#and it’s like it’s opening up things she didn’t know she needed or wanted

[cressidagrey]

Her Papa's Daughter

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: Oscar never sees how similar his daughter is to him. But Felicity does. 

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

There were moments—small, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moments—when Felicity would pause, tilt her head, and think: There he is. Right there, in her.

Oscar never saw it.

He adored Bee. Worshipped her, really. 

In that soft, steady, unobtrusive way of his. He looked at their daughter like she was something he’d never stop marveling at—like her brilliance was something that had skipped him entirely, a beautiful mystery he was lucky enough to witness up close.

But what he didn’t realize—what Felicity did—was that Bee hadn’t come out of nowhere.

She was Oscar.

In so many little ways.

Most people only saw the surface. They saw the same jet black hair that she had inherited from Felicity. They didn’t see that it had a wave to it, something that came from Oscar. 

They didn’t see that yes, Bee��s eyes were brown. But they weren’t Felicity’s eyes. Weren’t that near black, ebony colour. They were Oscar’s. Brown but lighter, honeyed around the edges. 

They saw Bee’s intelligence: bright, sparkling. A mind that was as quick as Felicity’s. But they didn’t dig deeper. 

They didn’t see all the ways Bee was just like her father. 

Bee was more Piastri than Leong.

Felicity thanked the universe for that every single day.

Because the Leong side—her side—came with expectations. With pressure. With rigid ambition and cold detachment masked as achievement. The Leongs  were achievement-obsessed. Hypercritical. Polished to the point of sterility. 

The Leongs taught efficiency. Precision. Perfection.

Bee had that in her too. She did.

But the goodness, the calm,  the innate kindness that ran deep in the Piastri blood was stronger. 

Felicity had always worried—before Bee was born—what pieces of herself she’d pass on.

 What her daughter might inherit from the Leong side that had tried to sculpt Felicity into a perfect silhouette of someone she never wanted to be.

But then Bee arrived.

Tiny and fierce. All wide eyes and sharp observation.  Born curious. Born soft in a way that felt like rebellion.

Bee was a Piastri. And Felicity loved that. 

Because it meant the best parts of Oscar—his calm, his heart, his quiet goodness—would live on in a little girl who walked through the world with grease on her cheeks and stars in her eyes.

Bee was just like her father. And Felicity saw it, even when nobody else did. 

Bee was Oscar’s in all the ways Felicity loved most.

Not his fame.

Not his skill behind the wheel.

But his gentleness.

His capacity to feel deeply, and quietly. 

Felicity saw it when Bee got quiet when she was upset—not loud, not tantrum-prone like other kids her age. No, she folded in, went silent. Let the weight of the world settle on her tiny shoulders without protest. Just like Oscar did when something hurt. When he’d had a bad race. When the pressure clawed too close to his ribs.

Bee would sit at the kitchen table with her arms folded and her jaw clenched, and Felicity would see Oscar at seventeen, post-race, staring down telemetry with his whole chest aching and no words to explain it.

It was in the way Bee needed time before she spoke.

How she'd pause when someone asked her a question, like she needed to sort through a hundred tabs open in her mind before landing on the right answer. Just like Oscar, who often went quiet in meetings, brows furrowed—not confused, just calculating. When Bee blinked a little too fast, the way Oscar did when he didn’t know how to say what he was feeling.

People mistook them both for passive.

They were anything but.

Oscar observed. He waited. Let others speak. Let the noise swirl around him until he could cut through it cleanly. Bee did the same thing on playgrounds, watching from the edge, fingers twitching, eyes sharp. Quiet didn’t mean confused. Quiet meant processing.

Then there was the focus.

Bee could spend hours rebuilding the same gear assembly in her toy kart, screwing and unscrewing bolts with total precision, refusing to be interrupted even for snacks. Felicity had once watched her spend 45 minutes trying to fix a hinge on the chicken coop door. She was two.

Oscar did the exact same thing with sim data.

He didn’t like being pulled out of his zone once he was in it. He got snappy—not mean, just tense, clipped, unmoored. Felicity knew the signs: the twitch in his jaw, the soft tap of his fingers on the edge of his laptop. Bee had the same twitch, the same tapping rhythm.

And of course, the perfectionism.

Oscar never called it that. He called it “standards.” “Attention to detail.” “Preparation.”

But Felicity had seen it for what it was. The way he double-checked tyre pressure notes, the way he rehearsed press answers under his breath, the way he panicked—silently—when he made a mistake, even one no one else noticed.

Bee was the same.

If a drawing didn’t go right, if the colors didn’t match what she imagined, she would stare at the page for hours. Sometimes she’d rip it in half without saying a word. Sometimes she’d just press her little lips together and walk away, quietly devastated.

Oscar would kneel beside her, rub her back, say, “It’s okay, Bumblebee. You can start again.”

Felicity never said it, but every time he did, she wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

Because Bee got that from him.

So many things Bee loved—systems, precision, solitude—came from Felicity. But the rhythm of her quiet, the soft sadness she carried when people didn’t understand her, the way she tried so hard to do everything right? That was pure Oscar.

And he never saw it.

He thought he was just the snack-deliverer. The designated cheerleader. The safe arms she ran into when things were too loud.

He didn’t realize that Bee was him.

In the way she got quiet when something really mattered.

How the more she cared, the less she said.

Not because she didn’t feel it — but because she felt it too much.

Just like Oscar after a bad session. Silent. Shoulders tight. Needing a minute to fold the feeling small before he could put it down.

Felicity saw it in the way they both loved things quietly—with reverence, with care, with a steady kind of devotion that never demanded attention.

They were both meticulous.

Both patient in their own strange ways.

They made the same face when concentrating.

They both talked more when they were comfortable, when they felt safe.

And when they trusted someone—truly trusted them—they gave everything, all at once, like a flood.

 Bee stayed up too late sometimes, not because she was avoiding sleep, but because her brain just wouldn’t let go. She’d be lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, listing gear ratios or trying to solve the mystery of gravitational drag in her head.

Just like Oscar the night before a race, flat on his back in hotel beds, blinking at the ceiling while he rehearsed every apex in his mind.

His quiet heart. His careful mind. His silent, stubborn resilience.

Bee had inherited Oscar’s softness. His sensitivity. That quiet brilliance that didn’t need to be loud to be undeniable.

Felicity watched the two of them curled on the couch now, Bee half-asleep on his chest, Oscar absentmindedly playing with a piece of her hair while watching race replays with the volume low. His hand rested protectively against her back, and Bee’s tiny fingers were curled in his hoodie drawstring like it anchored her.

They were so alike it hurt.

Felicity reached for her phone, took a photo quietly—just for herself. Just to remember this.

And as she looked at it later, Bee dozing with the same soft frown Oscar wore when he was thinking, her lashes dark against his chest, Felicity smiled.

One day, maybe he’d see it.

One day, she’d tell him.

But for now, she’d keep watching the two halves of her heart mirror each other in quiet ways they didn’t even notice.

And love them all the more for it.

They were more than similar.

They were the same melody, just played in different keys.

And the sweetest thing?

Oscar didn’t even realize.

Felicity watched him watch Bee sometimes — that soft, stunned look he got when Bee said something too clever for her age or organized her toolbox with color-coded tabs — and he looked amazed. Like she was something brand new, unfathomable, impossible.

And all Felicity ever wanted to say was: She learned that from you. That’s your steadiness. Your stillness. Your careful mind.

But she didn’t.

She just smiled, and let him marvel.

Let him believe Bee was a little mystery he got to unravel piece by piece.

Let him love her for all the ways she was different.

Because one day, maybe he’d see it. All of it.

And when he did, he’d realize what Felicity had known all along:

That the little girl who preferred schematics to dolls and corners to crowds—

She was her Papa’s daughter.

Through and through.

[applereid]

— WORK WIFE, AARON HOTCHNER.

this is my favorite hotch fic i’ve ever written! husband hotch i love u

“You’re married?” Emily blurts out in disbelief, standing beside your desk in the bullpen. Her brows shoot up as she takes a step closer, eyes locked on your left hand.

She gently grabs it, tilting it toward the light to get a better look at the ring on your finger. Her fingers hover like she’s afraid to touch it. The ring, gorgeous yet very obviously expensive, shines under the office lights.

“How have I never noticed this before?” she asks, laughter spilling into her voice. She glances at your face and back to the ring, thoroughly entertained by her own obliviousness.

You give a small shrug from your chair, leaning back slightly as you glance at the ring yourself. “It’s not really an oversized ring, I guess. Subtle enough to not be flashy— unless you’re actively staring at my hands.”

Emily snorts at that and settles down on the edge of your desk, her curiosity now fully piqued. Her eyes drift from your hand to the desk surface, scanning it for any signs of personal life.

Her smile falters slightly as she takes in the minimalistic setup— neatly stacked files, a couple of pens, your badge, but no photos. No hints of the mysterious spouse she’s only now just discovered.

“No picture of your husband anywhere?” she asks, clearly surprised.

You let out a soft laugh, fingers still tapping away at your keyboard. “Nope. I see him every single day. I don’t exactly need a reminder of what he looks like while I’m working.”

Emily cocks her head, pretending to be shocked, though the sparkle in her eyes gives her away. “Wow. Cold. At least tell me you have a photo of him on your phone. I want to see what this mystery man looks like.” She shifts forward slightly, elbows on her knees like a kid in gossip mode, the grin on her face growing.

Before you can respond, her eyes flick over your shoulder, drawn by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. She watches as Hotch makes his way down from the upper level, coffee in hand, moving with his usual composed stride. He crosses the bullpen and stops at your desk, setting a to-go cup next to your keyboard.

“Did you know she’s married?” Emily grins up at him, her tone light and teasing.

Hotch doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah,” he says plainly. “I married her a couple of years ago.”

He glances down at you, his expression unreadable to anyone but you, and casually adds, “They were out of hazelnut creamer, so I got you caramel.”

Emily blinks and there’s a pause— one of those silences where time seems to stutter. Her eyes dart between you and Hotch, her brain clearly trying to process what she just heard. Then she laughs, shaking her head.

“Okay, very funny,” she scoffs. “Good one, Hotch.”

“I’m not joking,” he says, his brow slightly furrowed as he lifts his left hand and shows her the plain gold wedding band resting comfortably on his finger.

Emily’s laughter dies immediately. “Wait. What?”

“There’s no way in hell she would marry you,” she exclaims, half-laughing again, though the disbelief is starting to sound a little forced.

Hotch glances down at you with a look that’s equal parts amused and wounded, eyebrows raised as if to say Did she really just say that? You shake your head, already laughing as you push your chair back and rise to your feet.

“Oh, you poor thing,” you murmur affectionately, stepping toward him and looping your arms around his neck. You pepper kisses across his cheeks, offering exaggerated sympathy. “That was so mean!”

Hotch stands stiffly for a second, sighing as you shower him in affection. But the corners of his mouth twitch with amusement, and his hand comes to rest gently on your lower back, anchoring you to him even as he rolls his eyes.

Emily just stares, jaw hanging open slightly, her expression slowly morphing from incredulity to full on horror as the reality sets in. “Oh my God,” she breathes, shooting to her feet. “I am so sorry, Hotch. I didn’t know— I thought you were kidding! You’re not the kind of person who jokes like that!”

Hotch glances at her, unimpressed but not angry. He doesn’t bother responding— he’s far more preoccupied with your continued affection as you nuzzle his cheek again, giggling softly.

“Poor baby,” you coo, hands coming up to gently squish his face between your palms as you press one last kiss to his lips. “Don’t listen to her. I’m very happy to be married to you.”

Hotch hums in quiet agreement, still avoiding Emily’s wide-eyed stare as she blurts out a stream of apologies, her hands flying in every direction like she’s trying to physically take the words back.

He finally looks from her to you, amusement flickering in his eyes. Then, with a mischievous smirk that’s rare but undeniably real, he leans down and gives your backside a light, playful swat before placing a kiss on your forehead.

“Put a picture of me on your desk by tomorrow,” he murmurs low enough for only you to hear. “Please?”

You smile up at him, eyes warm and full of fondness as you nod. “Promise,” you say softly, reaching up to kiss him once more— quick and sweet— before sitting back down at your desk, already mentally selecting which photo to frame.

[yuansie]

(3) even when there was rain, sunshine came

pairing. caleb x fem! childhood friend! non mc! reader (x childhood bsf! zayne)

synopsis. caleb planted a seed in your heart when you were both young, nurturing it without meaning to until it sprouted and blossomed. it shouldn't have grown this much, not when you knew you could never have him.

genres/aus. angst, fluff, f2l, unrequited love, childhood f2l

warnings. mentions of death, attending (a) funeral(s), lots of crying, reader goes down an emotionally unavailable time period but worry she feels better afterwards, small and and brief mentions of hatred oops, and cursing bc someone now does that double oops! if there's anything i'm missing, please let me know!

rating. pg-13 whoops.

wc. 5 k

a/n. not proof read as always lol also... mayhaps a double update is coming... maybe... also that last bit may be wonky bc obvi i havent graduated from uni yet so ion know how that looks like WHOOPS ❤️‍🔥

your fifteenth spring teaches you the reality of what it is like to truly mourn for someone. the news came to you in the midst of exams week at the aerospace academy, and it came to you in the form of your dad’s lieutenant colonel—his best friend. when you open the door to your dorm, you knew what it meant when you saw the man stand before you, his cap tucked in between his arm and side, his gaze downcast. your ears rang so loudly that you didn’t hear when he apologized.

and the rest of that week went by in a blur.

you took your exams and promptly prepared for the funeral the farspace fleet would give your dad in skyhaven.

it was an odd feeling.

attending your dad’s funeral in skyhaven was like a nightmare, a surreal experience that you wanted to wake up from. you always thought your dad would die of old age and be buried in bloomshore’s cemetery, long after retiring. yet, here you are: at the farspace fleet, watching as the general gave a speech about the brightest alum of the aesrospace academy and the best colonel he had the pleasure of training when he was a lieutenant. honestly, you don’t even pay attention to the old man. you know your mom isn’t either. you pay attention to the casket, the way the polished surface shines brightly against the unforgiving sun.

it’s an odd thing: attending a funeral when there is nothing in the casket.

because your dad died in the deepspace tunnel, the only casualty of the patrol team he was leading. you heard of his pilots’ recounts of the event, heard of it from his second-in-command. everything was normal, everything was going smoothly. then, the space felt weird. everything felt still for a second.

there was a vibration in the air, a low hum that intensified.

