organized a dinner for you to officially meet his daughters and everything had gone smoothly. You absolutely loved them, and same went for the friends he had introduced to you on different occasions. At the game, you were also joined by a couple of your friends, that you not so secretly planned on setting up with some of his. In your mind, there was no doubt that Alicia and Porter were meant to be and the Game seemed like the perfect occasion. It was joyful and everyone was really happy to be here. You were donning your favorite Rams apparel, much to Marshall’s dismay, but that didn’t prevent him from casually holding your hand. 

For how much would you wear Lions apparel ? Your friend jokingly asked. 

Nobody in this room can afford it, you replied with a grin. 

Oh really ? Marshall asked with a smirk. 

How about if you guys get married ? Porter asked. Would you be willing to support the Lions ? 

That would require a HUGE rock, you giggled. But yeah, sure, if we ever get married, I’ll wear Lions gear for all games, except the ones against the Rams. 

Your friends erupted in « oooohs » and « aaaahs ». The rivalry between your two teams was enough to fuel a dozen of conversations but, other than that, everyone around you had to agree that you were kind of the perfect couple. Your best friends always pointed out that Marshall was good at keeping you grounded and reminding you of the things that mattered - besides all the LA glitz and glamour - and Marshall’s circle seemed happy that you encouraged him to go out of his comfort zone. 

He was usually stressed out whenever there were tons of cameras around. It was unsettling to you, at first, because it was part of the job, but as your relationship progressed and he came with you to some events, he seemed to ease up. Still, he wasn’t big on public displays of affection, but you didn’t mind. You enjoyed his company nonetheless and you didn’t need him to kiss you in public or even hold your hand to be happy to be with him. In settings like football games, though, he was himself - the man you knew and loved in everyday life. He could be seen clapping, shouting, cheering… a far cry from the stoic face he arbored on red carpets and magazine covers. And you absolutely loved to see him enjoy himself and have fun. You were enamored with his smile and happy demeanor and you didn’t care too much about the 60 000 other people, you only had eyes for him. Obviously, though, as a Detroit native and global superstar, he was one of the centres of attention when Lose Yourself started playing before the game and everyone started singing/rapping along to the lyrics. Everyone in your group watched Marshall, who was definitely in a good mood. So were you, to be honest, and you couldn’t help but rap along, this song being one of your favorites ever. As the song ended, you could see Marshall sitting right next to you, trying not to laugh. 

You’re adorable, he chuckled. 

What ? You asked with a giggle. It’s the ultimate stadium song ! And my boyfriend is the one who wrote it !!! 

I love you, he simply said before cupping your face and placing a chaste kiss on your lips. 

That was the last tender moment the two of you shared before the end of the game. When your two favorite teams played each other, there was no romantic involvement anymore. It was all betting, taunting and calling each other names. For the first two quarters, the Rams seemed to dominate, which you gladly shoved in your boyfriend’s face, but when the Lions ended up winning, you knew you wouldn’t hear the end of it. Despite it all, and in spite of you being a sore loser, Marshall behaved like the perfect boyfriend and pecked you on the cheek, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you exited your suite. His team winning always put him in a celebratory mood and he was more affectionate than usual, not giving a damn what people would see or think. He even went so far as to kiss your lips. 

Of course, in the following hours, the Internet went absolutely crazy over the pictures of the two of you at the stadium. While some accounts were raving about your outfit (because you did put some effort into making that Sports apparel work !), most of them were gushing about Marshall’s display of affection and how in love the two of you looked. 

« Look at his smile 🥰 » commented one, or « Look how in love he looks when she’s rapping his song 😭❤️ » were a few of the comments you could see under the videos of the event. It was extremely cute and, in moments like these, you felt like the luckiest woman on earth. However, a swarm of other comments started to appear, focusing on… Marshall’s daughters. The three of them were sitting on the row just behind you and they could be seen laughing at your nonexistent rapping skills (all fair, really) and mocking their father’s display of affection. You didn’t take offense at all - you’d been there yourself and you knew how icky it could feel, seeing your parent being affectionate with someone in public, but the press and social media accounts seemed to turn it into a family feud. If the headlines were to be believed, neither Alaina, Stevie or Hailie approved of the relationship and thought you were too young for Marshall. They apparently despised you and saw you as the most evil and wicked stepmother who was more than likely after their Dad’s fortune. Of course, reality couldn’t be further from the truth. Whenever you were in Detroit, you spent a great deal of time with Marshall’s daughters and you considered as friends. So much so that you even made plans of your own, that did not include him. It wasn’t rare for the four of you to have dinner or go shopping. On occasion, they even visited you in California and you soon planned to go on a girls’ trip in Morocco. So, when Hailie showed you the headline on your phone, everyone burst out laughing. 

« Evil stepmother », Stevie chortled. That’s hilarious. 

Is that because of the face you made, Hailie ? When Y/N was rapping ? Alaina chimed in. 

I was making a face because they were corny ! She laughed. Look at Dad’s face on the video. He’s all cute and lovey dovey. Of course I wanted to puke ! 

Marshall rolled his eyes. He was no stranger to his kids making fun of how in love with you he was but, honestly, he didn’t care. For the first time in forever, he was happy and thriving in a relationship. A healthy one, at that. Whenever you were around, he could barely contain his joy and good mood and he often thought he would do anything to make you smile. He hated public attention but he simply loved showing you off and enjoying life with you. However, he had to admit he was a little annoyed by the comments involving your relationship with his daughters. He knew there was no truth to it whatsoever but that didn’t make it less annoying. First of all, he hated seeing his kids’ names in the media, especially if it was negative and, secondly, he hated the idea of lies involving all of you, the people he loved the most on this earth. However, the four of you were grown women and he knew better than to say something so he figured it would be best to wait for it to die down. 

Unfortunately, though, the rumors did not die down and the whole thing got blown out of proportion. It wasn’t only on social media : press and other media outlets got ahold of the story and even dug up some obscure social media posts and took them out of context. They really made it seem like there was hatred between the girls and you were a mean gold-digger who wanted to estrange Marshall from his children. Nothing could be further for the truth though, and you even celebrated the holidays together. After years spent in the public eye, you tried not to let it get to you but it was hard. Even if some of your past relationships had been publicized, this one was on a whole other level and you had a hard time dealing with the scrutiny. Especially when some people were starting to wish for the end of your career with comments like « What a b****. Hope no one casts her ever again 🙄 » or « Hope she enjoys her Oscar because she won’t last much longer in Hollywood 💀 ». You tried not to let your feelings show. Marshall was already annoyed and you didn’t want things to get worse. After all, you knew how overprotective he could get over the people he loved. 

A few weeks went by and the attention seemed to die down around the holidays. You had been with Marshall for a year and a half and it was your first time celebrating together. You would spend the days leading up to Christmas in Michigan, go back to your family in California for the holidays and then jet off to a private Island lent by a friend for some vacation time just the two of you. Marshall would even join you in LA to spend some time with your family who was definitely approving of him. They absolutely adored him and considered him a part of the family. 

