#and i was like oh i’m fine with either i guess

[rosemariiaa]

~In this Unsaid~

pairing: Paige x Azzi

a/n: yea.. we’re here again and not at part 6 of my other fic, i procrastinate too much but i will start writing the chapter tomorrow 💌 also a tag for my baby ke @thaatdigitaldiary because she’s a lot of help and loves listening to me yap 💌

Song: Welcome and Goodbye- Dream, Ivory

theme- angst

Enjoy!!!

The gym echoes with the laughter of teammates, but all Paige could hear was the pounding of her heart. She sat on the bleachers and glared, watching Azzi joke and laugh with the others. It was maddening how easily they seemed to connect while she felt the weight of many unsaid words pressing down.

After practice, as the group began to go their separate ways, Paige found Azzi leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a mask of indifference hiding the storm underneath. Taking a breath that felt heavy in her chest, Paige finally approached the brunette.

“Why do you keep pretending everything’s fine?” The words slipped out, sharper than she intended.

Azzi didn’t look up. She couldn’t. Her gaze was fixed on the floor. “I’m not pretending. Just… tired, I guess.”

“Tired of what? Me? Us?” Paige stepped closer, frustration bubbling. “Because I can’t keep doing this back-and-forth. It’s exhausting Az.” Finally, Azzi met her gaze, anger flaring. “You think I want to feel like this? You think I enjoy watching you pull away?”

“Then why don’t you say something? Anything. I just want to know how you feel.”

“What do you want me to say?” Azzi’s voice trembled. “That I can’t stop thinking about you? That every time I see you, it hurts because I know it’s not enough?”

Paige’s heart dropped at the confession. “It’s not enough for me either. I keep wishing we could just… figure it out.”

“But we never do!” Azzi exclaimed, her voice cracking. “We keep circling around this, and it’s killing me. I’m scared of losing you completely.”

Paige felt tears prick her eyes. “You won’t lose me. I don’t want to lose you, but I can’t keep waiting for you to decide what you want.”

Azzi swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe I already know, but I don’t know how to say it.”

Oh.

The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken truths. Paige took a step closer, the distance between them feeling both tantalizingly close and impossibly far. She could feel the heat radiating off Azzi, tension crackling like static.

Before the moment could dissolve, the buzzer sounded, signaling the end of practice. The spell broke, leaving only the echoes of their conversation hanging in the air.

———-

Days blurred as Paige prepared to leave for a tournament. The night before her departure, she lays in bed, staring at the ceiling, thoughts of Azzi flooding her mind like a tide pulling her under. They’d both been avoiding each other since that confrontation, and the silence felt like a chasm between them.

The next morning, at the airport, she felt her heart in her throat as she spotted Azzi across the terminal, standing like a beacon in the chaos. Paige’s breath hitched, a mix of longing and dread washing over her.

Azzi walked over, her expression a careful mask. “You came,” she said softly.

“I had to,” Paige replied, voice trembling. “I didn’t want to leave things like this.”

They stood there, surrounded by bustling travelers, but it was just them in that moment. The noise faded into the background as they locked eyes.

“This doesn’t feel real,” Paige said, struggling to hold back tears. “Like, I’m really leaving, and we’re just… here.”

Azzi’s eyes glimmered with unshed tears. “I hate this. I hate that it always ends like this.”

“I thought things would change. That we’d find a way to make it work,” Paige’s voice was thick with emotion.

“And what if we don’t? What if this is just… it? Another goodbye?” Azzi’s voice cracked, the vulnerability tearing at Paige’s heart.

“I don’t want it to be. I wish I could take you with me, but…” Paige’s words faltered, a sob threatening to escape.

“But you can’t. I can’t. It’s never been that easy for us,” Azzi replied, her tone heavy with resignation. Paige stepped closer, desperation in her gaze. “I’ll always care about you. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, but caring isn’t enough.” Azzi’s voice broke as tears slipped down her cheeks.

As Paige stepped back, silence enveloped them, thick with everything left unspoken. She turned to leave but paused, glancing back one last time. Their eyes met, filled with unvoiced feelings, aching and raw.

“Maybe next time we’ll finally say what we mean,” Paige whispered.

“And what if next time never comes?” Azzi’s voice was barely a breath, filled with dread.

With that, Paige turned and walked away, each step feeling like a piece of her heart was left behind. The weight of goodbye settled in, a haunting melody that would follow her long after she left.

The air felt colder without Azzi’s presence. As Paige walked towards her gate, the echo of their unfinished story lingered in her mind—a welcome and a goodbye, forever intertwined, lost in the spaces they could never seem to bridge.

[prettygirl-gabi]

Skin

---

‐‐‐

Rating:General Audiences

Warning: Fluff, angst, bitter ex, major friend group dynamic shift

Category:F/M

Fandom: Outerbanks (OBX), (Netflix TV series)

Relationships: JJ Maybank x f reader

Summary: Kie's slowly getting under your skin especially when you're JJ's new girlfriend

Based on recent experiences, and the song skin by Sabrina Carpenter has been stuck in my head for like 6 months on top of the recent experiences...

---

**"Maybe we could’ve been friends, if I met you in another life…"**

The thought crosses my mind as I stand in the middle of the living room, fiddling with my phone, and waiting for JJ to come back from the kitchen. The memory of Kiara's expression when she found out about us is still fresh, lingering like a bitter taste I can’t wash away. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, but I guess things never go as planned.

“You okay?” JJ's voice pulls me from my thoughts as he enters the room, a playful smile tugging at his lips. He’s balancing two mugs of coffee in his hands, making his way toward me like everything in the world is perfectly fine.

I nod, forcing a smile back. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

He hands me one of the mugs, his fingers brushing against mine. The contact is warm, grounding me in the moment. "About Kie?"

I glance away. He knows me too well.

“It’s hard not to think about her,” I admit, sitting down on the worn-out couch. “She was—no, she *is* my friend. I hate that it feels like I’m betraying her.”

JJ sighs and sits next to me, his arm resting casually behind my shoulders. “You didn’t do anything wrong. She’ll come around. It’s just gonna take time.”

**"I’m happy and you hate it, hate it, oh…"**

I wish I could believe him. It’s not that I don’t want to be with JJ—it’s that being with him comes with a whole mess of complications I didn’t see coming. Kie and JJ had always had this unspoken connection. At least, that’s what everyone thought, including me. And then I fell for him. Hard.

Now, it’s like every glance from Kiara is a reminder that I’ve taken something she didn’t realize she wanted until it was too late.

“I don’t think she’s ever going to be okay with it,” I confess quietly. “With us.”

JJ chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Well, that’s too bad. Because I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you.”

His words make my heart flutter, even though the doubt still lingers in the back of my mind. I know he means it—he’s serious about us, about this. But how do I move forward when the person I care about most next to JJ feels like I’m rubbing this relationship in her face?

**"You can try to get under my, under my, under my skin, while he’s on mine."**

I take a deep breath and lean into him, letting his warmth seep into me. I want to focus on him, on this moment, but the guilt weighs heavy on my chest.

“You think she’ll really get over it?” I ask softly, not really expecting an answer but needing to hear him say it anyway.

JJ turns his head slightly, his lips brushing against my temple. “Eventually. Or maybe not. But either way, I’m not giving this up.” His voice is firm, and I can feel the truth in it.

I close my eyes for a moment, trying to silence the doubt. There’s something undeniably special between us—something that wasn’t there with anyone else. And maybe that’s why it feels so complicated. Maybe that’s why Kiara reacted the way she did when she found out.

**"I wish you knew that even you can’t get under my skin, if I don’t let you in…"**

“It’s not just Kie,” I whisper, more to myself than to him. “It’s everything. The looks. The comments.”

JJ pulls back slightly, his blue eyes searching mine. “You mean from the others? John B? Pope?”

I nod. “They keep acting like this is something we should’ve told them about sooner. Like we should’ve asked for permission or something.”

JJ sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I know it’s complicated with the Pogues, but at the end of the day, they’re gonna support us. Maybe they’re just weirded out because they didn’t see it coming. But who cares? This is about *us*, not them.”

His words are reassuring, but the sting of Kiara’s reaction still sits heavy in my chest. When she found out, the hurt in her eyes was unmistakable. She hadn’t said much, but the silence spoke volumes. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so torn between two people in my life.

“You don’t think I’m a terrible friend, do you?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

JJ tilts his head, his expression softening as he looks at me. “No. You’re not a terrible friend. You just…fell in love. And sometimes, that happens in ways people don’t expect.”

**"And I’m not asking you to let it go, but you’ve been telling your side, so I’ll be telling mine."*

It’s true. Kiara hasn’t exactly been shy about expressing her feelings on the matter, even if it’s been in subtle ways—pointed comments, sideways glances, and the awkward tension that fills the room whenever the three of us are together. But I’ve kept my side of the story mostly to myself, too afraid to make things worse.

“You know she called me the other night?” I say, breaking the silence.

JJ raises an eyebrow. “What did she say?”

“She just…wanted to know why. Why *you*? Why now?”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, his jaw tensing slightly as he processes my words. “And what did you tell her?”

I shrug, feeling the weight of that conversation settle over me again. “I told her the truth. That it just…happened. That I didn’t plan on falling for you, but I did.”

JJ’s lips quirk into a small smile, though there’s a hint of sadness in it. “And how did she take that?”

I let out a soft laugh, though it’s more out of exasperation than amusement. “She didn’t really respond. Just said she needed time to figure things out.”

He leans back on the couch, pulling me closer into his side. “Then let her have her time. We’ve got all the time in the world.”

**"You can try to get under my, under my, under my skin… but he’s all mine."**

The thing is, I know he’s right. I know that no matter what happens with Kiara or anyone else, this—what we have—it’s real. And I can’t let their opinions, their judgment, get in the way of that. JJ is mine, and I am his. That’s all that should matter.

“I just don’t want to lose her,” I admit softly, resting my head against his shoulder. “Or anyone.”

“You won’t,” JJ murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “And even if things are rocky for a while, we’ll figure it out. Together.”

I close my eyes, letting the comfort of his words wash over me. Maybe it won’t always be easy. Maybe there will always be a part of Kiara that resents me for this. But I can’t let that hold me back from being happy.

**"You can’t get under my skin, if I don’t let you in."**

And I won’t let her. Not anymore.

I pull back slightly to look at JJ, his face soft in the dim light of the room. “I love you, you know.”

His eyes light up with that mischievous glint I’ve come to adore, and he leans in, his lips brushing mine. “I know. And I love you too.”

For the first time in a while, I feel like maybe, just maybe, everything will be okay.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

‐Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-Gabi✨️🎀

[bitethedevil]

Taming the Wolf (Raphael x Tav): Chapter 5

Tags and Warnings for this fic: Plus-Size!Tav, Druid!Tav, Tiefling!Tav, Dark!Raphael, Breeding Kink, Mind-control, Non-Con and Dub-Con Elements, Sex Pollen, Master/Pet Dynamic, Somnophilia, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

A link to read this fic on AO3 (kudos or comments make the author very happy <3)

<< Previous Chapter / Next Chapter >>

Fic Summary: Tav tried to avoid fulfilling her contract to Raphael by leaving the Crown of Karsus on the bottom of the Chionthar, leaving her contract unfulfilled by a technicality. Although, no situation is so bad that the new Archdevil of the First can't find a way to profit off it. All the other archdevils of the Hells have their own lineages of tieflings on the Material Plane and Raphael is not going to feel left out...

Chapter Summary: Haarlep helps out (NSFW).

AN: Warning: Mention of Baby-Eating (don't even ask...)

“Do you think I’m stupid?” she asked them with a scoff.

“I think that a woman in your position can’t afford to not grab at the opportunities presented to her,” Haarlep answered. “And I would be delighted to help you.”

She sat up in the bed to look at them better. It was unnerving how they were wearing Raphael’s face and yet their facial expressions were so different from his.

“Alright, second question then: are you stupid?” she asked. “Even if it was not a completely outrageous idea, how do you suppose you would explain a baby that does not even look like him? You might be able to take his form, but the child would take after your true form.”

“Oh, come now…” they pleaded. “Use your imagination a little, druid. That’s nothing a simple glamour spell won’t fix. Please…he starves me.”

She raised an eyebrow at them and looked them up and down.

“Ah…so that’s what this is all about,” she said. “I should have guessed. I’m busy enough being used by your master. I don’t need to be used by his pets too.”

“This is about revenge,” Haarlep said with a fire in their eyes and desperation in their voice. “That little brat has gotten too much power, and it has gone to his head. I used to have him wrapped around my little finger and now he keeps me in this demeaning collar, unable to feed myself while he is either too busy literally fucking you or figuratively fucking the other eight archdevils of the Hells.”

She watched their expression. They were truly desperate. There was no doubt about it. She did feel oddly bad for them. Their predicament was not too different from their own and they were both under the thumb of the same sadistic man.

“What would I even gain from this?” she asked with a sigh. “I am tired, Phaelar…or Haarlep or whatever the fuck your name is, and it seems my time here has barely even begun.”

“Peace,” they answered. “If he thinks that you are pregnant with his spawn, he will lose interest in fucking you. When I came in here, you thought I was him. How would you have known any better if I came in here and demanded what he does? You can blame it on me. I will take the punishment for it. It would be worth it to see the look on his face.”

She thought about it for a moment. It was a fucked situation, but she was considering it. Haarlep was not the only one who wanted revenge.

“And unlike with him,” Haarlep said. “You will be in complete control of it. I can’t touch you because of the collar, but I’d wager that you can touch me. Here.”

Haarlep held out a hand to her. She readied herself to be shocked by the collar, but when she touched his palm, no shock came. Haarlep smiled. She withdrew her hand.

“I’ll think about it,” she said. “But only on days where I am particularly fertile. I don’t want to waste any attempts.”

Haarlep whined and rolled their eyes, but then looked at her and nodded in understanding.

“Fine, fine,” they said and got off the bed. “I’ll come and visit you then.”

The days went by. She had not gotten her period when she was supposed to. Most likely it was due to stress and the staff at the fortress did not exactly help. The physician who tracked her cycle was starting to threaten her with gynecological check-ups to see if she was lying about it. The whole thing was awful. She wasn’t even sure if she should hope that it came or not.

Raphael kept badgering her too. There was not a single dinner where he did not ask her and if she snapped at him, he would either tone her out or use the collar if she got aggressive. She did however learn that he was more careful with using the collar as much as usual while she went through her pregnancy scare. Something told her that if she was going to try and escape, she should wait until she was pregnant so he would go easy on her if discovered.

Eventually her period did arrive a week too late. She felt an odd empty feeling in her stomach when it did. She was neither relieved nor stressed about it. The idea of lying and keeping it a secret did occur to her, but it would not do anything to help her. Eventually Raphael would no doubt find out anyway.

That empty feeling was becoming a theme for her. She had anything and everything at her disposal. Raphael was generous with her, just like he had promised. None of it mattered though. Her fate was the same and eventually Raphael would visit her again.

A day before he was supposed to, she got a visit from Haarlep in Raphael’s form once again.

They smiled at her when they entered her chamber and sat down on the edge of the bed.

“So…” they said with a seductive smile.

She really did not feel like it. Although, on the other hand, if it worked, she could stick it to Raphael and she would not have to endure his ministrations for nine months. She nodded. Haarlep began sliding out of his clothes and she stopped them with a hand gesture.

“Could you maybe…take any other form than his?” she asked.

Haarlep tilted their head as they looked at her.

“Oh, are you afraid that he will feel it?” they asked. “He shuts it off, you know. He only allows the connection when he wants to after he got the crown. Trust me, I have tested it thoroughly. He won’t feel it unless he gets suspicious and checks in, and he is in a meeting somewhere in Dis right now. He’s distracted.”

She honestly had not even considered that part of it, but that was sort of a terrifying thought too.

“Good to know, but it’s just…” she muttered. “I’ll see enough of Raphael’s for the next couple of days. It would be nice if you could be someone else.”

Haarlep paused half-way out of the doublet they had no doubt stolen from Raphael’s wardrobe.

“Well, darling, the options are rather limited,” they said with an apologetic smile. “He only allows me those of himself these days. The collar will react if I change into anything else.”

“How about your true form then?” she asked. “Surely, he can’t forbid you from using that.”

Haarlep’s smile faltered immediately. They were so much more expressive than Raphael was and there was a clear sense of melancholy on their features. They shook their head and schooled their expression into a tight smile.

“No, I’m afraid I can’t,” they said and shook out of the doublet and carefully folded it in their lap.

“Why?”

“Because I can’t!” they snapped.

Tav was shocked at the sudden outburst. She had really only been curious. She had no idea it was a tender subject for the incubus. They weren’t looking at her anymore. They were looking at the doublet in their lap. They reached forward and placed it on a chair near her bed before moving their focus to the buttons on the white shirt they were wearing underneath. It was painfully quiet for a while before they spoke up again.

“Apologies,” they said with a small bitter smile. “I suppose my hunger makes me grumpy. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I suppose it’s a reasonable question…”

She watched them while they fumbled with the buttons of their shirt. The question had clearly thrown them off.

“Well?” she asked gently.

Haarlep sighed deeply and shook their head. They leaned back on the bed, resting their weight on their arms.

“I have never told anyone…” they mumbled and looked at her.

They looked her up and down, but there was not the same hunger in their gaze as there had been the other times they had spoken together. This was a look of pity more than anything else.

“Centuries ago, I left Mephistopheles service as a gift to his son,” they began explaining. “I had seen the little brat around in his daddy’s castle. I had slept with him plenty of times before I ever came to Avernus… Now, Raphael’s relationship with his daddy is a complicated one. One day Mephistopheles wanted to humble his son at court after he had been a particularly naughty boy, so…he had me walk through the throne room, in front of the whole court, in his form and my best lingerie.”

She watched Haarlep smile in sadistic amusement at the memory, but their expression soon turned slightly sour again.

“Needless to say, Raphael was less than pleased. He has always been a sensitive boy, that one. Then eventually I came to stay in Avernus with him. We bickered a lot in the beginning. He was being unreasonable, as he always is, and I may or may not have mentioned that particular incident. I remember him fuming about it. I was used to Mephistopheles temper, and Raphael is his spitting image when it comes to the hereditary hissy fits.”

Haarlep sighed and a note of that same melancholy as before washed over their features. She was listening intently.

“I don’t remember much of what happened, truth be told. I just remember being woken up in his bed…some old greyed mortal wizard and him standing by the end of the bed. I was in the same form that I had used to humiliate him with that day. The one that looks younger and prettier than he does now. They had made me forget…”

“Forget what?” she asked. “What do you mean?”

“My true name and my true form. No matter how hard I try, my old memories are blurred. I can remember my time before Raphael’s service but every memory where I was wearing my true form is blurred. My true voice incoherent, my form blurry and unrecognizable, the memory of feeling my own body numbed… I had nightmares about blurry forms in mirrors for decades. Pathetic, really…”

Haarlep shook their head and changed into the younger looking Raphael in a flash of fire.

“This is who I am now. My body is his in the most literal sense and even my name is formed after his…” Haarlep mumbled and then made an imitation of Raphael’s tone: “’So, you don’t forget who you belong to, dear Haarlep’ he had said as his reasoning, the bastard…”

She was quiet. She truly did feel bad for them, fiend or not. She gently placed their hand on their shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t imagine what that must be like.”

Haarlep smiled and looked at her hand. They immediately returned to their usual aloof mood.

“Oh, not to worry darling,” they said with a sigh. “You won’t have to imagine soon. Raphael always ends up shaping everything around him into an image of himself in some shape or form. I do wonder though if I did make you pregnant… Would I even be able to look at the child or would it be a blurry blob as well since it has my true features, do you think?”

It was a terribly depressing thought, and it was said with such a light tone.

“I…I don’t know,” she said.

“I suppose we will never know if I keep yapping about my sad and horrible past,” they said as if it was a joke. “Again, I apologize. Hunger just makes me so moody, and I am starving.”

She shook her head and tried to shake herself from the heavy discussion they just had, but it was difficult.

“Alright…” she said. “How do we do this?”

Haarlep settled down on the bed and untied their pants before patting their lap in invitation. They were already hard. How in the Hells they managed to be aroused after what they just spoke about was beyond her. A feature of being an incubus, she assumed. She was really trying her best to return to reality and shake the feeling of dread.

She slid out of her nightgown. Haarlep watched her with bated breath as she did so. She crawled to straddle his lap. Her movements were clumsy and awkward, but Haarlep did not seem to mind in the least.

She looked to the side to distract herself from the form under her as she tried to lower herself onto him. It hurt. She was not at all in the mood for it yet. She cursed under her breath.

“No rush, darling,” Haarlep purred from under her. “I can’t help, but oh I wish I could.”

It was clear in their tone sounded that they were grieving the fact that they couldn’t touch her. She tried to rub her cunt on their cock instead to get herself wet. Haarlep let out a satisfied moan at the friction, though they could feel as much as her that she was not into this. Haarlep fed on her pleasure, and they would not get satisfied unless she was enjoying it too.

“I am not sure that you can kiss me without me accidentally kissing back, but I could spit in your mouth?” they suggested in a low tone with a smile. “Would you like that?”

Not really. She knew perfectly well the effects of their spit and how excruciating it could be. Then again, that had been with Raphael who teased and denied her. With Haarlep she could just take what she wanted, it seemed. She looked at them and nodded.

“Open your mouth.”

She did. They spat into it with the accuracy of someone who had done it a thousand times. She wrinkled her nose a bit as she closed her mouth and swallowed it. It only took seconds before she could start feeling her whole body tingle. It was more potent directly from the source and she grew wet so fast that it seemed entirely unnatural.

She parted her lips in a small moan of relief as she started sliding over his cock with ease now as she ground herself on it. Haarlep hummed in satisfaction and gripped the sheets not to touch her.

“Much better,” they purred. “You are doing so well…”

Their eyes looked almost in love as they watched her. As if she was the most beautiful being they had ever seen. Despite her knowing it was pure hunger being sated and nothing else, she had never had anyone look at her quite like that and the feeling went straight to her abdomen.

She moved to position them at her entrance. She slid down onto them with a breathless moan. Her whole body was on fire. She began riding them at a steady pace. Her hand went to her mouth to quiet herself.

“No, let me hear you,” they protested softly from under her. “Please…I want to hear those pretty sounds of yours.”

She moved her hand away from her mouth. She was not even sure why she did it in the first place. The guards outside thought it was Raphael in here with her anyway, but it was as if a tiny sliver of fear of getting caught was still in the back of her mind despite her dulled senses.

Her moans were getting louder, and she upped her pace. The spittle along with being able to take what she wanted felt like utter bliss. It did not take long before she was riding them like there was no tomorrow and Haarlep seemed to be living for it. They were feasting, as their moans turned into feral growls, and they started babbling dirty words at her. Their claws would surely rip up her mattress with the way they were digging into it to not touch her.

“Mm, you are so good,” they growled from under her. “So delicious…That’s it…Take what you want from me, my sweet greedy girl. Fill that pretty belly of yours…Yes, yes…mm.”

They were growling like an animal in heat, and it went straight to her core. She rode them harder. She was so close. Her nails dug into their chest. She almost screamed when she came. By the look on Haarlep’s face they were seconds behind her. She could feel them starting to spurt their seed inside her.

She felt a sharp, strong tug backwards and then a loud thud as the back of her head hit the wall on the opposite side of the room. Everything went black for a second as she grabbed the back of her head in confusion. She blinked and gave Haarlep a terrified look before the door to her chambers shot open.

She felt a cold shiver go through her whole body and she lowered her gaze to the floor. She did not need to look to know who just stepped inside her chambers. So, this would be how she died, she thought for a moment. She could hear his slow, heavy footsteps enter the room, followed by a loud slam of the door behind him.

“When the cat’s away, the mice will play, I see…” Raphael drawled in a dangerously calm tone. “Haarlep…my dear…would you kindly explain yourself?”

There was complete silence in the room. The kind of silence one might imagine there would be before the world crumbles down around your ears. She looked up at Haarlep. There was a slightly unhinged smile on their face.

“I am simply making your new pet feel welcome, master,” Haarlep said in a quiet voice. “And helping out, of course. Dreadfully punctual thing, all that baby-making and you are oh so busy these days.”

It was clear that despite their big mouth, Haarlep was scared of him too, even though they were better at hiding it than her at the moment. Raphael stared them down.

“Besides,” Haarlep said and looked at her. “She begged me to help.”

Her fear turned into anger at the drop of a hat. She opened her mouth to protest, but she barely got a sound out before Raphael pinned her with his glare.

“You will be quiet until spoken to,” Raphael growled at her and looked back at Haarlep. “You came inside her. I felt it. You have never been burdened by intelligence, Haarlep, and yet, you still manage to surprise me with your idiocy. Did either of you truly think that I was unaware of anything that happens here?”

They were both quiet. Raphael looked at her again. His eyes trailed down her body with a look of disdain. His eyes lingered at her sex that still dripped with Haarlep’s cum. He looked her in the eyes with a hateful, sadistic smile.

“If a child comes out of you that does not look like the perfect image of myself, I will fatten it up at your breast, make you love and care for it, before I feed it to you in pieces. If I am feeling gracious, I might kill it before doing so. Do we understand each other?”

The threat made her blood go cold. She knew that he meant every word of it. She gave him a slow nod. A big toothy smile spread over his features. He turned to look at Haarlep.

“Change into her form,” he ordered.

[strawberry-seob]

I See You, My Baby (Part 3 of I'll Go) ✩ kjs

🍓pairing: afab!reader x jongseob

🍓genre: au, age gaps (reader is older), smut

🍓rating: 18+

🍓 summary: the morning after the party where you and jongseob taste each other for the first time

🍓warnings: swearing/language, oral sex, cunnilingus, blowjob, making out, morning sex, morning wood, masturbation

🍓word count: 3.5k

🍓author's note: this fic can be read on its own, but it is a continuation of the alternate ending for my other fic "I'll Go," and is directly preceded by the scene in "Wrapped Around Your Fingers," so i'd recommend reading both of those (or at least wrapped) before this one if you have the time/patience/desire, but it's not necessary

You woke with your face pressed against Jongseob’s chest, his arm wrapped around your bare back. He smelled so good, his shirt from last night having soaked up a little of the cigarette smoke, mixing with the smell of his own sweat. You weren’t sure when or if you’d ever admit it to him, but you loved the way his body smelled when he hadn’t showered yet. Maybe it was a little gross, but you didn’t care. 