“your father gave the order for the patrol team to turn back.” a pause. “we were turning around when a vortex opened and…”

the deepspace tunnel.

what an unpredictable and unforgiving thing.

you blink, and suddenly there are people you’ve never seen before giving you their condolences.

“i’ll be organizing a small funeral for your dad,” your mom mumbles to you in between the shower of apologies you receive and the pitying gazes.

you glance at her. “do you need help?”

she shakes her head. “it’ll be small… just family.”

you suck a breath in and your finger twitches in your lap. “can zayne—”

“his family will be there,” she grabs your hand, giving it a light squeeze. “they’re family, too. do you want caleb there?”

caleb.

there is a tinge of anger that tugs at the strings of your heart, searing ardently within you.

even now, when you think you can move on from the idea of him—the thought of him—he still manages to slither back in some way.

you shake your head. “no. i just want zayne there.”

what’s it to caleb, anyways?

he stopped caring in eighth grade, so he won't care now.

and you don't have time to mourn over a living person who broke your heart.

your mom was quick to organize your dad’s funeral. a week later, while you’re on spring break, you find yourself at the kitchen table with your mom.

“what do you want in the casket?”

you tilt your head at her question. “excuse me?”

she continues filling out some paperwork. “what do you want to put in his casket for tomorrow? i’m putting in his awful collection of vinyls.” she chuckles, but you see the slight tremble in her fingers.

your dad often joked that he’d like to be buried with his vinyls so no one else could have them—he mostly said that because his best friend always eyed them when they were students in the academy.

what do you want to bury?

you think of his cap, the one that sits in your dorm right by the picture of zayne you have on your desk.

“nothing.” you finally say. “i… don’t want to put anything in the casket.”

you want to keep your dad by your side, you don't want to forget him.

“okay.”

and this time around, the funeral feels real.

your throat feels tight, your heart beats faster than usual. the sky weeps along with your heart, you feel like the world is spinning too quickly and that you’re about to sink down.

everything feels like a mess.

your mom stands to your right, her eyes fixed on the casket that’s being lowered into the ground. she moves forward, standing in front of the pit. she says something you cannot hear, kisses the white flower in her hand and lets it fall inside.

a squeeze breaks you out from your daze, warmth seeping into you. from the corner of your eye, zayne nods at you. with a gulp, you take a step forwards, then another until you're in front of the pit. you stare down at the casket.

this is too real.

standing in front of his casket makes it too real.

the man who called you his little star, the man who wasn't always around but tried to be, the man who never read you the classic bedtime stories and instead told you about the different jets in the fleet, the man who made you fall in love with the sky, the man who loved you more than anyone ever will and proudly told you that as if it were an undeniable fact—he is dead.

your dad is actually gone.

dead.

and your knees give out. you’re unsure whether you’ve been crying from the start but you are now: the tears rapidly fall down your cheeks, burning in excruciating pain. you don't care about the mud that gets on your clothes, all you can focus on is that emptiness and pain you feel, the wide hole that sinks into your chest.

a warm hand touches your shoulder, gentle as if to not break you further. arms circle around you, carefully bringing your head into a familiar crook. zayne exhales softly, a hand running up and down the length of your back. the umbrella he held up now lays forgotten on the ground.

“it hurts,” you croak, grabbing a fist full of his coat. “it hurts so much, zayne… make it stop.”

he continues to hold you. “it will hurt for a long time,” he says. “because healing takes a long time. you’ll learn to live with this one day… maybe not now, but one day.”

you can only gasp in response, clinging onto zayne as your sobs begin to take over, your chest rising and falling rapidly. “he’s dead,” you shut your eyes and press yourself closer to zayne, “he’s gone.”

you feel him shake his head. “he isn’t. he lives right,” zayne leans back, the hand that once held your head now pointing at your heart, “in here. he’s always going to be there with you.”

the seasons come and go, the days blur together, and the faces you see everyday you can never put a name to. you talk to your mom every day, and you delude yourself into thinking that clipped responses are better than none at all.

it’s the most you can do, after all.

you talk to zayne less despite having lived in the same city for four years now. you pull away from him slowly, taking small steps away until the gap between you has grown into what it is now: a canyon. the distance was already there when he left, so it shouldn't matter if it's grown more now that you’ve done the same.

and the small girl you left behind? the one who made the sun rise? you haven’t spoken to her once since your dad’s funeral in bloomshore. you didn't even tell her of his passing—you just stopped talking all together, and in between your fresh sorrow and her constant messages, she stopped trying to get a hold of you, as if coming to the slow realization that you're… done.

honestly, you don't blame her for stopping. you were a bitch, the remnants of a heartache mixed with your grief drove you to give her the cold shoulder.

you’ve pushed them all away and locked yourself in the prison that is your fear: the fear of getting too close and experiencing that pain once again.

because you don't think you can allow yourself to mourn for the dead ever again.

the seasons come and go, the days blur together, and somehow you’re a week away from graduating. you’re surprised the academy even let you get this far—after all, your score on that exam was just fine.

the heat of summer is unforgiving: it beats down on your back as you climb down the jet, the sweltering heat making you take quick strides across the practice field, unfastening your helmet with a flicker of your hand. you’re practically booking it towards the locker room.

“how are you feeling, miss valedictorian?” a classmate runs up to your side, matching your quick pace. “you got your speech ready?”

you don’t spare a glance and continue walking. “i have everything ready.”

they whistle. “wow,” they awe, “that’s our legendary miss valedictorian for you.”

the title makes you roll your eyes. “i thought i told all of you to quit it with that.”

they shrug, still following you as you enter the locker room. “everyone knows it’s true. even the academy praises you.”

the prodigy of the aerospace academy, y/n l/n.

just like your dad.

you tune out the voice of your classmate, getting rid of your flight suit and equipment, and storing it neatly inside of your locker. you adjust your clothes just as fast before you're out the door, already heading towards the gates. there’s a man that stands not too far from you, his back towards you. there’s also a girl talking to one of the guards nearest to you, though you can't see her as the guard covers her from your line of sight.

you aren't even a step outside when a hand latches around your wrist, and you freeze because you know who it is.

how could you not? his warmth is so familiar to you, even after all this time.

what surprises you the most is the fact that he's here. why is he here? he lives so far away from the academy. how is he here?

he says your name quietly. “we… should talk.”

your heart lurches, but still you don’t pull away. “i thought you were busy with med school...”

you can practically hear the way zayne raises a brow at your words.

“how would you know?” he asks, his tone void of any real malice—just pure curiosity. “we haven't talked since august.”

“i… go through your moments… sometimes…” you mumble in embarrassment, “you were studying not too long ago, right?”

his hold on your wrist loosens and tightens at the same time, his touch hesitant. he wants to hold on tighter, but is unable to. zayne holds your wrist gently, thinking as if you are to crumble if he were to hold on any tighter. he breathes slowly, “can we talk?” he quickly adds on, “privately?”

you nod and grab his hand, leading him to your apartment.

and as you walk away, you don't hear the call of a familiar name.

“pips!”

you awkwardly sit next to zayne in your living room, knees touching. your leg bounces, and you refuse to look at the older male.

zayne wordlessly places a hand down on your knee, stopping it from moving. “…there’s no need to be nervous.”

“there kind of is,” you grumble. “i didn’t think you’d ever visit me over…”

the distance, you want to say, but the words lodge themselves in your throat. you tap your finger against your leg now.

he hums. “well, i wouldn’t be here in the first place had you not started to pull away.” zayne breathes in slowly, carefully grabbing your hand in his. “i don’t blame you for anything. i just… want you to know that i’m always here. it doesn’t matter if you start pulling away because i’ll just follow you. i just want you to know that.”

you grip his hand at his words. “i’m a terrible friend,” you mumble. “how can you not blame me for this? how can you even say that?”

“because you’re still mourning,” he replies. “i know you—that means i also know how much your dad means to you.”

means—present.

not meant—past tense.

because you still miss your dad. you miss the summer days in verona where he’d carry you on his shoulders. you miss when he would talk to you about the new jets on his fleet. you mourn not only him, but the future you never got to live with him. he was supposed to watch you graduate, watch you work your way up in the ranks of the fleet—his fleet, he was supposed to be there when you ask him for love advice, he was supposed to help you move into your apartment after freshman year at the dorms and haul everything inside because he would never let his little star move a muscle.

“but i should be over his…” death. you still hate saying that stupid word. “but instead, i’ve let it consume me. you don’t blame me for that? for letting my fears influence me?”

you know that zayne knows: you pulled away because you’re afraid of losing him like you did with your dad. you’ve thought about it, about a world without him, when your mind can’t rest during the late hours of the night. each time you would end up silently weeping. there are no words to describe a world without him in it.

“of course not.” he knows. “i understand.” he always does. “i can’t make promises that i don't know if i’ll be able to keep because the future is unpredictable, but i can promise to take care of myself for you to ease your worries.”

and just like that, the knots in your chest untangle themselves. your shoulders no longer feel heavy, and you can breathe for the first time in a long time.

“you…” you tilt your head to look him. “you’re too good to me, zayne li.”

“i’m supposed to be good to you,” he lets out an amused chuckle. you take in how he looks now, how he looks older and more mature, how his hazel eyes have more brown in them than green hues right now, how his lips are curved upwards just the slightest bit. “i’m your best friend, you know?”

the book you had been reading for the month lays discarded on your chest, your back on your bed as you cover your mouth, shoulders shaking. zayne stares at you with a deadpan on his features. “you still haven’t made any friends?”

he gives you a pointed look from his sitting position against the bedframe. “have you made any friends?”

you stick your tongue out at him. “touché.”

zayne blinks once before leaning forwards to pinch your cheek, stretching the skin out. you furrow your brows and flick his wrist. “what are you doing?”

the corner of his lip lifts. “pinching your cheek.”

“no shit,” you scoff, huffing through your nose in amusement when his hazel eyes widen at your words. “what? don’t tell me you didn’t see this coming?”

he clears his throat and lets go of your cheek. “i certainly didn’t expect such a colorful word to be a part of your… everyday vocabulary.”

you shrug and roll off the bed. “the officers have a nasty influence on first years,” you scrunch your nose, “even worse when flight training starts. they just bitch about everything.” you sigh, “obviously, i don’t speak like this to the officers… or anyone.”

“then why say it around me?”

“because i don’t have anything to hide from you,” you reply, “i tell you everything. i’m always going to be the most relaxed around you—that won’t ever change.”

zayne smiles, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “you don’t tell me everything.”

you purse your lips. “yes, i do. i—”

“you never told me you liked caleb,” the smile still doesn’t leave his lips, and you tense at the statement. “but i knew that you did.”

you blink a couple of times.

the stupid kiss.

you never told him about what caleb did on the night of his fourteenth birthday. you didn’t tell him of the pain.

and you won’t tell anyone; no living soul will ever know.

looking away from him, your gaze falls on the snow globe on your nightstand. “and you never told me you liked her, but i knew you did.”

“i don't.”

your eyes go back to him, watching as he takes his glasses off. “i don’t like her… maybe i never did.” the last bit was quiet enough that you almost didn’t hear. before you can question him, he looks up and eyes your neck. a finger comes up to point at his own. “you don’t wear it anymore.” you know what he’s referring to.

you think to the box that sits underneath your bed in your mom’s house: the box that holds everything related to him—the pictures, the necklace, the notes and the doodles and the paper airplanes… everything. “i threw it away as soon as i left for skyhaven.”

the male hums. “is that so?”

you nod. “yeah,” you breathe out.

there was no point in bringing a piece of caleb with you when all you wanted was to forget him.

“it’s getting late,” zayne mumbles. “you have a spare room, right?”

“about that…”

zayne stares at the empty room you show him down the hallway from your room. he turns his head towards you. “why… is it empty?”

“i’m the one doing the visiting,” you say, “not the other way around. i found no need to set up the spare room…”

“i see…”

you smile at him, “we can sleep in the same bed.”

he furrows his eyebrows, mouth slightly agape. “what?”

“c’mon!” you nudge his shoulder. “it’ll be like old times!”

zayne sighs and pinches his nose. “you are a woman, and i am a man.”

“…and?” you raise an eyebrow at him. “are you saying you’re going to eat me up or something? should i be worried?”

“of course not,” he says quickly. there’s a slight frown on him that confuses you. “but… am i not a man to you?”

“of course you are,” you answer, leaning forwards. you reach out and grab onto his cheek, pinching it. “but i trust you enough to not do anything.”

“…i see.”

there were no classes for the rest of the week for the graduating class, meaning you no longer had to wake up in the crack ass of dawn to get ready. unfortunately, habits are hard to die, so despite having turned off your alarm, your mind wakes you up when the sky is a faded, dark blue. immediately, your mood sours as you stare up at the ceiling.

you lay in your bed for a fee seconds longer when you’re suddenly aware that your right side is empty and cold. with a yawn, your cold feet hit the ground as you stand up and quietly search for your missing friend.

zayne lifts his brows when you walk into the living room, his glasses sliding down the slope of his nose. “did i wake you?”

you shake your head, padding over to where he sits on the couch. the cushion sinks when you sit down, your head immediately falling on his shoulder. “i’m used to waking up at this hour…” you squint at his hands. “are you studying?”

he nods, ready to say something but the word die at the tip of his tongue. zayne watches curiously at your outstretched hand that open and close repeatedly.

“give me your notebook.”

he does so without any complaint. you scan the contents quickly, gaze flitting up to him afterwards. “i’ll help you study.”

zayne chuckles softly, and shakes his head. “i appreciate that, but you should sleep some more.”

“i’m already up,” you say through squinted eyes. “besides, it’ll be like old times.”