In the week leading up to Christmas, you were on Christmas tree decoration duty with the girls while Marshall was letting you do your thing. Hailie had come up with some ornaments as merch for her podcast and you thought it would be cute and funny to take a selfie with one of them that said « Shady or Nice ». You posted it to your Instagram account with some cheesy caption and didn’t pay it too much attention. When you checked the comments, a day or so later, you were surprised at the reaction. What you thought would be a cute nod to your boyfriend and his daughter’s podcast ended up in a shitstorm, with people basically accusing you on sucking up to Hailie to get to Marshall. In their mind, you were a master manipulator. Of course, these were just a bunch of people commenting and the rest seemed rather supportive and happy to see you acknowledging your relationship, something you rarely did on your social media account. Still, you were a little bugged off when you went to bed. 

What’s up, babygirl ? Marshall asked as he laid next to you. 

Nothing, you shrugged. Just these mean trolls. 

What are they saying now ? 

That your daughters hate me, you summed up. And that I’m trying to suck up to them. 

That’s stupid, he scoffed. The girls love you and you know it. 

And I love them too, you know ? You replied. But I don’t know… I don’t like people getting the wrong idea. And I see people commenting about me in their posts and it breaks my heart. 

It’s not your fault, he said before kissing your forehead. Let’s not think about that, ok ? Just focus on the holidays and the great time we’re going to have. 

I’m going to miss you for Christmas, you pointed out. 

Three days, he chuckled. And then I’m joining you in California. And after that… you, me, a private island and your tiniest bikinis. 

You nuzzled his neck and enjoyed the warmth of his embrace, making you forget all of your worries. The next day, you were set to hop on the jet to go back to California and enjoy some family time with your brother and your parents. Before that, you enjoyed one last brunch at Marshall’s place, with his daughters. Hailie got everyone matching ugly Christmas sweaters and you were absolutely moved that she got one for you. You took corny pictures in front of the Christmas tree posing with your boyfriend’s daughters while he was rolling his eyes at your dumb poses. You even got Marshall to pose with you. He wasn’t big on taking pictures but he knew how important these were for you and the girls so he obliged with a smile on his face. A few hours later, you were on the jet, scrolling social media and noticed that Alaina had posted the picture of you, her and her sisters in front of the Christmas Tree with the caption : « Happy holidays from our FAMILY to yours 💕 ». You thought it was the sweetest thing ever that she considered you as family. Of course, trolls were still in the comments, but you tried to stay positive. A few hours later, Hailie updated her last podcast episode of the year, with Stevie as guest. 

So, before we begin this episode, we wanted to address something, she began. 

Family matters, Stevie specified. 

Right, Hailie nodded. You guys have been commenting a lot on last episode’s video and on my Instagram account…

All our accounts, her sister corrected.

Yes. Everyone’s account. It seems like Internet is going crazy about a certain video that was taken at the last Lions Game, so I thought… we thought we should clear things up, Hailie said. I understand that there are always going to be rumors about our family, and we can’t help it at this point, but it’s the Holidays and I don’t my mood to be ruined by negative attention and lies. So… Stevie, do you want to comment on the video ? 

Basically, we were at the game, enjoying some family time and people filmed our reaction to Y/N… our Dad’s girlfriend, rapping Lose Yourself, Stevie explained. And kissing afterwards. And what really sparked the whole thing is the face Hailie made. 

Yeah, I pretended to puke, Hailie giggled. And no, guys, it’s not because I hate Y/N or anything like that, it’s just… we’re a normal family, guys. Whenever you see your parents being cheesy and corny, you want to puke, right ? 

Right, Stevie giggled. So, let’s not dwell on this but for the record : we love Y/N and she is not what people make her to be. We see her as family, you know ? 

Yes ! It’s the Holidays, it’s a family time and we all know I love Shady stories but… nothing Shady here. It’s all love, Hailie chuckled. 

Too much love, Stevie joked. 

This warmed your heart even more. The girls absolutely didn’t have to jump to your defense but the fact that they did warmed your heart and you couldn’t wait to spend some time with them again. You sent texts to thank them and wished them happy holidays, saying you were looking forward to seeing them soon. You also texted your boyfriend, telling him how amazing his kids were and that you loved him and his family. 

MARSHALL’S POV 

Marshall was eating dinner with his daughters when he got a text from Y/N that immediately put a smile on his face. 

You girls are amazing, he said with a smile. 

No idea what you’re talking about, Alaina said with feigned innocence. 

I think you do, he replied with a grin. Seriously, you didn’t have to do that but… thank you. It means a lot to me. 

We weren’t going to let people think we hate her, Stevie said.

Not when she is actually about to become our stepmother, Hailie said with a smirk. 

Marshall immediately let his fork fall on his plate, a look of surprise on his face. 

I… erm… wanted to talk to you about it first, he said. How do you even know… ? 

I found the ring sketches in your office last time I went there, Stevie said. I was searching for one of your old CDs. 

And you had to go yapping to your sisters about that ? He asked with a raised eyebrow. 

Are you really going to propose ? Hailie said with excitement. 

I mean… I’ve been thinking about it, yeah, he admitted. I wanted to make sure you girls were ok with it first but, if that’s fine with you, I’d like to propose to her over the holidays. 

The girls erupted in cheers and immediately gave their blessings, commenting on how they never thought this day would come. Of course, they quizzed him about his plans. 

Were spending a couple of days with her family before going on vacation for NYE, so I was planning on asking for her father’s blessing, he explained. 

Isn’t he like… almost your age, though ? Stevie chuckled. 

It’s a matter of respect, he shrugged. I appreciated when Matt and Evan asked for my blessing so I thought I’d do the same. Can’t hurt to have your future father-in-law on your side. 

And… as for the proposal ? Alaina asked. 

I know it’s not super original but I was thinking of doing it on the private island, over a nice dinner on the beach, at sunset or something like that, he said. 

It’s so cute ! Alaina said. I love it. 

I think my Dad’s gone corny, Hailie joked. 

You think it’s corny ? He asked with his eyebrows furrowed. 

Oh definitely. But she’s just as corny so she is going to love it ! 

One question though, Stevie said. If you guys get married, she’ll move to Detroit, right ? 

That’s sort of the plan, yeah, Marshall said. She’d move for work quite a bit, depending on where movies are shot, but she’d live with me. Why ? 

So… she’d have to turn into a Lions fan eventually, right ? 

I’m counting on it, he said with a smirk. 

Is that why you’re proposing ? Alaina joked. 

Maybe, he chuckled. I swear to God, I’m putting a ban on Rams apparel in the prenup. 

[thinkinonsense]

THE BOY IS MINE✮

Logan Howlett x fem!reader

C/W: cursing, obsessive behavior, and slightly sexual content (mostly flirty behavior except at the end)

Word Count: 980

A/N: this is inspired by the song and video for the boy is mine by ariana grande. kinda just wanted to write about someone being obsessive and crazy. if you haven't seen the music video, I would suggest it. it's pretty short so I hope you enjoy <3

ִֶָ 𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆★⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

Missions weren't always as exciting as they might seem; bosses were demanding and cruel. The danger was inevitable but you needed to eat so there wasn't much of a choice in finding other work. This would have to do for now but sometimes a girl needs to create her own excitement in life.