You turned your face down towards his armpit and inhaled, and it made you feel high, filling you with a mixture of arousal, affection, and warmth. You kissed his chest and he started to stir, taking a deep breath and groaning sleepily. He exhaled and kissed the top of your head gently. You looked up at him and his eyes were barely open, partially hidden behind his blonde bangs; he gave you a sweet, sleepy smile, one of his crooked canines peeking out of his lips. You pressed a chaste kiss to his lips and laid your head back down, still looking up at him.

“Good morning,” you said. 

“Morning,” he responded, voice low and raspy as he pushed your hair out of your face. You glanced down at yourself, self-consciously. “I feel a little underdressed,” you said with a giggle as you snuggled in closer to him, still wearing nothing but your underwear from the night prior. He frowned. “I can fix that,” he replied, and without missing a beat, took his own shirt off and tossed it on your bedroom floor. You laughed, not expecting this response.

“Oh my god you did not have to do that, I wasn’t hinting or anything. Just felt a little awkward, I guess.”

“Ah, okay! Want me to put it back on?” he retorted, lifting his eyebrows and smiling playfully. 

“No no no,” you insisted, and curled up next to him, feeling the newness of his skin against yours. 

The night prior had been the first time you’d done anything sexually with him, and although you’d had plenty of experience in the past with other partners, you’d been unusually nervous. You weren’t sure if it was the age gap, how long you’d known him platonically, or something else entirely, but with Jongseob it all felt different, new, and exciting. 

And although, since he was Shota’s friend, you’d seen him without a shirt in the past, it was an entirely different situation, being up against him like this. Your face against the tender skin of his chest, his dark nipples hardening against the cool morning air of your bedroom, the swell of your chest pressed to his soft belly. 

Your legs intertwined with his thin ones under the covers, and where your hips met his, you felt a familiar firmness grow against you and felt your face go red-hot. He scooted his lower half away from you a bit, and you smiled against his chest, but chose not to say anything. However, you soon realized that the brief sensation of feeling his erection against you had lit a fire inside of you. You couldn’t relax anymore, hyper fixated on your nipples against his skin, and the absence of his hips against yours.

You put your hand on the side of his hip, basically his ass, and scooted him back towards you. 

“Hey, y/n, I’m – um,” Jongseob began, voice sounding unsteady. “It’s okay, baby,” you responded immediately. “Is it okay with you? I’m fine, either way.”

You looked at him and he looked nearly upset, which made your heart sink. “Hey, hey,” you insisted, cupping one of your hands against his cheek to look at you. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to upset you, I’m so sorry–”

“No it’s not you at all, I guess I’m just–” he interrupted, looking to the side bashfully and clearing his throat. “I dunno, I’m just… embarrassed? We’re just cuddling and I wasn’t trying to make it weird. I just can’t control it. You’re so beautiful and wonderful and I still can’t believe I get to be with you.” He looked back at you, and you just stared at him, a lump forming in your throat. You never knew it was possible to love someone this much. 

“You didn’t make it weird. I think it’s sweet,” you said quietly, watching the way his eyes widened and his cheeks flushed a beautiful shade of pink. “But I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, so I’m sorry if I did,” you added, and he immediately argued, “No, you didn’t do anything at all, I’m the one who should be sorry. Here,” he said, scooting closer to you to allow your legs to intertwine again, hips pressed against yours. You could sense that he was still half-hard, and if you were honest with yourself, you loved the feeling. 

“As long as you’re sure you don’t mind,” he said, frowning shyly. “Not even close,” you replied, reaching your hand around his hip to rest it on his ass for a bit while you both laid there, then slowly moving it up to the exposed skin of his lower back. He felt so delicate under your touch, and although he was taller than you, he was noticeably thinner, with a tiny waist and bony shoulders. Adorable, you couldn’t help thinking. 

Running your fingers over his back lazily, your fingers went a little too close to his side and he flinched. You looked up and he was clearly suppressing laughter, and your face took on a devilish grin. “Don’t,” he said, eyebrows raised and smiling nervously, his hand moving tentatively to grab yours, but he was too late – you started to poke at his sides mercilessly and he screamed hilariously, trying to fight you off but you nearly matched him in strength. 

“Oh my god please y/n, please–aaahh!!” he yelled as you continued attacking him and somehow found yourself on top of him, fingers in his ribs and legs straddling each of his sides. He was gasping for air and you almost felt bad, and the next moment he had his hand around the back of your head to pull you into a kiss. You turned your head, refusing him, and his face took on a hurt expression. 

“Sorry, I can just tell I have the worst morning breath,” you explained, and he shook his head adamantly. “I don’t care. Kiss me anyway,” he begged, clearly trying to create a distraction, and it was unfortunately working in his favor. Hands on either side of his head, you lowered your face to his and kissed him, trying to keep your lips as closed as possible. He had other plans though, and swiped his tongue at your mouth, trying to gain entry, and you folded immediately, letting him in. 

You couldn’t lie – he tasted awful, and it somehow made you want him even more. It was just so human, so erotic, so perfect; you abandoned your worries about how undoubtedly terrible your own mouth probably tasted and kissed him deeply, the kiss becoming sloppier as the moments passed, his hands resting on your hips.

His breathing quickened, and your body felt like it was on fire, the room suddenly feeling much warmer. You felt the now-familiar hardness against you and ground your hips against it, fully intentionally, dragging out a low moan from him, his mouth still against yours. 

“Fuck,” he gasped as you did it again. He brought his hands up to your face and steadied your gaze over him for a moment, eyes looking dark, heavy, full of want—glancing from your eyes, to your mouth, to your chest. 

His eyes snapped back up to yours. “Y/n. Can I eat you out? Please?”

You swore you could feel the blood draining from your head and rushing straight to your entire pelvic floor, throbbing in time with your heartbeat. For some reason, him saying please had nearly pushed you over the edge. 

“Yeah,” you replied with a dazed smile, and he smiled back, kissing you again and then grabbing your waist to flip you around so that you were underneath him. He hovered over you and kissed your mouth, moving down to your neck, your chest, until he was taking one of your nipples into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it, making you go dizzy with pleasure. His mouth still latched, he took your other nipple between his fingers and squeezed, twisting it gently, eliciting a loud moan from you and making you buck your hips up into him uncontrollably. He’d been resting his knee between your legs but pushed it more firmly against you and as he continued, you began to rut against the soft flesh of his bare thigh, having lost all sense of shame.

“Seob, please,” you begged. He released your nipple with a pop and licked it one last time before smiling up at you, kissing down your belly, and settling his face between your legs. 

However, as he did so, you froze in horror as you realized something. “Wait,” you said suddenly, lifting yourself up onto your elbows. He looked up at you, worried. “What is it? Are you okay?”

“I just… haven’t showered since before the party yesterday. Do you mind if I go rinse off really quick?” 

Confusion colored his features and he looked down and to the side thoughtfully, then got up on his hands and knees and raised himself up to sit back on his heels, hands resting on your thighs. His shoulders looked so narrow, the way he slumped forward slightly, and his collarbones were so prominent; he was positively angelic. 

He looked back at you, blushing lightly. “The most important thing to me is that you’re comfortable, but you just have to know…um …fuck, how do I say this,” he stammered, scratching the back and his head nervously. You stared at him expectantly, not entirely sure where he was going with this. 

He looked back at you, closed his eyes, and sighed. “I was really hoping I could do this… before… you showered. Oh my god, I sound like such a fucking pervert,” he said, raising both hands to cover his face. “You know what? Please forget I said anything; go shower, whatever you need to do.” 

Your jaw had dropped the moment he’d said it, and the awkwardness of the situation had given way to a lit fire in your core. It wasn’t like you were dirty or anything, you just usually tried to be freshly showered for oral sex, for the sake of your partner. You’d never had anyone ask you not to, before, and it piqued your curiosity. You laid back down and looked down at him with a smirk.

“I mean… I was gonna do it for your sake, but if you don’t want me to, I don’t have to,” you said, smiling at him teasingly. He peeked at you through his hands. “Are you sure? I really don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” he replied, voice muffled. 

In response, you lifted one of your legs up to the side to expose yourself further to him, your thin underwear begging to be taken off. “I’m sure,” you reassured him. He took his hands away from his face and smiled nervously, then took a deep breath and lowered himself back down between your legs. Supporting himself on his elbows and slipping his arms under your legs, he began peppering kisses up your thighs, taking his time. Although your nerves were on fire, you remained patient. 

Before long, he moved to the soft junction between your legs and began to kiss you over the fabric. As his lips sank into the soft flesh, he inhaled deeply and let out a low groan, sinking his fingers into each of your thighs and closing his eyes, brows furrowed. You gasped lightly at the pressure, using every ounce of self-control to keep yourself still, and then, something in him seemed to snap. 

He inhaled sharply and grabbed at the sides of your underwear, slipping them down your legs fluidly and settling himself back down, his mouth pressing into you again, this time with no barrier, his plush lips against your lightly trimmed pubic hair, tension thick in the air as he kissed you a few more times and then pushed his tongue between your folds, licking upwards with agonizing slowness. He continued this way, tentatively, exploring you, tasting you, letting out small moans against your cunt as he removed one of his arms from underneath your legs and reached down to touch himself. 

His tongue was so soft, so adept, so impossibly wet and you wanted more, needed more; you reached a hand down to push his hair out of his face, unable to suppress the sounds that started to escape you. He looked up at you and his lids were heavy, eyes looking absolutely dazed, sick with lust. He licked firmly upwards to your clit and you cried out, grabbing his head and pushing it downwards, unable to hold back anymore. He complied immediately, licking into you greedily and beginning to flick his tongue up against your clit with increasing speed and precision. 

Your head was thrown back in absolute ecstasy as you used your free hand to tweak your own nipple, and each time you looked down at him, you couldn’t help but watch the way his right shoulder shifted as he reached down to stroke himself. He came up for air momentarily, looking up at you, your hand still pushing his hair out of his face, and he smiled and laid his head sideways on one of your thighs.

“Y/n…you taste so good,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut, his smiling lips shining with the wetness of your body and his own saliva. As he began working his tongue into you again, you had an idea; and selfish as it was, you just had to try.

“Jongseob,” you began, and he paused, looking up at you, dark eyes wide and curious. “Can you please… scoot over a bit? So I can… see you?”

The moment you uttered the words, you felt heat flood your face; he looked momentarily confused but then caught on quickly, shifting his body so that he was laying more diagonally, nearly perpendicular to you, and as soon as he did, you could see the way his erection threatened to burst through his fitted black boxer-briefs. He palmed at himself and kissed your cunt slowly, then looked back up at you. “Do you mean…like this? Can you um… see okay?” he asked, shyly. 

“Uh-huh,” you replied, words failing you, all thoughts leaving your head as he licked into you hungrily while freeing his erection and stroking it languidly, quiet sounds escaping him, his voice vibrating against you. You hadn’t seen him like this before, fully erect and exposed, and he was just stunning – his cock slightly curved and leaking from the tip, his dark bush decorating the base of it. 

The mere sight of him was so erotic, so impossibly sexy, you could barely take it, and it wasn’t long before you were rolling your hips up into his mouth and coming with such a surge of pleasure that you nearly blacked out. You had cried out such a foul string of obscenities that you almost felt self-conscious as you laid there, seeing stars, while Jongseob remained where he was, mouth between your legs, his tongue licking you lazily, becoming close to overstimulating. 

You started to jolt at the sensations and giggled breathlessly, hand coming down to steady his head in a silent plea for him to stop, and he whined loudly in protest. 

“This is now my new favorite thing,” he said, voice thick, a dazed smile on his face, as he laid his head on your thigh and sighed contentedly. You brushed your fingers through his hair affectionately, watching the way his dark roots became exposed as you combed through it. You wondered absently if he’d let you touch it up for him, and smiled widely, moisture rimming the bottom of your eyes, feeling unbelievably happy. 

He looked up, scanning your body, then your face, eyes shining. “Fuck, you’re so hot,” he yelled, dropping his head face down into one of your thighs again and letting out a muffled scream. You laughed and covered your face as he crawled up next to you and put an arm around you to turn you onto your side, facing him. You lowered your hands and he was staring at you, smiling dumbly. 

“Not as hot as you,” you replied, pinching his cheek; he let out a small yelp and swatted your hand away, then tucked your hand behind your ear and leaned in to kiss you gently. His mouth tasted like your own pussy and you felt yourself throb with want, once again. You kissed him more deeply, licking into his mouth, and moved down to his neck, making him gasp softly. You ran your hand across his belly and slipped a thumb underneath the waistband of his underwear, teasing, as you continued to kiss his neck. His breathing became more labored, his quiet sounds more needy; and when you finally slipped your hand underneath the black waistband, he gasped sharply at the sudden contact of your hand on his cock. 

You reached down further to touch his balls, soft and delicate, then ran your hand up the shaft and stroked him as you continued sucking marks into his chest, his desperate sounds fueling you onward, until you couldn’t hold back anymore and moved downwards to finally undress him, freeing his cock and struggling to untangle his underwear from his legs. You both laughed nervously, some of the tension leaving your body as you pressed kisses to the underside of his erection.

You opened your mouth and licked up and down it slowly, relishing in the way he sighed each time you did it, and finally took him into your mouth entirely, eliciting a small whimper from him. You bobbed your head up and down slowly, using one of your hands to intensify the sensation, and completely lost yourself in the act. 

Eyes closed, you inhaled his scent and continued, loving the way he filled your mouth, the way his deeper groans gave way to higher-pitched whimpers, unraveling before you. You wanted him, wanted all of him, every last bit. 

You felt his hand rest on your head gently and opened your eyes, looking up at him as coyly as possible; he bit his lip and groaned, throwing his head back and sighing obscenely. Your ego swelled as the moments passed, watching the way he was falling apart, all because of you. 

His moans became louder and you never wanted it to stop, but you could tell he was getting close, his hand roaming through your hair, over your face, his breathing becoming more labored. You sucked relentlessly, pushing him further and further to the edge. 

“Y-y/n,” he stuttered, “Hold on, I’m gonna come,” he said, panic in his voice.

You hollowed out your cheeks and slid off with a pop of your lips and his body jolted as he hissed through his teeth. “So? Come in my mouth,” you replied without hesitation, smiling wickedly. His eyes went wide. “Shit… I mean… are you sure? I’d feel bad, I know it doesn’t taste the best, and I–”

“Seob,” you interrupted him, and he looked down at you with a pout. “I want you to come in my mouth. Are you okay with that?” you asked coyly, wanting to make sure you weren’t about to push him out of his comfort zone. 

He swallowed loudly. “I mean… I’m more than okay with that, I just… fuck. If you’re sure, then…” he trailed off, biting his lip again, and you responded wordlessly, taking him into your mouth again and picking up where you left off, indulging in the way he filled your throat.

It wasn’t long before he was right back to falling apart. “Okay–y/n–I’m,” he gasped breathlessly, voice nothing but a whine at this point. You hummed deeply and looked at him, watching the way his face contorted as he squeezed his eyes shut and cried out, the warm fluid shooting down your throat mercilessly. You waited a moment while his orgasm crashed through him, before pulling off slowly and swallowing. He tasted salty, yet slightly sweet, and although the taste of semen usually didn’t excite you much, his wasn’t unpleasant. 

You crawled up next to him and were about to lay your head on his chest but he beat you to it, lowering his body and laying his head on yours instead. He was so cute, you could have burst. You kissed his head affectionately and petted his hair drowsily, feeling as if you were floating on a cloud as he snaked a thin, tan arm around your waist. 

After nearly falling back asleep, your stomach growled loudly and Jongseob laughed, turning his head to look up at you. “I guess we should actually get up, huh?”

You laughed, mortified, and covered your face with one of your hands, but gave in to his suggestion as the both of you got dressed, used the bathroom, brushed your teeth, and headed out to join the rest of the world, hand in hand.

[beneaththebirches]

Liability: Part 2

Pairing: College Student!Rafe Cameron x Cousenlor!Reader

Summary: After a month and a half of meeting, tensions rise. But not in the way that either of them expected.

Warnings: Angst, swearing, flirty talking.

Word Count: 5.6k (I’m so sorry lol)

A/n: Hi guys! just a reminder that this is a repost from my original account @sublimecatgalaxy!

Part 1

“Is there anything you want to talk about today?” Rafe’s eyes flicker from the drops of rain on the window to me, head shaking simply as I tuck my legs underneath me. He seems particularly tense today, because of anger or disappointment, who’s to say. But I can’t help but feel his sour mood right in my sternum, my whole body aching uncomfortably at the sight of his own discomfort. “I’m going to give you options- I learned about this in child psychology-”

“Oh fuck off.”

“-and I thought it would help.” He cracks a small smile at my attempt to make him laugh and for extra help, I reach over to flick the lava lamp on, knowing how much the nostalgic decoration has helped comfort him in the last month and a half of our meetings. Other than the incessant flirting. “I’m going to give you some options- things that I’m interested in talking about- and then you can choose which ones you want to talk about.” His eyes harden briefly, strong shoulders rolling in an attempt to relax. “Sound good?”

“I seriously have no other choice, do I?” He deadpans but I respond with a wide grin and a simple shake of my head.  “Fine, what’re my options?” 

“So, we can talk about your family and hometown, your behavioral issues, or the people who are currently in your life-”

“Last one, please.” He pleads, cutting me off as my lips part in quiet shock, adding his desperation to not talk about his past or family to the list of very evident concerns that have come from our meetings. I decide to cut him some slack so, instead of investigating, I instigate.

“Please- god, who taught you manners in the last forty-eight hours.” A small smirk spreads across his lips at my teasing, the deep blush on his cheeks crawling all the way down his neck and under the neckline of the baby-blue t-shirt that clings to his torso. Clings? Really, Y/n?  “I’d like to get them on the phone and get some pointers on how to keep you in line.” The eye contact that he maintains is down right cruel and anything but innocent, the air quickly sucked from my lungs as I try to suck in a gulp of air.  

“I can be persuaded.” 

What the fuck. 

“Hey now-” I clear my throat, suddenly overwhelmed with butterflies in my stomach, head pounding at his words but it’s really his voice, the octave dip- “Alright, people in your life- other than me- rapid fire, lets go.” I clear my throat, running my hands down my face to try to recover as Rafe chuckles to himself, leaning back into the couch, knees parting to spread across the couch.

This is definitely breaking some guideline or rule out there. 

“Uh, Josh- I guess he’s my friend- he’s the quarterback on the football team, my friend Topper from my hometown, my younger sister and, uh, that’s pretty much it.” He rambles quickly as I jot the names down in my notebook, writing question marks next to each of their names in hopes that I’ll fill in more information later down the line.

“Topper? Who names their kid ‘Topper’.” I snort and a bright smile spreads across Rafe’s lips and he shrugs, head shaking. Who names their kid Rafe, though? “Fair enough. So, younger sister, huh? Any more siblings?” His spine straightens at my proposition but he’s quick to squash my dreams of talking about more, his lips straightening into a fine line and his forehead creases.

Over the weeks I’ve seen Rafe, he’s gotten increasingly better at calling bullshit when it comes to my subtle prying, quickly setting our conversations back on a track that he’s comfortable with. My coworkers did not give his intelligence enough credit.

“I said I’d talk about important people.” He urges, fists clenching in his lap and just like that, he’s agitated and rebuilding the walls he has built so high around his mind. So he has other siblings- check.

“Also fair enough.” I huff, letting it go. He’s nearly impossible to sway, more impossible to argue with so giving into his temperamental attitude and his moodiness is sort of always my best and only option. I wonder where that defense mechanism came from. “No girlfriend?” My voice raises at the end and so do his brows, head tilting as a sudden playful vibe takes over his expression.

“Not that I know of.” He folds his hands in his lap, a small smirk spreading across his lips as his eyes flicker to the floor. I can see the question he’s begging to ask, the infamous ’why do you want to know’ or ‘care to fill that role?’ but he doesn’t, just snaps his mouth shut with a shit-eating, tight-lipped grin.

“Interesting.” Picking up my pen, I write no girlfriend and I bite at the inside of my cheek to hide a cocky smile as Rafe leans towards me, trying to get a good view of the paper in my hands. 

“Wha- Why is that interesting? What are you writing?” He asks, reaching out to tip the edge of the book down, neck craning to read the few words I have written. “Really? The notebook thing is really passive aggressive, doc.” He taunts, snatching the book from my hands before tossing it onto the table between us. 

“You’re a jock with anger issues. Isn’t dating around supposed to be your man-whore thing right?” 

“I don’t know, is it?” His head tilts cutely at me, brows furrowed. 

“Touche.” I whisper, feeling so suddenly small in his gaze, blue eyes flickering over my nervous expression. I’ll never admit to him that I find him intimidating- not because of his violent actions or mood swings, but because of the way he looks at me, the depth behind his eyes, the ways his pupils expand and blue hues darken- like a predator stalking a prey.

I’m definitely not the one in a position of power in this scenario. 

“Am I allowed to ask you questions now?” He asks, tone dropping again as his jaw clenches.

“How is that relevant?” My voice squeaks and he grins, taking advantage of my meek and nervous demeanor like he always does, and he quickly takes control of the conversation to benefit his own comfort. He leans towards me, lips turned down in a nonchalant frown and shrugs.

“You want me to talk, I want to pass time. Might as well make this interesting.” Like this isn’t extremely interesting as it is? His proposition makes my brows tick up, wondering the weight behind his words and if he truly just wants to ask me innocent questions. The look in his eyes says otherwise. 

“Bold of you to assume I’m interesting.” I meet him halfway, leaning towards him with a teasing look, eyes flickering back and forth between his. The silence that swarms around us is deafening, the blood in my body rushing to my head and pumping loudly in my ears as a slow grin stretches across his lips. “Fine, you can ask me a couple of questions- use them wisely- but I get to know more about your younger sister.” 

“Fair trade.” He claps, mirroring me and folding his legs beneath him as he thinks, finger tapping his chin playfully. “Is this on or off the record?” His question makes me laugh, adoring the fact that he takes school counseling seriously enough to think that he could possibly get in more trouble for asking me simple questions. 

“There’s no record, dude. I get paid either way and you’re not going to listen to me anyways.”

“At least you’re self aware.” He grins. “Favorite color?”

“Seriously?”  I ask, remembering how much shit he gave me for asking his favorite color so many sessions ago. He hides his smile behind his hand, chest rumbling in quiet laughter as I gawk at him. “Really, Rafe?” 

“See how stupid that question is now-”

“Yellow, asshole. Next question.” His eyes light up with mischief at my attempted insult but he just nods, accepting my answer. He ponders for a few seconds, blue eyes seemingly inspecting my frame, down to the smallest of details; the color of my eyes, the necklace around my neck, my hands.

“I don’t see a ring so I assume you’re not engaged or married.” He nods towards my ring finger with a curious, boyish smile. What I want to ask is ‘why do you care’ or ‘why is this important’ but then I realize that he wasn’t asking.

“Is that a question?”

“More like an observation.” He shrugs, fingers tapping against the expanses of his thighs. It takes everything to avert my eyes from the repeated movement, almost as if he’s trying to draw my attention away, to catch me off guard like I’ve been trying to do for weeks now. 

“No secret fiance or husband.” I reply simply, heart aching painfully in my chest. “I live alone with my two cats.” My eyes flicker down to my lap, cheeks warming bashfully because I can only assume how sad that sounds to anyone other than me.

I’m fine and content with my two fur babies, in my perfectly decorated and organized apartment, no man- or woman- there to mess anything up or disturb the peace I’ve created. 

But that doesn’t necessarily mean I’m at peace with the loneliness I feet at two in the morning when I’m curled under a blanket, the sound of the TV going in one ear and out the other as I wait for my phone to buzz with any notification- a text, a call, a snap, anything.

“That’s sad.” My head snaps up to look at him, eyes thinning to slits as I scoff, watching his brows furrow, smile faltering at the realization that hurt my feelings.

“And you’re in mandatory counseling. What’s sadder?” The words leave my lips faster than I can control, his words hitting a bit too close to home- too close for comfort. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for self deprecating comments and mutual teasing but sometimes I can’t take it as well as I dish it.

“Fuck, you’re mean-”

“And you’re stalling.” Snatching my notebook from the table, I place it back in my lap, opening it to a fresh page and getting my pen ready. His eyes widen briefly at my subtle threat to psychoanalyze him- his favorite activity- and his hands raise in surrender.

“Fine, fuck.” He huffs, urging me to return the notebook to its previous position on the table but I keep it close, hugging it to my chest as he sighs. “Do you enjoy bullying me?”

“Yes, I enjoy bullying you. You’re an easy target.” I say plainly, waiting for him to speak but he just scoffs, teasing eyes flickering back and forth from me to the clock on the wall.

“This is a toxic therapeutic environment. Is there a Title X form I can fill out?” I bite back a laugh at his painfully ironic joke, my cheeks puffing out as I try desperately to avoid laughing at his perfectly timed joke.

“I’ll give you that one. That’s good.” I crack, ignoring the obvious flutter in my stomach. “Ask me a question, hot shot.” I offer, watching his eyes light up at the chance and I can tell that he’s going to try to use it wisely. He bites at his lips as he thinks, eyes squinting briefly as if he’s the one analyzing me and his gaze flickers back and forth between my eyes.

“If everyone comes to you to talk, who do you go to?” His question feels like a punch to the gut, heart aching behind my ribs, but I maintain the professional smile on my lips, hands shaking in my lap as I press them into fists. He waits patiently but there’s no ounce of malice or mischief behind his eyes. He’s truly curious this time and, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think he actually cares. 

“That was oddly personal.” I laugh awkwardly, setting my pride aside for a second and taking a deep breath.

“You want me to talk about my sister? Then you’ve gotta earn it.” 

Fuck he’s right. 

I wrack my mind, trying to come up with something vague, something simple to offer him so he doesn’t worry or have any more prying questions. If he thinks that he doesn’t like to talk about those closest to him then he hasn’t heard my extremely short list of people that I interact with on a day, let alone the people I actually enjoy talking to (other than him).

But I have to give him something if I want to know more about his past and his support system.

“My list of ‘important people’ is even shorter than yours. I do fine, though.” I hold my breath, hoping he’ll accept my sad excuse for an answer but he just nods slowly, leaning back into the couch with a cocked head, lips fanning out into a small smile. A moment or two passes as the sound of my breathing slows, Rafe’s eyes moving to look over at the lava lamp. 