“ah yes,” he hums, nodding once, “back when you were in middle school and i helped you study.”

except you never actually studied. zayne would read the questions out loud once, you would answer perfectly, and then you would decide enough was enough before spending the rest of your time reading with him.

friday morning comes in the form of a quiet and empty room.

when you wake up, your left side is empty once again. in the span of the week, you’ve come to learn that zayne has the habit of waking up earlier than you do. sometimes he’s up an hour before you, other times it’s half an hour.

you breathe in and exhale slowly, blink once at the roof and then stand up. the drowsiness leaves your body as you begin to get ready: you brush your teeth and splash cold water on your face before wiping it away, you put your uniform on, you comb through the knots in your hair, and you place your cap on your head. your eyes move towards your desk, eyeing the black cap that sits on it.

you’ll be able to wear it soon.

you slip your socks on, and move into the living room. zayne sits at the table, his laptop open in front of him as he highlights something on his notebook. he looks up, his hazel gaze locking with yours. he gestures at the steaming cup of coffee in front of the chair next to him, and you head towards it.

“i thought your graduation was at nine,” he says, eyes going back to his laptop. “why are you already ready?”

“force of habit,” you shrug, grabbing the cub. the warmth seeps into your fingertips, and you raise it to your lips, pausing, “and my class has to practice once before the ceremony. we’re supposed to be there an hour from now... head for breakfast afterwards,” you snort and shake your head, eyes narrowing in mirth, “someone called it brunch in the group chat. another person called them a dumbass.”

zayne’s lips quirk upwards as you finally take a sip from your cup. he watches you with a quiet intensity, one that somehow warms up the tips of your ears, yet you tell yourself to not dwell on it because he’s just zayne, the boy you grew up with.

“you sound happy.”

you bring the cup down to rest on the table. “i am,” you breathe out.

the rest of your time before heading to the academy is spent by quizzing zayne. he answers everything perfectly, and you promptly congratulate him every time, to which he huffs a laugh through his nose. when it’s time for you to leave, he offers to give you a ride and you accept.

his car is, as always, clean. it looks like it just had the day he bought—you were with him as he walked around the dealership, scrutinizing every car and analyzing every thing he learned about them until he found one he liked. it took almost two hours, and you were tired as hell, but it was worth it. he drove you to a small cafe afterwards, his treat. and though you were still mourning for your dad, despite it having been a year later, that day you felt the first semblance of normality.

the car comes to a stop, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“i’ll see you later,” says zayne.

you give him a smile. “yeah, see you later.” when you open the door, he grabs onto your wrist. you look back.

“you’ll be free afterwards, right?”

“well, i know that there’ll be a party to celebrate… but that’s in the evening, like at nine.”

he nods. “good.”

zayne doesn't say anything afterwards and only bids you goodbye, promising to see you in a few hours. with a small wave, you watch as he drives off, leaving you alone at the gates. you breathe in slowly and exhale.

you take a step back, twist around and begin to walk to the gates when you suddenly stumble forwards, your cap falling off your head and landing on the ground with a thud.

“shoot! i’m so sorry about that!” a voice rings out from behind you.

with a sigh, you lean down to pick up your cap, dusting it off. you glance behind you: there's two, tall guys. one has short hair, and he has his friend in a headlock. the one in a headlock has brown hair, bangs covering his face from your judging eyes. you turn to face them.

“my friend here sure is clumsy,” the guy laughs, tightening his hold on the hunched over friend. the friend grunts in response, trying to pry off the arm around his shoulder. “oh shit,” the guy gasps, seemingly having realized something. “you’re a graduating senior?”

“that’s right,” you say.

the guy beams, his free arm stretching out towards you. “congrats, senior!”

his enthusiasm brings a small smile to your lips, and you give him a firm handshake. “thank you.”

“caleb,” the boy snaps his head towards his friend in the chokehold. “i can’t believe your clumsy ass bumped into our senior!”

the name makes your smile curl downwards.

“ah, senior! don’t tell me we upset you!” the other boy panics.

you shake your head, eyes closed. “no,” you grimace, “but i do have to get going.” you put the cap back on your head, and with a small wave, you walk away.

“caleb, why the hell are you staring? show some respect!”

caleb.

what a way to sour your mood.

the practice was chaotic, to say the least. after you dropped a bomb on them with the salutatorian, everyone began to shout questions directed at the two of you. you got so fed up you yelled at them to shut up or else you wouldn’t go to breakfast with them afterwards.

which leads you to now.

you sit at a table with your classmates, all of them staring at you.

“…so, i didn’t want to give the speech,” you shrug and poke at the food in your plate. “big deal.”

“but why?” someone asks, followed by a quick no offense to the salutatorian.

“they have more memories with the whole class,” you answer. “it didn’t feel right for me to be up on stage and give a big speech on memories and stuff. made more sense for someone who actually spent time with the class to do it.”

when you look up from your plate, you see that everyone’s mouth are wide open.

“…what?” you grimace. “did i say something wrong?”

“you’re surprisingly cool.” someone says.

their comment makes you snort. “very cool of me to do that, huh.”

someone ends up pointing at you. “you just laughed.”

chaos erupts once again.

“holy shit, she just laughed for once!”

“knock it off before i regret being here,” you give everyone a pointed look.

they all still, mumbling apologies. in the next second, everyone starts talking and taking turns to ask you questions.

surprisingly, you don’t mind the attention. you don't mind talking to your classmates like this; in fact, now there’s a tinge of sadness that settles into your chest.

you should have talked to them more.

you swear you see the person siting next to you start crying during the salutatorian's speech.

as you stand at your assigned spot, hands holding your diploma behind your back, you see the same person start to cry harder once they’re tapped out by their family, their rigid posture crumbling.

your eyes rake over what you can see: there’s people waiting to be tapped out, some are crying, some are laughing and happy. and then you see him.

zayne naturally stands out: tall and lean, a head above the shorter crowd. the sight is comical, making you puff out your cheeks in an attempt to not laugh. he stops a few steps away, takes his phone and snaps a picture of you, all the while having an arm behind his back.

“you blinked,” he hums once he stands in front of you.

you narrow your eyes slightly at him.

with a chuckle, zayne taps your shoulder, his touch warm despite the layers of your uniform that separates your skin from his. your posture relaxes, the rigidness melting away as your lips curl upwards. he brings a small bouquet of flowers, not flashy like the ones some of your classmates are receiving. a few hyacinths and irises, their blues like the color of the sky you love, held together by a white bow tied around the stems.

“congratulations, y/n.”

you take the bouquet from him, and look at him, the small smile you had now a grin. zayne’s eyes look like a light green underneath the harsh glow of the sun, much like the green hues of the gemstone aventurine, with small specks of amber in them.

he takes a step forwards, arms slowly wrapping themselves around your form. your cap almost falls off as your throw your arm around his shoulder, the bouquet clutched tightly as your free hand flies to keep your cap against your head. laughter bubbles from your chest and falls from your lips, loud and cheerful for the first time in a while.

“thank you.”

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[itzpookiepooh]

Hiii I really love your writing and I was wondering if you could make the lads (Love and Deepspace) boy going to the reader or mc's house and when entering her room they find some clearly masculine piece of clothing (like boxers or something like that) and they start to think too much about it like she's bringing another man home or some other jealous thoughts only to discover in the end that it was from the reader or mc's herself

That’s Mine!

Rafayel nearly fell out when he came over and saw the boxers on the floor. Were you cheating on him? Was he not enough? Did he have to kill whoever it was? His mind was running rampant with thoughts of you with another man. He bursts into the bathroom where you were showering and opened the shower door.

“Whose are these!?” He shouts holding the boxers on one finger. You were lathered in soap confused and a bit scared from the abrupt actions.

“What?” You analyze the cloth and sigh, “those are mine! Panties aren’t always breathable you know?”

Rafayel sighs in relief as he leans on the shower door. He explains his thoughts to you making you shake your head at your dramatic boyfriend. He kisses your soapy cheek apologizing for his rude outburst.

Caleb was doing laundry when he saw them. The boxers sitting at the bottom of the washing machine. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He never saw you in boxers. EVER. He wanted to ask you but he didn’t want to cause a scene. Is what he would’ve thought if he didn’t think someone else was leaving their dirty clothes in your room!

“Alright I know Zayne has more home training than leaving his clothes here unclean.” He announced swinging the underwear from the basket. The way he burst into the bathroom nearly gives you a heart attack.

You look side to side before your gaze falls on him. What is he talking about? You just stare at him as he pulls out boxers making you become flustered. Swinging your underwear around was the last thing you expected from Caleb.

“Caleb.” You stated firmly, “Those are mine.” He becomes flushed with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, pipsqueak. I got jealous is all.” He explains as he rubs the back of his neck. You make a face at him before submerging into the bubbles in the bathroom again. You accept his apology making his features soften.

“Now that that’s over.” He says mostly to himself, he basically disappears out of his clothes. Your eyes go wide before you lift your hands up waving them.

“Caleb wait!” You interrupt, “Too late!” He cheerfully exclaimed as he hops in the tub. You groan as he clings to you.

“You’re sitting on my legs.” You inform him making him hop up and hurdle apologies at you.

Zayne knew you had a pretty chaotic wardrobe. There was no simple aesthetic to it. You got whatever you liked. Today however he was confused to find an oversized shirt in the laundry he was folding. It wasn’t his that he was certain of. He did remember you saying that you stayed with a friend until the rain died down the other day though. He folded it and put it to the side before going to find you in the gaming room.

“Is this a colleagues? I’ve never seen you wear it so I’m making sure to put it where it goes.” He asks you, showing you the shirt in question. You know that flicker in his eyes.

“It’s mine. I needed looser clothes because I was uncomfortable during my cycle last week.” You put it to him simply. He hums at your answer before folding it and walking into your shared bedroom to put it away.

Xavier got pouty when he saw the pajama pants. He knew you would NEVER but he couldn’t help the jealousy he felt from you borrowing others clothes. He was right here with a full wardrobe for you to choose from. He asked you about it which made you giggle at his jealousy.

“I like Spider-Man and they don’t really make it for me so I went to the men’s section and got the pants!” You explain to him with a bright smile. He sighed before hugging you.

“I have a whole wardrobe for you to pick clothes from.” He mumbles into your neck. You laugh at the way his breath tickles your neck.

“But none of them are Spider-Man are they?” You tease as he groans in embarrassment. You laugh at him and caress his hair. Your poor jealous baby.

Sylus stared at the cargo pants in confusion. They weren’t technically yours in his eyes since the size was in men’s. He immediately assumed they may be Luke or Kieran’s and got mixed in with your things. When he calls them into his office to tell them they were so confused.

“Those aren’t ours boss.” Luke says crossing his arms. Kieran nods mimicking his twin.

“Yeah. We don’t own a pair.” Kieran adds as Luke nods in confirmation. You just so happened to walk by and widen your eyes at what Sylus was holding. You rush in and grab them.

“They’re mine! Stop flaunting my clothes.” The twins snicker to one another making you glare in their direction.

“Men’s pants?” Sylus teases with his usual smirk. You huff and cross your arms.

“They fit better and went with my outfit.” You stick your tongue out at him, leaving the room. Not before plucking the twins for their excessive laughter. It was now Sylus’ turn to laugh.

[peoniesnro]

Perfect Partner | Sequel 2.1

Synopsis - You find you have no one to turn to except, Jeon Jungkook!!

Paring- Jeon Jungkook × Reader

Genre- Yandere | Dark Romance

Warnings- Yandere (Mentions of kidnapping/ Emotional manipulation/ Toxic and unhealthy love/ Obsessive Love/ Threats against loved once/ Forced Intimacy/ Abusive behavior/ Controlling behavior/ Power play/ Jeon is the same sweet asshole/ Unhealthy coping mechanisms/ Reader is broken/ Possesiveness/ Hope I haven't missed anything) SMUT (Making out/ Finger suckings (Palm too)/ Dry humping/ Humiliation/ Begging/ Groping/ Heavy degradation/ Dirty talking/ Unprotected sex/ Rough sex/ Multiple orgasms/ Begging for cum/ Chocking/ Creampie/ Shower sex/ Threats during sex/ Crying during sex/ Daddy kink!!/ Sex tapes/ Mentions of bondage, shoe ridings/ Again I hope I missed none) Please remember this is yandere!!!

Word count- 18.7K

a/n- Hello there babies!!!! My apologies for splitting the sequel into two parts but I had to considering this was getting too long (we have 18K words already). If I contniued to write untill the end, I'd have ended up writing 50K words and we all would've be in our sixties by the time I uploaded it. So,bear with me while I first upload this one and let's wait for the next one. Also, in this one I paid more attention to SMUT (like half of this is smut), so it might looks like nothing is happening. But I promise, the sereis will end with the next part. (Let's hope Daebi gets what she deserves!) Thank you so much for reading and the support you've shown. I love you all sosososososooo much ❤️.

RUNRUNRUN

This is the second sequel, read the first part here -

Perfect Partner

Coffee?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You open your heavy eyelids, feeling as if they are glued. Every inch of your body is sore. Head throbbing. Unmistakable signs of heavy crying in the previous night. You wince in pain as the bright sunlight leaking through the ashy curtains strikes your eyes. You groan softly as you try to move your body,only to realize you can’t. That’s when you realize that you’re not even in bed. In fact, you can see the empty spacious bed right across you.  

You’re sitting upright. A soft gasp escapes you. Memories of the previous night slowly start to flood your mind. 

The call. 

Jungkook.

The video.

Daebi.

Hoseok.

And your little breakdown!

The last thing you can remember is you crying ugly into Jungkook’s oversized t-shirt. His words which didn’t quite reach your ears. His soft kisses on your hair. And his arms that were safely wrapped around your petite figure. The very same arms still wrapped around you.

You’re still in his lap. 

Still in the same position where you sobbed like a grieving widow. Your head pressed against his chest. One of your hands is still clutching the fabric of his t-shirt tightly, curled up like a wounded puppy. Jungkook’s cheek is propped up on your head. And judging by the way his chest heaves ever so gently, you know he is asleep. He has fallen asleep while keeping you on his lap. For the entire night. The realization almost makes you feel bad. Almost though. Because no matter what, he is still your kidnapper and waking up in his arms it doesn’t bring comfort.

Absolutely not!