Which is exactly what you did when you met the Wolverine.

It was a quick first impression but God, it was one to remember. You were sent to settle a deal with a couple men upstate when a strange man pins you to a wall in the hallway; pressing his hips to the front of your black skirt and a hand over your mouth. He smelled of cigar smoke, wood, and mint. Without hesitation, you sink your teeth into the meat of his flesh until he moves it.

"Who the hell are you..?" You hiss.

"Stay here." He ordered.

The man walks away; metal claws shoot out of his hands as he attacks the businessmen at the table. You had never been so furious. The last thing you needed was for some stranger to come and take your credit. This was your job; not his.

Despite being livid with the stranger, you couldn't help but notice how attractive he was. The man sunk his claws in all their guts; you watched them fall one by one until only the two of you were left in the warehouse. Once you snapped out of his trance, you swiftly reached across the table for the paperwork. His hand lands on top of your latex glove, stopping you.

"I can't let you take that, princess." He says.

"I don't take orders from animals." You put on your best fake smile.

"Really? Because it looks like you did just a couple of minutes ago."

He had you there.

You notice a pair of dog tags dangling against his chest. One of your hands grabs them, pulling him to you. The side shown to you says, Logan while the other says, Wolverine.

Cute name.

Over his shoulders, you saw more men running in. A pleasing smirk spread across your face, leading him to turn around and see what you were smiling at.

"Since you handled that last group so well all by yourself," You swiftly knock him down with a heel to his chest, catching him off guard. "I'll let you take the next ones too, Wolvie."

Just as the men entered, you snatched the paperwork and booked it out the window to return it to your boss.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It had been months and still no run-ins with Wolverine. It was beginning to drive you insane; flashbacks of him pushing you up against the wall with his hand over your mouth replayed in your mind almost every chance it could. Your days were spent sketching pictures of him so you wouldn't forget his face or searching for him.

It felt sickening how much you needed to see him again. Your apartment was decorated with sketches of him. He took up every inch of space in your head. This wasn't like you. Normally, you don't entertain the men you encounter but something about the Wolverine was intoxicating. This wasn't some schoolgirl crush. This was a full-on obsession, and you knew it.

The only thing you could do was make him just as obsessed as you were; making him yours.

It took weeks but you finally managed to create your potion for the Wolverine. Now, all you had to do was find him. You asked around to see who he works for and it didn't take long until the name Charles Xavier appeared. Before you knew it, you were back in your latex apparel and standing on the roof of the mansion. The potion was strapped to your belt as you crawled down the brick walls and into his bedroom window.

Almost everyone was out on a mission that evening except for Logan and a handful of students downstairs. You knew if you came any other day, Xavier would have seen you coming and you couldn't have risked that happening.

It was late, midnight by the time he came upstairs. You sat on his bed, waiting perfectly for him. The second you heard his heavy footsteps, your heart almost pounded out of your chest at the thrill.

When the bedroom door opens you are greeted with the scene of the man of your dreams in a white tank top, blue jeans, and a beer in his hand. Instead of running like you assumed he would, Logan stands still with a smirk on his face.

"Didn't think I would see you again," Logan said. He wasn't moving as fast as you would like him to, so you used your whip to bring him closer until he's knees hit the front of the bed.

"It's simply meant to be, Wolvie."

Quickly, you pull the red potion from your belt and pop the lid open. One hand snakes its way up to his jaw, holding him still while the other moves closer to pour. He stops you by pulling off your lacey black mask, finally revealing all of your pretty face to him.

Logan knew exactly who you were. He had been looking for you too; searching every abandoned warehouse and sketchy alley in town. No one knew your name so he thought it was a lost cause and tried to move on. He should've known that you would show up at some point for him again.

Honestly, Logan thought it was cute that you brought some sort of love potion. Little did you know, you had been haunting his mind ever since that night. He wasted no time in smacking the potion out of your hands; laying you back and inching closer until his lips ghosted over your throat.

"I don't need a damn potion."

[floodonthefloor]

can i interest you with a rhaenicent au where rhaenyra is a football player who injured her ankle post season and had to see a therapist which turned out be alicent... AS A SUCKER OF SPORTS AU AND RHAENYRA IN CLOTHING APPAREL

ok i wrote a one shot for u rated T

~

It's one thing to get injured mid-game; there's a sense of nobility to it, a sense of look at me, limping off the field, brave and unbothered, cheers from the crowd for Rhaenyra simply hobbling away. It's another thing entirely to twist your fucking ankle during a fucking friendly.

She should have known, really, that it would end up like this. The pitch is damp, there are patches of mud from cleats trampling the grass, and Coach Tyrell is running them to the bone, and Rhaenyra’s in a foul fucking mood.

Still, she plays like winning will erase every mess she's ever made off the field, which — yeah — talk about setting yourself up for failure, considering she's made a lot of fucking mistakes, and the defenders are closing in, and Laena's in the center with her hand raised signalling for a pass, but Rhaenyra gets distracted, thinks about how Viserys is probably at Aegon's training right now, because Aegon plays men's football, and it's just much higher stakes, you see, my dear—

And Rhaenyra shifts her weight to the left to feint one of the defenders, but then her cleat slips on the fucking mud and she feels her knee twist awkwardly, and feels the pain shooting up her leg before she goes down hard.

Rhaenyra tries to get up immediately — pride, stubbornness, embarrassment, whatever — but the pain lances sharp, she grimaces before she can stop it. Laena sprints towards her.

“You alright?” Laena extends a hand that Rhaenyra reaches for.

“My knee,” she grits out. “I — fuck —” she hisses when she rises. “I think I’ve fucked it up.”

“Okay. Alright.”

Coach Tyrell does a half-jog over to them. 

“Targaryen?” she asks, frowning. “No need to play for a foul here, just a friendly —”

“Yeah, no,” Rhaenyra grumbles, putting an arm around Laena as Laena guides her off the field. “No, it’s real.”

“Take it slow,” Laena murmurs. 

They get into the changing rooms, where Laena calls over one of the first aid attendants.

“Think she’s fucked up her knee,” Laena says as the attendant gets Rhaenyra to extend her leg, which hurts like fucking hell. 

“Could be a sprain,” the attendant says, her face a little concerned. “Maybe worse. We’ll need to get it checked, but you should stay off it for now? I’ll get you some ice?”

Rhaenyra nods, leans back against the wall, huffing. “Fucking great. Just great.”

“Cool down, Targaryen,” Laena says, sitting beside her as the attendant goes into the office. “Not the end of the world.”

“Terrible timing,” Rhaenyra says, referring to the fact that post-season is over in, like, two months, and sprains take forever to heal.

“It’s always terrible timing,” Laena says. “You’ll be fine. Stubborn streak, and all.”