“I call my younger sister Wheezie.” I fight the urge to reach over for my notebook, realizing that he’d probably shut down if I tried to document anything he’s telling me. Guess my memory will have to do. “She’s 14- maybe 15 by now. I haven’t seen her in a while.” His tone saddens a bit but his eyes glimmer as if he’s remembering something fond, deep eyes full of sudden adoration. “I was such a jackass to her when I was younger. Now that I’m away from home, I want to talk to her more- text her more.” He sounds guilty, eyes closing briefly before he returns his gaze back to me, waiting for me to digest the information and respond accordingly.

“That’s good.” 

“She’s way more smart than I am- such a fucking spitfire.” He grins with a scoff, shaking his head and I can only imagine a shorter, girlier version of him, commanding those around her and teasing everyone in site. I bet her and I would get alone nicely.

“I can see who she learned that from.” He grins shamelessly at my teasing, cheeks reddening briefly before he flashes his eyes at me, fingers prying at the strings on his sweatpants. 

“Yeah, I wasn’t the best influence.” His once reminiscent and happy expression turns sour suddenly, lips tugging down into a guilty, frustrated frown.

“Wanna talk about it?” Don’t forget to do your job, Y/n.

“Not really.” He sighs, reaching up to run his fingers through his unruly hair, eyes flickering briefly up to the clock as I, too, notice our lack of time. We’ve talked more today about the things I’m mandated to talk to him about than all of our meetings combined and, sure, that’s a good thing but I can’t begin to ignore the weight- the tension- that’s suddenly filled the room at the mention of his sister and the possible wrong-doing he’s committed against her.

“Do you need to talk about anything?” I ask with an uncomfortable sigh, anxiety sitting on my chest like a twenty pound weight. 

“Do you?” He dodges but not to avoid the question I asked but because, yet again, he’s more interested in talking about me.

“We’re not here for me.” I smile kindly but he’s being completely sincere.

“Well, I am.” He shrugs, his confession making my heart skip beats as he continues. “If I really hated you, I wouldn’t be here.” There’s a sense of fondness in his voice that makes me grin like an idiot and he realizes almost instantaneously the weight behind his words.

If I really hated you, I wouldn’t be here. 

“Oh, I’ve definitely grown on you.” I gawk, lips parted in proud shock.

“No, but the lava lamp has.” He denies with a click of his tongue, jutting his thumb in the direction of the bright object, the glowing orbs bouncing up and down as a sort of pendulum.

A few dazed moments pass and Rafe is still stuck looking at the lava lamp as if he’s entranced, a small smile on his lips and the clock ticks louder and louder behind us as minutes pass. I feel antsy to ask him more, knowing that it’ll be a whole weekend before I see him again and a part of me almost feels sad.

I don’t feel like diving into the ‘why’ that is. 

“I’m assuming by the lack of text messages and urgent calls that you’ve been behaving?” His lips quirk up at my instigation and he gives me a playful shrug.

“If behaving means no suicidal or homicidal thoughts than yeah, sure.” I can’t fight the eye roll that passes across my expression but his smile turns sheepish as if he was trying to be genuinely honest. I fight the urge to ask about both topics mentioned- homicide and suicide- wondering if there’s actually any weight to them or if he’s just messing around. Both are equally concerning. 

“You can text or call if you feel like you need to talk about something, ya know.” I offer gently but he starts nodding sternly before I can even finish my sentence.

“I know. You said that.” 

“I know- I’m not trying to press…” My hands raise in simple surrender, backing off immediately before he cuts me and this meeting short. “But, you’re here for a reason. I get it’s mandatory but like you said, if you really hated me- hated this- you wouldn’t be here.” He ponders for a second, lips turned down in a playful frown.

“Gives me something to do other than ace tests and apparently be a so-called ‘man-whore’.”

“So you are a man whore? God, I’ve been dying to know if that’s true or not.” I tease, cupping my cheeks in my hands as I lean towards him, watching mischief flicker through his eyes. “Do you need the safe sex speech?” I gasp, holding a hand to my chest in feigned shock, like I needed any confirmation that Rafe could get around if he actually wanted to.

I mean, look at him. 

“Oh my god- this is painful. How much time do we have left?” He pleads and his brows knit together in pure disgust, his voice scary close to a whine.

“I’m messing with you. I know you’re not getting around- the faculty gossip more than the students.” His eyes widen at my implication that he’s being talked about behind his back and he scoots to the edge of the couch eagerly.

“What have you heard about me?” He asks out of pure amusement, eyes glimmering in the light of the lava lamp.

“Depends on what I’ve chosen to believe.” I shrug, folding my hands in my lap as I think of the very few nice things I’ve heard actually come out of my coworkers mouths. “Before I met you, I heard the words ‘neanderthal’ and ‘Juvenile delinquent’ but everyone raved about your grades.” 

“And now?” He quizzes, hair falling in his eyes as his head tilts dumbly.

“I don’t particularly believe the ‘neanderthal’ part- maybe the delinquent part- but the good grades, charming, way too smart for your own good.” The wink I throw him has him almost giggling, his chest rumbling and shoulders shaking in bashful laughter. “Handsome.” The word leaves my mouth as a sort of intrusive thought- literal word vomit- and my lips part in quiet shock as he gives me a similar, stunned look. His cheeks redden almost immediately and all cockiness from him vanished, just left with boyish, bashful, wide eyes.

“Are you flirting with me?” He asks, voice cracking pitifully.

“No, because that would be inappropriate and obviously I do everything by the books here. I’m only speaking on behalf of my colleagues.” I clear my throat, giving him a half-assed nod but he sees right through it. 

“Anything else you’ve- I mean, your fellow colleagues have said about me?” He asks, shit-eating grin evident once more and it only makes flames ignite in my belly.

“You have an issue with authority and apparently talking to older women.” I snap with a smirk and he scoffs, eyes rolling and he claps his hands.

“Alright, I don’t like you anymore.” He juts his finger my way, clicking his tongue with a tired look.

“Awe you’re in denial- that’s cute, really Rafe.” I whisper, reaching out to rest my hand on his knee- feigning support- his whole body aflame beneath my touch. He looks at me and my hand, back and forth, with wide, frantic eyes but he’s not nervous or awkward- no, there’s something far deeper to the way his pupils dilate, tongue sweeping out helplessly over his cracked lips. 

“Fuck.” He mutters, dragging his fingers across his jaw as I slowly retract my hand from him. His body deflates as soon as my touch leaves him, his head hanging back against the couch shamelessly. 

“Time’s up buddy.” His eyes flicker up to the clock and an almost disappointed smile spreads across his lips, brows furrowing as he reaches down to check his own phone with a frown. 

“Really?” He asks, more to himself but stands nonetheless, soothing his hands over his thighs. I stand too, following closely behind him as he stops in front of the door, waving his phone in the air. “Can I, uh, text you?” He asks bashfully and a wide smile spreads across my lips.

“I said you could.” 

“I know- I just mean…” He trails off, eyes fluttering to the ground briefly.  “Like, off the record.” My stomach flips at his words, not knowing what he actually intended to get across but based on the look in his eyes alone, I know he literally means off the record conversations.

“There’s no record, Rafe, and we’ve already leveled about the fact that I live alone with my cats. My life after work is not glamorous.” I giggle, reaching past him to open the door and he looks out into the hallway with a heavy sigh.

“Alright.” He nods, hand raising to send me a simple wave and a smile. “See ya, Y/n.” 

——

Unknown Number: I thought of another question. 

My eyes widen as I stare down at the text, shocked that Rafe actually meant it when he said he was going to text me, my mouth drying at the confirmation that he does want to talk to me, just not about the things I’m mandated to talk to him about. But at least he’s talking now. A win is a win right? 

Alright, shoot. I type back, thumbs shaking against the bright screen as I add him as a contact, my cats purring beside me as I flip over to the other side of the bed, curling into a ball as I watch the three bubbles appear at the bottom of my screen.

Rafe: Are you typically this chill with other students?

“What should I say, Winston?” I ask, showing my cat the text as he sniffles, looking between me and the bright screen, eyes squinting in discomfort. “Should I tell him that I find him incredibly attractive? So much that it makes it very hard to do my job?” Winston just looks away from me with a quiet meow, tucking his head under my hand that holds my phone.  “They told me I need to connect with students on a personal level- to use my age as a tool to connect and develop interpersonal relationships- to get people to trust me.” I snort, typing the first response that comes to me before I type something that I could possibly regret.

Not really. I could just tell that I wasn’t going to get you to open up if I acted my role. My answer isn’t necessarily a lie, but there’s something about him- though cocky and sometimes unbearable- that just makes it so easy to be myself. He’s done such shit in his life so maybe he’s just not that judgemental cuz he’s done worse, but there’s just something open about him, even if it might be unintentional. 

Rafe: Cuz I have an issue with authority?And older women apparently. 

My cats jump as I laugh out loud, cheeks warming as I press my face into my pillow momentarily, hating the smile that spreads across my lips. I feel like a middle schooler who’s finally getting attention from a cute guy, blood pumping and mind running with thoughts.

Yeah, I wanted to make it easier on you- more comfortable. 

Rafe: That’s kind of nice. 

Well, I’m a nice person. “Duh, Rafe. I’m a nice person.” I whisper to myself while typing.

Rafe: I can think of twelve things you said to me today that were the opposite of nice.

It’s as if he knew what I was going to say because the minute I send my text, his text comes flying back in return. He’s not wrong- I did mess with him all day, and the thought of me teasing him so much forces a proud grin on my lips as I type. 

I figured it out pretty quickly that you deflect with humor. I happen to be remarkably funny. 

Rafe: Got me figured out, huh?

He has no clue how much I’ve already figured out about him just from the fact that he keeps deflecting and avoiding talks about his family. I can assume his younger sister is the only family member he hasn’t had a negative encounter with and looking at his academics versus his social life, it almost seems as if he doesn’t actually want to be here, like it wasn’t his decision but he has to maintain the grades but not the image. That maybe his outbursts, like keying his professor’s car, was a last ditch effort to get out, not stay.

You could say that. Men are pretty easy. I respond simply, knowing it’ll get a ride out of him.

Rafe: First you call me a man whore and now I’m ‘easy’?

You had the chance to ask me questions and you didn’t. 

Rafe: I did, they were just stupid. I couldn’t really think of anything. I was too preoccupied.

With? I bite at the excess skin on my nail as I wait for his reply, tearing my eyes away from the phone for a moment to look down at my cats who both stare at me, probably wondering how I’ve managed to stay awake this long. If only they knew and could fathom ‘a crush’.

Rafe: Well you called me handsome and I think that’s the last thing I remember.

Oh shit, I did, didn’t I? I pause, actually considering the fact that my comment actually stuck with him enough to take him off guard. It’s common knowledge that Rafe is a good looking guy, tall, built, kind eyes and a silver tongue. I’d have to be blind or dead to not see him.

You’re all talk. I type, biting at my nail as the dots appear and disappear, Rafe choosing his answer wisely. It makes me laugh to think of him in a similar position as me, laying in bed, typing back a reply with a blush on his cheeks- or maybe I shouldn’t think about him in bed?

Rafe: I’m not, you’re just all by the books.

Am I? I know that I’ve joked about being by the books and dying on the hill that I’m such a rule follower, but if I was seriously a stereotypical counselor for him, I would think that I wouldn’t enjoy conversations with him so much- so much that I stay up way past midnight just to continue a vaguely flirty conversation with him.

Har. Har. Doesn’t seem like you’re having an issue talking to older women now. 

Rafe: Cuz you’re not here staring at me and judging me.

The thought of him finding me as intimidating as I find him is exhilarating, the air in my lungs seemingly evaporating as I gasp in a breath.

Rafe: Writing shit down in that passive aggressive notebook. What have you even written in there?

You don’t wanna know. I giggle, picturing the dopey, confused look on his face, a kind smirk. In person, he would pry and stare at me until I break, taking advantage of my weariness when it comes to him. But right now, so far away from him, I don’t let up, continuing the torment and teasing that he subjects me to during the day.

Rafe: Is it just a bunch of ‘Mrs. Cameron’s’ written over and over again?

“Rafe, what the fuck!” I yell out, sitting straight up in bed as I hear the neighbor bang on the wall behind me, chastising me for my shouting. I slap a hand over my mouth, typing back a shaky response. 

Asshole. Go to bed. I’m not actively trying to get rid of him, but there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to see where this conversation would go if I did indulge him and give him a taste of his own medicine. He’s a tease but he’s an intelligent tease; he knows how to rile a person up, maybe from experience or maybe it’s just his personality. Either way, it works too well.

Rafe: You’re no fun :(

I am, it’s just above your pay grade. I don’t even know what I’m implying with this whole ‘paygrade’ joke, maybe I’m implying that there’s more under my surface that goes beyond a flirty college counselor. Maybe I want him to see under the surface and I instigate because I know he likes the chance and the taunting. Maybe it’s just fun to get him going.

Rafe: Again with the fucking pay grade. How do I get promoted?

Why do you want to be promoted? What do you get out of it? My stomach drops, my heart pounding in my throat as my fingers type against the screen, the typos only a testament to how nervous he makes me. 

Rafe: Tell me how to get into that head of yours and maybe I’ll let you know why I care so much.

I screech out loud once more, reaching out to comfort Winston and my other orange tabby Clementine with a quiet apology for continuing to wake them up repeatedly. Forgetting my mission, my head snaps back to the clinical benefits from this conversation, needing him to finally open up to me about his own problems if we’re going to get anywhere. He needs the clearance from the school, I need the praise from my boss, and- the most important- he needs to heal from whatever’s eating him up inside. 

I’d tell him anything if it meant that I could help him.

Tell me where your anger issues stem from and why you won’t talk about your family or hometown. I press send before I can contemplate it, worrying that the interjection into our playful conversation might make him mad because it’s typically his response to me prying into his personal life. But instead, he surprises me.

Rafe: I’ll think about it.

It’s not what I was expecting at all but I’ll take any progress that I can get. A month ago, he’d threaten to leave the room if I tried to bribe information out of him but now he seems willing. Maybe he thinks that if he tells me things, that I’ll open up. But if that’s the case, then we’re playing the same game and it looks like both of us are going to ultimately get what we want from each other. In more ways than one apparently.

Rafe: So you hang out with your cats and you go to work at the campus. Is that all you do?

If I give him the answer I want to reply with, he’ll know where to find me outside of school. He’d have the opportunity to see me outside of our sessions, to talk to me literally off the record and have the freedom to say or do whatever he’d like. To weigh the odds of a pros and cons list would take too long so my fingers type quickly enough to not give my brain a second to think or argue.

No, I work as a bartender too at a bar on Grant. Again, the bubbles on the bottom of the screen appear and disappear, Rafe obviously deciding carefully on what to say. I know that he’ll take advantage of it, even if I ask him not to but maybe it’ll be what he needs- to see me in a scenario where he doesn’t have to talk to me. Maybe it’ll happen naturally on its own if he chooses to interact with me, to talk or open up.

Rafe: Oh, that’s kind of badass.

A girly grin takes over my face, Clementine’s quiet meows spooking me out of my giddy mood, her paws digging into my boobs as she flops down on my chest. I let out a quiet ‘oof’ and she looks at the bright screen of my phone, meowing once more as another message comes through.

Rafe: I know you’ll ask me not to come visit you but I make no promises.

[euphoricfilter]

university update?

i think i made more friends but idk if we’re actually friends or if they were just being nice because i was sitting alone

they’re also maybe like the exact opposite of me and that’s a little scary because i was ready to just live a secluded little life with minimal social interaction that isn’t about school work or assignments. but they seem like pretty nice people? possibly??? we will have to wait and see, i think i’ll see them again tomorrow

[fingertipsmp3]

Why did I get paranoid about how no one has checked the work I submitted yet. It’s literally Sunday

[hobisexually]

x

[autism-disco]

i’ve said this before but i can’t find the post so. call me will wood the way everything is a lot

[gay-dorito-dust]

hi!! i’ve been searching high and low for fanfic since seeing deadpool and wolverine LOL so i was wondering if you could do either head canons or a small fic (whichever you prefer) about deadpool x reader x wolverine? either a poly relationship or both of them trying to compete and woo reader? maybe it could take place during the movie events? tysm!

Your relationship with Wade and Logan oftentimes consisted of them trying to hog your for themselves, which leads to the other getting jealous and or upset, so much so to the point where they’ll end up squabbling over you preferred more.

This is not new as the pair seemingly have something against sharing but overtime it does get better and they’re less likely to fight over you and who gets your attention.

They’ve even had it scheduled out at one point but that didn’t last as either Wade or Logan would accuse the other of prolonging their time with you to the point it was intersecting with the other pre established times slots.

Logan: Oi scrotum face! You’ve been hogging them five minutes more than established!

Wade, acting coy as he clings onto you; oh am I? I’m pretty sure my cuddle session was 11:30 until 12:30pm-

Logan: it’s 12:35 dickhead!

Wade: *gasps* oh my gosh you’re right! I guess time must’ve slipped my mind when cuddling my pookie here *boops you on the nose*

Logan: *not too impressed*

When they’re not at each other’s throats over who you love more, they’re wooing you as though you’re not already fucking dating the pair of them. Particularly Wade more so than Logan. 💀

You’d find Wade draped across your bed with a rose held between in his hands, buck naked and with nothing but a pillow to cover his dick or ‘the surprise’ he calls it.

‘You can peg me tonight.’ ;) - Wade

‘I am so honoured, ass up baby girl.’ - you (probably)

Logan isn’t use to soft touches of love, he really isn’t and so if you were to ever kiss the places where his wounds once were before they healed, he’d melt. His smile is soft as he silently watched you kiss the knuckles, completely unafraid of his claws popping out and or caressing the calluses on his palms. At long last his soul was at ease, his mind was quiet as all Logan could focus on was you being tender and soft with him as though he hadn’t lived through the past 200 years of pain, trauma and suffering.

You treated him like he was just Logan Howlett and nothing more, not wolverine, not weapon X, just Logan and only Logan for that’s who the man sitting next to you was. You helped numb the pain whilst holding his hand through the nights were he awakes breathless and his claws out and ready.

Logan panics if he were to see that he accidentally nicked you with his claws during his nightmares, for hurting you was the last thing he ever wanted to do, and would try to push you away whenever you tried to get closer to him. He has hurt you and he shouldn’t be worthy of your comfort when all he could see was the really small nick on your arm.

‘Logan-‘

‘Don’t. I hurt you.’

‘It’s only a small cut, I’m fine Logan please.’

‘No! What if next time I cut you badly?’

Your heart broke whenever he got like this, so naturally you had to force yourself into his arms and make him come to terms with the fact that he would never hurt your willingly and grab ahold of his face, resting your foreheads together as you told him to focus on you and your breathing; showing him that you were alive and well.

Wade might as well have whined when you kissed his skin where wounds should’ve been before they healed. They’re his favourite moments between the two of you and would even imitate it back to you, but without the wounds, so it’s just him kissing your skin wherever whenever. He might even blow raspberries to keep the spirit of your somewhat goofy relationship alive and well.

Wade has photos of your dates, movie nights and such kept in somewhere in his room, whether that he a box or album, he has them and will look at them and smile because he’s a sap for making memories that’ll live forever much like him. He cares deeply about you and would even keep tokens or other random things as mementos too.

Some are more weirder than others.

‘This was a ticket when we went to the arcade.’

‘Oh this is that stick we both said looks like a penis when we took Dogpool to the dog park.’

‘This was the bandaid that you tried to use to cover my wounds before you found out either of me or wolvie could heal-‘

Logan and Wade don’t like to share, that we already know, but if someone who wasn’t aware of your polyamorous relationship with the two and decided to shoot their shot, they’d know first hand how much these men don’t play with you as Wade verbally beats them down with his crude sense of humour and Logan hovers over you, glaring as the poor person until they’ve ran away with their tail between their legs.

Remy?

Logan would growl and glare at the man while keeping a possessive hand on your waist, tugging you to his side to show that you were taken, or even have you wear his jacket to further get the point across to Remy.

Wade would just make a big joke out of it all the while having his hand in your back pocket. ‘You cant have our pookie, go get your own magic mike.’

Also when it comes to cuddling at night your either between Wade and Logan or Logan is in between you and Wade, or Wade is in between you and Logan. It changes now and then but when you’re in the middle of them both, it’s the safest you’ll ever be in your entire life, nothing can get to you and you can rest easily knowing that you’ve got two men who’d do anything to keep you safe and secure.

[sunrizef1]

imgonnagetyouback

Pairing: Lando Norris x Fem!singer!reader

Warnings: Cursing

Authors note: I guess I lied about the Lando thing… this songs just so Lando I can’t explain it and I’m actually obsessed with this song rn. You probably have to at least know the premise of the song to understand the second half of this.

INSTAGRAM

yourusername

📍New York, New York

liked by maxfewtrell taylorswift and 13,998,887 others

yourusername hello, New York!

tagged: taylorswift

Load comments…

user1 my fav

user2 love her

user3 so pretty 🤩

taylorswift 🩵

yourusername 🤭💋

user4 welcome to New York, so real

user5 I miss Lando

user6 hi queen!!!

user7 new music when

user8 “I love NY not you” lmao Lando get up

user9 now why in the world did max like this

user10 and now Lando will post an Instagram story of him partying with some random girl to prove he’s having more fun than y/n is, we know how this goes

user11 you can not tell me they don’t miss each other

sabrinacarpenter pretty 🤩 🤩 🤩

yourusername no u 💋

user12 I just need a video of her English ass trying to navigate new York please and thx

maxfewtrell hey bestie!

yourusername oh my god get out of here

user13 wtf is max doing 😭😭

gracieabrams I ❤️ u

yourusername 🥰

oscarpiastri hi

yourusername hi?

———————————————

landonorris added to their story

user14

Now wtf

user15

user10 was right

user16

Alright ig

oscarpiastri

oh okay

MESSAGES

INSTAGRAM

yourusername added to their story

oscarpiastri

Still can't believe you convinced me to do that

yourusername

You'll be fine, ill get you concert tickets

can't even tell its you either

oscarpiastri

fine

they better be vip

yourusername

Dw they will be

—————-

maxfewtrell

???

yourusername

Dw its just Oscar

maxfewtrell

Jesus i cant believe you

yourusername

He started it. This is the first time I've included a guy in my posts, landos been doing it for months

maxfewtrell

you're gonna be the death of me

yourusername

💋💋💋💋

maxfewtrell

take care of yourself though y/n

yourusername

I am

Thx tho max 🫶

maxfewtrell

Yeah yeah 🙄

——————————————

yourusername

📍Paris, France

liked by charles_leclerc oscarpiastri and 21,008,771 others

yourusername I can tell when somebody still wants me

load comments…

user17 oh yay they're gonna sneak diss in their Insta captions again

user18 I miss dad ☹️

user19 she's so pretty omg

maxfewtrell oh wonderful we’re doing this now

yourusername leave

user20 lando its your turn

user21 IM IN LOVE WITH HER

charles_leclerc I'm amused

yourusername congrats

user22 they're so messy I love them

oscarpiastri great he's about to drag me into doing something stupid because of this

yourusername that is not my problem

user23 I sense new music coming along

user24 I do genuinely think he still wants her lowk

user25 they want eachother, don't lie. Its defo mutual

user26 😍😍😍

taylorswift 🤩

yourusername 🥰

jackantonoff 🤪

liker by yourusername

user27 why is jack here???? New music???

————————————————

landonorris

liked by maxfewtrell martingarrix and 12,008,998 others

landonorris I have what I want

load comments…

user28 oh… yay

user29 🤩🤩🤩

user30 say what you want about their shitty personalities but they sure do know how to make an aesthetic post

user31 the shade is immense

maxfewtrell im nauseous

landonorris 👍

user32 they’re so into each other it’s actually insane

user33 OH MY GOD WE GET IT YOU MISS EACHOTHER

user34 🤩🤩🤩

user35 he’s so fine

user35 LANDO-

user36 now what’s y/n gonna do

user37 how long until they both apologize and get back together… these are not the posts of people who have healthily moved on from their previous relationship

user38 fine as hell lowk

oscarpiastri this is 100% the most healthy way to handle this

landonorris I didn’t ask

user39 all of their friends are so annoyed and it’s so funny

———————————————

yourusername added to their story

maxfewtrell

Is this a song where you admit you’re still in love with Lando so you both can finally get over your emotional immaturity???

yourusername

kinda

maxfewtrell

Oh fr?

I thought you’d just be mean to him for the whole song

yourusername

Uhhh-

——————————————

yourusername

liked by sabrinacarpenter taylorswift and 21,000,111 others

yourusername imgonnagetyouback out now 🩶

Load comments…

user40 IM GONNA GET YOU BACK

user41 oh my god it’s so good

user42 LANDO GET UP

user43 THE CAPTION FROM PARIS WAS A SONG LYRICCCCC

user44 oh so she’s still in love with him

user45 “you were never not mine” 💀

user46 I CAN FEEL IT COMING HUMMIN IN THE WAY YOU MOVE

user47 PUSH THE RESET BUTTON WERE BECOMING SOMETHING NEW

user48 SAY YOU GOT SOMEBODY ILL SAY IVE GOT SOMEONE TOO

user49 EVEN IF ITS HANDCUFFED IM LEAVING HERE WITH YOU

user50 “I’m an Aston Martin” okay lance strollll

oscarpiastri “I’ve got someone too” no you do not 💀

yourusername oh my god shut up

user51 she’s still in love with him dhmu

maxfewtrell when I asked if this was going to be emotionally healthy and not a diss I can now see why you were conflicted…. Bit of both tbh

yourusername 🫶

maxfewtrell 👎

user52 told my friends I hate you but I love you just the same 😭

user53 SO GOOD

user54 WHETHER IM GONNA BE YOUR WIFE????