It sends a chill down your spine. You need to get away from him. It was a moment of weakness that you had the previous night. You were heartbroken. Devastated. It was unbearable pain that you endured. It pained you more than how it pained you the day Hoseok told you that he needs to break up. That he’s in love with someone else. Having your boyfriend cheated on you was another thing. But the woman who he cheated with to be your best friend? That’s a completely new territory of pain. 

Then she helped this lunatic to get you into this situation? The thought alone makes you want to laugh aloud. How crazy is that? How pathetic is your life? 

You ran to Daebi when Hoseok broke up with you. And she had you crying on her shoulder while she was the reason for your tears. She trashed Hoseok like she genuinely despised him with her guts. She got wasted with you on your hardest nights. Only for everything to turn into a lie. One blatant lie. 

It’s humiliating when you think about those moments now. How oblivious you’ve been. Hell, you even ran to her when the AI Jungkook started to scare the shit out of you. AOnce again, you ran to the very person behind it all.

Will there be anything harsher that can happen in your life? You don’t think so. So, of course, you were hysterical last night. And this motherfucker, who thought he had the right to drag your already pitiful, pathetic life even lower- had taken advantage of the situation. You would’ve never allowed him to even lay a finger on you if it wasn’t the pain that numbed you of the other senses. 

You wish you could just storm away from his hold. Scream at him. Let all your pain, anger and frustration out on him. The thing is though, despite everything, he is still the same Jungkook who managed to get you here. The same man who looks at you with a crazed look in his eyes whenever you act stubborn. And unfortunately, you are still the same person you were yesterday. Broken. Weak. Scared. Trapped. You are still afraid of this man. Very. Hence your weak attempt of stretching your body slowly. Trying to pry his arms away without waking him. You just want to get out of his hold. 

It doesn’t work. Just as you try to move an arm, his grip tightens around you. A soft whimper escapes him as he rubs his cheek against your hair. “No..” He breathes. A quick kiss to the top of your head follows that. You freeze. “Five more minutes please…” He adds again. Voice soft and hoarse and his words are nothing but a quiet murmur. There was a time that the same hoarse voice in the morning had made you blush violently. Made you excited. Made your pussy clench around nothing. And you would like nothing more than to say that it doesn’t do anything like that to you anymore. Nothing even closer. Then why are you clutching his shirt like your life depends on it? Then why does your breath catch up in your throat, that way? 

Well, it’s because you are scared. Right? Especially, after what you did yesterday, you have all the reasons to be scared. What if he decided to lock you up in a room? What if he decided to chain you to a wall? What if-

“You hungry?” JungKook brings a hand to push back your hair from your face. Doesn’t take his hand right away. He starts to gently massage your scalp. His voice is still sleepy. His movements are deliberate. “Hm? Pretty?” He questions again in your silence. 

“How?” You don’t answer his question. Instead you throw another one at him. 

“How, what?” He still doesn’t loosen his grip. Not even a little bit. Keeps you pressed against his body. 

“How come you have that v-video?” You manage to get your words out without breaking down. A pang shoots across your chest. You’ll never get over that. No. 

“I just happened to have it.” He answers vaguely, much for your displeasure. Yet you decide not to question further about the matter. You change the course instead. 

“How lon-” This time your voice cracks up. New lump forming in your throat. It pains you. Even the memory of it pains you as if you’re physically bleeding. Even though hours have passed, the pain returns to you fresh. Just like how it was the first time you saw the video. “L-long?” You clutch Jungkook’s t-shirt even tighter, looking for strength from a piece of fabric. “Ho-how long have they-”

“Longer than you think.” JungKook answers you, saving you the misery of having to ask it aloud. “It doesn’t matter, princess. It’s all in the past now. You need to let that go, you know. They don’t deserve you. You deserve much better. They can fuck off.” He finally loosens his grip a little bit. Just enough for him to bring his hand which was in your hair to your chin, and lift your face up. You just let him. He gazes deeply into your eyes. His eyes glowing golden in the morning light. “They aren't worth your time.” Smiles at you softly. 

Easy for him to say. It wasn’t him who had been madly in love with the same person half of his life. It wasn’t him who trusted someone so badly that the very obvious signs have become obscure. You bite into your bottom lip to stop the trembling. To stop the sting in your eyes. You are exhausted. Can’t survive another crying session. 

“Hey, hey!” Jungkook sighs. “Don’t cry please. I swear, I didn’t want to hurt you, baby. But you weren’t trusting me enough to know that I’m not the bad guy. You were thinking that bitch of a friend of yours could do any good to you. I had to make you see things clearly. I’m so sorry that it hurts. But I’ll make it okay, yeah? I’ll make sure you’re okay. Don’t cry now. Hate seeing you cry.” He rests his forehead against you. You hate to be so close to him. You’re tired, however. So, you give up. Just focus on trying not to cry. Focus on pretending that his presence actually calms you down. 

It’s all because you’re heart broken. Once you’re healed, you’ll never feel comfort in him again. Then, you don’t plan on living this life for that long anyway. It’s not like you got much to lose at this rate. And, besides getting out of this luxurious prison, now you have a confrontation to do. You have to meet Daebi and Hoseok. You have to slap Hoseok hard across his face. 

You have to call Daebi a ‘bitch’ to her face. 

…………………

You eye your breakfast wearily. Even the sight of the delicious- looking pancakes makes your stomach churn awfully. You have no appetite at all. Jungkook, however, never was a fan of you skipping meals. He’s annoying. Too freaking annoying. All you want is to fall deeper into the hole of misery. Just sulk. Be alone with the pain. Such a shame that you’re not allowed to make even simple decisions for yourself. 

It’s ridiculous really. Jungkook hasn’t done anything bad. He’s been nothing but kind to you. Caring. Ever so gentle. Loving. Warm. But you’re still afraid. Maybe that fear is deeply rooted somewhere in your brain. With no way of escaping. Maybe it’s because you’ve experienced how much he can change when it’s needed. How he’s turned into a monster when things aren’t going in his way. He might not have done anything bad yet but deep down you know he will, if he wants that. 

So, of course you slightly flinch in your seat when Jungkook suddenly sighs. You know exactly what is coming even before Jungkook opens his mouth. That’s why you instantly dig your fork into the soft pancakes. But then he surprises you with his words. 

“You loved him that much? You loved him so bad that it still hurts you? After all this time? It’s been years, isn’t it?” 

Yes!

That’s the simple and direct answer. You don’t say it aloud, however. See, the fear. Jungkook will not appreciate that answer. 

“Why?” Jungkook asks again. You don’t look at him. Just keep picking at your food. Trying not to think too hard about his question because it’ll surely make you cry again. 

Why? He asks. You can come up with a list. You know you can but you don’t want to. Jungkook grabs the stool next to you. It screeches against the floor, making you flinch. 

“Tell me, baby? What does that motherfucker have that I don’t?” He bends down in an attempt to look at your eyes. You don’t avoid his eyes nor do you look at them. He won’t like the answers if you tell him. For a start, you would like to bring up the fact that Hoseok hadn’t kidnapped you. How he hadn’t created a damn app to traumatise you. But Jungkook won’t like those answers. Besides, it’s not like you’ve hurt completely because of love. No. You are hurt about many things. You loved Hoseok, yes. Maybe you still do. The thing is, though, you’ve come to the conclusion that he’s a cheater a long time ago. And you’ve been loving him less each day ever since. This is not about that. No. This is about trust and betrayal. 

“I don’t love him anymore.” You simply mumble before stuffing your mouth with a forkful of pancakes. Jungkook scoffs. 

“Yes, but you did.”

“People make mistakes. It’s just past.”

“Yeah? Then why are you sulking? Why is my pretty girl’s eyes all bloodshot and why does she look so tired?” 

You put the stupid fork down. It looks like you will have no way of escaping this conversation. “I hate them,” You exhale. Close your eyes. “I hate them and I hate myself. I hate you. I hate how I trusted them ever so easily. I hate that I trusted you. I hate how much of a stupid, pathetic loser I am. I fucking hate my life.” You blurt out before you can even process. Just as the last word leaves your mouth you feel insanely calmed. As if you’ve put down a heavy burden you’ve been carrying around. Just for a minute, however. In the next minute, your face is caught between Jungkook’s rough fingers. He turns your face toward him. That strangely soft and warm look he had in his eyes all this morning has vanished. In its place now is that madness. The look you fear so much. It’s just like the time you told him that he’s sick and he didn’t love you. He’s staring you down just like he did that day. You gulp harshly. A shiver runs down your spine. 

Jungkook brings his face closer to you. Close enough until you can feel the tip of his nose nudging against yours. “You,” he grits. “Can hate them all you want. That is what the bastards deserve. And baby,” he squeezes your cheeks hard. Hard that it hurts you. “You can hate me too. Because like I said, you will learn to love me one day. But,” he pauses for a moment. “Don’t ever fucking say you hate yourself. You hear me?” Questions. “Do you?” Shakes your head. “Do not ever fucking talk bad about you.” 

All you can do is stare back at him. Wanting badly to glare. Wanting badly to scream. He controls everything in your life. From what you eat to what you wear. Now he wants to control your thoughts as well? You’re already physically trapped. He wants you to be mentally trapped as well? 

“I can do whatever I want.” You spit back. God, you wanted to sound as how you feel. Angry. Spiteful. Powerful. But the way you say it is completely the opposite. You sound weaker than ever. Instead of a statement it sounds like a question. And all that it does is make your eyes well up. How helpless you are. 

“No.” Jungkook shakes his head. “No you can’t, Pretty. Because, guess what? You are fucking mine and I don’t like when people talk bad about what’s mine. Even you yourself.” He lets go of your face. Just to pick up the fork. You stay motionless as he takes a piece of pancake in it and brings it to your mouth. “Now just eat like a good girl.” 

You turn your gaze away. Oh, the way you want to throw a tantrum. The way you want to stand up for yourself. “I’m not hungry.” You use your palms to wipe away the unshed tears from your eyes. Jungkook exhales in frustration.

“If you want revenge, I can make that happen, you know. I can avenge you.” He drops the fork without any further fuss, which surprises you. Yet again. But that’s not what makes you snap your head toward him back. He’s controlling everything. And you’re too weak to change that. But… But this is something you’ll never want. You don’t know if you want revenge. Maybe. Maybe not. All you know is that you want a chance for a confrontation. You want to scream at Hoseok. Then above everything, you want Jungkook to stay away. He won’t rob you of your chance for salvation. 

“No!” You gasp. “No Jungkook,” Finally, you manage to glare at him. “I’ll never forgive you if you lay a finger on one of them. I’ll hate you to my grave and I promise you, you’ll never see the day I’ll become yours.” You don’t say the part where you’ll never be his either way. Following your words a heavy silence falls. A deafening silence. Just the gentle sound of the heater filling the air. And Jungkook’s glare. 

You expect him to get mad. Expect him to threaten you with something bad. Yet it seems, this day is full of surprises. He does nothing sort of that. Simply gets to his feet. Waste no time as he rounds the kitchen island and walks past you toward the doorway. Almost leaves you to be. That’s when you suddenly burst out another question. Or a request. You don’t know where it came from. 

“I just want to meet them.” Your voice makes Jungkook halts in his track. A soft yet bitter chuckle escapes him. 

“Not a fucking chance.” He informs you before leaving this time for real. 

Of course. Who were you kidding?

………………….

You haven’t seen Jungkook all day. Mainly because you've been holed up inside your (his) room. Just after your little but not- so- civil chat in the morning, you stormed into your room. Have spent the entire day in bed. Just like you wanted. Morphing. Sulking. Reminiscing. Going through your memories, looking for signs and clues that you must’ve missed. Completely drowning in your misery. 

And Jungkook hasn’t even poked his head in. Not even once, which is very unlike him. He never does that. Never allows you to be alone for more than five minutes unless it’s really necessary. Like when you are in the bathroom or he is.  He would always breathe down your neck. Not giving you any chances to try anything funny. Or he just wants to be around you. Even though you don’t talk to him let alone entertain him. 

Then there is the fact that he hasn’t been worried about your meals today. Sometimes, he acts like your father. Always making sure you eat well. Not today. You haven’t eaten anything since yesterday and there is no Jungkook to nag you about it. 

You find that awfully weird. Odd. Even your insides churn. It’s nearing midnight now and the entire apartment is in eerie silence. You sit back on Jungkook’s bed, letting the dark grey silk sheets fall across your body. 

When you first realized that Jungkook wasn't going to come and bother you, you were happy. Grateful. It was exactly what you wanted — a moment alone. You expected you’d feel better. At peace. Because you hate Jungkook’s ever- looming presence. This was the day you’ve been dreaming about ever since you woke up in this apartment next to Jungkook. The thing is, however, you feel neither. You feel worse to be honest. Feel anxious. So fucking restless. If you're being honest with yourself, all this time, you’ve been waiting for Jungkook to barge inside the room. You were expecting him. When he didn’t it had put you on edge. Now you can no longer just sit back and wait. 

You remove the sheets as you place your trembling feet on the warm carpeted floor. This is truly maddening. How Jungkook is affecting you, even when he is not around. You don’t like this silence. It’s unsettling. You don’t want Jungkook, but at the same time you want him. At least you’ll know he’s not planning to kill you or something when you have eyes on him. Right? That’s why you feel like you’re losing your mind. That’s the only reason you step out of the room and walk toward the living room in silence. That’s exactly why a breath of relief escapes your lips when you spot the said man sprawled on the couch. 

The TV is on. Muted. Luminous colors of the screen are flashing across Jungkook’s face. His eyes are deeply fixed on the screen. You can only see the side of his face. Chiseled jaw. Prominent nose. Glinting eyes. Pink pretty lips. His lip ring glistens in various colors. His hair has turned purple since the person on the screen is standing in a purple background. He is ethereal, isn’t he? Simply not human. Can’t be human. Oh, you hate him. Hate how good looking he is. 

Jungkook turns his head slowly, obviously sensing your presence. Or he must’ve heard you approaching. His eyes meet yours. They are still not soft. Still angry. Still stiff. You stay that way for a long minute. Then you turn around. Fast. Making a beeline for the kitchen. 