Rhaenyra lets out a frustrated breath, staring at the opposite row of lockers. “Just feels like another thing I’ve fucked up,” she says quietly.

“Rhaenyra.” Laena’s voice is quiet, serious, bereft of the playfulness from before. “You didn’t fuck it up. It’s just shitty luck.”

The attendant returns, handing Rhaenyra an ice pack. 

“Fifteen minutes,” she instructs, “I’m going to go contact the physiotherapist -”

“I don’t need physio —”

The attendant gives Rhaenyra a look, then turns to Laena. “Would you mind spotting our dear friend here while she tries to stand on it?”

Fine. Fuck you. 

Rhaenyra glares at the attendant, pushes herself off of the bench, only to immediately have to grab onto Laena as the pain flares hot and sharp, her knee almost buckling underneath her. 

“Yeah, you seem fine,” Laena deadpans as the attendant just quirks her brow and goes back into the office. “Let’s get back out there.”

Rhaenyra groans, feels pain and defeat — she can already see the look on Viserys’ face when she tells him.

Oh, that’s just fine, my sweet— injuries happen, rest is good, while if Aegon ended up with a similar injury, Viserys would be flying in physiotherapists from all over the globe in order to find the perfect one, since Aegon is the one who plays professional men’s soccer and is paid millions a year —

The attendant returns, holding a piece of paper. “Alicent Hightower is fantastic at her job,” she says, passing it to Rhaenyra. “If anyone will have you in tip-top shape before your first match, it’ll be her.”

Rhaenyra takes the paper, folds it, twists her mouth.

Horseshit. This is all such fucking horseshit.

*****

PAIN IS TEMPORARY. GREATNESS LASTS FOREVER.

Rhaenyra glares at the cheesy fucking poster— it’s of a determined-looking athlete mid-stride, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. She’s been here a handful of times already for smaller injuries, and this won’t be any different, it won’t— she’ll be back tomorrow, if she can help it, and it doesn’t matter what this physiotherapist has to say, because —

“— Rhaenyra Targaryen?”

She looks from the poster to see who she can only presume is Alicent Hightower, waiting for Rhaenyra. Her dark red hair is pulled up into a ponytail, arms crossed, sharp eyes, really fucking fit, what in the fucking shit —

(Their last physiotherapist was a lovely old man named Mellos who always smelled a little bit like mothballs and loved to rubber-stamp them.)

Rhaenyra rises slowly, her knee still smarting, but she doesn’t show it, because she doesn’t have to, she’s fine.

“...That’s me.”

“Nice to meet you. I've heard a lot,” Alicent says, though not quite warm, like she’s not someone who’s impressed by things like reputation or fame. She gestures with her chin for Rhaenyra to follow.

“Good things?”

Alicent doesn’t turn around as they walk down the hall. “Things.”

The fuck —

“Oh. Good.” 

Alicent shuts the door behind her as Rhaenyra takes a seat, drops onto the table. 

“I’m sure this will be quick,” Rhaenyra says casually. “Just need you to give me a few exercises to get me back on track.”

This doesn’t get her a response; Alicent’s scrolling through something on her iPad before she sets it down, grabs a clipboard and pulls up a chair to sit directly in front of Rhaenyra.

“When does the pain flare up the most?”

Rhaenyra clenches her jaw. All the time.

“Just when I put weight on it.”

“Any swelling or bruising?”

“Some swelling. Bruising’s mostly gone, though -”

“- And the pain? How would you rate it, on a scale of one to ten?”

“…Depends,” Rhaenyra replies, nonchalant. “Walking— a three. Running, more like a six. But I can handle it -”

“Any pain at rest? Or only during activity?”

Rapid-fire.

“Sometimes at rest. When I wake up in the mornings.  But, again— it goes away, it doesn’t last that long.”

Alicent just looks at Rhaenyra like she doesn’t believe her. “…Right.”

She asks a few more questions— enough that it almost feels like she repeats a few, which Rhaenyra realizes a little too late that she’s doing to try and get the truth out of Rhaenyra.

Fucking physiotherapists. 

"Okay— I'm going to take a look at it— okay if I touch?"

Beyond fucking okay —

"Yep. Sure. Mhm."

Rhaenyra is only a human being with eyes who is being touched by literally the most beautiful woman she's seen in ages, and Rhaenyra feel the warmth of Alicent’s skin through the thin fabric of her shorts, can’t help but notice how the light catches the few loose strands of auburn hair framing her face —

This is ridiculous, you’re being sodding ridiculous, you just need to get laid because it’s been forever —

She tries to focus on literally anything else, but the room feels suddenly smaller, the air charged, and it’s hard to pretend like she’s not hyper-aware of every inch of space between them.

But Alicent is focused, her gaze steady as she lifts Rhaenyra’s calf, guiding it carefully to the right angle. 

“Tell me when it starts to hurt,” she says, her voice calm, professional.

Rhaenyra clears her throat, willing her brain to cooperate. 

“Uh, yeah, yep. It’s… fine right now.”

Alicent’s hands linger for a moment longer, adjusting Rhaenyra’s position. Her touch is deliberate, almost impersonal, but something about it sends a small jolt up Rhaenyra’s spine, and she can’t help the hitch in her breath — fuck —

Please tell me she didn’t hear that —

Alicent glances up, frowning slightly.

“...Everything okay?”

Shit, fuck —

“—Fine,” Rhaenyra replies too quickly, voice tight. “Totally fine.”

Alicent arches an eyebrow but doesn’t comment. Instead, she presses gently on Rhaenyra’s thigh, testing the range of motion. “Let me know if it gets too uncomfortable.”

Rhaenyra tries to steady her breathing.

This is physio, not whatever the fuck you think it is, Alicent Hightower is your physiotherapist, and Alicent Hightower is in close proximity, and her brows are furrowed in concentration, and I think I smell citrus in her shampoo —

“You’re tense,” Alicent observes suddenly, her voice breaking the silence. “Relax, please.”

Rhaenyra’s laugh comes out strangled. 

“Hard to relax when—” She stops herself, the words almost slipping out — when you’re touching me like that or looking at me like that while looking like that —

What the fuck is wrong with me—

Alicent looks up, curious. “When…?”

Rhaenyra swallows, her mouth dry. “...When I’m thinking about how long this is going to take.

Alicent’s eyes narrow, as if she’s not quite buying the deflection. But she only nods, her tone matter-of-fact.

“Well. That depends on how well you listen.”

“Right,” Rhaenyra mutters, feeling slightly relieved that the moment passes without further comment. “I’ll try to be a better student, then.”

“Good,” Alicent says, but there’s a faint, knowing smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she shifts her grip and continues the stretch.

“…It’s looking like a ligament tear, and not a sprain,” Alicent murmurs finally, setting Rhaenyra’s leg down and writing notes down.

Oh, fuck.