——————————————

landonorris added to their story

maxfewtrell

…

what does this achieve

landonorris

What do you want

maxfewtrell

Mate come on

you’re still obviously in love with her

and the song litteraly shows she’s still in love with you

all you’ve done is post a thirst trap of yourself with song lyrics on top

landonorris

It’s not a thirst trap

maxfewtrell

I hate both of you

text her mate

you’re happier together

And I’m tired of both of you annoying the shit out of me

landonorris

Fine

Maybe I will

maxfewtrell

Thank god

It’d be the first time you listened to me

—————————————

MESSAGES

INSTAGRAM

yourusername added to their story

maxfewtrell

That better be Lando or so help me god

yourusername

Calm your tits

It is

maxfewtrell

YEAHHHH

Finally

I can stop playing matchmaker

yourusername

😒😒😒😒

————————————————

oscarpiastri

Oh so this means you’ll both stop dragging me into your dumb shit

yourusername

🖕🖕🖕🖕

oscarpiastri

🫶

———————————————

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

landonorris

liked by yourusername maxfewtrell and 13,001,881 others

landonorris told my friends I hate you but I love you just the same

load comments…

user55 YEAHHHHHHH

user56 Y/N LIKED WE’RE SO BACK

user57 my favs

user58 my parents are back together 😭

user59 unlike your real ones

user58 woah???

user59 🤷‍♀️ it’s the truth

user60 I missed them so much 😭😭😭

user61 admitted you love your ex-gf on main, this is self-improvement

yourusername pick your poison, babe

landonorris I’m poison either way

user62 I appreciate the repeating lyrics at each other because it is cute but those are not the kindest lyrics to be repeating 😭

user63 who knew that shit-talking your ex in a song could get him to re-admit his love for you

maxfewtrell took you long enough

landonorris legitimately who asked you

maxfewtrell I’m the reason this even happened in the first place. Watch your tone.

landonorris thanks i guess

maxfewtrell “I guess” @/yourusername this is how happy he is to have you back

yourusername landoooo

landonorris sorry. Thank you so much max, I’m so grateful you brought the loml back to me.

maxfewtrell you’re welcome ☺️

—————————————

yourusername

liked by landonorris maxfewtrell and 20,887,991 others

yourusername got you back

load comments…

user64 she got him back 🥹

user65 YEAHHHHH LFG

user66 awwwww

user67 I love them so much

user68 sleeping on the highway tonight 🫶

oscarpiastri 🥳🥳🥳

liked by yourusername

user69 these pictures are so cute oh my god 😭

user70 IM GONNA GET YOU BACK

landonorris you decided wether you’re gonna be my wife or smash up my bike yet?

yourusername still not sure… maybe both 🤔

user71 BOTH?????

user72 YEAH YEAH THATS FUNNY AND ALL BUT SHE JUST SAID SHE’D MARRY HIM

maxfewtrell congratulations nerds

yourusername thanks mate

user73 I’m in love with both of them

user74 they’re both so much happier together I really hope they stick this time

user75 and when she releases a love album then what

landonorris ily 🫶

yourusername ily2 🫶

user76 Jesus Christ they’re such teenagers 😭 USE FULL WORDS 😭😭😭

user77 no I get them. I wouldn’t post full love confessions in an Instagram comment section either lmao

user78 they got each other back 🫶

———————————————

Taglist: @casperlikej @evie-119

[pathologicalreid]

Hello, love your writing, can i request a oneshot for spencer Reid x wife!reader with the plot of the movie taken where she goes on a business trip or something and she gets taken and the team have to work against the clock to get her back. Had this idea for so long and thought you would be perfect to write it. Perfectly fine if you dont but im craving this story.

leave a message after the beep | S.R.

When you go missing under suspicious circumstances on a business trip, the BAU goes to Texas - and ends up in the middle of something bigger than anticipated.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: kidnapping, blood, guns, reader almost kills someone, hospitals, the securities and exchange commission, typical cm violence, texas, takes place maybe circa season 7 word count: 4.03k a/n: okay anon so like yes i can write this but also i've never seen the movie taken so really i took your request and made it my own! i hope you like it either way!

Tuesday, 2:17 p.m.

“Hey, Spence, it’s me. Shame I got your voicemail, but I just landed at Dallas Fort Worth and I’m waiting for my ride to take me to meet the regional officers. Not sure if you’re traveling, but uh, call me when you get this, I guess. Or when you can. Hopefully, this trip goes better than I think it’s going to… oh, I think my ride is here.”

Tuesday, 6:42 p.m.

“Hey babe, so, the first meeting went fine, they don’t seem very receptive, but people generally aren’t when I’m sent in to change their methods. Wish you’d pick up your phone. Anyway, I’m on my way to the hotel now, I’ll probably try you again before I go to bed. I know my updates are probably riveting.”

Tuesday, 8:09 p.m.

“Well, I’ve definitely stayed in nicer hotels than this one, but I guess I can’t complain about being put up for free. I’m probably just biased because the a/c unit is busted – oh, my room number is 316, I know you like to have it. I opened the windows to let air in but it’s so dry here that I’m not sure it’s helping any. I’ll shut them before I go to sleep, so don’t worry about that. Call me back, I miss you, don’t worry about waking me up. I think that’s all I’ve got, goodnight, I love you!”

There was a collective sigh in the roundtable room, five agents around the room all looked nervously at each other. No one wanted to be the first person to speak. No one wanted to be the first to propose a theory. “Where’s Spencer?” Emily asked, looking through the voicemail transcripts that were splayed out in front of her.

“In Hotch’s office, they’re talking,” Rossi said, eyeing the photo of you that was being projected up on the screen. Most of the time, Penelope just used driver’s license or passport photos in files, but for you, she had chosen a photo from the last BAU O’Keefe’s outing. Your skin was flushed and there was an odd shadow being cast on your face, but your smile was unmistakable.

The official files would have your driver’s license photo, but that picture was for the BAU. Seemingly unable to peel her eyes off of the screen, JJ asked the question that everyone was sitting on, “We’re on this case, right?”

It felt ridiculous, one of their own had gone missing in the middle of the night and they weren’t even sure if they had the jurisdiction to look into it. When no one answered, Morgan looked around the room, “The brass isn’t seriously going to try to tell us not to investigate.”

“No, they’re not,” Hotch said, suit jacket unbuttoned and fluttering behind him as he walked into the roundtable room with purpose. “We’ll debrief more on the plane, JJ and Garcia will stay here, the rest of us are headed to Dallas,” he instructed, nodding at everyone before turning around and walking out the door, the rest of the team following like ducks in a row.

On the jet, the traveling members of the team watched as Rossi held a cup of coffee out for Spencer to take, but the team's youngest member took a moment to even recognize that it was there, “Oh,” he mumbled, “thank you.” Blinking a haze from his eyes, he took the cup in his shaky hands.

A familiar concern flowed among Spencer’s teammates, they all watched as he twisted his wedding ring around his finger – a nervous habit that usually presented itself when he missed you. “Y/N’s boss is en route to Quantico to talk with JJ, the flight’s about three hours, we should get started,” Hotch was the one to speak up, herding the sheep in the correct direction while everything felt aimless.

With his legs tucked beneath himself, Spencer watched the team as they bounced back and forth in a discussion on what you were doing in Dallas and Penelope scoured through your recent communication.

“According to the voicemails and the hotel records, her room was on the third floor,” Emily spoke up, flipping through the file in front of her. “Do we have crime scene photos from the hotel room yet?”

On the video screen, Penelope shook her head, “CSI is still processing the scene, I have an inquiry in with them to send the photos as soon as they can.”

Checking his watch, Hotch looked over at Spencer, still sequestered on one side of the jet, “Make sure they keep the scene undisturbed for when we arrive. Dave and Morgan will meet with the sheriff at the hotel, and the rest of us will head to the precinct to set up.”

If Spencer wanted to be the one to investigate the crime scene, he didn’t protest his assignment, he just continued to spin that gold band on his finger. He didn’t notice the glances exchanged between the rest of his team; he could only think of you.

With the involvement of the BAU, the team had been redirected to the Dallas Field Office. “There was a hole torn in the window screen, the crime scene techs think that’s how they got inside,” Morgan announced to the team, they were all gathering in the conference room.

“On the third floor?” JJ questioned over video chat, she and Penelope sat right next to each other on the screen.

Rossi nodded, “We must be looking at a team. At least two, likely three UnSub’s in order to pull something like this off. They cut the camera feed and broke into the hotel room where she was staying – this was premeditated.”

It wasn’t difficult to deduce that being taken from the third floor of a hotel meant that you had been a target, but the evidence of a break-in settled like a boulder on Spencer’s chest. Someone had intended to take you. Someone had intended on grabbing you from your hotel room in the middle of the night – and they had succeeded.

“Is there any chance she forgot to close the windows when she went to sleep last night?” Emily looked over at Spencer, dark brows raised quizzically as she leaned over the table, skimming through the voicemail transcripts again.

Clenching his jaw, Spencer shook his head, recalling your promise to close the windows before the end of the night. “No, she’d never forget. She knows I worry,” although, after this, you’d never be able to chide him for worrying too much ever again. Sharing a knowing look with the brunette before him, “So, she’s been missing since last night, not this morning.”

The initial assumption had been that you’d disappeared at some point early in the morning, maybe on your way to your first meeting of the day, no one was entirely sure, but this confirmed that you had been missing for at least eight hours more than the first estimate.

A knock on the door garnered the attention of the team, each of them turning to see a field agent, “Uh, Ezra Buchmann is here to speak with you, he said he got a call from your tech girl.”

Hotch nodded succinctly, “That’s the co-worker who reported the case. Morgan, go see if he needs anything. Dave, let’s go check out the office building that Y/N had been working at.”

“Do you think she might’ve been caught up in something at work?” Spencer asked, following his team members with his eyes as they left the conference room.

The unit chief didn’t provide a forward answer, “I’d like to start checking off some possibilities. It’s been fourteen hours with no firm leads.” It wasn’t as optimistic as anyone had hoped, but Hotch shared a look with Emily before leaving the room.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Spencer turned to the evidence board, looking at the pictures of your hotel room, the water splashed around the rim of the bathroom sink, your phone charging on the bedside table, your wedding ring resting on the counter, and if he separated himself from the missing posters, he could almost convince himself that they were just random pictures. Almost.

Frowning at the blown-up images of partial fingerprints and a random CCTV shot from across the street, he recalled your voicemails. “I wasn’t busy,” he confessed to Emily. “When she called me, I wasn’t busy. I was doing other things, but I wasn’t too busy to answer the phone. I assumed that I’d have the chance to talk to her today,” he said, slightly leaning over the oak table, resting his fingerprints on the varnished surface in an attempt to keep himself standing.

Pursing her lips, Emily took a member for responding, “That’s not an outrageous assumption to make,” she tried to reason with a miserable man. “You’d never think something like this would happen.”

“Until it does,” Spencer continued. “We see it happen to people all the time, we’ve made a life of it, but I never thought it would happen to me. To her,” he maundered. If he had a dollar for every time he had heard the same sentiment from victim’s families, he’d never have to work another day in his life. “I did call her back when I got home last night,” he added, though, he wasn’t entirely sure who he was trying to reassure.

In an effort to comfort him, Emily reached out and patted his arm, “We will find her, Spencer.”

Dead or alive? He wanted to retort, but he bit his tongue, holding it in.

As a favor to him, in the hopes of providing him with some emotional respite, Emily had haggled with the field agent whose name was last on the chain of custody of your belongings. It wasn’t entirely proper for evidence to be released to family, but she offered to put her name on it in the interim.

She stayed with Spencer in the conference room, letting him keep your things nearby as she spoke with JJ and went through the information that had been acquired back at Quantico. The team now had your performance reviews at work and, according to JJ, your boss couldn’t say enough good things about you. While it was nice to hear, it didn’t bring them any closer to finding where you were.

Tracing the woodgrain of the table with his fingertips, Spencer eventually tuned the phone call out, instead wondering at what point he was obligated to call your parents. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice your phone was ringing in the evidence bag before him until Prentiss tapped him on the shoulder.

It was an unknown number, but that was a barrier easily blocked by Garcia with a quick search. The rest of the team watched as she blanched on the screen, “Uh, you might want to answer that.”

“Garcia, who is it?” Hotch asked, a hardened look on his face as he looked from the screen to the buzzing cellphone.

JJ frowned at Penelope’s monitor as if she couldn’t believe what she was reading, “It’s the SEC,” she responded.

Swiftly, Hotch answered the phone call, turning on speakerphone so the rest of the team could hear, “Hello.”

“Hello, may I speak with Mrs. Reid?” A male voice came through the receiver, everyone sharing the same wary look.

Focused on the phone call, Hotch shook his head, “This is Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, you can speak with me.” He said, elaborating on the situation and rendering the SEC investigator speechless.

Unable to listen to the conversation any longer, Spencer got up, minding his movements as he walked out of the conference room. He checked the map of the building that was posted on the wall before walking up the stairs, making his way up to the roof of the building.

The dry heat of Dallas was about as miserable as everyone made it out to be, but it was hard to ignore the way it reminded him of home. Maybe he could call his mom – speaking with her usually brought him some semblance of peace. Though, she might have a negative reaction to the situation he found himself in. On the hot rubber roofing, he kicked around piles of dirt before leaning against the ledge of the building, craning his head back and closing his eyes when he heard the rooftop door open.

“Look, I’m really not in the mood for any sort of discussion right now,” he complained, neglecting to spare a glance at whoever was disturbing his quiet – not exactly an Eden, but quiet.

He recognized Emily by the sound her boots made, even on the rubber that had been softened by the relentless sun, “I’d be more surprised if you were in the mood to talk.”

Impulsively, he rolled his eyes, “Did Hotch put you in charge of me?” He was glad his eyes were still shut, that way he couldn’t see the look on Emily’s face when he sniped at her.

“No,” she responded, gathering his attention as he brought his head down, squinting in the sunlight. “I thought you might want to know what just happened,” she nearly challenged, dark hair gleaming in the daylight.

Mentally kicking himself, he nodded for a moment, “You’re right, I just… I’m sorry.”

Taking a moment, Prentiss walked over, standing next to him, “I know.” She sighed, turning around and taking inventory of the surrounding buildings, “She was sent out here to look at some shady dealings of the company – insider trading, that kind of stuff. The main branch has an investigation open with the SEC, and they have been for the last few months. She was supposed to meet with that Ezra guy this morning to try and work something out. Hotch is talking to the CEO right now, he’s claiming he couldn’t tell JJ because it’s need-to-know,” Emily explained, focusing her eyes on the highway in the distance. “The SEC has an office in Fort Worth, they’re sending some people, and they faxed over all of the files.”

Setting his jaw, Spencer was the first to move to the stairs, the air conditioning providing an instant relief as he strode down the steps with Emily trailing close behind.

A field agent was standing in the middle of the office, stirring a cup of coffee, “Would someone really kidnap a woman over an SEC investigation?”

“We’ve seen much worse for much less,” Spencer mentioned in passing, swerving through the office of people until he made it back to the conference room. “Why would Y/N’s boss send her to investigate something that had already been brought to the SEC?” He posed the question to the rest of the team, taking one of the files that Morgan handed him and reading through the pages.

Rossi shrugged, nodding his head in the direction of the evidence board, “He wanted it handled quietly,” he posited. “Maybe he thought she could negotiate a solution and they could call off the securities investigation.”

Understanding where Spencer was going with his question, Hotch watched the board as if it was all coming together, “But, Y/N had no idea there was an open investigation. This was just another assignment to her.”

You had basically said as much in your voicemails, you went in, and you cleaned up fires across the country, and now you were caught in a blaze. “It was a setup,” Spencer concluded.

“And I know just who you need to talk to,” Garcia said over the phone, typing on her keyboard, “Check your phones.”

Ezra’s assistant folded immediately under the threat of being charged with interfering with a federal investigation. She had no knowledge of what her boss was up to, but she did know where the BAU could find him.

On the edge of the city, your company held an old office building that was slated for demolition. With the information from the assistant and some actions of questionable legality from Garcia, the team was able to nail down Ezra’s location and, hopefully, yours.

Letting SWAT lead the way, Spencer, Emily, and Morgan all made their way up yet another flight of stairs, hoping to be able to find you on the third floor. The SWAT commander signaled with his fingers to direct everyone in their respective directions.

There was a clang from across the floor and everyone froze in place, “Fuck you!” Your voice rang out, reverberating through the mostly empty office space. The yelp that followed would have sent Spencer clambering in your direction if it weren’t for Morgan grabbing his arm in warning. “I didn’t know,” you spoke again, your tone less obstinate as the misery you felt crept in.

Drawing their weapons, the team clung to the wall as SWAT gave orders over comms until the team came into view, lifting their firearms.

In retaliation, Ezra pulled you up, keeping a deadly tight grip on your upper arm as he kept you compliant by pressing the barrel of his gun to your temple. “She told me you’d come,” he said, nearly seething with rage like a rabid animal.

It seemed like a ridiculous moment to feel relief, but the fact that you knew the BAU would come for you ever so slightly lightened the weight on Spencer’s shoulders. However, whatever relief he felt was quickly banished from existence when his eyes met yours, you were covered in blood. It leaked in a steady stream from your nose and down your sleep shirt, he hoped that was the extent of the damage that had been done but based on the evidence of a struggle in the hotel room, he doubted it.

“Y/N, don’t look at him, look at us, look at Spencer,” Emily reasoned, noting the way you looked over at your captor, eyeing the gun in his hand.

You didn’t look scared, not to Spencer, though Emily had reasonably assumed that you would be in this situation. “Y/N, don’t,” Spencer said in a warning.

But his warning came too late, you had already swung your bound hands up, grabbing the weapon from Ezra as you kicked his legs out from under him. If Spencer hadn’t been so worried, he would’ve been impressed, but now he found himself in an entirely different situation.

“The safety’s still on,” you chastised as your now shaking hands undid the small latch, settling your pointer finger on the trigger as you stared him down.

SWAT seemed entirely dumbfounded, not sure how to go about the admittedly unique situation, so, it fell upon your husband to talk you down. Slowly, he holstered his weapon and stepped toward you, “Baby, put the gun down.”

You sucked in a harsh breath, “He set me up, Spence”

“I know, darling, I know,” Spencer said breathlessly, holding his hands out to stop any and all movement in the warehouse. “This isn’t the answer though, okay? You know this isn’t the answer.”

Your hands didn’t stop shaking, still bound together by the flex cuffs on your wrists as you narrowed your eyes at Ezra. “He set me up,” your voice broke at the sheer memory of the betrayal.

Distantly, you heard Derek tell people to lower their weapons, convincing the field agents that you weren’t a threat. “This isn’t you,” Spencer insisted.

Blinking as tears fell from your eyes, you gripped the handle of the gun, leaving your pointer finger hovering precariously on the trigger. This isn’t you. This isn’t the answer. This isn’t you. This isn’t the answer.

Swallowing thickly, you looked down at Ezra, who was taunting you, trying to get you to pull the trigger. You fought against yourself, trying not to stare at Spencer because you knew as soon as you met his brown eyes, the choice would be made for you.

“Pull the damn trigger,” Ezra jeered, baring his teeth at you. This was it; this was the end. The FBI had the whole building surrounded. Even if he tried to run, the BAU would follow him, they’d chase him down, and they’d kill him themselves if it came down to it.

Slowly, you moved your thumb, re-engaging the safety before you lowered your arms, handing the gun off to Spencer. As he grabbed the barrel of the gun with one hand, he pulled you in with the other, passing the gun off to Emily so he could hug you tightly.

He pulled away for a moment, retrieving a pocketknife and using it to cut the flex cuffs from your wrists, letting the stiff plastic fall to the ground, and catching you when you practically threw your arms around him.

Your legs gave out from under you, and Spencer wondered how long you had been in this sweltering building without water, likely having used the last of your strength to stop Ezra. “Shh,” he hushed gently, “Let’s sit down,” he spoke to only you as he guided you to the ground.

Closer to you now, he saw more of the damage that had been done, the glazed look over your eyes, your chapped lips, and a bruise on the side of your head. “I knew you’d come,” you murmured dazedly, swaying ever so slightly, “I told him you’d come.”

“I know, I know,” Spencer reassured you, listening to the buzzing of people, hopefully EMTs, around you.

A hiccupping sob almost broke his heart, but he just kept his hold on you, keeping you upright and wishing your nosebleed would clot. “I almost killed him,” you mumbled.

But you didn’t, he wanted to respond. Part of him felt like it would’ve been fine if you had. You’d have gotten away with it, even, but he knew firsthand what it felt like to take another life. He wanted to believe that he had played a part in you turning the safety back on, but even he wasn’t sure.

“How are you feeling? Better?” Spencer asked, sitting on the edge of your hospital bed and taking your hand in his.

He squeezed your hand gently, allowing you to admire the way your wedding ring looked now that it had been returned to its rightful home. “Much,” you assured him, keeping your head resting on the mountain of pillows behind you. You had been cleaned up, stitches on your forehead, and a bandaged cut on your thigh, but the main concern was your dehydration. An IV delivered fluids to you while you sipped on a cup of water, waiting for your stomach to settle enough for you to eat something.

Spencer raised his eyebrows, reaching out and sweeping a strand of hair behind your ear, “Good enough to try something for dinner?”

You nodded apprehensively, “Something light?”

The smile that sprouted on his face was enough to convince you to eat. He offered to go talk to your nurse, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead before he left the room, leaving the door open so you could see him in the hallway.

A small chime got your attention, looking around for the source of the noise, you found yourself digging through Spencer’s bag, retrieving your cell phone from the leather satchel.

There was a scratch over the screen, but it still worked just fine following your skirmish in the hotel, you opened the phone to find that you had a voicemail. You tapped the message before bringing the phone to your ear.

Tuesday, 10:23 p.m.

“Hey love, I’m just leaving the office now. I’m sure they’ll be more receptive to you as you talk more, you can be very convincing. The weather is very dry in Texas, make sure you keep hydrated, okay? I’m sorry I didn’t answer any of your calls, we’ve been trying to prepare all of this paperwork for Strauss and time just got away from us. I miss you, maybe when you get home, we could talk about taking a trip. We could go see my mom. It’s been a while. Hm… I have to admit, I’m a little bummed you didn’t answer the phone, but I’m glad you’re getting sleep. I love you so much, sleep well.”

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Walk The Line.

Carmen gets a little jealous. You don’t mind in the slightest.

roommate!carmen berzatto x female reader

warnings - smut. cursing. semi public antics.

word count - 2.5k

authors note - ask and you shall receive 😌. i’ll never get enough of roommate!carmy. i’ll be writing him forever. <3

as always, if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging!! reblogs are the only way to circulate my writing, which generates more of it. feel free to send me a comment or an inbox, too!! thanks, my loves!! <3

series masterlist. masterlist. inbox.

He’s a little out of his depth, admittedly.

The invitation had been slid under your front door, pretty handwriting on creamy paper.

“A… party?”

“Does it say party, Carmen?”

“No, it says ‘mixer.’ What the fuck is a mixer?”

You laugh, scrubbing a mark off the final dish in the sink before placing it down in the drying rack. Carmy is sat on the counter across the kitchen, reading the invite over and over.

“Seriously, babe. The fuck does mixer mean? So it isn’t a party?”

You dry your hands and make your way over to take the paper from him, eyes scanning over it carefully.

“A mixer is like… a get to know each other thing. It’s sort of like a party, I guess, but not really. Just a casual gathering type situation.”

“Sounds fucking stupid,” he grumbles.

You smack his shoulder, rolling your eyes.

“Lighten up, asshole. It could be fun.”

“Fun? You think having a mixer with all the neighbours from our building on a Friday night is gonna be fun?”

“I think it sounds like an incredible time. My ideal evening. I can’t wait.”

You can’t even pretend not to laugh, grabbing onto his thigh to keep yourself balanced. He puts his hands on your shoulders, trying to look serious, but the grin fighting its way up his cheeks gives him away.

“You really wanna go?”

“Carm, if it’s terrible, we’ll just lie and say we’ve got plans elsewhere. We’ll run away screaming if we need to. It might be good for us though, to meet our neighbours properly. It’s good to get to know them, just in case we ever need anything.”

“What, like a cup of sugar? What is this, the thirties?”

“When you’re testing recipes and fucking them all up, you might be grateful to be able to nip next door and borrow a cup of sugar.”

“I don’t fuck recipes up.”

“No? Then why were you yelling at a lavender and oat crème brûlée last week?”

“It was mocking me,” he grumbles under his breath, hanging his head.

You can’t help but laugh, moving closer to stand between his manspread legs where he still sits on the counter. You brush a piece of hair back from his forehead, tracing your index finger in a featherlight touch down the bridge of his nose. He looks down at you, eyes glued to yours.

“I know for a fact you don’t have anything else planned on Friday,” you whisper.

He rolls his eyes but leans into your touch anyway, where you’re still tracing along the features of his face.

“You promise we can leave if it’s terrible?”

“We literally live in this building. We can just walk up the stairs and be home.”

He huffs, but relents.

“Fine. But please don’t leave me alone with all of the middle aged moms. They love me.”

“Oh, I’m sure they do,” you giggle, leaning in to rest your head on his chest. His arms encircle you, pulling you as close as he can.

Is this scene too intimate for roommates? Without a doubt.

Do either of you care? Not in the slightest.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It’s not as bad as he thought it’d be.

The middle aged moms have pulled through, actually. The lobby is decorated with fairy lights, tables covered in alcohol set up against the walls. Everyone has a drink in their hand, chatting and mingling amongst themselves.

You and Carmen walk downstairs a little late. He’d finished his shift and run home to shower and make himself look semi presentable before facing the neighbours.

“We need a signal,” he says suddenly, right as you reach the staircase. “In case of emergencies.”

“Pat your head.”

“Real subtle.”

“It doesn’t need to be subtle, it needs to be noticeable for me.”

“Fine,” he mutters, bumping his shoulder into yours. “Don’t leave me alone with that Erica lady. She scares me.”

“Yes sir,” you mock salute, slipping your hand into his momentarily. “You’ll be fine, Carmen. Like I said, we’ll just leave if it’s awful.”

It’s not awful, actually. It’s quite fun.

It’s nice to get to know the people in your building, seeing as you have lived there for a couple of years now. Carmen has been there even longer.

“Excuse me, sweetheart?”

You turn around to be met with an old lady, leaning carefully on her cane.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“I’m Dorothy. I live in 2B, and I just had to tell you that you look beautiful in your dress.”

You smile, pulling out a chair for her, which she takes gladly. You sit down next to her, spotting Carmy chatting with a couple of guys across the room.

“Thank you so much!”

You introduce yourself, telling her your name and apartment number.

“Ah yes,” she hums in recognition. “You live with your boyfriend who has all the tattoos.”

You almost choke on your drink.

“We’re just roommates,” you say eventually. “But yes, that’s him.”

“Oh, my apologies. I just assumed.”

You’re curious, suddenly. You know you shouldn’t be, but you can’t help yourself.

“Can I ask? Why you… thought we were dating?”

She chuckles knowingly before placing a hand on your knee.

“Honey, he’s got a hand on you at all times. He looks at you like you are the sun. Every time you walk past my window, you’re both laughing. Sounds like love to me.”

Her bluntness is refreshing, if not a little intimidating. No one will say it how it is more than a little old lady who can’t mind her business.

“We, uh… we’re close. He’s a good roommate. A good friend.”

She doesn’t look convinced in the slightest, chuckling as she pats your leg.