……………………….

Despite feeling very anxious and restless without  your captor around, the other major reason that forced you out of the comfy bed sheets was hunger. It doesn’t matter how stubborn, rebellious, and alone you want to be, in the end, you’re just a human who needs fuel to function. An entire day without food isn’t serving you well. Your stomach is grumbling. And you feel weak. 

You scan your eyes around the now familiar kitchen. Clean and tidy. Spotless. Jungkook is the tidiest person you’ve ever seen. Yet today it seems like no one has used the kitchen at all. It’s funny how you’ve never cooked anything in this kitchen. It was always Jungkook who cooked for you. Now, after all this time, it feels ridiculous to even think about making your own food. Besides, it's not as if you want to cook in this place anyway. It makes it oddly homey. When you start to cook in a place it means you are going to stay there for a long time. Not just a couple days like at a hotel. But in a place where you’d come back every evening. No. You don’t want that at all. You’ll never get used to living in this prison. 

Your body, however, doesn’t care what you want or not. Another growl erupts from your tummy. It’s getting unbearable. Like you are starting to eat yourself from the inside out. Maybe you can eat cup noodles. That’s not similar to cooking, right? All you have to do is boil some water. You give yourself a tiny nod before turning toward the pantry where you know noodles are. 

“Are you hungry?” 

A loud scream leaves your throat as you turn back at light speed. Almost lose your balance at how startled you are. Jungkook just stands in the doorway, completely unphased at the fact that you lost your shit because of him. You clutch your chest with both your hands, scowling at the man in front of you. He and his damn sleazy movements. 

“Want me to order something?” Instead of any apology for startling you, Jungkook fishes out his phone. “What do you want?” Asks again when he has the device on his hand. You take a minute, gaping at his face. Even the sound of that makes your mouth salivate. Yet you shake your head. You don’t want to look even weaker in his eyes. Someone who’s incapable of anything. How shameful that you have to seek him for every little thing. 

“I’m not hung-” You start to refuse his offer just to get cut off when he suddenly closes the distance between you. Two long strides and your feet are touching. 

“For fucks sake, (___), don’t fucking make me the bad guy.” He barks. “Don’t make me force things on you. I,” He pauses for a long breath. When he speaks next his voice drops an octave lower. “Really hate it when you’re freaking stupid to see things clearly. And I’ll hate it even more if I have to fucking knock some sense into you.” His eyes bore into yours without even blinking. You feel your heart skip a beat before starting to go mad. Even your stomach churns awfully. You wouldn’t have been able to hide the shaky breath you let out even if you tried to. Fear rises up in your throat in the form of bile, even when you haven’t had anything in your system. “Don’t make me do things that both of us will regret.” Jungkook adds lastly. Doesn’t step away from you. Just keeps his ground, clearly expecting you to answer. You don’t know what the answer he’s looking for. Yet you answer with another question. Your voice is quiet and meek.

“What are you going to do Jungkook? Hit me? Kill me?” You bite back the tremble in your voice with much struggle. Jungkook looks at you for a second like he’s surprised, then he shakes his head. 

“You? Never. But I can certainly make everyone else in this world suffer. You don’t even have a single idea about what I'll do for you baby. Even for simple things. You refuse to eat? Lemme just make you want to eat.” He finally steps back. Scrolls through his phone and then turns it around to show you the screen. A picture. Photo. Of someone who’s dearly familiar to you. Hair dyed in silver and an earring on one ear. Smiling to someone hidden from the camera. 

Park Jimin!

You gasp aloud. That picture looks new. Last time you saw him, he had black hair. Park Jimin is someone who’d dye his hair a new color every month but you haven’t seen him with silver hair before. You know it’s a new picture. 

Did Jungkook take it?

Does he know Jimin as well?

Did someone else take the picture and send it to Jungkook?

Why is he showing you this now? Is he threatening you? 

Your eyes dart between the screen and Jungkook’s face. Jungkook smiles softly. “You won’t want me to just make any of your loved ones hurt now, will you?” He locks the device. You watch as your friend’s image disappears. “Because, I will, pretty. I fucking will.” He pockets the device back again. You feel nauseous. There’s a sickening joy in Jungkook’s voice. 

“Y-you- you wouldn’t.” You stare at him. That smile on his lips never even falters. 

“Oh, but I will.”

“I told you, if-if you ever lay a finger on anyoneー”

“Do you think I’d just listen to you threaten me? Pretty…” Jungkook clicks his tongue in displeasure. “You are already here, aren’t you? You are already mine. You might not want to acknowledge it yet but you. Are. mine. And I know you’ll come to admit it sooner or later andー” He taps the pocket where he just put his phone. “Meanwhile, we can play it easy or hard.”

“But why- why Jimin? He never did anything wrong to you.” You hastily take a step forward. To be honest, you have no idea of what this man is capable of doing. Not all of it at least. He kidnapped you, yes. He’s sick in the head, yes. But that might not be all he has. He can be even more ruthless. He can be capable of murder even. You need to make sure that isn’t the case. 

“But he did.” Jungkook smirks. “He fucking did. If I have to make him suffer, I have all the reasons to do so. Just because I haven’t done anything, that doesn’t mean I can’t, baby. The only reason why I haven’t done anything to anyone, yet,” He brings a hand up. Grabs a loose strand of your hair between his fingers. Plays with it. “is because you are too precious to me. I mean it when I said I don’t want to hurt you, Pretty. But don’t test my patience too much.” His eyes go from that stiffness to softer like a flicker of a switch. So does his daunting smirk. Instead, he smiles at you gently again as he pushes that strand of hair behind your ear. Gently. His fingers grazing over your ear and face ever so lightly. Then he drags those fingers over the side of your neck. And a shiver runs down your spine electrocuting your whole body. You tremble visibly, your breath tangling in your throat. 

It’s fear, right? It’s just fear. 

“Now, you're a big girl. It’s ridiculous that I have to threaten to take away your toys to make you eat.” Jungkook takes his hand back. Just as his touch disappears you feel insanely cold. Hollow. A longing stirs your insides. 

It’s just the fear. You’re awfully scared of him. That’s it. 

He just threatened you with your friends’ life after all. You don’t know what Jimin ever did to Jungkook. Jungkook sure does hate Hoseok because he is your ex. Then you know Jungkook hates him because he hurt you as well. Just like he hates Daebi despite her role in getting you in his hold. Then maybe… Could it be the same reason he hates Jimin? Can it be that Jimin knew too. He knew about Daebi and Hoseok. What if he knew about your kidnapping as well? What about Nina? Did they all know about what was going to happen to you and turn a blind eye?

You feel your heart clenches painfully at the thought. There’s a huge chance that it might be the case. Yet still, you don’t think any of their misery would bring you any satisfaction. No. Revenge is a strange word for you. All you want is a chance for a confrontation, which you know you might not have. Unless you work for it, of course. And after everything, you want all of them to be in a position where you can talk to them. So, you fear Jungkook without a doubt. Yes. This is all about that. 

“I’m ordering Samgyeopsal.” Jungkook informs you, voice sharp. 

You just nod. 

…………………..

The midnight dinner had passed in utter silence where you watched a crappy late-night reality show. It was a very uncomfortable hour where you sat idly next to Jungkook, your mind screaming with  unasked questions. You wanted to know. Wanted to ask. How did he know Jimin? Was it just like you thought? How did he know Daebi? When did they meet? Lots and lots of things. In the end, however, you asked nothing. Simply because you feared the answers. And after that hour, you decided it was enough. That it was time to crawl inside your room back again.

See now, while you spent an entire day starving yourself, you at least hoped to come up with a plan. A plan that is meticulous enough to free you from this shithole. But you managed nothing close to that. All you did was cry, being depressed, then anxious. Now, just as you close the door behind you and stand in the darkness, you know you’re about to do the same thing all over again. This time, however, you feel it ten times harder. New suspicions about your other friends’ participation in your misery has made it worse. 

The lonely feeling freezes you to your marrow. The pain splits your heart in two. The restless feeling makes it hard for you to breathe. It all hits you like a freight train.

Oh, you shouldn’t have been this quick to return here. Maybe it wouldn’t have hurt an extra hour watching that crap show. 

Fuck, it’s hard.

You actually can’t breathe. 

You turn around to stare at the closed door. The room is in pitch darkness since you’ve not bothered to switch on the lights and the curtains are drawn. Still you can see the outlines of the closed barrier that isolates you in this room. You close your eyes for a second, letting the pain engulf you whole again. 

Memories. 

Memories of shared laughter and tears. 

Moments spent together. 

Drunken nights and awful jokes. 

Friends. Lovers. Betrayal!

A tangled sob leaves your throat. You reopen your eyes, allowing tears to roll down your cheeks. The cruel reality of how alone and helpless you are once again registering in your mind. If what you think was true, if Jimin and Nina knew this from the beginning, then you’ve been alone all your life. No one has been on your side. Ever. You are all you have. No one has ever cared or will care about you. You bet that they’ve already forgotten about you. They probably have. You will never have someone to wipe down your tears when you cry. Offer you a shoulder to rest your head when you’re tired. You have no one. No one… 

Except….

You don’t even wait a second to think what you’re doing or to consider the consequences. Simply can’t afford one more minute of this loneliness. Of this pain. You yank open the door and run out. Tears streaming down without a break. Heart violently pounding against your ribcage. Your hurried footsteps muffled against the marble floor. 

No one has been on your side ever. You have no one to turn to. Except this one man, who’ll hold you tight when you cry. And all you want is that. Someone to tell you that it’s going to be okay. That nothing was your fault and they are there for you. You don’t care for the fact that the man you’re running into is another one who caused your demise. It’s fine. You just need comfort. A bandage to cover your wound. It’s fine that it’s not a permanent solution and you’ll regret ever doing this in the morning. You’ll worry about that later. For now, you need someone to be on your side. 

So, you don’t stop until you barge into the living room again. You don’t stop until you’re met with the man you were looking for. Just about to leave the room himself. You only give him time to just turn around when you stand in front of him. Jungkook’s innocent- looking, doe eyes, which don’t suit a person like him, go wide at your unexpected sight. You disregard his surprise. Instead you wipe your tears away with both your palms. Drop your hands down. You have no idea what you wanted from him or from just barging in here. 

“I- just- ca-can you- uh-” Hence your pathetic stuttering. Your hands clenched around your cozy shorts to gain a strength that you didn’t know you needed. But for your luck or not, you don’t have to elaborate any further. Jungkook’s eyes soften as you watch. A kind of hurt flashing across them before he closes the distance between you in a flash. And you find yourself crushed between his strong arms. One arm wraps around your waist, the other cradles the back of your head.

“Of course I will, Pretty. Of course I will…”

…………………

Whatever you expected when you ran to Jungkook, it certainly wasn’t this. Sharing the bed? Maybe. You fell asleep on his lap last night for the sake of fuck. Maybe you wanted to have someone to lie next to you, filling the empty side of the bed. But this isn’t just sharing a bed. The way one of his arms is curled under your head isn’t just sharing a bed. The way his other hand is thrown across your waist and holding your hand isn’t just sharing a bed. Nor is the firm press of your back against his broad chest or the tingling sensation of his breath against your neck. 

But the problematic part of this situation isn’t just how he’s holding you close. The problem is that you're not completely opposed to it. You’re enjoying it to be honest. You blame it on the emptiness inside you. On the craving for a caring presence. Not an AI this time but a real person because the way Jungkook’s heart is beating is real. How his chest is heaving when he breathes is real. How his thumb is gently rubbing your palm is real. That’s the reason for you to like this. 

Then why does your heart pound in your poor ribcage? 

Why does your breath hitch with every rub of his thumb against your palm?

Why does your whole arm feel numb—in a good way? 

Above everything else, why do you want him to keep doing it? No. That’s not the case after all. You want him to just do something more. 

You close your eyes for the hundredth time, hoping you would actually be able to fall asleep this time. To act like your stomach isn’t doing weird turns. You fail. Miserably so. All you manage is a blink before you reopen your eyes when Jungkook pushes you back more into his body. His thumb keeps rubbing your palm. 

It feels good. So damn good that even a moan nearly slips through your lips. You have to bite your bottom lip so hard not to let that happen. You can’t risk it now. Can’t let him know that he’s affecting you. Because you don’t want to get affected. No. You can’t. You are not feeling a fire travelling across your veins. Starting from the spot where he’s touching you. He’s touching your palm for God’s sake and you’re doing your best not to moan? 

What is fucking wrong with you? 

Jungkook sighs dreamily behind you, pressing his body more and more into you. He changes the pattern he is rubbing your palm. Instead of circles, he starts to rub back and forth, making you squeeze your thighs desperately. 

No. No. No….

This can’t be happening. You are most definitely not getting wet. Not because of this psychopath. Not because of a simple touch. 

“Why aren’t you sleeping, Pretty?” Jungkook suddenly questions. His voice is raspy and thick. Even his voice sends a tingle between your legs. 

What the actual fuck?

“Not sleepy.” You answer him with your own hushed voice. Or is it hoarse too? Thick? 

“Why not? It’s late.” Jungkook raises his head a bit. As if he wants a look at your face. His thumb is still playing with your palm. “This doesn’t help?” He questions as he lifts your hand up. “I’m trying to help you relax.” Explains though you don’t ask. Well, you don’t know ‘relax’ is the right word to use in this context. Jungkook doesn’t let you question it. He lifts your hand up and up then back, behind you and over your shoulder. “Gentle touches help people relax, you know,” He keeps explaining while you wait with bated breath. Clueless but also excited about what he is doing. Then you feel the cold touch of his nose nudging against your palm. “Doesn’t it work for you?” Gently questions. That’s all he does before his nose replaces his lips. He kisses your palm softly. Hesitantly. Carefully. As if you’d break if he presses a little hard. 

He waits for a minute while keeping his lips on your palm. Then when he gets no reluctance from your frozen body, he does it again. Another kiss follows. Once then twice. Three times and four times. Slowly. Sensually. His lips brush over your palm like a feather. And you shiver. Eyes fluttering close at the heavenly feeling. 