Rhaenyra shrugs. “I mean— probably not, those are bad, and this doesn’t feel bad— it’s temporary, it’ll be fine —”

“Just because it’s temporary doesn’t mean it won’t impact you long-term,” Alicent says, looking up at Rhaenyra with a furrowed brow.

“Yeah,” Rhaenyra mutters, “Got that from the posters.”

Alicent’s lips press together, as though keeping herself from laughing, and she shrugs, looks back down at her clipboard. “…Those are pretty terrible, yes.”

It’s a nice moment of levity that Rhaenyra tries to take advantage of. 

"A woman with taste."

Alicent snorts. "Bar seems low, if that's your idea of good taste."

"...My bar is quite high, actually."

Alicent looks up, eyebrow quirked, and Rhaenyra decides to be bold and meets her eyes, knows that sometimes, if she flirts just enough, people will generally be a bit more lenient.

"That so?" Alicent murmurs, looking back down at her clipboard, though Rhaenyra doesn't miss the slight pink that appears in her cheeks.

"That's so. I'd say you clear it, though."

Alicent's pen stops writing for a satisfying moment, and Rhaenyra waits for her rebuttal, but she just clears her throat and keeps writing, doesn't respond.

Rhaenyra continues, a little flustered. "Okay, but— long story short, it’s fine. I just need you to tell me how to stretch it and I can go, you don’t have to —”

“— Are you any good at football, Rhaenyra?” Alicent asks, not looking up from her clipboard.

“…I’m sorry?”

Alicent finishes writing whatever notes she was jotting down and sets her pen on top of the clipboard, giving Rhaenyra a hard glare. 

“Are you good at football.”

“I mean — captain of the national women’s team, so— I’d say I’m pretty good, yes -?”

“— Mhm, right. You’d say you earned it, though, yes? Years of training, practice, et cetera.”

Okay— she’s fit and rude —

Which is an unfortunate combo, really, because Rhaenyra's always had a tendency to try and impress women who are fit and rude —

“…Yes?”

Alicent nods, resolute. “I’m a physiotherapist on retainer for three premiere leagues — ones even bigger than yours, mind you —”

“— Oh, I doubt any are bigger than mine,” Rhaenyra quips back, only to turn bright red immediately because what the fuck are you doing making dick size jokes in front of this physiotherapist, what the fuck are you doing —

“…Anyway,” Alicent says, clearing her throat, and Rhaenyra does notice her ears turn a little red, which is interesting, to say the least — “I’ve earned my keep. Same as you. If you want to get back on the pitch, you need to listen to me.”

Rhaenyra’s still trying to push down the flush in her cheeks, trying to focus on anything but the fact that she just made an accidental dick joke to a woman who is both fit and determined to put Rhaenyra in her place. 

“...Fine,” Rhaenyra mutters, half a grumble. “What do I have to do.”

Alicent leans back slightly, crossing her arms, clearly not swayed by Rhaenyra’s attempt at compliance. “First, you’re going to stop thinking you know better than me. You may know how to play football, but I know how to fix you so you that can play it. Understood?”

Rhaenyra clenches her jaw again, nods once.

“And second,” Alicent continues, casual, “You need to accept that you might not make it back in time for the season opener.”

No.

Rhaenyra feels the air rush out of her chest.

“Excuse me -?”

“- If the damage is as bad as I think it is," Alicent says, and holds Rhaenyra’s gaze, unflinching. "Rushing recovery isn’t just dangerous—it’s reckless. You push too hard, too soon, and you risk re-injury. Maybe even worse.”

Rhaenyra’s throat tightens, her whole body going rigid. 

Not the fucking season opener, not after a fucking injury from a friendly, no no no no—

“You don’t— you don’t know that for sure.”

Alicent doesn’t flinch, doesn’t soften. “No, I don’t. But I know enough to recognize the risk. You have to let this heal properly, or you’re gambling with your entire career.”

Rhaenyra can feel her temper rising, hot and volatile. “You think I don’t know that?” Her voice is raw, a mix of anger and desperation. “You think I’m not aware of what’s at stake- ?”

“I think you’re scared,” Alicent says quietly, with an unwavering certainty. “And I think you’re letting that fear make decisions for you.”

Rhaenyra glares at her, eyes blazing. “You don’t know me -"

“No,” Alicent concedes, her voice low but still firm. “I don’t. But I know this injury. I know what it’s done to players who didn’t listen, who thought they could just push through it.”

She pauses, her gaze still locked on Rhaenyra, something different there, something like —

Enough, she's telling you bad fucking news —

“And... I don’t want that to be you.”

And Alicent sounds so sincere, so gentle that it cuts right through Rhaenyra’s anger and leaves just a raw and exposed wound —

I can’t miss the season opener, I can’t, Viserys was going to come and he never goes to my matches, ever —

“I can’t miss it, Alicent -”

“- I get it,” Alicent says, leaning forward, placing a reassuring hand on Rhaenyra’s knee, and it’s not clinical this time, it’s not practiced, it’s soft with a thumb rubbing along her knee and Rhaenyra might either cry or explode. “I really do. But sometimes— missing one game means you can play the rest, yeah?”

“I can’t just miss it -”

“— You have to see the bigger picture, here.” Alicent gestures towards Rhaenyra’s knee. 

“I can’t.”

Alicent leans forward, slowly, deliberately, and okay, there’s absolutely something here, Rhaenyra can’t be crazy— her heart is hammering a little too loudly, the air feels a little too thick. “Then let me see it for you, Rhaenyra. Let me help you get better.”

Rhaenyra remembers a similar conversation she’d had with Mellos, years ago— he’d told her she would have to miss semi-finals, and she’d yelled at him until he had to call Coach Tyrell to put Rhaenyra in her place, and even then Rhaenyra had refused, until Tyrell threatened to kick her off the team.

But Alicent Hightower looks up at Rhaenyra now like I’ll help you, just let me help you, and Rhaenyra came in here ready for a fucking fight, ready to tell whoever the fuck it is that tells her she needs rest to fucking fuck right off, but Rhaenyra looks at Alicent and thinks —

Yeah. Okay. 

She swallows, hard.

“Yeah,” she says, voice a little hoarse. “Okay.”

[in-daddy-price-we-trust]

All I Wanted - Part 1

summary: when you are kidnapped discovered by TF141 they can't help but fall in love.

pairing: 141 x fem!teen!reader (platonic)

warnings: mentions of child abuse, drugs, canon typical violence

Part 2

A/N: this is like my first fanfic in a while, and first on tumblr (yay!) any tips and tricks would be so helpful!

this also plans to be a series but posting might and will be inconsistent, thank you in advance!

You always had a difficult life. Being abused by your parents up until you ran away at 13. After you ran away, you got in with the wrong type of people, promises of hope and money, food and validation was all they needed to say to get you hooked in their business of organised crime. Some good came out of it however, they gave you a home and how to defend yourself. They taught you how to shoot a gun and the best place to make someone bleed. They taught you nothing else mattered except them, they became your new family.