“Uh huh. That’s what I said about my husband - real good friend. We’ve been married 58 years.”

You smile, shaking your head.

“Is he here with you?”

“He’s upstairs. He can’t really leave the apartment, these days.”

“You know, if you ever need anything, me and Carmen would be happy to help.”

“No, sweetheart, I couldn’t ask you to-”

“-you’re not asking me, I’m offering. Carmen is an award winning chef at one of the best restaurants in this city. He’d be more than happy to make a meal or two when needed. And I can pick you guys up stuff from the grocery store when I go, too.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, grabbing your hand in her frail one. “You’re good kids, you two.”

You grin at her, squeezing her hand gently.

“You know where I am, if you need me.”

She nods, standing up carefully.

“I’m going to go see if that handsome Jeremy will come and fix my shower for me. He did promise.”

You laugh, watching as she makes a beeline for one of the dads stood in a huddle. You catch eyes with Carmy, who’s still chatting away with a few of the younger guys. He winks at you, all cheeky and carefree, and you can’t help but flush, heat prickling across your skin. You shake your head, smiling, winking back.

Suddenly, there’s a hand on your bicep. You spin sideways, to be met with the sight of a very handsome man. Dark hair, big brown eyes, tall - he looks slightly like a movie star you can’t quite remember the name of. You crane your neck to meet his gaze, smiling softly.

He holds out his hand to introduce himself.

“Hi, I’m Daniel.”

You tell him your name, trying to ignore how his hand engulfs yours.

“Pretty name for a pretty girl.”

You laugh, shaking your head.

“Have you lived here long? Think I’d remember a face like yours.”

Now he shakes his head.

“A month, maybe. I live in 6C. I’ve been working a lot, so haven’t had any time for introductions.”

“Ah. What do you do?”

“I’m a model.”

Of course he is.

“What do you do?”

As you start to tell him, his eyes fix on yours, not leaving for a moment. He listens carefully, both of you blocking out the noise and focusing on each other.

Turns out, Daniel is good company. The two of you find a spot in the corner, away from the noise and the wine drunk moms. The two of you laugh, joke, and talk about Chicago as if you’re old friends. Time slips away from you easily, conversation flowing with minimal effort.

“I don’t want to leave, trust me… but I have a super early call time tomorrow. If you wanted, we could grab a drink sometime, somewhere that’s not our buildings lobby?”

You laugh, nodding.

“Yeah, I’d like that. It was nice to meet you, Daniel.”

“You too. Here,” he says, handing you a small business card with his number on, “text me.”

“I might do just that,” you tease as he walks away grinning.

You’re on your way to grab another drink when a hand slinks around your wrist.

“Hi, Carmen.”

You don’t even have to turn to know who it is, recognising the feeling of his calloused hand against your soft skin.

“Where’s your friend gone?” he all but grumbles.

“He’s gone home, got to be up early for work.”

“Haven’t we all.”

“Ooo, okay Mr Attitude. You’re not having a good night? You didn’t give me the signal.”

“Would you have noticed if I did?”

You spin around to face him properly now.

“Yes, I would have. Because we’re in a tiny fucking lobby and not a football stadium, Carmen.”

He huffs.

“Didn’t think you’d notice if the building fell down, the way you were lost in his eyes.”

“I know it’s a foreign concept to you, Carmen, but eye contact is actually a very important part of conversation. Try it some time.”

Carmy rolls his eyes, grip on your wrist tightening.

“Come on,” he mumbles. “Wanna show you something.”

He practically drags you up the stairs, and up some more, and up some more. Eventually, you reach the roof.

The sun is just setting, casting the city in a warm orange glow. Everything is so calm, so peaceful, so serene. It’s beautiful.

You’re admiring the view when suddenly your feet are no longer on the ground. Carmy has you over his shoulder, carrying you across the rooftop to the brick wall.

“The fuck are you doing?” you cry as he finally puts you down.

He smashes his lips to yours, choosing to shut you up rather than answer you. You kiss back eagerly, confused but not disappointed at the turn in events. Slipping your hands into his hair, you tug him into you, groaning as he grabs at your ass.

“Carmen,” you breathe, “why don’t we just go home?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he mumbles against your neck, pressing kisses wherever he can reach. When he bites down, you smack his shoulder.

“No marks, asshole. The fuck is up with you?”

Again, he says nothing, just slips his hand under your dress to run his fingers over your underwear. You part your legs instantly, leaning back into the wall to steady yourself.

“Carmen, someone’s gonna see if they come up here.”

“Well then you better come quickly.”

He slips your panties to the side, running his fingers through your wet heat. You keen, knees buckling already.

“Oh baby,” he chuckles. “This all for Daniel?”

It all clicks for you suddenly.

“That’s what-” you choke as he slides a finger into you. “That’s what - fuck - has you so riled up? Daniel?”

“Don’t say his name when I’m knuckle deep, baby. It’s rude.”

You attempt to scoff, but it comes out as more of a moan when he presses his thumb to your clit, circling carefully.

“Am I not giving you what you need, honey? Is that it? Greedy girl just wants more, so she looks elsewhere to get it?”

“No,” you justify quickly. “You know that’s not true.”

“If you can still form sentences, I’m clearly doing something wrong.”

He slips a second finger in, curling them exactly the way he knows you like.

“Carm.”

“He couldn’t make you feel like this, babe. You and I both know it.”

You’re nodding, fingers gripping his shirt tightly as if you’re scared he’s going to walk away. His lips press into your neck again, nipping along the expanse of skin.

“Say it.”

“Hmm?”

You’re dazed, mind hazy with Carmen Carmen Carmen Carmen Carmen.

“Say. It.”

He punctuates his words by curling his fingers harshly. You’re seeing stars, legs giving out.

“He - he… fuck, Carmen, please.”

“So close, honey. Try again.”

You know he won’t relent. He never does, when he’s in a mood. You have to just give him what he wants.

“He couldn’t make me feel this good, Carm. It’s all for you, only you.”

“Good girl. Knew you could do it.”

With that, he speeds up his fingers, his other arm snaking around your back to keep you standing upright.

“Give it to me, baby. Know you want to. That’s it, atta girl.”

“Come for me, there we go. Can feel you.”

“Good girl, good fuckin’ girl. So pretty like this.”

You fall over the edge, clenching like a vice around his fingers as you throw your head back. There’s a sheen of sweat coating your skin, chest heaving with every breath you take. Your vision goes white for a second, gripping onto Carmy’s biceps for dear life.

You rest your forehead against his chest, panting as you try to recover.

“Jealous Carmen is kinda mean,” you mumble into his shirt.

He laughs, wrapping his arms around you.

“You know I didn’t mean it, right? You’re free to date whoever you want. You could do a lot worse than Daniel the hot supermodel.”

You pull back, looking at him carefully.

“I know. I just… I don’t know if I’ll go. Seems a bit unfair to date him when my mind is on someone else.”

You both know exactly who you mean. You both also know that tipsy on a rooftop is not the place to have that conversation.

“Did you ever master the lavender crème brûlée?”

He chuckles, not expecting the sudden change in subject.

“Yes, I did.”

“Do we have any left?”

“We don’t. But I did make chocolate soufflé this afternoon, if that’ll satisfy your sweet tooth.”

“Fuck, yes,” you grin, leaning in to kiss him tenderly.

“I’ll make you a crème brûlée in work tomorrow. Promise.”

“Will you make two extras?”

He quirks a brow in confusion, so you continue.

“We’ve got two elderly neighbours. They’re not very mobile, so I said we’d drop stuff off every now and again.”

He smiles at you, all soft and melted.

“Of course. That heart of yours is too big for your chest, you know.”

You take hold of his hand, placing it there.

“Only sometimes.”

He kisses you again before throwing an arm over your shoulders.

“Let’s go eat chocolate soufflés and drink the rest of that wine you bought.”

“You’re a mind reader,” you laugh, making your way downstairs.

Maybe he is, you think later. You don’t mind in the slightest.

[nichuuu]

Scatterbrain

Word count: 18k+

They say it takes a village to raise a child. 

To raise a girl as fine as Jang Wonyoung, you’d probably need 3 whole villages.

Two of those three villages would be used to train the way she walks because it’s perfect: classy, poised, elegant. The other one would have to work on her outfits because god would she need those. Hopefully the village doesn’t operate a Shein style manufacturing line. She’d hate that.

Her face is the definition of “striking the gene pool lottery”, and so is the rest of her body. Lanky arms and legs; toned, slim tummy; big, bright eyes that glimmer under the flashing lights. Personally, you like her “you’re on camera” smile the most. She knows this, and she always makes it a point to shoot it your way as she struts towards you. She stops half way to get a flute of Champagne, make that two actually, then grabs another. Those long legs can cover one hell of a distance, and they bring her right to you in a matter of seconds.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” she hands you the Champagne flute in her left hand, and the rings on it shine in the light, “cause it’s starting to feel like you’re just stalking me now.”

Of course, it’s the snarky remarks that open the conversation. Jang Wonyoung, airheaded as ever m’lady, and you sip on the Bubbly that she’s very nicely delivered to you. Wonyoung is, of course, a little bit of an airhead in your books (only because she believes that you’re always there for her, nothing else), and it’s never not hilarious to watch her draw her lips into a thin line. It’s not the first time she’s hearing this from you; it certainly won’t be the last. You can’t control where you’re posted to, but you know for a fact that you’ll see her again a couple months down the road.

Cause your meetings with Jang Wonyoung are through pure serendipity really, and you certainly will start calling it that after you read that one story. You know: the one where this guy cheats on his idol girlfriend, who he has a tense relationship with, with another idol that he happens to meet just about everywhere. There’s 0 communication between the two of you when these types of events come around, and neither of you know if either of you will be there or not. Actually, it’s just you really; neither of you know if you will be there. 

“Here for Kwon Eunbi again? Or are you finding someone else?” This question of her’s is customary at this point. Never once has it been perfunctory.

“Well, I was actually here to try and catch an interview with Jo Yuri, but I guess you’ll do,” you reply. Wonyoung scoffs—so I’m second place then?—and you have to assuage her oh-so-damaged ego, “you’re making this inference on your own Princess. I never said anything remotely close to that.”

And it’s that smile on her face that makes you want to kiss her really. It’s gorgeous, it’s cute, it’s beautiful. She’s given you that damned smile so many times that you could probably draw it from memory, though you’d definitely butcher it. The dress is certainly doing it justice, and you watch it brush against the skin of her legs as she shifts her weight to the other foot. I’ve never been that good at inferences. You’re far better than me, Prince, and she’s playing with her hair: twirling and untwirling it around her finger. That ribbon atop her head… Her stylist certainly knows their stuff.

“Think I’ll win an award this year?” Her question draws you away from your thorough examination of her. You take a moment to think, and you have to say, it depends, but I think you could definitely get something in some category. She gives you this inscrutable look, and she’s chuckling to herself as she looks at the crowd and sips on her champagne. You can guess what she’s about to say next: quite the crowd today, huh? And you’d reply, “Don’t think that they’re all here for you”, and that would prompt her to shoot back with, “Then who are they here for? You?”. 

But of course, when do things ever go according to plan?

“Have you thought about my offer?” she asks, and you’re caught off guard. 

Cause here’s the history between you two: Middle school best friends, always kind of inseparable. She was the beauty queen, it girl, and she still is; you were the writer, head of the school magazine, and you’re pretty much writing for the rest of your life. Wherever you went with her, rumours followed—Are they dating? I think they’re just friends. Maybe she’s trying to be the front of the magazine?—but you never thought much of it. It was just a simple friendship to you, nothing more. 

Then the kiss she gave you in high school changed it all.

It was a party, hosted by one of your mutual friends. She kissed you, and no, it wasn’t a Spin The Bottle forfeit, nor was it a dare of any sort; it was a sincere, tender kiss in the garden—unprompted, and away from any prying eyes and soft like silk chiffon. You have to admit, the sensation had your brain mired for a minute or so. But when you came back to your senses, you kissed her right back, and things got complicated after that. 

No one knew of it; it was your little secret. Wonyoung became closer than ever, and next thing you know, she declares the two of you “exclusive” but not dating. It’s because her agency has that funky dating ban thing, and Wonyoung was desperate to find a loophole, albeit a little complex. Of course, you’re willing to stay “exclusive” with Wonyoung in secret, but you started to worry that it can’t stay this way for long after the two of you get out of high school. 

But as fate would have it, your career paths meet at the crossroads, and now you see her every other month or so. You still text her when you can, and the “exclusive” relationship has sustained. Now that she’s an adult and she’s bringing in mad bucks for the agency, she’s informed you of some changes in her contact. From there, the offer was birthed, and you have left it unchecked for the past four months or so, “grey ticked” as she liked to call it.

“You haven’t texted in a while, thought you died,” she continues, leaning on her elbows against the table. “Thank god you’re alive, huh?”

You hoped that she’d just forget about it, but she’s more of a mnemonist than you give her credit for. An award show is the last place you expected to be caught off guard by Jang Wonyoung, but she’s definitely a master of surprise. I uh… I haven’t really thought about it, is a lie you tell her and yourself. She smiles enigmatically, downs the rest of her Champagne. 

“Let’s talk about it tonight,” she touches your chest, and it’s soft like silk chiffon, “you know where to find me, Prince.”

She struts off to join the rest of her members, stops halfway to return her Champagne flute, then looks back at you over her shoulder to give you a small wave. You sip on your Champagne as the silk brushes against her skin. 

It’s a heavy breath that leaves your mouth, and it’s the rest of the Champagne that goes in.

*

302.

Gold lettering, black plaque. It’s grand, pretty elegant. Suits her well. 

Then the door opens. 

In her bathrobe, Jang Wonyoung shoots her “you’re on camera” smile. You’re earlier than expected—she lets you in—Matter of fact, I thought you might not show at all.

And it’s a must to quip back, “thought you’d be asleep by now you big baby.”

When the door closes, it’s straight to work, and here’s how that normally goes: kissing, undressing, foreplay, then finally—fucking. Not that it has to follow that order or anything, but it’s the unspoken schedule that Wonyoung’s written up. God forbid anyone goes against what the princess is comfortable with, not that you’d ever try to either way. Your voice is barely a mumble past her lips—aren’t we supposed to talk about something?—and Wonyoung’s quick to dismiss any queries, “later. There’s always time for it later”. 

So it’s the kiss that’s pulling you back into her. Her front teeth capture your bottom lip, pull, drags it back a little like she’s trying to unwrap you like a present. You hold her waist, and with gentle hands, you push her back against the wall. It’s not that you’re trying to get control or anything; you’re just attempting to give her something to work with, a place to rest as she starts to work on the buttons of your shirt. 

“Are you already naked underneath that?” you whisper, though it’s more of a drawl than a whisper. In response, she momentarily stops with your buttons to slide a section of her bathrobe away, giving you a good look at a column of her naked, milky skin. 

In short: Yes, she is very much naked under that robe.

“Don’t get distracted, my prince. Eyes up here.”

“You’re the one that made me look, princess.”

She’s evidently struggling with the last button of your shirt, and you have to let go of her for a moment to help her get it done. Then it’s off with the shirt, and she flings it against the door for convenience sake. Your belt’s next, and that’s taken care of before you can even say, let me undress you Princess. It does make her hesitate at the clasp of your trousers for a bit. Just for a bit.

“I’d like,” her fingers are moving again, and they’re awfully quick at unfastening your pants, “for you to unwrap me on the bed instead.”

How raunchy of her. Makes you want to try her on.

Your pants fall. Your hand slithers into the bathrobe. Her jaw drops. Wonyoung my darling, and your fingers have captured one of those perky breasts, the right one to be exact. How do you ever—it’s light pressure to the nipple for you; it’s mind melting for her—get away with being such a big slut? Look at you, I’m barely even squeezing here. You’d like to save that face she makes in a supercut of her other memorable faces: eyes wide, mouth agape and her chin tucked into her neck. Frame it up, take a step back, admire it. It’s the face of someone who’s pent up, the expression of a needy girl who’s been aching to get some dick. Maybe if you guys had met a little sooner, she wouldn’t be this sensitive. But now? A twist of your forefinger and thumb is all it takes to draw a cry out of her, a little more pressure is enough to rain hellfire upon her. What a crazy-hot mess she is; only god knows how to clean her up and get her sorted out.

Open mouth straight to your ear, Wonyoung lets out a breathy gasp. In your fingers, the stiff peak rolls between the pads—back, forth, back, forth: motions that make her weak in her knees. It’s with great effort that she pulls your face back to hers, captures you in her quivering lips. Elegance has long been thrown out the window by now, and it’s not going to be returning for quite some time, as if you ever need it at a time like this. She’s barely holding herself up at this point. Where did the prim proper Jang Wonyoung go? 

The answer’s in her kiss—gone, dusted, she was here just a minute ago though. She’s grasping at whatever inch of your skin she can find, and her nails are definitely gonna be leaving marks on the sides of your neck. You let out a small, wry laugh as you silently observe her behaviour, watching her implore without speaking, badger without requesting. It’s an art form really, the form of expression for the horny and desperate and bratty. When her hands grip your face and her nails sink into your cheek, you pinch a little harder and relish the pleasant vibrations that are sent into your mouth as she gasps. Her palms press into your jaw, and they’d probably crush it if you press any harder. Her feet patter against the wood as she starts to direct you to the bed. You kick off your shoes together with your pants. 

It’s definitely a sight to take in: Jang Wonyoung in a massive king size bed, a thin bathrobe being the only thing between you and that wonderful body being the bathrobe. Maybe if she wasn’t in this state she’s in, she’d gesture to you with a come hither motion, and invite you to remove the fabric from her body. Instead, she opts for a spine tingling mewl, and that’s your invitation to her body. It’s hardly an insinuation; the fact that she wants to be unwrapped like a present is undeniable, she used the word unwrap herself. The bunny knot holding the two pieces of fabric is symmetrical—has Wonyoung’s fingerprints all over it. If it weren’t for the fact that she’s watching you with a half-open mouth, maybe you’d compliment her on her efforts a little, maybe even call her “princess” a couple more times before you properly ruin her.

(But she’s already ruined, ruined by a mere bit of pressure to the nipple. What else can make her tick now?)

Her body is at your mercy and it, quite literally, jerks as you start to pull at the knot, undoing it centimetre by centimetre, millimetre by millimetre, inch by inch. You want to see how long she can watch for, how long she can witness herself be undressed in a painfully slow fashion. Needy as she is, she’s patient as she watches one end of the rope grow longer. 

Longer. 

“Do you want me to speed this up, baby?” The smirk on your face would earn you a pout from her if her nerves weren’t in a bundle at the given moment.

“W-Whatever you want,” she answers, and her voice is brimming with breathy arousal. How are you getting away with all this? She’d grab your wrist and pull by now if she wasn’t so damn needy right now.

You give a dry laugh. “Then I’ll keep at this then.”

Longer.

“Fuck. Just pull it all the way already.” She looks you right in the eye as she begs you to hurry, and now you can see the need brimming in those large, round eyes, the ones that stare back at you with soft intensity, if that’s even possible. She’s good at mixing emotions into her stare.

“I thought you said—”

“Just fucking do it!”

Slack.

And the knot comes undone, and together with it, the robe falls off to the sides of her body—it’s beautiful. Never have you taken so much pleasure in undressing her, but you sure-as-hell have taken this much time to admire that wonderful, slender frame. From your standing view over her, you get down to her level to get a better look at her. It’s all part of the game of course: the way you look her in the eye, the way you touch her jaw ever so slightly to turn it towards you. The kiss is sickly sweet, and she’s starting to taste more and more like that cherry lipstick you gave her when you saw her some time ago at another event. Into your mouth, she lets out a sonorous moan. Your fingertips brush along her skin, slither down from her collarbone to her cleavage—down to that flushed pink region between her equally flushed thighs. Almost instantly, the tip of your digits are coated in slick fluids, and you raise an eyebrow at the girl on the bed.

“I literally touched you.” It’s amusement permeating your voice more than anything. In the sheets, she squirms in the slightest, eyes locked on your fingers that rest against that dripping heat and breath caught in her throat. You know that if you were to shift your finger in the slightest, you’d trigger a chain reaction that you have no power over. Her legs would clamp, her abdomen would tense, her eyes would roll. In the midst of it all, she’d maybe scream, or maybe she’d moan; either way goes. As far as you’re concerned, she’s needy as fuck at the moment, and she’s not going to let anything stop her from cumming.

“Yea, well… I can be sensitive.” Her defence is hardly a solid one, more of a perfunctory reply. Her head’s far from able to formulate a quip to throw back at you; that ability went out the window together with classy Wonyoung. “Put them in.”

You go against her request, and your fingers start to skirt the edges of that swollen, pink slit of hers. A crime—you’re going against the princess’ wishes, but realistically speaking: she can hardly be called a princess at the moment, so why comply? 

A portion of the bathrobe is still clinging on to her breast. You use your other hand to push it away, and the split second of contact makes her flinch. “Jesus. You’re so fucking turned-on right now,” you can’t help but muse, all while your fingers retrace te outline of her swollen lips. She’s shivering, she isn’t breathing quite right. “Do you want to moan, baby? Do you want to moan like a good little slut for me?”

And she fixes you with a glare. “F-Fuck you… Put them in.”

No “please” this time. Shame. If she were more polite, you would’ve obliged; now you’ll just have some more fun with her. 

Your thumb finds the swollen nub, and a little brush is all you need to get her straining like a psycho in a straitjacket. What will I ever do with you Wonyoung?—and she’s getting wetter by the second—You look so pretty when you’re so needy, you know that?—why would you ever, for a second, think that she’d be as refined as the last time? She doesn’t play with herself when she needs to get off; she waits till she sees you again to get off on your cock, your fingers, your mouth. Sexting was off the table, she wants you to be physically there, driving her insane as she lets herself come undone. 

“You know,” and you’re almost laughing as you watch her face twist even further, “that I could do this forever right? I could just lie here, tease you for as long as I want… Or maybe that’s what you want?

She’s messy, so fucking messy. Juices are starting to soak the bed—you can feel it as your fingertips round the bottom of her slit. Housekeeping would certainly question the spot, and the two of you wouldn’t be there to reply anyway. Her cheeks are flushed, the veins of her throat are popping. It takes a considerable amount of effort to stay this composed, but you know that she’s breaking more and more. With each round your fingers make, cracks start to form along that perfectly sculpted face. The fine lines on her forehead begin to show as her brows start to furrow. Strained sounds are coming from her throat as the urge to moan is slowly winning the battle against her will. She wants control, but she can’t have it when she’s a wet, hot mess next to you. She’s being bratty for the sake of it. Your fingers are your leverage against her. It’s killing her. It’s delighting you.

And just like fine China thrown against concrete, her will shatters. 

“Please! Put them in!”

And your fingers stop just at the top of her pussy. It feels like a long minute, but she isn't about to take another second of this. Her thighs clamp against your arm. Her fingers wrap around your wrist in desperation. She begs again. And again. And again. And again, again, again. The bed starts to creak as you start to move your fingers down her lips, down to the very end of her cunt.

God is she dripping.

“Will you moan for me?” you drawl huskily. A finger, two, three rest themselves against her heat. 

“Yes.” There’s barely any of her original self left in there. “Please just—”

The fingers breach her opening. She screams, a high-pitched, keening cry. The noise makes your cock strain in your boxers, and you have to grit your teeth as her inner walls wrap tightly around your intruding digits. A moment of stillness comes, a moment where she’s just breathing raggedly, struggling to process this pleasure that’s racking her body faster than she can comprehend. She’s a ticking time bomb of nerves; the slightest movement in this state could send her into perdition, and she’ll barrel past that point of no return faster than both of you can imagine. God, she’s sensitive. God, she’s a mess. 

The chuckle that departs from your mouth is one of perverse pleasure. “Baby,” you whisper, right into her ear as she struggles to catch her breath. She squeezes her eyes shut, and you watch with a grin as her chest rises and falls. The grip on your wrist is a vice, knuckle-white and unrelenting. She’s begging you, with her eyes, to start moving, and you have to tell her, “I can’t start till you let go of me, baby.”

And it’s with reluctance that she slips her hand off your wrist, but that hand won’t stay empty for long. You guide it to her own breast, and with a soft whisper, you tell her to squeeze. She’s servile. She complies without protest. Her eyes slowly open themselves, and you relish the way they’re lust-glazed appearance looks under warm light while her breaths level themselves out. For a moment, there’s calm. For a moment, it’s tender.

Then your fingers start to move. All hell breaks loose.

Everything she did to calm herself quickly becomes futile; it becomes undone as her back arches in a way that catches your breath in your throat. Your fingers graze her walls, pressed into each other as they slowly draw in and out of her. And mind you: you’re going slow, slow enough to make her feel every bit of your fingers brush against her insides. But it’s enough to make her curse, enough to get her mewling like a damn kitten while her hips start to rock, rubbing her clit against the base of your palm. There’s no way to describe how needy she looks; her want is beyond words, and you’ve barely even started. Three fingers is the most you’ve ever put inside her. Clearly, it’s working wonders for her.

And now you yourself have to admit: you’ve wanted her for some time now. Since the last time you saw her, you’ve fantasised about that slim tummy twitching, about holding that snatched waist once more, about those long legs wrapped around your neck while your tongue and fingers turn her into a pliant plaything. For weeks, you’ve wanted nothing more than pulling Jang Wonyoung apart, reduce her into a withering mess wherever you guys are and get her screaming till she’s sore. You can’t even begin to describe what you’ve done with her in your dreams, nor can you ever convey how it feels to desire her as much as you have. So, you put all of it into action, sordid sentiments channelled into your fingers that are making those cute features twist and contort in perverse pleasure. She’s rambunctious, and her juices are quite literally soaking your hand, spilling the strongest sillage of lust all over the bed. 

“Why do you always have to be so fucking messy?” You’re really just trying to see how much you can get away with at this point, though the answer seems to be: just about everything. Your fingers start moving faster. You love the way her cheeks are starting to flush even more. “Are you always this wet? Or is it just for me?”

The squelching is lewder than you can ever imagine. The sound of her slick, wet heat being breached by your fingers is enthralling. Add the sounds she’s making into that and you have the ultimate erotica audio that can bless mankind. She’s panting, she’s moaning, she’s whining—she’s doing it all really, and you’re just using your fingers. God knows how she’ll react once you’re inside of her, rock hard meat stretching her out instead of a few fingers fiddling around in warm walls. 