“Huh, Pretty? It doesn’t help?” Jungkook repeats his earlier question in between his soft kisses. You don’t know how to answer that. So you keep quiet, letting Jungkook kiss your hand. Over and over. And with every kiss it turns a bit tender. His lips linger on your palm a little more than before. As if he’s losing his mind and getting caught in the moment. As if he doesn’t know what he’s doing. “Damn it! Why’s your hands so soft?” A soft groan accompanies his words. Words that go straight to your lower belly, igniting a fire there. 

And you fail to keep your reactions neutral. A heavy, shaky sigh escapes you even without your knowledge. Jungkook takes that as a good sign. His kisses grow more deliberate.But what truly breaks you is when you feel the tip of his tongue grazing over your hand. Gently and lightly. Circling across your skin, just like how he did with his thumb. 

“Jungkook…” You mumble which comes out as a desperate moan. You swear that you don’t intend to do that. Jungkook, however, groans. Applies more pressure into his action. His other hand curls even more under your neck, dragging you insanely closer to him. Practically starts to make out with your palm, shifting between open mouthed kisses and licks. You feel your whole body go weak. Blood pumping across your veins extra fast. “Y-you- you can’t.” You weakly whimper once again, half turning toward him despite your words. 

“Yeah?” Jungkook relents. Pushes your hand away from his mouth. You find it amazing how he’s breathless. Cold air replaces the warmth where his tongue had just been, making you already miss the warmth, the tingling sensation. “Then ask me to stop.” He pants. Gives you time to do as he says. 

And isn’t that easy? Just ask him to stop. You know that he’d listen. 

Ask him to stop. 

All you do is whimper. 

You can’t let this happen. 

You press your palm into his mouth. 

Fuck, you need to stop. 

“Oh, Jungkook….” You finally moan aloud at the same time he kisses your palm again. 

“You don’t want me to stop, Pretty?” Jungkook shifts his attention from your palm to your fingers. Wraps his lips around your thumb and starts suckling gently, almost making you cry. “Answer me, baby. You don’t want me to stop? Want me to keep going?” Even during your filthiest sex calls, Jungkook’s voice hadn’t sounded this thick with lust. It gets your head spinning. Rest of the world and everything else disappears from your mind. 

You don’t know how you responded to him. If you said yes or just nodded. But in the next moment you find your back pressed against his chest once again. This time, however, instead of just keeping you close, Jungkook is rocking his hips against your plump ass. You can unmistakably feel the hardness that is being ground against your flesh, creating an insatiable desire inside you. 

All you can manage to do is whimper. Stay still and let him grind against you. His cock rubbing against your ass firmly with every thrust of his hips. He stopped playing with your hands sometime ago, for much of your dismay. Not that you can complain about the change, however. This is better. Even though you know it shouldn’t feel great, you’re slowly slipping into a blissful numbness. 

You would blame this on not having any actions in your life lately. True that with Jungkook- when you thought he was a mere AI- you brought yourself into mind shattering orgasms more than one time. That somehow doesn’t match the sensation you’re feeling now. That fire was nowhere near the wildfire rapidly spreading through your nerves right now. 

Well, if Jungkook managed to make you cum hard just by his voice, why would you be surprised of him being able to get you drooling just with his cock grazing over your ass. 

Of course, he knows what he’s doing. One hand splayed across your waist to keep you in place. Face hidden in your neck. Lips occasionally touching your skin. His soft grunts a beautiful melody in your ear. His hard cock a sin in your body.

This is wrong.

But you need more.

Otherwise you’ll explode from the pressure inside your tummy. You’ll die from neediness. It’s crazy how desperately your pussy has been clenching over nothing. Embarrassing how much you’ve soaked your panties. 

“Jungkook…” You moan out his name once again. Jungkook doesn’t stop his firm grinding as he answers you.

“Yes, pretty?” He plants a kiss under your ear. “What is it?” Asks through clenched teeth.

You don’t know how to ask him what you want. It’s humiliating. You swore you hate him, didn’t you? You swore you will never be his. Technically, this is nothing like that. Just because you’re horny, it doesn’t mean you’ve entered a truce with this guy. Still you feel like crawling into a little hole at the prospect of being this needy for him. Being at the peak of begging for more. 

“What do you want, baby?” Jungkook questions again. You don’t answer. Still not knowing how to phrase your words. Jungkook doesn’t have much patience, though. “Nothing?” He slows down his movements, making you nearly panic. You don’t want him to stop. No. “If you don’t ask, I can’t give it to you.” He stops rocking his hips against you altogether. “Do you want to go to sleep—”

“No!” This time you actually panic, turning your head around to look at him at light speed. “No, no, please..” Words leave your mouth before you can process it. Jungkook raises head again to take a proper look at you. 

“No?” He arches a brow. You freeze, suddenly realizing that you had said that. But it’s out anyway and you really don’t want him to stop. It’s too late for that now. “Then what do you need, pretty? Use your words, huh?” As if to give you what you’d miss, he presses his hardness a little more into your ass. Or it is to show you how hard he is. Either way it forces the words out of your mouth that he, oh so badly needs. 

“Y-you..” You manage breathlessly. 

“Me?” Jungkook tilts his head. “You have me here, don’t you, pretty?” You nearly cry in frustration. 

Why would he want to make you say it aloud?

“W-want you to to-touch me.” You stutter around again, growing impatient and more needy with every passing second. It’s funny how the day has turned into this. Haven’t you hated him with a passion until now? Well, you still hate him. Maybe even more because he has this much influence on you. To make you say things that you don’t want to say that easily. Of course, you hate him. But that hate drowns in a lake of desire. Deeper and deeper. Disappears somewhere in the murky depths as soon as Jungkook suddenly grabs one of your boobs, making you gasp aloud. 

“Yeah? Like this?” He makes sure with his hand already starting to mold the soft flesh beneath his palms. You shudder, eyes fluttering close. You answer him in a gentle hum and for your pleasure Jungkook takes that as enough an answer. Just for a minute, however. Then in the next, he is questioning you again. “Is that all you need baby? Just this? Want me to touch your tits?” He begins his slow grinding back, massaging your breast with just the right pressure. 

You’re almost drooling. Just with this. His hands and his cock grazing over your body through all the clothing. Pathetic. But you can’t care. Too horny for your own good. You would hate yourself at the way you shake your head. Not Jungkook though. The guy loves it judging by the way he kisses your cheek with appreciation.

“No? You need more? What do you need, pretty?” 

You’re pushing back on his cock, not knowing exactly what’s happening. It sure feels like a dream when this time you open your mouth without much persuasion.

“To-touch me pro-properly… please… god, Jungkook…” You complete the rest of your sentence with pulling your t-shirt up. Initiating what you want. 

And Jungkook laughs. Fucking laughs!

Rich sound of his laughter vibrates across your body. It’s sinister. Cruel. Taunting. He’s letting you know how pathetic you’re being and how it amuses him. You should feel embarrassed. Ashamed. And you do. Of course, you do. Your face reddened at the sound. A strong urge to hide your face somewhere getting to you. But with shame, you get that familiar stirring on your lower stomach. 

Desire. Burn. 

Burn for Jeon Jungkook. 

Jungkook knows how to play you. He had played you even before he got to lay a single finger on you. He played you like you were a guitar. And now he’s slowly dragging you into that same headspace. 

Making you his little play thing. 

Someone who’s completely lost their senses.

“Pathetic, princess. So fucking pathetic. You have no shame!” Jungkook grunts before giving into what you asked him to do. His hand snakes under your t-shirt, finding your bare breasts. “See? Have no shame at all. You came to bed with me, without wearing a bra?” Mocks. His voice is contemptuous. He instantly starts to mould, his thumb flicking over your nippels occasionally. Pays equal attention to both of your tits. Pinches your perky pebbles. “Such a slut!”

In your defense, you didn’t expect this to happen. You expected to go to sleep alone. It’s not fair to assume that. But who would care? Certainly not you because every demeaning word of him is making your body shudder. Your pussy aches. Your empty hole clenches around nothing. And all you want is that emptiness to go. Want that to change. Desperately want to be filled. Especially, since Jungkook is back to grinding. 

“Oh, god… Oh, fuck!” You moan aloud, throwing all the remaining sanity and care into the wind. 

“Yeah? Does this feel good, pretty?”

You nod violently. 

“How good? Are you dripping already? Are you making a mess for me?” 

You nod again, followed by another needy moan. Jungkook curses before he stops playing with your tits. You try to protest which just dies in your throat when he drags his hand down through your stomach. Down and down, and stops just below your waistband. 

You wait patiently with a bated breath. Completely still despite your heavy breathing. It feels like your skin is burning where his fingers are drawing lewd patterns. But he doesn’t take it further. No matter how long you wait, the next step doesn’t come. Not even when you start to whimper. So, you decide you have no other option but to become even lower. 

“Oh, please… Jungkook…” You beg, all the while spreading your legs as much as you can. 

“Holy fuck!... You want me to touch you? Want me to touch your filthy cunt?” Jungkook squeezes you in his hold, finally starting to lose it. 

“Yes, p-pl-please, yes. Touch me.”

“Touch you where?”

“M-my… fuck.. Jungkook please…” You trail off, burning with shame. How degrading it is to say that. You feel like words are turning into dust in your mouth. Jungkook, though, isn't letting you off the hook that easily. 

“Touch you where you filthy whore?” He barks, practically crushing you into his body. You inhale a sharp breath in a fruitless attempt to find the courage. Despite everything, despite the shame, you want him to touch you. 

“M-my c-cunt…” You manage to push the bitter words out of your mouth, pleasing Jungkook immensely that he doesn’t even waste a second. His hands go inside your cozy shorts within a beat of a heart. He cups your pussy without further ado. Then his middle finger is sliding along your slit, poking at your entrance and gathering up the wetness. It all happens so fast. The next thing you know is he’s relentlessly rubbing your clit. Occasionally shifts between slightly pressing at your hole. His hard cock still scouring against your ass. And you’re dangerously nearing that peak. Every flick against your clit makes your head spin. 

Only if Jungkook allows it, though. He doesn’t. Each time you start to tense he slows down. Changes his rhythm. Then stops altogether, just to start the same thing all over again. Gets you literally drooling. Leaving only him and pleasure in your mind. Nothing else. Absolutely nothing that you don’t even realize when you start to cry for his cock. 

“Please, please, please…”

“God damn it, pretty.. You need my cock?”

“Yes, yes, yes… Want you… please…”

“But I thought you didn’t want me to even touch you?”

“Bu-but I wa-want you to… n-now.”

Another laugh. “Do you even know how miserable you sound?” Jungkook pinches your clit, making your thighs shake. “But it’s okay baby, you’re being such a good girl for me. Maybe, you deserve my cock.” He rasps in your ear. You almost fall into a false allusion that he’s finally going to give it to you when he pushes the next words out. “But I’m sure, you said you hate me. You said you never will be mine. You fucking flinched away when I was just trying to touch your hand. Now you want my cock?” Flickering of his finger over your clit comes to an abrupt stop. Before you can even comprehend it, he pulls his hand out of your pants. “I don’t think you truly want it.”

It’s ridiculous the way you panicked. Undignified, how you grab his hand, not letting him take it away. 

“No, no, please, no, Jungkook. I want you.. I promise.. I really need you.” Mortifying, when you open your mouth. 

“You need me? Yeah?” Jungkook leans into you again, closing the short distance he created. Mumbles in your ear. “Then prove it, princess. Beg!” 

This time it doesn’t take much more persuading or convincing for you to actually do it. Words start to flow out of your mouth like a broken damn. Even out of your control. Yet, no matter how much you plead and beg, all he gives you is more teasing. His hand back inside your pants and melting your brain and soaking your thighs. And just as he edges you for what must be the hundredth time you snap, falling into the lowest you can go. 

“Oh, god pl-please.. Something… Gi-give me something Kook. At least the tip. I need just so-something…” 

And with that you break Jungkook as well. 

“Holy fuck! You little slut!” He curses aloud. But he finally relents. You don’t even get to comprehend what’s happening before he is yanking your pants down and doing the same to his as well. All you can do is inhale a shaky breath before you feel the tip of his hardened cock at your sloppy entrance. 

Finally! Fucking finally!

You almost sigh in relief when he pushes inside you. Slowly. Agonizingly so. An inch by pleasurable inch he stretches your entrance. You moan lowly at the pleasure, waiting for him to keep going and bury himself deep inside you. Only for that to never come. He stops yet again. You turn your head around, catching his face properly for the first time this night. And the sight that treats you is nothing less than you expected. 

Divine. 

Godly. 

Sin. 

His entire face is flushed and eyes all pupils. Brows pulled together and eyes closed shut. Bottom lip trapped between his teeth. 

He is the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. Jeon Jungkook is impractical. Unreal. Maybe he is an illusion. Just as the thought crosses your head he opens his eyes, catching your gaze. And you clench around his tip tightly, completely unconsciously, eliciting a beautiful moan from his throat. He rewards you with a shallow thrust. Then another. Just with only his tip inside you and driving you crazy. You question him with your confused expression. Luckily for you he reads it. 

“Why baby? You asked just for the tip… I’m only giving you what you asked for.” He smirks through his haze. 

A whimper of frustration tangles in your throat. Yet you clench around him even harder. Every demeaning word from him is fueling your fire. That’s exactly what makes you clutch onto his hand tightly before pushing back on his half sheathed cock inside you. Changing the fact from half sheathed to fully sheathed. He slides inside you swiftly. Just one push and he’s safely buried inside you, knocking the wind out of your lungs. 

You both stilled, reveling in the feeling. Just for a moment, however. Next moment, Jungkook is gripping your face, roughly, fingers digging into your cheeks painfully. He turns your face around and leans forward until the tips of your noses touch. 

“You need to learn how to listen and be fucking patient, baby. You don’t want to be a good girl? You want to act like a needy slut? Can’t wait to get this pussy ruined?” He presses a barely there, feathery kiss to your lips. Stark contrasts the way he’s touching you and his filthy words. “Okay then, I’ll give that to you. I’ll fuck you until you beg me to stop.” He drawls. That’s the only warning you get before he drags his hips back and rams into you, making you scream his name. He does it again, again, and again. Lets your face go so he can hold your leg up. And as if you’ve not humiliated and embarrassed yourself enough, all it takes is just a few hard thrusts for your prolonged orgasm to crash over you. 