You were 15 when you were tasked with transporting a couple crates of weaponry and drugs. The organisation you joined knew you well enough and practically raised you to be the strongest you were. So one cargo ship to Amsterdam later, you find yourself in a rotting, metal warehouse, wearing pink apparel, pink puffy skirt and a white hello-kitty shirt. A baby pink cardigan is draped over your shoulders and over-the-knee white knitted socks. A chrome covered knife strapped to your thigh.

“Zus, how much for it all?” he stood across from you, a cigarette lit between his lips taking a long drag as you assessed his question. His black, slicked back hair elongated his face and the three piece suit almost made this deal professional.

“How much are you offering?” was all you said as a small smile graced your lips, ‘the higher the offer, the better’ you remember being told before you left. They weren’t the best weapons but they were definitely worth at least a couple K.

“25”

a grimace, “80”

a growl, “40”

a hum, “55”

“65. Final offer,” his teeth were bared, almost like he was sweating already.

A sinister, sweet smile stretched across your face, “Wonderful, and how are you wanting to transfer that?” out of seemingly nowhere you pulled out a notepad and pen, writing down the bank details before you gave him a pointed look, “You have one week to transfer the money, or I will have your head.”

His face paled, almost embarrassingly so. For how innocent you appeared to be, you knew how to handle yourself in these situations. You turned to walk away, the sound of baby pink mary janes clacking against the concrete as you bounced towards the rusted metal doors, sliding them open as you looked back at the man one final time, “It was a pleasure doing business with you,” and leaving.

You were good at your job. It was easy, for the most part. Gather intel, pass forward that intel. Transfer somewhat illegal items from one holder to another. So it comes to you as a bit of a surprise when you exit through the dusty doors when a bullet wizzes past your face, luckily just missing you. Swiftly pulling out the hand-gun out your waistband and shooting in their direction. You wish you had your sniper, but it was left in the hotel room you managed to stay at.

As you shot in the direction of the fire, you failed to notice someone sneaking out behind you, kicking your knees in. Dirt caked your socks as the grip on your gun became loose. Acting as quick as possible, you flipped onto your back, retching the knife from its holster. Before you could act, black invaded your vision as you felt pain shoot from your head. Shit.

-

White light invaded your vision, a grumbled swear leaving your dry lips at the pounding in your head. "Jesus Christ," your wrists hurt, rubbed raw by the shitty metal handcuffs they strapped you in, "Whose bedroom did you get these out of? Couldn't even afford good quality cuffs?" fell out of your mouth before you could think to stop it. No one reacted.

It was a van, you could tell that much. The interior white with small wooden benches lining it. Two men sat on either side of you whilst the other two sat across. From what you could make out, another pair sat at the front, driving to this unknown destination.

Maybe you should have been more scared. More begging for them not to hurt you. Four big, burly military men could definitely kill you much easier than you kill them.

They studied you like you studied them. The one on your left was most likely the oldest, a fisherman's hat upon his head and mutton chops-moustache combo was the dead give away. He had his eyes closed and arms crossed across his chest, legs spread wide.

You couldn't make out the one on your right quite as well. A black balaclava with painted white skeletal teeth paired well with the upper half of the skull mask he wore. He seemed to be in a similar position as grandpa, although he had an ankle resting on his knee instead, head tilted back against the cool metal of the van.

The two across from you seemed younger. One had a darker complexion, his eyebrows furrowed in a thoughtful expression. He was smaller than the rest but no doubtfully as strong.

Lastly was the man with a mohawk. His eyes bore into you the most, not so angry and more trying to figure out who you were. Breaking you apart and putting you back together with his eyes. Childishly, you stuck your tongue out at him. His face morphed into one of slight surprise before rolling his eyes and looking towards the front.

It was quiet. The hum from the light ticking like a clock in your ear. Trying to gauge where you were and how much time had passed, your foot started tapping on the floor.

"Stop," A gruff voice said suddenly making you jump before mumbling a sorry at the skull-faced man. It was quiet again. It numbed your senses, sending shivers down your spine. Gravel sounded under the tires before voices outside sounded, signalling your arrival.

The doors pulled open, sunlight shining in. As mohawk and shorty left, skully pulled your arm to tug you along out with him, a short yelp escaping past your lips at the action.

You tripped over your feet, pins and needles shooting up your legs from sitting for so long. "Can you be gentle?" you spoke as you found your footing, "Please?" it was tacked on at the end for at least the tiniest bit of sympathy.

Skully looked down at you as he continued to drag you towards what you hoped was a five-star hotel with bed and breakfast. At least your death would be a quick one.

The halls blurred together until you were sitting in a leather chair in someone's office, back to the door, although you felt the looming presence of the men behind you. Mutters were heard outside before the door clicked opened, footsteps and a click again.

Gramps stood in front of you, leaning over the dark stained oak table. He had a file in his hand, putting it on the desk before sliding it over to you. "What do you know of El Sin Nombre?" it wasn't as much of a question than you'd like but an order for information.

Your mouth was so dry it felt like you swallowed cotton. As much as you wished to answer him, you look at him with furrowed brows and a confused expression. It took you a couple minutes before words formed in your throat, "Who?".

He didn't enjoy that answer. One of his hands slapping on the desk as he seethed, repeating the question again as if that would change your answer.

"I don't know who that is! I can't help you," you felt that burning sensation under your eyes as you desperately tried to convey your emotions. Tears meant weakness, and that's the one thing you didn't want to show to your captors right now.

Pairs of eyes hammered into your head. You felt like a child again, staring down at your toes being told off for not doing the dishes or not being quick enough to grab a beer. You braced for the hits, the punches to your ribs as you made promises that fell on the deaf ears of your mother and father.

"Price," A voice sounded behind you, soft and comforting. An accent coated the words that flowed through the air you didn't pick up on. The more time passed the more your eyes stung, tears slipping past your defences. Shoulders shaking as you try to curl into yourself, strings of "I don't know" and "I'm sorry" being nothing more than mumbles.

The room grew cold and quiet as you sobbed. Footsteps couldn't be heard over your own cries, so when an arm wrapped around your shoulders, you jolted. Expecting this is where you get hit. Bracing for the impact and sting they usually brought with them.

Instead, the arm pulled you into their chest, hugging you close and stroking your hair, along with shushing you softly. It only made you sob harder. When was the last time someone hugged you like this? Sure, you got the occasional pat on the back for a job well done, but never an embrace like this.

Time passed through your fingers like sand, not knowing how long you sat there for before you calmed down. The arms didn't pull away until you did, cringing at the wet patch you left on the man's shirt. Speaking of, you looked up to see mohawk looking down at you, eyes soft and an equally soft smile. "Y're alright now lass?" his accent leaked into the words, a curt nod allowing him to pull away and stand up again.

A heavy sigh sounded above you as you dragged your eyes up to meet who you presumed was this 'Price' figure. "What’s your name?"

Gears turned over the question in your head, thinking of an answer. Technically, you lost your name when you left home, gaining a couple new names at the gang.

Your silence was taken for an answer. "What are you doing in Amsterdam?" this you could answer.