But hey, the sounds she’s making are ever so erotic, and she’s definitely making your blood flow to all the right places. She feels out of place; you can’t put your finger on what’s wrong in this whole thing. It’s probably a small detail, something you’d overlook over the sight of her chest heaving as air shoots out and gets sucked back into her mouth, her whole body straining and convulsing against the bed while you get a thumb on her clit and rub at a languid tempo. Probably something miniscule, not worth mentioning because all your attention is focused on the look on her face (you want to mess up the makeup so badly it’s almost frustrating). And no, you’re not trying to make her cum in five seconds; she’s just really riled up—bundle of nerves and trigger happy. Probably hasn’t been treated this way in a while, probably hasn’t had three fingers twisting around, sliding in and out of that tight wet hole slow enough to make her feel every bit of skin against her walls; fast enough to make her combust if you were to speed up, in, like, forever. 

“I–I…” She’s quite literally mewling, and the sharpness in her voice is so cutting that it makes an incision in a bag inside you that’s keeping all the perverse thoughts at bay. The thoughts are leaking out now, and it’s almost impossible to stuff them back in. You want her against the glass: tits against the window and ass in your hands while you pump and pump and pump into that slick tight hole; you want nothing more but to pick her up and have her lock her legs around you, tight frame flushed against you while you nail her against one of these walls that surround you; you want to unhinge that jaw and watch that pretty mouth—now parted to let the stream of moans flow—take your cock in and out between those kiss-swollen lips and watch the drool leak out the corners of her mouth. Shit. It’s killing you. Jang Wonyoung, dolled up. She’s killing you. 

(No way in hell are thighs meant to be this hot, and lips are not  supposed to look this delicious. Yet Jang Wonyoung somehow goes against every fucking norm, fights it naturally and effortlessly and wins like a seasoned warrior. So just for her case: her thighs can be this hot and flushed, and her lips can look this fucking appetising. You kiss her; it’s sloppy, it’s lewd, it’s hot and everything in between. Mark her neck, mark that row of skin above her right collarbone, mark her everywhere. Cusses are flying—god forbid her agency finds out about the things hse says while she’s getting fingered. She's making a mess out of herself. She’s making a mess out of you.

Fingers, just fingers and she’s already looking like this: hair fanned out, frazzled, looking like she just went through a car wash and yet somehow has her make-up intact. Fuck. You want to watch the mascara run, watch it streak while she tears up as she’s choking down cum and she’s struggling to take in air. Pretty little princess, messy and glacially being turned into some improper slut. It’s hard to not smirk while you ruin her with the same fingers you use to type articles about her—fingers that sing praises and can also make her moan enough to make her throat hoarse.)

The rhythm of your hand makes her body roll. Her toes–painted over, fresh manicure—curl into the sheets. Doe-like eyes stare back at you, plump red lips part to gasp your name, throat muscles strain trying to  curse and moan at the same time. The fingers are gliding in and out and in and out and she’s begging you to not stop (like hell you ever would) in those choke up little sobs while she’s—

Oh fuck baby I can’t I can’t I can’t — Anything. I’ll do anything. Please just let me cum. I’m so fucking close baby. Please just let me fucking cum. I’ll be a good girl. I-I promise I’ll be a good fucking girl for you just… Fuck!

—blue screening on your fingers: lost in the sauce or whatever. Pliant plaything, docile doll. You’re certain she hasn’t gotten off in at least a month if the way she’s taking it is any sort of yardstick. She’s far beyond drenched, far beyond salvation and way off the deep end of the “needy” pool—drowning herself in her own sea of sighs and gasps and moans and loose phonics that slip out of her mouth. Ostinato of your fingers squelching in her cunt; half time rhythm of the creaky bed; melody of the chorus of Jang Wonyoung’s voice—music to your ears.

And there’s lots to unpack from the moment you locate that soft spot at the top of her pussy. There’s a lot of cussing, a lot of jolting, a fair amount of whining and your name is thrown somewhere in that mix. You find her lips, she kisses back, one of her hands grabs your arm, nails dig in and stay there. Flurry of actions, filthy language—fucking hell, someone stop her.

Bottom line: lots of action. You find it congenial to start from the part where it quite literally ends her world. Once your digits curled up into that sensitive patch of flesh, it was all over for her.

You can pinpoint the exact moment where the orgasm rips through her body, the exact moment where her muscles seized so perfectly that her back arches. The pulse around your fingers is strong, walls tight around your digits and your thumb gently rubbing on her clit while the pleasure rolls through her body, molten iron libido converting the feeling between her thighs to electricity that makes her short circuit. The moan is breathy if anyone’s asking, and the look on her face—twisted, perverse satisfaction: superimposing need and want—has a whole foot over the line of pornographic. Wires are fraying in her head, her vocal cords are strained, she’s ruining the sheets with her juices; you’re complicit in every damn part of this, and guilt is the last thing on your mind.

Then her back falls back flat against the mattress, and the sheets ripple as her body makes a dense thump against the bed, punctuating the sigh she releases into the air. Nerves are unbundling themselves. She’s sweaty and panting. Your fingers are beyond soaked.

“Messy,” you muse, slowly drawing your juice slicked fingers out of her cunt. You bring them to her mouth. She languidly tastes herself, sweat-darkened sheets hugging the muscles of her shoulders and lining her ribs. She looks so tiny in the bed if you looked over the fact that her legs were dangling over the edge of the mattress, and that’s easy to do once you lean in for a kiss.

(It’s not hard to slip your tongue into her mouth, and there’s barely any fight left in her as you roll her nipple between your index finger and thumb. The sweat-matted hair sticking to her forehead adds a nice touch to her face.)

“Such a good girl.” Your tone is warm as you praise her, and a hand moves to cup her cheek in an act of tenderness. Her eyelids flutter shut. She puts the weight of her face into your palm. 

“Do I get my reward now?” she whispers, and it’s more of a plea than a question really. You take a moment, not to think, but to drag out the suspense for a little more before you give her an answer. You take guilty pleasure in knowing that you could keep her on tenterhooks for the whole night—the only thing stopping you is the throbbing of your cock in your boxers and the look of sheer need on her face. If you could: you’d drag this out a little longer, maybe tease her a little and call her more names. You still could do that, but you’d much rather fuck her instead. 

“Where do you want it?” your thumbs hook into the waistband of your boxers and hook them down. Your cock springs free from its cottons confines, and Wonyoung’s eyes instantly dart to it. She may be a little obsessed with your cock, but only a little when she’s depraved (which is right now). Before you can even react, she has your shaft in her hand, lanky fingers wrapped around it and pumping it with considerate strokes. 

“I want a big load in my ass.” she requests, far from innocent and banking more towards improper, which seems to be a pretty big theme of hers tonight. “I’ve been wanting to feel daddy’s  hot load leaking out of my ass for a long time…” The strokes delivered to your length grow firmer and firmer by the second. “Please?”

The spikes of pleasure her small hand delivers to your system is really making it hard to say no at the given moment. Of course, she’s well aware of it, and she’s definitely feeling so damn smug right now. And so with a very clouded mind, you nod. She smiles smugly, unaware that you’re about to fuck that smug little smirk rig of her pretty face. Conveniently, she’s already on her back—it’ll make the process so much easier. 

“I take it that the lube is in your bag?” You raise. She grins and nods. 

Sure enough, you find it in the exact same place as it usually is: side pocket, right next to her lipstick. You toss it towards her and move around her, slip her ankles over her shoulders. She lies still, unmoving and obedient as her left calf goes past her head, then her right. You lean forward, and she gasps as she's almost bent her completely in half. She’s flexible; this position won’t bring any harm to her, but it is congenial to ruin her asshole and leave her sore for the next day or so, which is exactly what she wants, but probably not how she imagined herself getting it. She cracks open the lube, and with precision, squirts a generous amount of it on the tight ring of her ass, making eye contact with you all the while as the clear liquid gathers at the puckered ring of muscle. The tube is discarded to a side when she’s done, and she uses her hands to spread her asscheeks for you, inviting you to take your liberties with her hole.

“Come on Daddy,” she urges you. “Come fuck this ass,” she continues, her hands spreading her ass cheeks even wider as you start to line yourself up with the tight ring. “Wreck this fucking hole Daddy, I can fucking take it.”

To hear her say those words was almost enough to have you cum right there and then. You press the tip of your cock at the open, gaping hole of her ass, swirling it around the entrance, collecting more of the copious amounts of lube around it. She was generous with the amount of lube she dispensed; you're about to be generous with the strokes you're gonna make inside that ass.

(She yelps when you slide inside her ass. God does it feel so fucking divine.)

She is so tight and wet and hot that you think you could’ve cum with your first thrust inside her. Her pussy was tight and hot, but her ass was even tighter and even hotter. Even though your cock was slick with lube, it did close to nothing to keep the sheer tightness of her asshole from clenching around you like it was a really small glove. It wasn’t the first time you’ve been inside her ass, but it sure as hell felt like a novelty every single time you entered that tight ring of muscle. Fuck. The heat, the tightness—sublime. You think you could cum in a matter of seconds if you didn’t have self control.

“Go!’ she hisses, through the pain and discomfort. “Fuck me. Fuck my ass!”

You would have been happy to stay there, buried balls deep in Wonyoung’s ass, but her own words goad you into moving—slowly at first, but with a steadily increasing pace, you begin to fuck Wonyoung’s ass with long, slow strokes. She hisses—part glee, part discomfort—as your shaft starts to pump itself in and out of her ass. You draw yourself out till only the base of you tip remains inside of her, and then you thrust back in, hard, hard enough to make her yelp out in pained pleasure while she grits her teeth and watches your rock hard shaft fill her ass. It's a perverse show for her, and it brings you a sort of dark satisfaction in knowing that past all that discomfort she’s feeling, she loves the way your cock stretches her out and fills her defenceless little hole. 

With her ankles over your shoulders, you’re practically spearing yourself vertically into her ass, fucking her deep and making her feel every inch of your throbbing meat inside of that hot, tight hole. Every penetration is punctuated by a deep, guttural groan from Wonyoung, sometimes a curse, or something along the lines of: fuck. So fucking full. You know for a fact that the pained sounds you hear now will turn into airy gaps of pleasure once she gets used to the discomfort, and that she’d probably be a mewling mess by the time you reach the stage where she can take you in and out of her ass with only pleasure in her system and no pain. For now, you’ll settle with the pace you have—slow, long strokes in and out of her ass while she squeezes her eyes to block out all sensations distracting her from enjoying the sensation of her ass being filled with cock. You have to admit that she’s doing a great job at it, and your praise vocalises itself in the rather harsh form of, “what a good little slut.” 

(And here’s something interesting you noted: never once in this whole thing did she ask you to stop, nor did you ever think about stopping to let her adjust. If this was anyone else, you would have given them a moment to breathe upon entering, and you certainly would be checking on their wellbeing throughout it all. 

Thing is—the two of you know her too well to know that you could only dream of stopping once you got started with her, and it could only end in two ways. 1) You cum in her. 2) You cum on her. Edge her and you’ll never get the end of it, you would know. The last time you pulled a stunt on her like that, she left you tied to a chair with a vibrator taped to your cock till you were begging and a cummy mess. It wasn’t pretty. She could dominate if she wanted to, but she preferred to be a manipulative brat instead.)

It’s not long before she’s desensitised to the pain, and your slow pace is not enough, no, not for Wonyoung. Next thing you know it, she hissing for you to go faster, fuck her harder—I told you to fuck my ass Daddy. Don’t hold back on me now—and deeper. She swears, all three languages that she knew strung together shabbily like they were put together on some shitty production line and thrown out at random—and while you made little sense of the sounds coming out of her filthy mouth you knew what they meant.

Harder. Faster. Rougher.

Then you fuck her ass. Hard and fast.

You almost surprised yourself with the liberties you were taking, drilling in and out of her butt with the same speed and depth that you would use with her mouth and pussy.

“Yes!” she shouts—a loud, full shout. “Yes! Fuck me like this! Pound me, fuck me until you cum in my slutty little ass!”

You grunt in reply, because it was all you could do. The faculties of human language have long since abandoned your grasp and ability, and nothing else exists in your mind except the thought of filling her tight, hothole with warm, white semen. Her eyes lock with yours and you only find that they’re full of need, nothing else (not like she’s capable of displaying any other emotion at the moment). The rest of you, every fibre of your being, was focused on pounding Wonyoung’s tight little hole as hard and fast as you possibly could. Her ankles bounce helplessly behind your head, her knees press into her shoulders and her breath is ragged; sweat drips off your forehead and onto her tits, and your hot breath mixes with hers as you struggle to keep yourself propped up with your arms.

In short: the two of you are sweaty and messy (one more so than the other. Take a pick, not sure if there’s a prize for guessing right), victims of lust and slaves to pleasure. You blame Wonyoung just because you can.

For a few delicious moments, there is absolutely nothing in the world aside from the tight hot sheath of flesh around your cock, the warm flesh of her legs against your shoulders and the strands of sweat-slick hair that fly just about everywhere, all topped with the lewd, filthy, obscene words spilling from Wonyoung’s mouth. For a few delicious moments, she feels nothing but the feeling of her tight hole being stretched and used by the cock that turns her face into a wrought outlet of pleasure while she lets filthy words and exclamations spill from her lips. 

Try as you might, you couldn’t have it last forever. Not when you were already so turned on from watching her writhe and twitch under your fingers. Not when the sheer, pure pleasure overwhelming you was more than enough to cause you to cum at any moment.

And when she orgasms for the second time, her ass tightening exponentially around you—there is little you or anyone else could have done to stop the inevitable.

“I’m gonna cum in your ass, Wonyoung,” you hiss through gritted teeth, your lust and pleasure-addled brain on the edge of losing all comprehension.

“Cum with me! Fill me!” 

And so you do it, burying yourself hilt deep inside the quivering woman’s asshole before filling it with the last of your cum, giving her every last drop you had left in your body, leaving rope after rope inside her sore, well-used, cum-filled asshole. You almost black out, and you quite literally have to dig your nails into the sheets while Wonyoung’s own orgasm takes over her body, making her twitch and her ass contract—milking every last bit of cum from your throbbing, twitching length till it was nothing but a dry, hard rod inside of her creamy asshole. 

There’s silence that is punctuated by both of your ragged breaths. She looks at you, you look at her. And the two of you can’t help but chuckle at the mess you’ve made of each other. You want to remember the way her nose wrinkles as she teases you, “you fucking animal”, and you want, so badly, to burn the image of a sweaty, weary Jang Wonyoung, folded in half beneath you like she was a piece of origami paper, panting and gasping as a fresh load of cum spills out of her ass. 

It takes energy, but you bend down and kiss her, letting her sweaty calves slide off your equally sweaty shoulders as you do. She’s satisfied, for now, and she pulls you down next to her on the hotel bed with one hand and gathers the cum leaking out of her ass with the other. 

“Look at this,” she whispers, and your eyes train themselves on the pearlescent, sticky, slimy, fluids that run down from her fingertips slowly. “You made such a big mess inside my ass,” she chides before bringing her fingers to her mouth and sucking your cum right off her fingers like it’s a delicacy. “Now I have to clean all of this up. You’re lucky I like the way your cum tastes.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Um… Ew?”

Wonyoung smirks and gently nudges you with her left foot.

“It’s okay,” she tells you, all smug and everything. “I know you love the way I taste too.”

* In the dark, her small hand creeps around your torso and grasps yours. 

“You’re awake, aren’t you?” She’s whispering right into your ear, and it’s a sensation you want to be able to hold on to for the rest of your life. “I know your eyes are open.” The feel of her small fingers rolling the knuckle of your index finger sticks itself in your head like a post-it. “ I can hear and feel you tossing, you know?”

Okay. No dodging. 

The sheets stay still as your shoulders turn. You roll over, face her, and you really just want to capture the way the night lights paint her face: doe-like eyes reflecting glimmering pools of moonlight, warm yellow light painting her cute-yet-so-fucking-gorgeous face in a manner that not even Van Goh could copy, lips parted slightly as if in mid speak. She’s right there—you can kiss her if you really want to.

“Are you still mad at me?” She asks, tender with her tone. “I know that I fucked up, okay?” You can tell that she’s not even trying to look pitiful at the moment, but the way her face is sculpted really makes you want to just hold her to your chest and stroke her hair. Sincere are her words—heart heaved into her mouth. “I don’t blame you if you’re still mad. It’s your right. But… Just hear me out? Please?”

If you were mad, you wouldn’t have let her hold your hand the way she was now. If you were mad, you would’ve pretended to be fast asleep; ignore her pleas and just close your eyes and fall asleep. Alas, you can never stay mad at her for too long.

“I was… Never really angry, Wony.” Your tone is a lot softer than you would ever expect, but you know it’s because you probably needed this talk more than she did. “I... I’m sorry if it came across that way.”

And she studies you for a moment, lets the sound of your breathing fill the space as she furls her upper lip into her front teeth, and it’s a perfect moment for you to try and understand what’s happening in her head. She’s a complex creature really; understanding her is like finding a meaning that everyone can agree on when you look at abstract art.

Down below, you can still hear the cars moving through the street. Billboards and screens are still on, and from the window in your bedroom, multi-coloured lights filter into the room past the blinds like moonlight through bamboo leaves. The sheets you lie in are fresh, and they feel nice and smooth against your skin, and they smell like roses. The mattress creaks a little as Wonyoung shifts her weight, and you have to admit that you’re half-drunk on the scent of her shampoo. 

“You must have been scared,” she whispers. “I’m sorry. I got really emotional. I… I shouldn’t have walked out. I’m sorry.”

You didn’t know how to reply to that. Not now at least. Maybe it’ll come to you the next morning.

You give her a sweet smile. You hug her to your chest. You want to remember how she feels in your arms.

*

The gentle trickle of water down the arch of her spine is really something—a steady stream flowing down her back, running over the muscles of her shoulders, the curve of her breasts and fraying at her plump ass. You can’t remember the last time you showered with her, but you certainly remember the view being this good. 

In the shower of room 302, Jang Wonyoung lets the warm water hit her skin from the rain shower nozzle. Her hair—wet and freshly shampooed (and conditioned)—sticks to her back. Creamy skin glistens, small beads of water affix themselves to random parts of her body, stay there for one or two seconds, then roll down in streaks, almost as if they too were admiring Wonyoung’s well-sculpted figure.

Slim fingers grasp locks of hair. She lifts and looks over her shoulder, the whisper of a grin on her face as she shoots a beckoning wink. “Are you gonna help me soap my back? Or are you just gonna keep staring at my ass?”

“Don’t you have to, like, turn off the water first?” you ask, and you already know what she’s gonna say, but you just want to hear her say it. For memory sake.

“Mmmm.” Her humming as she ‘ponders’ reverberates in the shower, floating over the sound of water from the shower head falling to the floor like rain. “No… Adds to the atmosphere, don’t you think?” 

Ah. There we go.

“Then could you at least step back?” you request. This shower is comically huge—long length, breadth about the same length as your arm span. In the space, she looks so tiny, but you know for a fact that she could probably walk to the other end of the shower in a stride. You’re not one to disregard the facts, but you do like to live with a bit of imagination.

Wonyoung chuckles, low and sonorous. She pushes her hair over her shoulder, then—painfully slowly—walks back till she’s out of the stream of water. Water wastage is the last thing on her mind. She stops when she feels your hands on her back, and she looks over her shoulder, expectant. You move your hands and the soap lathers as it’s spread. You start from the centre of her back, rubbing gently in the section where the muscles of her shoulders meet and working your way outwards and upward to her shoulders. Then it’s down from there, your palms moving in small circles and covering every inch of skin.

“You’re good at this,” she mutters, watching with intent as your hands start to trail to her lower back. “Maybe you should’ve been a masseuse instead of a writer.”

“Uh… Patronising much?” You chuckle, watching as her back muscles twitch a little when you apply gentle pressure. “The pay’s about the same,” the soap makes patterns across the area above her ass—spirals of foam that stick to her skin like styrofoam flowers. “The hours are probably the same… But I don’t think I can live on rubbing someone’s back really hard. I Think I’ll just save this service for you, but only for when we meet.”

Humored, Wonyoung offers a giggle, high pitched and cutting above the sound of water striking the floor tiles. She shifts her weight to her right foot, making her body slant a little. Her skin is soft under your palms. Your hands are going lower and lower, slowly spiralling towards the curve of her ass that’s literally just a centimetre away.

“You know…If you take up my offer, you can do this for me everyday.”

Your hands slow to a stop. You raise your head a little to find her searching for your gaze over her shoulder. “Oh?”

“Yea.” Her voice is low, like a mother trying to persuade her child to eat their vegetables. “Every night, we can be like this: you soaping my back, us chatting… Doesn’t it sound wonderful?”

Your lip furls behind your front teeth. “Yea… It really does.”

And in her gaze, you sense her sensing your apprehension. “What’s stopping you from taking it up then?”

(For context, here’s the deal proposed by her company: the two of you go public with the relationship, get clout for the company, and Starship will let you lead your lives together—no qualms, no disturbances. She can visit you whenever, live with you, appear outside together with you like it’s a regular Tuesday night; you get to date the girl you fell in love with all those years ago for real. Only issue: once you get the last stroke of your signature out on the contract, you practically agree to blurring the line between your private and public life. Press will be all over you like ants after you step on their nest, you probably won’t get to enjoy a cup of coffee in peace, everyone will suddenly want to curry favours with you… Was it worth the sacrifice?)

You find it hard to meet her eyes, and so your gaze affixes itself on your hands. It’s not like you don’t love her or anything, but your apprehension makes you feel like shit. It shouldn’t be this hard to say yes, yet the idea of selling your life of privacy to live a life with her makes you screech to a halt at the crossroads. Sometimes (in these moments), you wished that you didn’t always make decisions with your head and your heart. 

As the shower continues to run, Wonyoung slowly turns around. One hand finds yours, the other gently takes you by the chin and raises your eyes up to her. She’s tall, and the two of you are staring eye to eye; same height, different trains of thought.

The hand on yours guides you to her breast. Eyes locked with yours, she lays your palm flat against her tit. The skin beneath your fingers is slippery, but it doesn’t remove any of the familiarity from the sensation. Then she squeezes, and the flesh spills out between your fingers like putty. She gasps—airy. 

“Don’t you want me?” She whispers, and it’s raunchy more than anything. It isn’t aggressive, but it’s certainly blurring the line between demanding and caring. “Don’t you want to be able to fuck this pretty little pussy every night?”

She’s really far from home base. “Wony…”

“Don’t you love owning me?” She’s squeezing harder. Her knee twitches. Sopa’s spilling out of your fingers. You’re certain that you’re gonna mark her. She doesn’t care. “Don’t you want me all over you? Every night?”

“It’s not that Wonyoung.”

“Then what’s on your mind?” She’s not prodding for an answer, nor is she trying to demand a reason for your silence. She wants to understand you, to internalise what’s going on inside your head. You have no reason to lie.

“Will it all really be okay?” you ask sincerely. “My family, my life… Will… Will it all really be…”

She understands where you’re coming from (if the relieving of pressure around her own breast is any indication), and she’s starting to tune herself to the frequency of your worries. “If you’re wondering if you’re gonna be harassed—you won’t.”

“Yea but—”

“I promise you: I will do everything I can to make sure that you will be safe. You and your family–if so much as a finger is laid on any of you, I will quit.”

“Wonyo—”

“No one will intrude on you. You won’t have to live with the flashing lights. I give you my word: I will make sure that everyone who wants to invade your privacy will leave you alone. You and your family will all be left alone.”

If it’s possible for sincerity to ring clear, Jang Wonyoung has absolutely made it happen. Sweet like honey; she’s left you feeling like you had a spoonful of it. And just for good measure, she steps closer and repeats once more: “I promise.”

Considering that your hand was at the left side of her chest, this was really a “I swear. Hand to my heart” type of deal (whether it’s intended or not is purely up to your discretion). 

And as you gaze into those eyes, you want to remember the way she gazes at you softly, gently, tenderly. If it weren’t for your hand on her tit, you would’ve considered this one of the more tender moments you’ve shared with her. Not that it’s not or anything… Just that it’s a little hard to call this a loving moment when you can literally feel her nipple poking into the flesh of your palm at all times of the conversation.

“Are you sure you won’t land yourself in trouble?” you ask her, and she’s quick to scoff.

“Of course. I make too much fucking money fo those higher up fuckers to not listen to me,” she reminds you. 

Well… Then that settles about everything then.

“Okay,” you tell her. “Okay… I’ll do it.”

The corners of her lips play up in a smile. She leans in, kisses you—no tongue, closed mouth—and lets the hand keeping yours at her breast fall. Long arms wrap around your waist and she pulls you close, flushing her tight frame against your body. When lips part, she whispers a soft I love you, a sparkle in eyes that lingered for a moment.

But only for a moment.

Then—without you noticing—her hand snakes down and grips your rapidly hardening shaft, and she squeezes. This time, the line between demanding and caring is clear as day, and she’s chosen to play her ball to the court of demanding. With a gleam in her eye, she begins stroking with her closed fist, and she pumps your stiff length at a slow but steady rhythm, adding an occasional twisting motion to her wrist, corkscrewing her fingers around your cock, increasing the pleasurable shocks she was sending through your system with each pump of her hand. It was almost like she wasn’t the sweetest, loving girl in the whole world just two seconds ago.

“Jesus fucking…” You can’t even finish your sentence. Your teeth grit. Your fists clench. It’s hard to breathe. “Maybe… A little bit of a heads up next time?”

She smirks proudly, watching as you tilt your head back and let out a groan. “Where’s the fun in that?” And gently, she pushes against your chest, guides you to the wall. When your back presses against the cool tile, she presses herself against you. She leans in, hot breath on your skin, and then the feeling of her lips against your jaw almost makes you yelp. She kisses a path down your jaw, paves a way towards your neck to get cheeky: sucking, nibbling, licking the skin of your neck while she keeps the movement of her hands slow and considerate. The shower continues to run.

Do you know—she breaks contact with your skin for just a second—how fucking horny—her breath’s tickling your ear, sending shivers down your spine—you make me?—and she squeezes a little harder around your shaft, not enough for it to hurt, but enough to feel you throb in your hand and make you gulp a little. She starts going faster—jerking, fucking pumping your length in her closed fist, and it’s almost impossible to keep your eyes open; your eyelids flutter shut. Your head rests against the wall, a sigh slipping past your lips. It’s filthy really—down from the way she catches you off guard to the way she makes your skin sore after she’s done feasting. Almost every interaction with her in a private space is as X-rated as this; it’s hard not to get into a situation like this around her. You know: a situation where the two of you are naked and getting really touchy and actively trying to get each other as many times as humanly possible. 