“God, fuck yes, sult! Ah fuck, squeeze my cock…” Jungkook hides his face in your neck, inhaling your scent , getting drunk on you. “Fuck, pretty you feel even better than I imagined.” Growls as his hips keep thrusting forward without a mercy. Not even slowing down to let you catch your lost breath. “You have—” He gasps in between his harsh thrusts. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to have you, pretty…” His teeth sink into the sensitive skin of your neck, arousing you more and more. “I dreamt of this fucking day… you have no fucking idea how much this means to me…” He drags his hand across your body, from your breasts to your stomach. “God damn it, princess…. You know what? I need more… c’mon, on your back—” He withdraws from you fast, making you flinch at the sensitivity. “And I need you naked.” 

He doesn’t give you much time to comply with his commands. As soon as he pulls his cock out, he’s pushing you into your back. Even before you can register the movement your remaining clothes are practically ripped away from your body, his clothes following closely.

See now, Jungkook has ridden you into your lowest level already. Has made you say things you wouldn't have said in any other occasions. Had made you beg and plead. But now, as you are laid beneath him, looking at him with your glossy eyes, squirming and impatient, legs already spread without anybody forcing you to do so, it feels worse. It’s one thing if he’s forcing this on you. Leaving you without any options. But to be the one who’s asking for it. 

It makes your stomach churn. But the case is, even that doesn’t stop you from humping the air waiting for him to get back inside you. 

What’s wrong with you!

It’s all Jungkook’s fault. 

You hate him. You hate everything about him. You swear you do. Still, you exhale softly as your hands move across his chiseled abs and chest the moment he gets rid of his t-shirt. Still, you curl your hands around his neck and press your lips to his, turning it into a messy kiss of tongue and saliva without an ounce of hesitance. Still, you keep him as close to you as possible when he pushes inside you again with a powerful, breathtaking thrust. Still, you beg him for more when he starts picking up his pace again. 

“H-harder please…”

“More Jungkook…”

“Please don’t stop… keep going…” 

You keep screaming. 

“I won’t baby. I’ll not fucking stop. Take this cock, yeah? Like that… yes… fuck!” 

He keeps promising. 

And he keeps his promise. He doesn’t stop. He fucks orgrasm out of orgasm from you. 

He makes love to you while hovering over your shaking figure, kissing and biting your lips, mumbling sweet nothings in your ear. 

He fucks you while holding your writsts above your head and scattering purple marks across your chest and neck. 

He worships you by kissing every inch of skin he can reach. 

So does he pound you with your legs pushed over his shoulders. 

You have no idea how much time has passed or how many times you actually came. Only thing you’re aware of is the pleasure and Jungkook as now he’s slams into you from behind. Your head pressed into the pillow. He’s clutching both of your hands behind you, taking extra leverage. And all you can do is drool all over you and bite onto the soft pillow. You’re getting tired now. But despite all that, you want Jungkook to cum as well. 

That shouldn’t be your concern at all. At least you can turn this whole thing about you. You are receiving pleasure. You are using him. Not the other way around. That’s not what’s happening, however. You’re battling your sensitivity, and exhaustion because you want him to cum. Judging by the way his thrusts are turning sloppy and his ragged breaths you know that’s about to happen. Even the thought is making your tummy clench. Despite how wearried out you are, you feel like about to reach another orgasm, just at the thought. 

Then just as the thought passes, Jungkook’s voice breaks your stupor. 

“Gonna cum, pretty. Gonna cum inside you, yeah? Fucking make you mine…”

You think you just die at the spot. It’s not possible to feel more aroused. But you do. Even a cry leaves your parched throat. 

“Please… yes…” You try in vain to turn your head and look at his divine face but he steals your moment when his hand leaves yours just to grab your hair. You let out a surprised squeal when you’re being yanked back. Your back collides with his chest. His hand immediately snakes around your throat. Squeezes. Not enough to hurt you but enough to cut your air flow.

“You want that, pretty? Want me to cum inside you?” Jungkook growls, his thrusts turning sloppy and sloppier. 

You nod, feeling your head getting dizzy. It’s his hold on your neck that's keeping you upright. Your legs are buckling under your weight. 

“Say it aloud, princess. Say you want me to cum inside you. Fucking beg for my cum.” Jungkook presses his fingers around your throat a little more, like an unspoken threat. 

“P-please c-cum inside me… Pl-please…”

“Again.”

“Oh god, please… pl-please… fill me up, Jungkook. W-ant your cum. I need your cum…” You choke out, struggling to breathe. 

“Again, whore. Beg like you really want it. That’s notー” A powerful, harsh thrust. And his grip tightens a little more. “Enough.”

“Please… Jungkook… Want to be so full of your cum. I- Iー” Fortunately for you, those next words do the trick. Just as the words leave your mouth Jungkook stills, his cock twitching inside you. You feel the warmth engulf your insides. Thick ropes of cum painting your walls and putting you into a delirious state. His grip on your throat loosens. 

You stay that way, pressed into each other for another long second before Jungkook lowers both of you into the mattress. A deep sigh of satisfaction which lets out by you mixes into the heavy breathing of Jungkook. 

You feel light. As if you’ve put all your weight down. You feel like there’s nothing wrong in your life. Even the pain has dissipated somewhere. And you close your eyes into a pure bliss of silence. No pressure, no pain, no problem there to bother you anymore. 

……………………………

You can’t believe you did that!

You scrub your chest hard. 

How could you? 

You scrub your stomach even harder.

How did you do that?

You feel sick. Nauseous. 

It was with an unpleasantly twisting stomach that you ran into the bathroom a few minutes ago. Just after you woke up, next to Jungkook- the very same man who dragged you across hell. Then to make matters worse, you were tangled up with himー comfortably. 

Comfortably!

And naked!

You sprang out of bed, even not caring for the fact that you might wake Jungkook up. Nor did you wait to see if that was the case. You’ve wanted to throw up. You’ve felt like that but no matter how long you’ve waited kneeling in front of the toilet, nothing came out. So, you’ve opted for a shower. Which is what you’re doing now. 

Tears uncontrollably flooding through your eyes. Muffled sobs escaping past your lips. Steaming hot water cascading across your body. 

You have no idea how long it’s been since you entered the shower box. Maybe it’s just a few minutes or maybe it’s been hours. And you’ve been scrubbing your body like crazy ever sinceー to no avail. It doesn’t matter how hard and long you rub your skin, you feel like it’s not going away. The imprints of his calloused hands. Imprints of his soft lips and the coldness of that damn lip ring. The wetness of his hot tongue and the tingle of his breath. Then the fullness you’ve felt when he was inside you. 

You feel like he's still inside you. You can still feel the harsh thrusts. Can feel his skin slapping against yours. 

How did you let yourself do that? 

Now, you can’t get rid of him. 

You put extra pressure on your skin, scrubbing even harder. You lather on more and more shower gel, then go back to scrub. At this rate, you might end up actually hurting yourself, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You need him gone. 

You bring your hand down between your thighs, starting to scrub your inner thighs. This is the part you’ve paid the most attention to. You woke up with his cum dried on your thighs. Another, louder sob erupts as you try to get rid of the unseen evidence of the previous night. You wish you could wash your memory and soul as well. Wipe off everything. You want the previous night to be一

The sound of the bathroom door banging against the wall makes you jump on your spot. Yet you don’t get to let out much of a reaction before Jungkook barges inside the shower box. He wastes no time as he roughly snatches the scrubbing towel you’ve been using to scrub your body. You flinch and stumble a step back as Jungkook throws the towel away, blindly. 

“Fucking stop that!” He yells as he closes the distance between you, forcing you to take a few more shaky yet hurried steps back and cover your head with both your hands. You don’t even care for the fact that you’re stark naked. In all your time with him, you’ve never heard him raise his voice like this. “Fucking stop you little…” This time he grits through his clenched teeth. You cower behind your hands even more, which Jungkook finds to be more irritating. He yanks your hands away. Holds them apart and gives you a rough shake. “Don’t be a fucking bitch, (___).” He pulls you forward. 

All you manage is a tremble and a whimper. 

You’ve seen Jungkook mad. Or not. You’ve thought you’ve seen him mad. Him going berserk over the phone was nothing similar to this. Him raising his voice across a phone was nothing like seeing his face right now. He looks like a beast, almost inhuman. All of his beautiful features masked with pure fury. Eyes wild and bloodshot, jaw slack. A vein throbs at his temple. 

Jungkook looks crazy. 

Jungkook looks capable of murdering. 

Jungkook, the man who treated you oh so softly despite being a monster, looks like he’s about to snap you in half. 

“You said you wanted it” He shakes you again, this time even harder, pulling out more and more whimpers and cries. You find yourself even incapable of replying to him. Your heart pounding in your throat. Your vision dims.

Maybe this is how you’ll die. He’ll strangle you to the death. 

“You asked me to touch you, (___).” Jungkook’s voice lowered an octave this time. “You asked me to fuck you. You said you wanted it. D-don’t一” His voice cracks a bit and you think a flash of hurt breaks the fury in his eyes. And something inside you turns. Blinding fear subsides a little. He heaves a heavy sigh before speaking again. “Don’t act like I forced that on you.” He chokes out. The feeling inside you intensifies. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears. Your head throbs with the rhythm. You gather courage to peer into his eyes. That beast is there but you see the pain. “Don’t be aー” He starts again. 

You don’t know what’s gotten into you. Maybe it’s fear. You wanted to distract him. Partially. You absolutely do not wish to die here. But then there was a guilt. Regret. A hurt that stirs your insides. Whatever the reason could be, you surprise yourself when you lunge forward, silencing Jungkook’s words when you press your lips to him. Initially, it’s just a press of the lips where you both do nothing, but then he pushes you back at the same time he starts kissing you desperately, madly, furiously. You return it to the best. 

Your back hits the cold wall behind you. Jungkook kisses you with the same fervor for a few more intense minutes before he pulls away. That’s only when you realize that the shower is still running. That Jungkook is half naked as well and is only wearing his boxers. That he’s getting drenched.

You peer at his face for a moment. The way the fury is still there but now laced with lust. You watch the way the droplets slid over his face. Over his chiseled cheekbones. Over his pink lips and the damn lip ring. A shudder ripple through you before you capture his bottom lip between your teeth, bite gently, soon falling into another kiss. Jungkook moans in appreciation. His hands leave yours so he can skim across your curves instead. Your back, waist, ass, stops under your thighs. Then in one swift moment he picks you up from the floor. You wrap your legs around his waist on instincts. 

Jungkook is the one who pulls away again. This time he does it with a harsh bite on your lower lip. Harsh enough that you mewl in pain before he sucks on the spot and soothes the sting. He lets your lip go before resting his forehead against you. Panting. 

“You wanted to get rid of me?” He questions, with that dangerous tilt in his voice, sharing one breath with you. You don’t answer him. Just try to fill your lungs with enough oxygen. “You wanted to escape me?” He repeats to which he doesn’t get an answer again. He presses another kiss to your lips, then drags those kisses toward your jaw. From there to your neck. Biting and sucking gently. Adding more marks into your already bruised skin. Mumbles his next words into your throat. “Guess what baby? You’ll never escape me.” With that he raises his face back to peer into your eyes. “I’ll fucking taint your memmories with me,” he growls. “I’ll fucking live inside your head, I’ll fucking burn myself into you. You. Are. Never. Going to escape me.” 

You tremble once again. Partially from a fire inside your stomach but partially from an unexplainable fear. Jungkook holds you with one arm for a bit as he shuffles with his boxers, pushing them down. Even the prospect makes your breath hitch and pussy clench. He holds you in his hold securely. “You are mine, baby.” He plunges inside you, ripping out a cry from you at the unexpectedness of his movements. Luckily you are already wet enough that he slides in easily. He stops once he’s buried to the hilt inside you. “You’ll be mine.” Gives you an experimental thrust. Your head falls back, hitting the tile and you clench around him violently. “And don’t try to deny that because trust me, princess, I’m gonna make you mine one way or another. I’ll rip your heart out of you and keep it inside a box if that’s what it takes. Soー” A harsh thrust interrupts his threat. “It’s time you should accept that you’re meant to be mine, pretty.” He picks up his speed and starts pounding into you. Calling you his over and over again. 

“Mine. Mine. Mine…”

………………………..

Jungkook never wanted to do something that you wouldn’t like. Never wanted to scare you. Even if he had, unintentionally, a few times. But the thing is, you’re not entirely blameless. You are a little stubborn witch in disguise. A brat. How hard it has been for him to keep you at bay. 

Jungkook found himself questioning often, why you were so reluctant to accept him. Be his. Understand that you two were always meant to be together. That you’ve always been tied to him with a red string. But then he believed you would come to accept that one day. He knew you would actually return his feelings. Give him what he’s been craving so badly for years. 

Years!

It has taken more time than he had expected, however. From the day he got a hold of you again through his meticulous plan to the day he finally brought you into this place that  was supposed to be your safe haven. It has taken longer to make you see things even if it’s not fully yet. 

But god, the trouble he had to go through!

First, it was making sure you wouldn’t do something that’s stupid and hurt yourself. Then there was the problem of controlling himself. It was as if holding his breath forever. You were a walking, talking ball of temptation. Jungkook had the hardest time having you around, in your cute shorts and comfy t-shirts which he picked out for you. You were the most adorable yet the hottest thing he’s ever seen. He’s been watching you from afar for so long. Can anyone blame him for nearly losing it when he finally had you in a close proximity. Close enough he could touch you, hold you, and hear you. 

The temptation was like a demon on his shoulder. He found himself in moments where he was a hair’s breadth away from kissing you until you were breathless. Bending you over and fucking the senses into you. But, thanks to all the high spirits above, he managed to control the urges. Because, in the end, Jungkook never wanted to do something that you didn’t want him to. 

Not because it was hard. It was easy in fact. But Jungkook always wanted you to want him. You never wanted him. Not back in your college years. Not even when you were chatting with him. True, you texted him every and each day but you truly didn’t know who he was now, did you? 