"A business exchange. I'm just the messenger, I don't know any of the customers - I promise! - I just get the money and dip. I promise I can't help you-" you were hyperventilating at this point.

"It's alright sweetheart, deep breaths, calm down for me, yeah?" Price's voice was gentle now, seemingly not wanting the same thing to happen.

"Can you tell us where you're from? Who you work for?" He asked once he saw you calm down.

"Uhm- I'm from England. And I don't really work for them but I'm a doberman. They're some organisation that took me in," you weren't really interested in going into full depths of your life with these complete strangers.

Although, you felt the gazes lift off you and onto Price, his own eyes looking back at his men, a million silent conversations happening right above your head. Price inhaled sharply before he asked his last question, "How old are?"

"15." The air knocked out of his lungs.

[starshipsofstarlord]

before the stage

prompt. quickly sewing back the loose button of their shirt that came off at the last minute, realising that you two are extremely close (1.2k)

pairing. luke hemmings x assistant!reader

warnings. fluff, employer x assistant feelings, written in 2nd person, frustrated!luke, the black shirt 🥵

divider credits. @cafekitsune

It was almost time for Luke and his band to perform, they had been entirely prepared and surpassed any qualms that threatened to delay their appearance on stage, however in the last moment, another problem appeared, leading Luke to sigh irritatedly. He was wearing a button up, the first one already undone, however it appeared that it didn't matter how much the quality of the satin fabric had cost, a couple of buttons in his midsection had escaped from the threads that held them in place.

The lead singer plucked the black pearls that closed his shirt up from the trodden ground, holding the minuscule clasps in his large hand. To say he was annoyed was an understatement; he didn't even have a backup outfit, he was set on wearing the exact apparel that he had on. "Fuck sake." His tone was bitter, it was as though something always had to go wrong at the last second.

It was just his luck, he thought. "Is something wrong Luke?" The voice cut through his distress as smooth as a knife, the soft sound relaxing the tall man slightly, as he looked to the side to see you - his assistant. He felt his lips incoherently move on their own accord as he fumbled to speak, miming through oxygen that flowed between you. "I- uh." He didn't want to rant to you about something so unimportant in the world, it would make him appear nonchalant to the real problems that tainted the earth.

He had the ability to purchase anything that he wished for due to the success of his music career, and thus he felt petty. "It's nothing." Luke shrugged off the grievance that had the strength to delay his entrance beneath the stage lights, there was no justice in getting worked up over something so minuscule. "Just.. my shirt broke." To emphasise his point in an embarrassed gesture, he braced his hands awkwardly on his hips and looked down at his torso.

A crease fell between your brows, and he felt like an absolute fool. There was a hue of red blossoming on his cheeks as he noticed your eyes scanning along his body, pinpointing the ajar fabric, your pupils staring sternly at his exposed skin. "I have just the thing." Your y/e/c eyes devotedly ogled up at him, glee glowing with an ambience from your eyes as a wide smile sprawled on your lips, leaving the curly haired blonde riddled in confusion.

For a moment you ignored your employer, shuffling with a purpose through your handbag that was slung across your shoulder, all knowing with what your search was for. A sound of diluted happiness prevailed from your throat as you plucked out a small and transparent case, where sewing needles and midnight coloured thread were stored. "Did you find the buttons?" It wouldn't be a problem if he hadn't, as you had a couple of spares loosely dancing around in your bag, however Luke held out his hand.

Luke felt sparks shoot through his body as you took the buttons, your fingers digging gently in the indent lines of his palm, grasping the black spheres and preparing your tools to reattach them. He could have sworn you were an angel sent from heaven to make every day that he spent with you significantly brighter; if there was ever a barricade to his intended path, you always had a solution.

You were always prepared, however in this moment you had to try with great difficulty to ignore the his soft abs from your focused sight. All you had to do was your job, which was to provide support and anything that Luke required, and so with your black reel of thread connected to the button, you grasped the opening of his shirt, knuckles brushing his tender muscles. The contact made him shakily inhale, his heart thumping vigorously within his chest.

He had never meant to form such an unprofessional crush on you, but it was impossible, sure when he interviewed you he couldn't ignore the physical attraction that he felt for you, though it didn't blind him to your listed criteria that was on your resume. "Thanks for this." He quietly spoke, but his words were as clear as day due to the proximity that you shared. One button down, one to go - you felt sufficiently accomplished, and you held the other one, determined to finish this fixing in time.

"It's my job." You responded nonchalantly, shrugging his appreciation off as to calm the butterflies that hurtled around in your stomach. "And it's no big deal Luke, it's an easy fix." Oh god, he could feel your breath hitting his chest where he had intentionally opened his shirt, and he could feel sweat brewing against his hairline. You were so focused, and he couldn't help but take in every detail of your face.

As you finished with putting the last button on, you placed the needle and thread back where they belonged, before you grasped the sides of his shirt, readying to put them through their designated loops. As you looked up, and he looked down upon you in his heeled boots, your nose almost touched his chin, and your eyes met in a staring embrace. "Hi." You muttered, hands still on his blouse.

"Hey." He replied, his lips pulling at the sides as his pupils enlarged in their surrounding blue pools. "How long do we have?" The musician enquired, knowing that you had a better sense for time management than he did. You glanced down at your watch, only briefly, and cocked your head. "Enough." You said, your body jumping a little as you felt his hands coil delicately around your hips.

The two of you leaned in, meeting in the middle in a collision of your lips, your hands tugging softly at his natural curls as you melted with satisfaction against one another. It was a slow exchange, full of passion and desire, and you wished it would last longer, however the alarm on your watch alerted you with a beckoning siren, causing you to defiantly pull away and huff lightly. "You have five minutes until you have to go on." You informed him, humming as Luke stroked your cheek.

He wanted nothing more than to lean in and get lost in you, to fall even further than he already had for you. But duty called, and he stood up straight, running his lips against one another as he vowed to never forget the first romantic moment that you shared. "I'll see you after?" Luke asked hopefully, his ocean eyes blazing with a new lease of motivation. Without a doubt you nodded, your hands ensuring that his shirt was done up and brushing down the smooth material to stroke out any creases.

"Of course. And then we could pick up where we left off." Your promise had a giddy expression morphing unto Luke's face, and you watched as he begrudgingly stalked off to meet with the other members of his touring team, excited to view his earth breaking performance from the sidelines. There was never a lyric that you skipped over, although today was different, you were strongly distracted by the leading man, and the before stage moment that you had just shared.

[artrsw]

Dribble, shoot, repeat. 🏀 It’s all about the rhythm, the grind, and the love for the game. Keep hustling, keep shooting! Click this link : https://tinyurl.com/kck93nmb

[tragedy-of-commons]

Grrrr pops in

Hi gwennie 😈

"Ocean + blade" for your little game SgajSHSVSJHSHAGS GIGGLES

Thank u for your service giggles

blade x reader. description of drowning and peril. wc: 1.3k.