“Fuck yes baby…” you rasp, your nails starting to eat into your palms as she the sound of her hand sliding up and down your dick starts to cut above the steady stream of water. With each rise of her hand, the pad of her thumb plays with the head of your member, and when it sinks down, she twists her wrist in a screwing motion. Rinse and repeat; up and down and up and down and fuck. “You’re so fucking good at this.”

She hums in reply, and she has your earlobe between her teeth the next second, nicking you mischievously, sending small pricks of pain shooting through your system as she adjusts her grip on your cock without ever breaking her motion. Next thing you know, your tongue is inside your ear, and she’s leaning in so close that when you open your eyes, you’re practically looking over her shoulder, looking down the curve of her back that glistens with moisture and soap bubbles.

“I love this cock so fucking much,” she whispers, a bit of a hiss in her words as she takes the head of your cock between her forefinger and thumb and pinches lightly. “It stretches me out when I need it.” her fingers start to trail down your slipper shaft, letting the smoothness of her palm rub against your whole length, “fills me when I want it.” She’s milking the precum out of you, making you all leaky and squirmy as she starts pumping faster. “And it’s so fucking big that I can choke on it. You know how much I love being choked.”

She chooses that last bit to make eye contact with you, and she’s practically served you what she wants next on a silver platter. The next move is clear cut and simple; no words need be spoken. You were going to fuck her—and you mean properly fuck her—with a hand wrapped around that small throat. How you were gonna do it was still a mystery, but you figured that it’d slowly come to you, but it will definitely be related to the mirror and the sink outside and the mirror in front of it. At once, you reach over to the handle of the shower, and you turn it down to the handheld showerhead mode. Wonyoung bites her bottom lip, perverse glee painted all over her face as you use it to wash the soap off her back. She’s watching, waiting, probably drenched down there and aching to be stuffed full of cock.

She’s almost shaking with excitement as you finish washing all the soap off her body. You’d hardly consider her clean, but it won’t hurt to hop back into the shower again once you're done with her. The shower door swings open and you’re cupping her pussy, dripping wet while stumbling out with her, lips locked on hers and her hand on your cock as you push her against the sink of her hotel room. From the moment her mouth opens and let the moans pour out while you rub her clit to the moment her hand leaves your cock to cradle your face, she’s practically radiating need from the pores of her skin. You can’t help but playfully remark, “you’re such a fucking loser”, while your thumb thumps against her clit and sends pleasure tearing through her system. Weak in the knees, she holds on to you for support.

And the moans (those fucking hair-raising moans), they tumble out of those plump lips like marbles down a ramp, and they mix with the sound of your lips smacking against her skin as you start to leave a trail of kisses down her neck, doing to her what she did to you in the shower; you give her a taste of her own medicine, and the way she’s titling her head back to let you mark her freely makes it almost seem as if it’s the intended outcome of her actions. It’s like she knew that you would get back at her, and it wouldn’t come as a surprise if you ever find out that she gets off on knowing that she can manipulate you in her own bratty ways—get you wrapped around her finger and have you doing all the things she wants you to do without having to tell you. Not that you have something to gripe about it, but you’re just so amused (and that’s just one word to describe how you feel) by how she goes about her ways.

“Come on,” she manages to whisper, all while you’re busy sucking on the skin just below her collarbone till it’s sore. She has a lot of pride in her voice for someone who’s quite literally quivering. “You know you want to fuck me. Give me a good creampie again.” 

You lift your head for a moment, and you take in the look of almost childlike excitement on her face as your hand finds its way to her throat. It’s perverse excitement, that lewd exhilaration of knowing that she was about to get what she wanted, and albeit a little messed up, it was pretty hot in its own way. When your fingers gently wrap themselves around her throat, you can feel every muscle in her body tense in anticipation, as if she didn’t get enough from the bedroom earlier.

“Up on the counter baby. Let me see how messy you are down there,” you whisper.

She knows what to do, and she has herself propped up on the counter and engaged in open mouth kissing. She doesn’t need you to tell her to spread her legs, and she definitely doesn’t need you to tell her how cute she sounds when your fingers slip inside of her, feeling around the mess you’ve made of her and coating your digits in her fluids. Your index and middle finger are slick with her juices when you retract them from inside her, and you can’t help but chuckle. 

“Messy as ever,” you muse, making a show of sucking her juices clean off your fingers. She’s sweet and borderline tangy—a taste that you’re accustomed to, and you will never get tired of it. She’s biting down on her lower lip, the skin wrinkling under the pressure of her front teeth as she makes a sound that’s close to a purr. 

“You made the mess.” She has her eyes locked on yours as you raise an eyebrow, prompting her to follow up after her first statement. Not that you didn’t know what was coming, but more that you wanted to gently coax it out of her, because it was so fucking hot to hear what she had to say next. “You clean it up.”

And you’re more than happy to oblige. She watches you with intent eyes as you sink down to your knees, waits with bated breath as you lower your face till the glistening, pink folds of her pussy are right in front of your face, flushed thighs around your ears. Her excitement is almost palpable, and you can hear the sharp inhale she takes when your palm finds its place on the inside of her left thigh, pushing gently to give you better access to her heat (you’re really just trying to drag out the tension if you were being completely honest with yourself). You lick your lips, lean forward till your mouth is hovering above her slit. 

“You better moan for me this time,” you tell her, and you’re making sure to make your breath hit her slick as you speak. “You have such a wonderful voice. Put it to use.”

Praise mixed with the slight hint of authority—it’s enough to make her nod furiously and implore you with doe eyes to just get on with it. With a smirk, your lips find the swollen nub at the top of her entrance. You suck on it. Hard. And almost at once, her thighs clamp around your ears and her hand is on your head, like it’s some sort of natural instinct for her when you’re eating her out. Keeping to her word, she cries out—keening, whiny and ever so fucking bratty, and it’s the the holy grail of every wet dream. Nothing in the world could bring you more satisfaction than that shrill, airy cry she lets out when the pleasure ripples through her body, and you’re just getting started. 

Your mouth opens and your tongue flattens itself against her folds, (She tastes so good. You want all of it, all of her) and you drag it up her folds, deliberately, painfully slow as you start to lick up that wet cunt. Her back arches; you can feel her struggling to keep a hold of your head; she throws her head back and lets out a gasp; her thighs clamp down a little harder around your head. The pleasure in her system builds up with the slow movement of your tongue, only rising and rising as you lick from the base of her slit to the mid section to the top. When the tip of your tongue flicks her clit, it's almost like an explosion, enough for her other hand to join its pair atop your head, enough to make her cry out in a perverse plea, “Daddy, please!”

(For the record: she’s wanted this from the moment you guys stepped into the shower. She’s willingly turned herself into some pliant little plaything, and she’s probably getting off so hard to it. Frankly, if she wanted to order you around, you’d be up to it, but this is what she prefers.)

And nothing else needs to be said really. You put your whole mouth on her—relishing the shiver that runs up from her thighs up to her body—and get right into making a wreck of her. You lick, you devour, you ravish her: working your mouth on her pussy, lapping up the juices that spill forth from flushed lips with broad, sharp strokes that make her body grow taut and her legs quiver. You tongue her clit, lick up sweet fluids, make her messy and needy and hot in all the right areas till she’s drilling her nails into the back of your scalp and pushing your face against her sweet slick. In half whispers, she tells you just how good you make her feel—oh Daddy I’m so fucking wet!—and you feel a dark part of yourself be fed by these lecherous words—Oh god oh fuck I’m gonna fucking cum if you keep… Fuck!—that leave her half-parted mouth and linger in the air, reminding you of just how wanton she is and how you’re the only person in the world she ever wants to fuck and be satisfied by. You’re hers; she’s yours—a relationship with Jang Wonyoung that any guy would kill for. 

“Daddy—” she gaps, her voice a whole octave higher than it should be as her nails turn into claws at the back of your head. “Fuck I’m cumming. Daddy I’m cumming!”

The pulsing of her pusy against your tongue grows. You continue licking, lapping. One stroke, two strokes—three. She moans, blue screens. You hazard a look up.

Nothing else matters. Only: the sight of that back arching off the marble counter, her thighs around your head trembling and quaking as her hips roll and her mouth parts in a silent scream. You’re certain that there’s blood being drawn from the back of your head, but you're more certain that she’s got enough heat in her core to melt molten iron but a lack of breath that makes her gasp for air as you lick and lick and lick your way into her. You can feel her orgasm getting closer by the second, it’s in her breathing, and in the way her hips are practically thrusting her into your mouth.

And just like the bathrobe from earlier, she comes undone—falls apart and ceases to keep control of her body. She tenses, her thighs go rigid around your ears. Her breath is caught in her throat, her eyes are closed. You stop your work, admire the way she glows as her body twitches and her face twists. Pleasure rips its way through her muscles, her nerves—splits her very being in half as the orgasm rolls through her system. She’s beautiful, and she’s a messy work of art that you’ve created. 

You rise to your feet as she winds down, and her hands leave your head to rest on the counter while her body struggles to process the aftermath of that orgasm. It’s not the first time she’s cum for the night, and it certainly won’t be the last. Her eyes open, and she instantly locs them on you as you brush back some of the hair that sticks to her sweat slicked face. You take her hand and give a gentle tug, and she slips off the counter obediently. You grip her jaw—tenderly but rough enough for her to like it—and tell her to turn around. Servile, she obeys, and in the reflection of the mirror, she watches as your hand snakes its way to her throat and grips it. You’re not squeezing, not yet. 

“I’m gonna fuck this pretty little pussy now,” you drawl, gripping your shaft in your hand and slapping it against her slit. The contact makes her shudder, but she remains silent as you place a kiss on her cheek. “Your face is gonna be so pretty when I choke you and fill you.”

“Yes Daddy.” Her reply is a whisper, a borderline drawl that’s airy and raunchy and makes your hairs stand on their ends. She’s looking at you through the mirror, plump lips slightly parted and eyes glassy. “Own me. I’m yours, forever.”

And you’re all too happy to hear that from her.

You slip into her, hilt yourself inside her in one swift motion. 

(Tight. Hot. Wet. So tight.)

She lets out a sigh, low and sonorous, harmonising with your own groan as you press her against the edge of the counter and make the fingers around her throat squeeze. The sound that leaves her throat is the sound of her sigh being truncated, and it delights that dark part of you. Being inside Wonyoung was otherworldly, as it always was, but here, in the bathroom of her hotel, on the night where you’ve agreed to seal a deal with her, she felt downright heavenly.  She squeezes her walls around you, her body thankful for the sensation of being filled by cock, if the intense tightness and slick wetness were any indication; she looks over her shoulder and bites her bottom lip. And when she has your gaze, she mouths something. 

Fill me.

The silence is deafening, but it’s all you need to hear. 

When you withdraw your glistening shaft for the first time you relish in the feel of her walls gripping you, not wanting to release you—but just as quickly they welcome you back inside as you penetrate her again. Soon you are pumping in and out of her at a slow, steady pace, her soft gasps turning quickly into long, drawn out moans as she is fucked against the marble. Her hands steady her body against the counter, her back arched in a way that lets you get a wonderful top-down view of her breasts as they roll together with her body. It’s a concerted effort, but she makes it seem effortless. 

“Be honest.” With the hand around her throat, her voice sounds a little hoarse. It’s hot. “Do you think about this, Daddy? About fucking me like a good little slut?”

“Wonyoung,” you reply, speaking through your gritted teeth. “You have no,” and you punctuate the sentence there with a deeper thrust into her tight slick, a thrust strong enough for her to let out a strained gasp. “fucking idea…”

(In the mirror, you watch as she curls her lips into her mouth and tilts her head back into your shoulder, like she’s submitting her whole being to you and letting you take liberties with her body. You take the invitation, and your free hand finds itself on one of her soft mounds and gives it a squeeze—rough but tender enough to elicit a low moan from her throat that makes your hand around it vibrate pleasantly. 

At the given moment, she’s doing all she can to make herself a pretty little fuckdoll for you, doing her best to encourage you to treat her rough, treat her like you own her. She wants nothing more but to feel the rockhard meat penetrating her tight little cunt stretch her out and fill her the way she wants, all while she’s begging and pleading obsequiously while being obsessed with your cock. It’s a lot to take in for her for sure, but she gets off on it, and you get off on it too—the fact that she’s being all needy and pleading just so she can implicitly tell you to fuck her till she’s raw and can’t fucking walk the next morning. The fact that she’s actually in control while being such a bottom. Bratty manipulation.)

“Then fuck me Daddy,” she tells you, almost pleading. “Use this pretty little pussy. I want it. I fucking need it.”

With her invitation to do more with her body, you’re more than ready to do what you’ve intended to do from the very start. You increase your tempo, and before long you are truly fucking her, drilling in and out of the tight hot warmth of her body with quick, deep strokes. With each stroke you don’t pull out more than halfway—you concentrate instead on pumping hard and fast, getting as deep as you could inside her given your standing position. She takes it well, like she was made for this. In her world, this was what fucking looked like, and it was the only definition that she was going to live with and she’d take it to the grave. She indulges in the roughness, the almost animal-like way your cock fills her again and again and again, all while she encourages you with cries and moans and sighs that are music to your ears. 

And a notion hits you: she’s going to make you fuck her till she’s the only thing you can possibly think about. She’s going to draw out every single primal urge within you, make you want her like she’s some form of drug and you’re the abuser, and then she’s going to get exactly what she wants—your cum in her pussy. You can’t let her win like that, you can’t. You can tell that to yourself now, but you’re not sure if you can remember it later, not when she practically reeks of the strongest possible sillage of sex. 

Her pussy throbs around you, pulse strong and just a beat behind your thrusts as you thrust yourself in and out of her slick walls, filling her up and drawing yourself out before filling her up yet again. Pure filth spills from her mouth, expletives, sordid sighs and cries and any sound or word that comes to mind. She's a quivering and squirming mess, and from the mirror you enjoy the way she’s almost writhing in against the counter. Ample breasts bounce with each thrust that shocks her body, and it’s almost hypnotic if it weren’t for the fact that that pretty face was stealing the show. The face that was marvelled, the face that was the source of jealousy, the face that was on the face of so many magazines and posters and adored by millions, if not billions—scrunched up, improper and so fucking lewd that it looked like it belonged in a porno instead of an idols face, and you take pleasure in the fact that your cock is ruining the face of a princess, turning her dissolute and so fucking needy that she was as good as a fan begging her for an autograph. This side of her was reserved for you, and only you—her duality is reserved for your eyes only. 

Her body is slick with sweat, rubbing against your own sweaty torso while her body rolls together with your thrusts. “Fuck—” you’re saying, but it comes out as more of a growl than anything given how hard yur teeth are clenching. Your fingers squeeze tighter around her throat. The slightly reduced airflow at her throat causes her pussy to clench even tighter around you—and the added tightness brings succulent pleasure to your mind that makes you think you’re going insane. You probably are at this rate. “This pussy. It’s so fucking good baby.”

Her reply is a strained gasp, but you get the gist of what she wants to say. She wants, so badly, to tell you how good your cock is making her feel, how well it fucks her, how well it fills her and stretches her and how it’s her favourite thing in the whole world. The squelch of your cock filling her pussy is loud, but not loud enough to drown out the smacking of skin against skin as you press more of your weight against her, pushing her a little more into the corner of the counter and a little more over the line of pathetic. She moans in response to your actions, and it’s telling you: fuck. Harder. It’s better when it hurts. 

And you can feel her juices leaking down the back of her thighs, wetting your crotch and making the smack of skin against skin louder than ever, almost as if it was an announcement: I’m being fucked like a good little slut and I love it. She doesn’t know what she’s doing to you,and for clarity, it’s something along the lines of turning you absolutely feral with her moans and the divine tightness of her pussy that makes you want to cum on the spot. Okay,maybe she is cognizant of how crazy she makes you when you fuck her, but you barely have the capacity to think, let alone rationalise wether thai girl in your arms that your chocking and fucking feel smug in knowing that she’s driving you insane. 

Oh and she loves it when you play with her tits. The way you fondle them is almost aggressive. Scratch that—it’s really fucking aggressive. You’re slapping her tits, leaving red marks all over the milky white skin and pinching and twisting the stiff nubs atop her breasts, all while she mewls and cries out in that strained voice that makes you throb even harder inside of her wet walls and makes you grit your teeth like your a dog waiting to chew on a bone. 

“D-Daddy,” she pushes out, past the fingers that close her airways and past her groans and moans and sighs. “Harder.” And your thrusts are starting to cut her off, but she has more to say. When it comes out, each word that she spits out is punctuated by a thrust of cock into her pussy, and it’s the hottest thing you’ll ever hear. 

Fuck.

You thrust deep inside her. 

Me.

Your cock drives itself deep into her, slicking itself with her juices.

Harder.

And if words could linger in the air, hers certainly would. 

You fuck her hard, and fast, and deep—hammering her into the counter, nailing her defenseless pussy with a pace that you would have thought was rough and callous were it not for the fact you knew this was exactly how she wanted it. All she can do is hang on, grasp onto the counter with a knuckle-white grip with her hands as you take your liberties with her body, fucking her as hard as you can, as deeply as she can take it. The cups on the counter shake, the toothbrush inside one of them shaking under the force. It’s loud,  but you hear none of it. You hear only the sharp sighs of pleasure that leave Wonyoung’s lips, and the wet slap slap slap of your crotch as it hammers her cunt again and again and again, your cock drilling her, pounding her, making her yours if you weren’t already doing that.

It takes a little long, but the haze of lust parts for a moment for you to realise that you're getting closer and closer to getting what she wants out of you. While the thought of burying yourself inside of that quivering, pulsing pussy to let it milk every last drop of cum from you is ever so enticing, that small part of you that wants to own her pushes you to fight against the urges. Not that there’s any harm in giving her what she wants, but it’s just that you don’t want to reward her bratty, manipulative tactics. She knew for a fact that she could tie you up and ride you over and over till you were dry—she’d done it before. But instead, she’s chosen to fulfil her needs in a less direct manner, maybe for fun or maybe just because she felt like it. 

“Yes,” Wonyoung hisses, spit flying into the mirror and her palms slipping on the counter. “Just like this Daddy.” And she’s making sure to make eye contact with you through the mirror, letting her eyes do most of the talking. If anyone’s curious, the look she gives you is saying, I’m your good little slut. Fuck me. Use me. Fill me. Please, and it's nothing short of hot and tethering far over the line of lewd. At this point, neither of you are in a state where you're capable of coherent thought, nor are you capable of thinking about anything else except each other’s bodies and the wet, lewd squelching of cock filling Wonyoung’s pussy. It goes on and on and on, a cycle of your hips hammering the back of her legs and your cock spearing deep into her cunt.  She takes it so well, drinking you in hungrily, coiling around your shaft like a snake as if it was begging for you to stay in her forever. The sight is enough to make your balls tingle and your toes curl, and your hand around Wonyoung's throat tightens to the point where the only thing that can leave her lips is a groan as her airflow is reduced. 

She’s tighter, hotter, wetter. Her pussy fits you like a glove, moulding around your cock as it pumps in and out of her at a pace that you had no idea you were capable of. The hand around her neck is nothing but an outlet of pleasure for you, and she’s loving it. “Such a good girl,” you mutter, watching from the mirror as her mouth slacks and opens while she’s being pumped full of cock. “You were made to take Daddy’s cock, weren’t you?”

Her equivalent of a yes is a sharp, strained groan—an amalgamation of phonics and whatever sounds the lack of air flowing to her throat permits her to make. She’s so fucking messy down there, and your cock is sliding in and out of her with ease, aided by her slick juices that coat your shaft and let it disappear and reappear from between her legs with ease. The motion is almost graceful if it weren’t for the fact that it was a sordid one, and you take a moment to admire the way your shaft glistens in the light of the bathroom while you fuck her the way she wants it: rough, hard and tethering over the edge of callous. If it weren’t for the hand around her throat, she’d be making herself hoarse with all the moaning she’d be doing.

And the hand around her throat is bringing her so much pleasure, if the way her pussy squeezes around you when you choke her is any indication. She wasn’t lying when she said she liked being choked. While she didn’t like gagging on your cock, she sure as hell loved it when your fingers clasped around the muscles and made her gasp. She liked the sensation of being deprived of air, be it when she was riding or when she has her kness buried into her shoulders and was being fucked into the bed like a slut. You were always afraid of hurting her, but when she shots you that look, the one that says, come on, you can do better, you know that she’s getting exactly what she wants, just the way she likes it. It was just a matter of how hard you squeeze around her throat before she either cums or passes out, though the latter has rarely happened before the former.

“Daddy!” she chokes, and you know exactly what she’s about to say next. So you release her throat from her grasp, bunch a lock of her hair in your closed fist and you pull back. Her eyes squeeze themselves shut. Her back arches deliciously, her voice now free to finish shat she’s aching to announce. “I’m fucking…”

You never expect her to finish her sentence. Wonyoung’s eyes open, and a gasp leaves her open lips. Her walls, already vice-like, tighten so hard around you that you think you might come there and then. You feel how close she is. 

“Fucking cum for me, Wonyoung. Cum around my cock like a good little slut.”

Wonyoung does as she is told—and the quivering, trembling orgasm she experiences is almost frightening in the way it overwhelms her body, turning her into a wet, hot mess. Her pussy tightens and pulsates, her fingers claw against the marble counter, and her entire lower body shakes violently, as though she had lost control of her nerves and muscles. For a few beautiful seconds she is utterly overwhelmed by the sensations, until finally she slumps forward in your grasp, breathing heavily. 

It's good. It's so good, but it's not quite enough to get you to your finish. Not yet.

(And if anyone’s asking: it’s not that the sex isn’t good. It’s mind blowing, amazing, and whatever word that can be used to describe “fucking incredible”.  She’s hot, so tight and fucking soaked down there. You’re horny, throbbing and on the verge of filling her full of your seed. But you’ve said it before and you’ll say it again—you’re not rewarding bratty manipulation. As tempting as it would have been to simply pound her from behind until you gave her needy pussy the load of semen she so desperately wanted, you knew that there was something even better that you could do.)

You pull out of Wonyoung, your shaft glistening under the hotel light. Her eyes are wide with shock as you withdraw yourself from her body, pulling her away from the counter—but only enough to have her lean back against you and not stand up completely. Her mouth opens to say something, but she's interrupted when you turn her face to you and kiss her. She moans into your mouth, and you swallow it, your tongue slipping into her mouth and massaging her own, lapping at the roof of her mouth as her tongue swirled around your own. You bite her lower lip, and it's not rough, but enough to get her attention. When her eyes flutter open, you whisper, "I'm not finished."

She nods, and you relish the disappointment in her eyes. You turn her around, push down gently on her shoulders. She goes with the motion, and you're not sure if you can ever get over the image of Wonyoung on her knees with her pretty little face staring at you with anticipation. You think about fucking her face, letting your cock thrust into the back of her throat over and over and over till you finally bury yourself inside and cum down her throat, but that would just be a repeat telecast of every other night with her. Spice things up; give her the liberty of creativity with your cock. 

And of course, Wonyoung perfectly understands what has to be done. You step up to her. She parts her lips and takes your cock right into her mouth. Grasping the base of your cock and pumping it with one hand while she gently cups and squeezes your balls with the other, Wonyoung quickly launches into a hard and fast blowjob, taking the top half of your cock in and out of her wet mouth with a rapid pace while her fingers work your shaft in a corkscrew motion, just like she did in the shower. The suction of her mouth is almost lethal, and the audacity she has to look up at you while she takes your cock in and out of her mouth is so exhilarating that it makes you weak in the knees. Your hand finds a clump of her sweaty hair, and you close your fingers around it, holding them in your fist. No, you weren’t going to push her head down onto your cock; you had to give her the space to work on her craft. 

And of course, she exceeds every expectation out there. Your eyes shut involuntarily, your brain unable to handle any sensations beyond the wet, hot cavern of Wonyoung’s mouth sealed tightly around your shaft with tight, soft lips. With the first entry into her mouth her wet tongue is pressed tightly against the underside of your shaft, lathering it with her spit. With each subsequent entry her tongue becomes more adventurous, beginning with quick swipes left and right on your shaft with each entry and ending each exit with a swirl of the tip around the head of your cock. While she tastes herself on your cock, letting her juices mix with saliva, her hands work in perfect concert with her mouth, one joining her lips at your shaft and pumping up and down, a twisting motion to her wrist while her free hand works gently with your dangling balls, fondling them with considerate fingers. She plays with them softly yet hastily, her fingertips working their magic between the sacs with expert attention.

You are content to stand there with your eyes shut, simply enjoying the feel of your cock pumping in and out of her mouth at a fervent pace, but a small part of you knew that you had to see it happening in order to truly believe it was all real—and so with a not insignificant amount of self-control, you force eyes open to watch the spectacle unfolding between your legs. Black locks bob up and down frantically above your cock, doe-like eyes glazed with pure lust staring right up at you as her cheeks hollow and her jaw unhinges even more to accommodate your length. 

It all becomes too much, and it hits you all at once—having her pump your shaft in the shower, eating her out then fucking her—and you quickly find yourself nearing that inevitable peak.

“Fuck, Wony—” is all you manage to say before your orgasm overtakes your world.

Wonyoung releases your cock from her mouth a split second before you erupt, shooting long, thick strands of hot semen all over her pretty little face. Her face glazes over in pleasure and you are all too happy to watch as strand after strand of cum lands on her cheeks, her pretty little nose, and finally her open mouth and jaw. You watch, through half-lidded eyes drunk with pleasure, as the thick streams of cum flow down her face, dripping onto her upper chest and those perfect breasts of hers. Her face is flushed and her mouth open, as though she herself was on the verge of orgasm (she probably was, and she was going to make it your problem as soon as she got your cum off her face).

You want to remember the way she wipes your cum off her face with the back of her hand, how she licks it all up like a cat licking its own paw before moving to clean the stray strands of cum off the tip and sides of your cock. You want to remember how she rises so gracefully even though she was a sweaty mess, and how she gently takes your hand and guides you back into the shower for another clean up.   

And back under warm water, you want to remember how she kisses you, and how she whispers, “next time, I want that big load in my pussy.”

*

“What?”

And it’s hard to meet Wonyoung’s eyes as you set down the papers from the doctor. You can feel her confusion, her frustration, her rage from across the dining table in your apartment. It isn’t pretty. Nothing about this situation is. 

“It’s a neurological disease,” you tell her, all while you’re looking at the MRI that’s in the middle of the table. You’re really just regurgitating what the doctor told you—it’s the only thing you have the capacity to do right now. “They ran their tests. They told me what I suspected. I’m losing my ability to read and write, to understand language. In 2 years—give or take —I won’t be able to express my thoughts. I’ll be spouting gibberish. What people say, what I see — on pages, street signs, everywhere — they’ll all be unintelligible to me.” She’s silent, and it unnerves you in every way possible. You haven’t even gotten to the worst part of it all. “My mental competence will deteriorate. I’ll have to live off a tube cause I’ll forget how to eat and drink. Dementia will follow shortly.”  

Now would be a great time for her to say something, anything to break this silence. But she is silent, unmoving and reticent in her seat from across you. You have no choice but to gulp and deliver, in your personal opinion, the worst part of it all, “By the time I forget how to breathe I… I would’ve lost all my memories by then.”

She chooses the moment after the last word leaves your mouth to pick up the MRI scan and look at it. 

“So… Everything we’ve built up till now will just… Disappear?” she whispers. She sounds hurt, scared and everything in between. You bite your lower lip. 

“Yes.” There’s no point sugarcoating it, it’s inevitable anyway. Face it now, sulk later… You think that’s the best way to deal with this piece of news. You hope that the matter-of-fact tone of voice that you’ve chosen doesn't betray how frightened you are by the prospect of losing everything you know. “We can’t stop it. It’s in my genes.”

She sets down the scan, and when you look up, you see the tears flowing down her cheeks and it makes you want to cry as well.

She stands up, shoulders her handbag and walks towards the front door. 

“Where are you—” you begin. “I’m going somewhere else to think,” she interjects. 

When she slams the door behind her, you feel like you’ve let her down in so many ways. There’s a burning in your chest that you can’t describe. The first hot tear rolls down your cheek, and you let the rest that well in your eyes flow down without resistance. 

You don’t want to remember what it feels like to be helpless—the emptiness, the rage, the sadness, the confusion is all so overwhelming. But you figure that you’ll have to feel it again at some point down the road. 

Might as well figure out how to cope with it now, when Wonyoung isn't there and you're all alone with your thoughts.

*

When you awaken later that night in your bed in the apartment, it takes you a few moments to determine whether the soft, slim body climbing atop you is real or part of some wonderful dream—but the familiar warmth of your girlfriend, and the soft, pleasant smell of her hair, convinces you that this was all real.

Wonyoung places soft kisses on your neck and jawline, before moving to your mouth and kissing your lips softly. You are still only half awake, but your senses and instincts take over, and you find your mouth welcoming her kiss and returning it with one of your own, your hands moving to either side of her hips and finding, to your surprise, that there was only bare skin there and no clothing.

“Wony…” you begin, as she deepens her kiss, her lips pressing more firmly against yours.

“Shhh,” she answers, “please. I need this. I need you, right now. Please.”

She’s suddenly reappeared after walking out on you, and you have yet to process the slew of emotions that have come your way. Part of you wants to stop her, to talk things out with her so that you could: a) figure out if she was still mad at you and; b) verify that she wasn’t drunk. But the part of you that formed the majority of your conscience knew that she needed comfort as much as you did, and that she needed something to assuage her and make her feel like everything would turn out alright. So you find yourself relaxing underneath her, letting her scent fill your nostrils as her tongue dances with yours.

She straddles you, and your hands begin to run up her naked body, up from her slim thighs to her chest where the ample mounds sat proudly, her nipples erect and stiff. She isn’t wearing any underwear, and your fingers brushing against the slick of her pussy is enough to verify that for you. She’s naked atop of you, kissing you like you just confessed your love to her or like you’re about to go on some mission and never return. It’s not lustful, but it’s full off passion and aims to soothe not stir. 

She breaks the kiss. Her eyes flutter open. In the dark that is pierced by the street lights of the city, you want to remember the way her eyes glimmer and shimmer as she breathes heavily. There’s no alcohol on her breath, and from the way she’s cradling your face, you can infer that she’s not mad at you in the slightest. 

“You okay?” she whispers, and her tone is soft and warm, like that time she spoke in the shower of her hotel about signing that contract with her company so that the two of you could officially start dating. It’s been some time after that, but you still hang on to the way her words made their way to your heart. “I didn’t mean to startle you if I did.”

You respond by nodding, and it’s enough to convey: I’m alright. You brush away the hair that falls in front of her eyes, and you really want to remember how silky smooth her hair feels in your hands. 

“What are you doing?” you ask her, making sure to keep your tone as warm as her own. She blinks, goes silent for a moment, then answers, “I’m making amends.”

She holds your gaze, you hold hers. The staring contest ends when you gently pull her in for another kiss, and you want to remember how she softly moans into your mouth while her thumb, smooth and tender, caresses your cheek.

When the kiss breaks again, her hands snake their way down to your sweats. You assist her in removing your shorts—a very clumsy affair: tangled hands and arms and lots of chuckling. But your cock does finally spring out from your boxers, the ones that have been discarded in the corner of the bed, together with her clothes. When it’s all done, you have the pleasure of witnessing the sight of her slim frame straddling you once more, long legs surrounding you on either side of your thighs while she peppers kisses on your chest. 

“I’m sorry I left you to deal with… Everything. Alone.”  she begins, “I shouldn’t have walked out on you like that… I’m sorry. I hope you aren’t angry”

And from your lying position, you lift a hand to cup her cheek. “We can talk later.”

She gets the message, but bends down and kisses you nonetheless. You’d probably have trouble falling asleep later in the night, and she’d wake up and you’d have this same conversation again. You’d rather have it later than now, not when the wound is still fresh.

Wonyoung lets a soft smile play on her lips. You are slightly aware of her raising her hips, her right hand finding its way between your bodies to grasp your wet, erect shaft, and line it up with her entrance. She breaks the kiss for the third time that night, searches your eyes for approval to continue with this. Was it make up sex? You didn;t know if it was for sure, but it sure as hell felt like it. What you do no for certain is: you’d like to experience this now, and you want to etch this in your memory for as long as you can before it fades with the rest of your mind. 

You give her the slightest of nods, and you feel the head of your cock press against her wet, tight opening. Slowly, carefully, Wonyoung lowers herself down onto your shaft, your cockhead parting her tight lips to impale her pussy. She gasps loudly as she impales herself fully, and she opens her eyes slightly to match your gaze. You brush stray locks of hair away to reveal her face fully, and you bring her mouth back to yours to kiss her deeply. As your tongues duel, she begins to raise her hips, drawing your shaft out of her body before lowering it once more, and soon she has found a soft, slow rhythm as she rides you, grinding her warm, tight body against yours. 

She raises herself upright and lets her hands rest on top of your chest. You’d like to save that face she makes in a supercut of her other memorable faces: eyes closed, lips slightly parted and the wisp of a smile on her lips as she rocks her hips. From where you lie, you watch as Wonyoung takes you in and out of her body with soft grinding motions, riding you slowly, enjoying every entry and exit of your shaft as it fills her over and over in slow, tender strokes that make her shiver. You watch as your shaft appears for a split second or so before driving back into her, each disappearance accompanied by a soft spike of pleasure. As always, she’s letting moans and sighs and gasps tumble freely from half-parted lips as she takes you in and out of her slowly, rocking her hips with innate grace and elegance. All you do is let your hands rest on her thighs, moaning softly to encourage her as she rides you lovingly, tenderly, a far cry from what you’re used to when it comes down to sex with Jang Wonyoung. 

Through the night, your cock glides in and out of that perfect pussy, elicits moans and gasp and sighs and cute little cusses when you hilt yourself deep inside of her and tug a little at her hair. Her hands were always active, sometimes caressing your chest, sometimes on your jaw, sometimes behind your head as she snaked an arm behind your head to keep you locked where you were just so she could sneak in a kiss. You came in her mouth, her ass, her pussy. She came on your fingers, your cock, your mouth. She cussed a lot, almost passed out once or twice. You cussed a lot two, and you caught her when she almost rolled off the bed (the two of you laughed for a minute about that situation before you ended up spooning on the floor, her leg in the air and your cock pumping in and out of her while she had your back to you and your face in her right hand). 

Bottom line: it was wonderful, wonderful make up sex that ended with both of you sweaty and panting and wanting more from each other but you guys just don’t have that energy to keep going. It was a novelty for both of you, and you wanted to remember just how special she could make you feel, even in the impurest of acts. 

*

The flash of the polaroid camera is almost blinding, but you power through and keep your eyes open. Like a child that’s seeing snow for the first time, Jang Wonyoung watches excitedly as the polaroid emerges from the slot in the camera, and she’s all too eager to grab it and lay it face down on the coffee table in your apartment.

“I thought you’re supposed to shake it?” you ask, watch as she fiddles with the camera for a little bit before she snaps a selfie with her newest purchase. She gives you a look that basically translates to, “uh, are you dumb?” and waits for the next polaroid to emerge from the slot before she launches into her lecture. 

“Shaking the polaroid to make it develop faster is a myth,” the way she sounds so official and everything is so cute. You can’t help but smile a little as she sets the other polaroid down. “It shifts the pigments and blurs the photo, but an idiot like you would need a genius like me to tell that to you.”

The remark is clearly meant to be biting, but it’s nothing short of hilarious to you. “When did you become a camera nerd?”

“Ever since I got this,” she lifts the polaroid camera up and hits you with that you’re on camera smile. “Maybe I should do an ad for this brand. Increase their sales, you know?”

She leaves you to think on that and retrieves the first polaroid she took: a picture of you and her on the couch of your apartment. Not the grandest first photo, but hey, a memory is a memory, and you really are just focusing on cherishing those at the moment. As she leaves the couch to clip the polaroid onto the photo rack (a bunch of metal wires on a metal frame with wooden clips to hold photos) she just set up, you grab your journal next to you and flip it to the page you wrote on a few hours before. With your pen (that you now carry around just about everywhere with your journal), you scribble down a new part of today that you want to remember. It was her idea to journal down everything you wanted to remember. 

The entry goes right under the one about Wonyoung’s new camera.

She looks so happy with that new camera. Bet she’s going to go back to the dorm and show it off to all of her members because she’s a fucking child. I hope that…

And you trail off in your writing, What you wanted to say was just on the tip of your tongue just a second ago. Why can’t you remember it? It was literally just in your head a minute ago…

No. 

You shut the journal. It makes a soft yet substantial thud as the leather cover slaps against pages. You place your pen in your pocket, set the journal back down on the couch and stand up to walk towards your girlfriend, who is currently adjusting the angle that the wooden clip holds the polaroid at. She senses you walking up to her, steps aside and makes a space for you to watch her struggle. You would offer help, but you know that it removes half the fun for her when you do something for her. 

She fiddles around a little more, makes a couple of grunting sounds under her breath, curses a little, and next thing you know, she exclaims, “tada!” while pointing at the first occupant of the photo rack. You roll your eyes, throw an arm over her shoulder and look at the slightly blurry photo within the white frame. 

“With the camera,” she tells you, her tone soft and warm like… Like… Fuck. “I hope that we can help our memories live on. Sounds pretty deep huh?”

You can’t help but chuckle in agreement. You take a moment to stare at the two faces that occupy the space in the polaroid, and you hope to God that they will never, ever look foreign to you. It’s a futile prayer, you know, but a glass-half-full mentality is the best chance you have at not spiralling out of control. 

Wonyoung lays her head on your shoulder, silent and all sentimental as she closes her eyes and takes in a deep breath. She lets out a shuddering sigh, and you know that she’s trying not to cry, cause in this situation she’s the one that will end up hurt at the end of it all. You’ll forget the pain of forgetting; she’ll remember the pain of being forgotten. It sucks, but it’s just the way it is. You hug her, hold her close and stroke her hair. You don’t want to forget what she means to you, what you mean to her.

How many more polaroids left till it all ceases to matter?

____________________

Hello! Hope you guys enjoyed this fic. I'm a bit rusty so this one might be a bit funny, but hopefully the style of storytelling I chose didn't fuck you up too bad. Non-linear storytelling will be the death of me. Also: I kinda didn't edit this one too much. My bad hehe.

This was really more of a PSA to cherish the ones you hold close to you, because you never know when they will just disappear. Love the people close to you, cherish them forever.

~Lots of love Nichuuu

[fox-guardian]

hey guys did you know that um. did you know. first of all did you know i'm losing my mind, secondly, do y'all remember in tma how when someone reads a written statement, they don't really Stop unless they're interrupted? and they read the whole thing easy cheesy, no issues with reading whatever words are there? like. jon literally could read french for a whole statement and was Fine. granted, that's Jon, but like nobody else struggled with pronunciations and whatnot (that i can recall)

presumably, this is an eye thing. either as employees of the institute, or because everyone there is just also eye-aligned in some degree (melanie had the ghost hunting show, the eye is fond of martin, etc)

and then there's tim in season 3 ep 86

[Sigh] Statement of… uh, Benjamin Hatendi… Hateendi? Regarding a… [papers rustling] a blanket. Dead friend. Monster. Regarding his unavoidable and gruesome end. How he tried to hide. He couldn’t. Statement is from… 1983, March 2nd. And I guess… [long sigh] I guess I’m doing this one. Tim Stoker. Archival assistant… Archival prisoner at the Magnus Institute.

correct me if im wrong but i don't recall anyone struggling with pronunciations before this bit. but that's not even the biggest thing here, that's just a lil Taste, a lil Flavor.

note the phrasing there. "Regarding his unavoidable and gruesome end." why would he say this when the written text on the statement says this:

Uh, right. Benjamin Hatendi’s account of… [rustling pages] oh for… a, a strange encounter. Er, statement date, March 2nd, 1983. Melanie King recording. Apparently.

"a strange encounter". that's it. nothing about an unavoidable death, just a "strange encounter". Tim Why Did You Say That.

why would our dear timothy bimothy, who is being pushed to the brink, who is becoming rapidly more depressed and losing hope, say this?

this isn't the only time he's said some weirdly grim shit tho (ep 104)

There was never really any hope for me, though, was there? This was how it was always going to go.

and then there's this bit from elias apparently having Looked into tim (also 104)

TIM All right, hit me with your X-ray eyes then, boss. What do you see? ELIAS Disruption. An unpredictable, angry man with nothing left but the desire to feel in some way revenged. TIM [Sarcastic] Ooh, terrifying! Surely only magic could have let you see so deep inside my very soul.

"nothing left" but the desire to feel revenged. and tim doesn't dispute this, because it's true.

when he first joined the institute he did so in order to look for answers about danny, but then he stopped seriously looking. and now that the circus is back, this is all the drive he has left. not looking for answers, just wanting revenge. closure. an end, if you will.

this is Literally It For Him. a couple lines later he suggests elias kill him, he's At The Breaking Point.

he is so tired, he's lost all hope, and he's saying all this grim shit about "unavoidable death" and "this is how it was always going to go" like hmmmm sounds familiar doesn't it. DOESN'T IT (<- is going insane)

(ep 11) [....] despite the rapid response of the paramedics and how much of his medical history I had immediately to hand, there was nothing I could do to save him. (ep 11) I have no responsibility to try and prevent whatever fate is coming for you. Based on my previous experience, such a thing is likely impossible anyway,[....] (ep 121) There. That was it. That was our fate; where we would always be.

hmmmm sounds a bit like oliver huh? everyone's favorite ex-accountant avatar of the end?? right??

but then there's this last bit i have from ep 86.

why did he stop reading the statement

Statement. “My parents never let me have a nightlight. I was always afraid, but they were ju–” Ugh, this is stupid.

why did he do that. again, correct me if im wrong but when else has someone just Stopped Reading like that without someone or something else interrupting them? why could tim just stop himself?

my theory is this: at this point, tim is completely gone from being aligned with the eye. he no longer seeks to know what happened to danny, he just wants closure. he doesn't wanna do any statement work, and he keeps mentioning these tidbits about hopelessness and the inevitability of terrible events, specifically death.

the eye isn't compelling him to read the statements like it does the others, because it doesn't have as strong a hold anymore. the grip is slipping from him. and by the time the unknowing rolls around, maybe it's lost him for good. maybe he finally fell into a different power he never meant to serve, and yet, he does.

and maybe. just maybe. because i'm so not in denial. but MAYBE. he did die in the unknowing. but maybe he got better.

basically end!tim truthers rise up, this is how end!tim kayaking with his bf oliver banks can still win, etc etc I'm Going Feral <3

[obbystars]

It’s You!

Synopsis: Despite everything, it’s still you.

Notes: Sebastian Solace x GN!Reader / Established relationship, can be interpreted as either married or not / Sebastian and Reader live together / Connected to my previous fic, Drown in the Deep, but this can be read as a standalone / Cigarettes cause it’s canon Sebastian smokes, up to you if reader also smokes / Fluff + Comfort / Reader has read Sebastian’s document, but nothing too specific is mentioned from it

(UNDERTALE REFERENCE RAHHH anyway another fic where I’m playing/experimenting with Sebastian’s character. I’m trying to find something that clicks, y’know? You’ll probably expect me to be writing him for a bit until my fixation decides to latch onto something else.)

Credit: Dividers by @cafekitsune

The moment you felt the empty space beside you, you felt wide awake. You’re not sure how long he’s been gone for, but that part doesn’t really matter. You threw off the blanket and got up, almost immediately feeling a shiver run down your spine. It’s cold.

You began to search through the house, quietly opening doors and listening if you could hear movement. Not in the bathroom, not in the living room, not in the dining room or the kitchen… You grabbed a snack while in there just in case. You checked everywhere inside the house. He’s definitely outside then, probably smoking. You grabbed a sweater and made your way to the back door.

Hearing the door open, Sebastian turns to you with a cigarette still in his hand.

“Oh, hey,”

You tilted your head with a smile, “Hey. You alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he nods, turning away as he said that, “I’m fine, just can’t sleep,”

You hum as you walked to him and gently lay your head on his shoulder. He didn’t react at first, but you feel him lean onto you as well. He eventually relaxes.

“Let me guess. Nightmare?”

“You could say that,”

“You wanna tell me about it?”

He shrugged, “Not really,”

Sebastian wasn’t one to talk about certain things much like this, so you didn’t question it any further. You pulled out the snack you grabbed earlier and held it up to him.

“Care for a trade?” You smirked, shaking the bag.

He smiles a little as you held out your other hand for his cigarette. Once you feel him place it in your hand, you let him have the snack. It was mostly quiet once he started eating. Silent moments like this were nice. It makes you feel sleepy sometimes and you could very much fall asleep right here on his shoulder. Unfortunately, the wind picked up and it started to get a bit cold. Both of you shivered.

You gently patted his arm, “You ready to go back inside?”

There was a brief silence between the two of you before he nods, “Yeah,”

Sebastian leans off of you as you do the same. Just as you turned around to head inside, he tugs on the sweater.

“Wanna return my sweater?”

“You’ll get it back in the morning, it’s mine now,” you smile.

He rolled his eyes as he followed you inside. You kept the swearer on when you two got to bed. You crawled in on your side and held out your arms to Sebastian as he got in. He laid his head over yours while you got yourself comfortable on top of him.

“Hey Seb, you know what we should do?”

Sebastian doesn’t take his eyes off the ceiling, “What?”

“We should go to an aquarium some time,”

“Where’s this coming from?”

“Fish are cool. Plus, I figured it’d be a fun and cool little date, y’know?”

He lets out a laugh, “I’m getting the feeling that’s not all,”

You rolled your eyes with a scoff. He wasn’t wrong about that, so you continued.

“Yeah, cause you didn’t want to come with me back in college because of your business major. The same one you switched out of,”

“Okay, now that’s just unfair!” Sebastian abruptly sits up, pushing you off of him, “It’s not my fault the damn class was boring!”

He pinches your cheek and pulls on it, causing you to wince, “You didn’t even end up going anyway because of your own classes!” He adds.

“Oww! Hey!”

He lets go of you and lays back down, facing you. He closed his eyes for a moment before sighing, “Sooo… Where’s this aquarium?”

You smiled and reached for your phone to check the location. Hopefully that window to go is somewhere in your lives as there’s time and money to worry about. It was a bit expensive and a little far. One day, and maybe if there’s another opportunity, you could invite his brother and sister to come along. You don’t see them much anyway so that could be a great opportunity.

Once you were done talking about it, you put your phone back where it was. You were about to close your eyes, but Sebastian still has something to say.

“It’s funny that you brought up the aquarium, actually. My dream had to do with the ocean,”

You looked at him, “Really?”

“Yeah, it was cold, dark… I don’t remember it hurting. I don’t think I was drowning either,”

“Woahh… That’s kinda cool,” you reached your hand over and started playing with his hair, “Kinda makes me want to go diving now,”

“What’s with you and your sudden interest in the ocean?”

“When you think about it, there’s a bunch of stuff down there we haven’t discovered yet because we don’t have what it takes to go further down. It’d be so cool to see and learn about it. Of course, I’d be happy to see a sea turtle and maybe swim with one,”

“Kinda sounds like you love fish more than me,” he scoffs.

“Not true!” You then paused for a moment, totally not thinking about it, “But if you were a fish, I’d still love you,”

“How reassuring,” the sarcasm in his voice is clear.

You pouted, “Shush. It’s because I’ll know it’s you. Now let me braid your hair until I’m too sleepy,”

He lets out a sigh as he moves closer, “Fine,”

Sebastian ended up falling asleep rather quickly as you worked, and you didn’t take too long to fall asleep afterwards.

Your eyes snapped open with a gasp. You feel cold. You’re not sure what it was, but you remember seeing a dark creature with multiple white eyes staring at you through a locker. It was ramming into the door, trying to get you out. It had human teeth and its face looked like it was melting. That was the last thing you remember as the locker doors finally gave out and you couldn’t hold it shut anymore.

Your heart was pounding against your chest. You feel something move underneath you and quickly remember where you were and who you were with. You pushed yourself to sit up and looked at Sebastian who was still asleep. His tail had coiled around you, almost acting like a bed if it weren’t for the scales. You’re reminded of the current situation you’re stuck in and it doesn’t help to calm your heart. You’re still stuck in this abandoned facility with no way out unless you leave his hideout to retrieve the crystal like Urbanshade requested.

You sighed, lying back down and facing him this time. Your hand reached over to move some of his hair away from his face so that his third eye is visible to you. Perhaps playing with his hair to get you to fall asleep was more of a habit now. You nudged yourself a bit closer to him and started to make a small braid.

Sebastian had quickly woken up due to feeling something gently tugging on his hair, but seeing you so focused, he stayed quiet and watched you. Part of him wanted to know just how long it’ll take for you to notice him watching you. You were being careful as you weren’t aware he wasn’t already awake.

He’s become such a light sleeper ever since his stay here. The smallest noise and movement could wake him up, but it was like a lifesaver as the dangers persisted. It didn’t help that Urbanshade is going to kill him without hesitation the moment they see him.

Your hands are shaking and you’re struggling more than usual. It might be because you’re still shaken up by your nightmare of getting killed mixed with the problem you’re currently in, but it did feel a little too real. It felt like you used all of your strength to hold the locker closed. You can’t exactly feel your legs either, like that was the first thing that monster had consumed. The image of it was still in your head. A million eyes staring at you through the locker from inside its mouth, its face seemingly melting away and the scream it let out once it grabbed you.

Your hands stopped, the shaking becoming more evident. A blue scaled hand takes hold of your small hands. You blinked, snapping yourself out of your thoughts and looked at Sebastian.

“O-Oh, uh…” your voice trembled, “How long were you awake?”

“Long enough,” he says, “You’re shaking. What’s wrong?”

You looked down and tried to pull your hands out of his, but he only held tighter, “Just a nightmare…”

“Well, whatever it was certainly frightened you to this extent. What was it about?”

“I was still here, somewhere in this facility. The lights flickered and I heard a distant voice getting louder, and then it suddenly screamed as it saw me entering a locker,” he lets go of your hands at this point, “It kept ramming into it, trying to open it or knock me out of it. When it finally managed to open it, its face looked so… disturbing. There were so many eyes in its mouth, a-and…”

You’re not sure how to describe it, or maybe the memory of the nightmare is fading at this very moment. But you still feel it.

He props himself up on one of his hands, using his extra limb to pull you closer, “Ohhh, you had a dream about that thing? Yeahh, dying to that isn’t really pleasant. Won’t get into the details, you probably get the idea of it anyway considering what you’ve seen,”

You say nothing in response to that. Is that what the last person you were with felt? You can’t imagine just how painful it would’ve been had it spotted you inside the other room. All that was left was the beat up locker and a pool of blood. You don’t remember hearing them scream either, but perhaps it was drowned out by the sound of the monster. You didn’t want to think about it anymore.

Sebastian lays back down so you can continue with what you were doing, but instead, he feels your hands come back to his and gently holds it. He watches you for a bit, trying to figure out what you’re trying to do now. You traced your fingers against the scales, almost fascinated by it. You were being oh so gentle with him.

“Y’know, any sane person would be cautious whenever they see a tall fish with the features of an angler fish and razor sharp teeth,” he suddenly comments, “But you? Didn’t anyone ever tell you curiosity kills the cat?”

“It’s because I know it’s you, Sebastian,” you held his hand tighter, “Just because you look like this now doesn’t change the way I feel about you. Does it make me upset knowing why now? Of course I’m upset…and angry, too. Had it been me instead, I think I would’ve done the same after everything they did. You must’ve been in so much pain too,”

He doesn’t respond to that and only stares at you. You didn’t seem to mind as you eventually move on to compare your hand sizes, and his is significantly larger. When he was still just a human, your hand sizes weren’t all that different. Now, he can hold both of your hands in one of his. He could crush your head if he so wanted to.

You sighed, continuing, “The day they gave you the death penalty, I… I think I gave up. I knew I was going to lose you so maybe in a sense, I died too. There were so many days and nights where I struggled to even get up and struggled to even go back to sleep. Every single morning was just a painful reminder for me that I wouldn’t be seeing you again,”

You gave up. A part of you had already died.

“I guess this “job” was just another way of me not having to wake up anymore. It’s silly, I know… But isn’t it kind of funny? I came here because I thought this could be my chance to see you again in death, and here you are. You’re still alive, and that’s all I cared about,” you smiled, “Maybe a little different, but… Still alive, and still you,”

His eyes widened slightly. That stupid line again. Sebastian looks away with a hiss and you can feel his tail shift beneath you.

“Go back to sleep, [name],” he sighs, “You’re gonna need the rest,”

By the way, I am aware Sebastian isn’t THAT big when you take away the tail part, but look…

Big hand… Also there was this post that I found while making this so

Also not really proud of this one but oh well