Seppod-II’s oceans teem with gossamer seafoam, a film of rainbow floating atop gray waves. If you had to compare the body of water in front of you to anything in particular, you’d start with prismatic oil smeared across drab pavement.

As always, the script comes first and foremost. You wouldn't dream of delaying the inevitable, not when you carry out the orders of Destiny, beholden to Outcome. But right now, marveling at the ocean with your co-worker, there is a gap between directives. Similarly, there is a gap between you and the untouchable Blade, who lingers just out of arm’s reach.

“Beautiful,” you sigh wistfully, twisting the heels of your boots into the beige sand. “Don’t you agree?”

Predictably, he doesn’t say anything in response; he seldom speaks at all. You imagine Blade feels like a thoughtless addendum to your whims. After all, you’d dragged him here with little regard for the furrow of his brow and slight downward curl of his lip, starry-eyed and set on exploration. Shooting a sidelong glance at the man, his gaze is fixed forward, as if trying to burn holes into the vantage point of the horizon.

He pointedly does not look at the water. This particular beach has no name, but it’s a popular tourist attraction, and for good reason. To outlanders, it looks like something out of a painting, varnished with a layer of eeriness that’s both serene and off-putting. There are no birds crying out for scraps or companionship under the overcast sky. There are no other vacationers or proponents of fate. 

There is no one around but the two of you. 

If you have to exist in a vacuum with Blade, you certainly don’t want to keep standing here on your restless legs. You’ve been doing that far too much on this assignment already. 

“I’m going for a dip,” you grunt, beginning to peel away your coat and outerwear. There’s no way you’re not submerging your body in that. You want to feel it swallow you whole, engulfing your consciousness until you’re part of it and it’s a part of you. “I take it you’re not coming?”

Blade turns to you, rotating his ancient relic of a frame, only lacking the overexaggerated creaking sound. His eyes are striking against the monochrome tint of this world, starkly contrasted by the rest of him. If it weren’t for the intensity of his stare, you’d think he belongs here - dusted by fog and muted colors that make him seem more like a wandering specter.

“I choose to accompany you.”

But he sticks out sometimes, much to your fascination.

His words make you pause, hand stilling on the festooned yet troublesome belt wrapped about your waist. Blade’s tone betrays nothing, expression perfectly neutral.

That’s… certainly something. When was the last time he chose to willingly subject himself to your presence, much less go swimming with you?

Well, you’re not entertaining that train of thought right now. Thinking has never got you where you’ve needed to be, anyway. Your boots come off next after some fussing with the laces. “Really? Color me surprised, friend. Come on then, lose the layers! Unless you plan on getting your whole, uh, ensemble wet.”

You almost laugh at the thought of commanding Blade to strip, deciding that you are above mortification today. Truly, there is something special in the air. 

You’re certain that your colleague would’ve stepped foot into the shallows with everything on if you hadn’t said anything, then proceed to walk around in public without any fucks to give. Can’t have that, not when drawing any more attention to yourselves isn’t something you want, even on smaller planets like this one.

You step over your discarded apparel, gesturing for Blade to follow you after he shucks his coat away. For a beach, it’s decidedly chilly; the breeze tickles your exposed arms and nips at your neck, propelling you over the shore.

The pads of your feet graze ghostly shells and sea glass peeking out from the sand. Dipping your toes in, you sigh and feel Blade’s presence loom behind you. Grabbing his hand without a second thought, you slot your fingers together.

“Can’t have you drowning or losing me at sea,” you joke.

“Either would be a blessing.”

You laugh loudly and tug him along until your chin is treading the waterline. Looking down, your lower body disappears into inky darkness. You know your legs are down there, you can still feel them. Just barely.

It’s exactly like you imagined. It’s absorbing you and your tangled thoughts, leaving you weightless and floating on your back, vision taken up by the stagnant blanket of clouds above. You squeeze Blade’s hand before your eyes close.

He’s serving as your solemn anchor right now. A medley of rainbow laps at your extremities, a pleasant void consuming your core. If his affliction is soothed by mind control, your affliction must be soothed by sensory deprivation.

The salinity levels of Seppod-II’s oceans are perfect. Your head (do you even have a head anymore?) is stuffed with cotton - or rather clogged with water. No more thinking.

A dreamless trance is the closest thing to death there is.

“I think you ought to try this, Blade,” you rasp aloud even though you won’t hear his reply. “It’s peaceful.”

His hand abandons yours, severing any connection to the real world. Loneliness is a heady sensation that washes over you much like the waves, but you’re barely present to care. Detached.

Is he sinking? Floating next to you? Leaving you to sunbathe? The prospect doesn’t sting too harshly, not when your heartbeat sings in your ears and you’re far, far away.

But you are beholden to Outcome, and you have things to do.

You’re reminded of this as you’re startled awake. In what feels like a fleeting second, the world goes from nothing to everything, light assaulting your retinas and a pair of hands, compressing your chest rhythmically.

In a flash, you’re coughing and sputtering up enough water to fill an aquarium. The cold, bandaged hands reel back. Blade…

How the hell did you almost drown? Typical you!

To think that the man so dead set on ending his immortal life just resuscitated you - is beyond bizarre. It’s irony of the highest order, and it’s hilarious. You can only laugh, a choked off gurgling sound coming out instead of your amusement. You feel gross and bare, and it’s funny, which is why you feel tears blur the expanse of your vision.

“Did you lead us astray intentionally?” he asks, voice flat but harboring a subtle cutting edge, “This place is rife with deception, fraught with traps you’ve walked straight into.”

“What the hell are you,” hack! “...talking about?”

He’s always cryptic at the worst times. You could be making breakfast - flipping pancakes and scrambling eggs, and Blade would probably come up behind you and whisper something about horrors untold. But this is different. Notably, the beach is much dimmer, and your colleague’s eyes flicker with volcanic severity; a beacon among the dull.

He drips with rivulets of silver as he stands to his full height, leaving you scrambling to get up by yourself. You want to run your fingers through the knots in his limp hair, rendering any brush useless compared to your touch. Regrettably, the invasive thought crumbles under the weight of his next words.

“...it pulled you under.”

“What? The waters are tranquil.”

Blade scoffs. “Exactly.”

Ah. Perhaps the sensation of nothingness was too good to be true, and the waters intended to engulf you for good. In retrospect, you had been allured; called and reeled in despite your better (questionable) judgment.

The toll fee for paradise is hefty, and though you’d pay it without hesitation, there are still actions to be taken. You have to actually be alive to carry out the script. 

“Your time has not come yet,” he drawls. “You know better than to believe otherwise.”

Blade speaks from experience often.

With that, he storms off (though he’d scowl at that description). It seems it’s time to get on with the next objective, considering he’s about to leave you behind whether you’re still evening out your labored breaths or not. You reel as you pick up your belongings resting near the shore before hurrying after him.

Earnest thanks sits on the tip of your tongue. You wisely shut your mouth.

🏷️: @mikashisus, @wystiix, @rainswept

a/n: this was just me playing around with some different stellaronhunter!reader dynamics. thank you for participating in the ask game riko!!