Then, suddenly all of his hard work paid off that way. 

Suddenly, you were seeking him. You were asking for him. You were willingly being with him. 

Just like now. 

It’s been a few days since your first night. Since Jungkook finally bent your stubborn will enough to see him. See his love. Yet still, Jungkook can’t help but gasp quietly in surprise when you straddle his lap, emerging out of nowhere. He can’t help but feel like pinching him to make sure he isn’t dreaming. 

You get comfortable in his lap. He is sitting on his gaming chair, not particularly playing games but he’s stressing over this one client. Some people are just morons who can’t understand simple things. Jungkook had leaked a very important piece of information to the public on this said client's request. It was the deal they made and the fucker should not be contacting Jungkook again. But here he is, asking for another deal. This time to revise what he already did. See now, Jungkook might be very good at his job. Sneaking into any database and leaking anything for the right amount of money. The thing is, however, he isn’t God and therefore the power of undoing something isn’t on his hand. Life, unfortunately, has no control plus z. His idiot of a client isn’t understanding that. 

And Jungkook was at the verge of finding the man and choking him to death himself when you appeared, now hiding your face in his neck. You plant a soft kiss on his neck making him shudder. A moan almost slips past his lips. He aligns his neck to give you more access. You haven’t said much since you straddled his lap, your legs placed either side of him. You pick up on his cue and strat peppering soft kisses over and over. Jungkook unconsciously wraps an arm around your body. 

“What are you doing, baby?” He questions as you move toward his throat. 

“You seemed tense.” You answer him, softly. 

Fuck! 

Jungkook finds this to be a huge victory. Despite all the time he had you lying beneath him and moaning his name, you mostly didn’t talk with him. And to think you care about him.

Did he die?

Is this heaven?

“Yeah? And you want to help me.” He starts rubbing your back soothingly. You nod into his throat. “Fuck!” Jungkook curses at the sensation of your lips on him and your admission. “God, pretty, you gonna kill me,” he gives a gentle smack on your perfect ass, marveling at the way you whimper in return. “What do you want to do, baby? How are you gonna help me?” 

You pull away from worshipping his neck at his words, facing him and peering at his eyes with your glinting eyes. A little bit hooded and glossy. You exhale a shaky breath. “I wanna- I- uh- can I suck you off, please?” Whisper oh so softly that Jungkook almost doesn’t hear you. He does somehow and the way his heart flutters must be risky to his health. Maybe he’s about to have a heart attack. 

He never wants anything more. This. You are on his hold and begging to please him. Jungkook has finally won. The flutter in his heart soon travels south creating a stir in his lower stomach and groin. He was becoming hard slowly since the moment you sat on his lap but now at your words, he goes rock hard in a blink. 

“Fuck! God, yes… You don’t have to ask, pretty. You get whatever you want.” He kisses your lips softly. “You want to suck daddy’s cock?” Asks against your mouth, making you tremble. You nod hurriedly. If he’s to push his hand inside your pants, he knows he’d find you already dripping wet. See, it is fate. You’re even this compatible in bed. He knows which button to play to get you high without any drugs. And you know which strings to pull to get him drunk without alcohol. “Go on then, on your knees, princess.” He commands, flipping that switch inside his brain to become the man you want him to be. You instantly start to shuffle down when he stops you once again. “Get rid of the clothes first, want you naked, kneeling in front of me and choking on my cock.”

You comply with him without a second request. Don’t even wait until Jungkook pushes down his sweats completely before you hungrily wrap your hand around his shaft and lips around his tip, pushing him into a blissful haze. From there it’s just a mess of drool, tears, and the sound of gagging. You don’t disappoint him the slightest. You prove him right again and again. With your tongue swirling around his tip. With him hitting the back of your throat. You prove that you’re just where you should be. And Jungkook’s head is spinning. He’s sure that he’s going to explode. Yet within few minutes of fucking your throat, he had to drag you into his lap again. 

This time, however, your back facing him, your legs spread widely, and his cock buried inside you. Jungkook would’ve been more than happy to make you swallow his cum but he couldn't help but being a bit greedy and wanting the warm confines of your pussy. You clench around him every time his middle finger garzes over your clit and like clockwork, Jungkook feels his cock twitching. 

“You feel so good, slut. So fucking good… You love daddy’s cock?” He asks in your ear. You moan out an inaudible ‘yes’. Jungkook rewards you with a slow thrust. You look so blissful. So lost in him. So fucked up. Makes him want to see and try how much he can push you. How farther you’ll bend for him. “You look pretty, baby, so beautiful,” He kisses your shoulder. “Would you like to see how beautiful you are?” He asks to which he doesn’t get an answer in return. He doesn’t mind that, simply knows you’re so far gone to be able to perform coherent thoughts let alone words. “Would you like to record this baby? So, we can watch it again, andー” Rest of his words die on his tongue when you squeeze his length so hard. “Holy fuck! You like that? You want that?” You answer him with another nod but this time he wants your words. “Words baby…”

“Yes. Yes Jungkook… I…” 

That’s enough for him. He drags the chair forward keeping you on him safely, fumbling with his phone with one hand. He places it on the desk, propped against his monitor, front cam opened, and facing you both. Capturing a beautiful view of you filled with him.  And he hits the record button. Pulls the chair back to adjust into the best position. 

“There you go, slut. C’mon now, ride me!”

…………………………….

You are lying on your side, curled up on the couch and back pressed against Jungkook. His arms are wrapped around you protectively. Titanic is playing on the TV and you’re doing your best to pay attention with Jungkook’s mindless nibbling on your ear. 

Lately, you’ve grown accustomed to being close and intimate with him even when sex isn’t on the table. You’ve learnt to accept all the pampering, cuddles, and innocent kisses. You’re not sure when exactly that happened.

First, it was all about sex. After the time he fucked you in the shower and swore that you’ll never escape him, you promised yourself that you’ll never allow him another chance to even  lay a finger on you. That was going well until he sneaked into the bed that night. Each and every time you swore that it was going to be the last just to fail miserably. You couldn’t bring yourself to say no, every time his lips pressed against yours, his hands roamed across your body, his breathy voice whispered against your ears. Jungkook had it all easy and one day you’ve decided to let it happen without any resistance from your mind. Because, in the end, your body was going to betray you anyway. 

Ever since, your life has been one haze of pleasure. There was no space for pain. Even the memories of your life before thisーthe life full of misery and bitchy people has faded into the past. Jungkook has been keeping you busy all the time. Busy enough that nothing could disturb your blissful peace.

Through endless sex and mind shattering orgasms, time has slipped through your fingers like a passing breeze. You think there is no space in this entire apartment where Jungkook hasn’t had you in. Kitchen. Couch. Balcony. Pressed against a window. Even on top of the washer. And every way he can. Tied up to his bed post. Blindfolded. Even had made you ride his shoe. Had made you masturbate while he watched and recorded. Had you plugged in with his cum inside. Every kind of kink he can think of. 

You have started to lose sense of the time. Every day feels the same. You’ve fallen into the same routine. And despite all the pleasure, you’re growing tired of it. Maybe you need something new to focus on. 

“Jungkook?” You call out softly. He stops nibbling on your ear immediately and pays attention to you. 

“Yes, pretty?”

“Can you- uh- buy me a book maybe…  please,  I’m getting  kinda bored…”

A soft gasp treats you, forcing you to turn around and look at him in confusion. He’s regarding you with a wide grin. You raise a brow in question. 

“Of course, I can, baby. I can buy you anything you want. You don’t have to ask like that. Tell me what you want, and I’ll get it for you right away.” A gentle kiss to your cheek. “So, a book, huh? You’re not a reader?” He teases. 

You almost open your mouth to question how he would know before it hits you. He knows. He knows every damn thing. What’s your favorite food to, now your favorite position. Then there is you, knowing nothing except his name. You turn around completely, facing him properly.

“I am not but I can start reading.” You tilt your head up to peer at his eyes. He opens his mouth to reply but you beat him into it. “How come you have so much money?” You question without letting yourself weigh the consequences of questioning. Jungkook’s face falls. 

“I don’t have a lot of money.” He answers gently. 

“You do,” you gesture around the lavish apartment. “This apartment is the most luxurious place I’ve ever been to. And,” you clutch his shirt. “It’s like you’re never stepping outside this house. You’re earning all this money by working from home? What kind of job pays so much?”

Jungkook sighs. “I’m good at developing. Apps and stuff,” He looks carefully at you, as though he’s expecting a harsh reaction from you. You almost do before you catch yourself in time. It’s all past anyway. “I-uh- let’s say I work in I.T, yeah?” That’s the clue for you to let the topic go. 

“Where’s your family?” So you change it. 

“I don’t have one.” He answers that more easily than the previous one. 

“Oh! You’re orphー”

“They’re both alive but I refuse to have any contact with them. They’ve made my life a living hell.”

“Sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.” You apologize quickly. A heaviness engulfing your chest at his words. Jungkook chuckles and brushes stray hair away from your face. 

“It’s fine, pretty. Why all the questions, though?” 

“Just because. I just realized I don’t know much about you.”

“Yeah? Why do you want to know about me?”

“I- I don’t know. I just want to know.” You shrug nonchalantly. Yet as you watch, Jungkook’s face lights up. Eyes glinting and lips spreading into a wide grin. Wide enough that he has to bite down on his lip to contain it. In a matter of seconds, he turns into a boy who's ten years younger than him. And you think you see a faint redness in his cheeks as well. 

…………………………..

Jungkook knows that you have no idea how much it means to him to know you’re getting closer and closer every day. First sex, then all the shared casual moments, and you were interested in knowing him. And then you asked him for something? 

Isn’t that what lovers do?

Aren’t you acting like a cute girlfriend?

Oh, the fluttering of his heart and stomach you’re causing. Jungkook doesn't think he’s been happier than this in his entire life. He’s riding a high just by watching how shocked and excited you are kneeling in front of the books he brought for you. 

“What the hell, Jungkook?” You look up at him, mouth hanging open and eyes wide. 

“You asked for books.” He gestures at the box before you. 

“No…” you groan. “I asked for a book. Not for a whole damn library?” Start to rummage through the box, pulling out a book. “What am I gonna do with so many books, Jungkook?”

“Read them.” Jungkook kneels beside you, stealing a kiss into your hair while he does.

“I’m a slow reader, I’ll fucking die before I ever finish reading these.” You sigh exasperatedly, being a little dramatic. To be honest, it’s not even that many. 

“Hey, it’s okay, pretty. I told you I’m gonna buy you anything. It’s fine if you can’t read them all or you start to get bored at it. Find a new hobby and tell me what you want.” He takes your hand in his. Kisses your soft hands delicately. You look at him with sparkling eyes. 

Fuck!

You’re turning to your normal self slowly. You’re getting your color back. Putting on weight. You smile more and talk to him more. Few more days and you’ll be the happiest you’ve ever been. 

See, Jungkook knew exactly what you needed. He was right all along. 

Just a few more days and he’ll be able to let his guard down. Stop watching your every move like a hawk. Rescheduling and canceling his plans because he can’t leave you alone in here. He managed a good enough security system including cameras but he’ll never know. He had to keep a close eye—for now.  But soon you’ll never think about leaving him. 

Because he can see the way you slowly understand that you belong to him. 

“You’re crazy.” You grumble as you get to your feet. Jungkook follows your actions. You take a step toward him, and bide your time for a minute before standing on your tiptoes and kiss him. Hard and deep. 

“Whoa is that a thank you?” He pants once you pull away. 

You nod. “There’s more.” Say as you throw your arms around his neck and jump. He catches you up by your thighs with the practice ease. 

“Yeah? Another video?”

“Yes, please…”

………………………….

You stay still, unsure of what to do as Jungkook gently cups your face in his hands. 

“Are you sure you're going to be okay?” He asks for what must be the millionth time. You nod again, trying to appear confident and nonchalant. But the thing is, you’re nervous. Every nerve ending in your body is ablaze. 

Jeon Jungkook is about to leave you alone in this house for the first time. Something about an unavoidable meeting with a client. 

You don’t know if  he’s ever done it without your knowledge before. Maybe he had. But at this moment, he’s doing it with your full acknowledgement. He’s stopped locking you in that damn room every time. Mainly because you’ve been attached to him by the hip lately. You’ve started sharing a bed and a shower. He had no reason to be worried about you trying anything funny, anymore. This, however, is his first time giving you this kind of freedom. And you’re unsure what to do with it. 

“Pretty?” Jungkook furrows his eyebrows in concern. 

You clear your throat quickly. “I can Jungkook, I’m a grown woman.” State as you free your face from his hold. You both know that he isn’t referring to your capabilities of staying home alone. You both know he’s asking if you’d not betray his trust. That you’ll not try something that would make both of you regret. 

He smiles softly at your admission. “Well then, I won’t be more than an hour.” He finally takes a step away. You return his smile, staying rooted in your place. He takes another and another, walking backward. Just as he’s about to turn around, you snap out of your stupor. You rush forward, five quick steps, and press a kiss to his lips.

Creases between Jungkook’s brows finally ease up as you pull away. 

“Be quick.” You mumble, turning him around and you give him a gentle push forward. This time he doesn’t stop you. You walk with him to the front door, wait till he walks out and disappears before releasing a shaky breath.

For the first time, you’re completely alone here. 

………………………..

You don’t know what you should do.

All these times, you’ve never even thought about an escape. Jungkook has kept you busy. Busy enough that you’ve forgotten you’re a prisoner here. That he’s your captor. Not someone who you can trust or your lover. But the thing is, you don’t know what to do? 

Do you try to run away? To where? To your old house? To the police station? 

Then what? Do you still want to confront Hoseok? Do you still want to meet your best friend? Yes, probably. Maybe…

But, do you have the courage to escape? 

You don’t even know what kind of security he has. In your first few days you were  so keen to know every minuscule detail about this place, planning your grand escape. Now you know nothing. 

You stand up from the couch after staring into the empty black screen of the TV for the past twenty minutes. Nothing is going to happen by wasting your time. You make your way slowly to Jungkook’s guest room where he has kept his computer, without any purpose. You don’t know what you’re doing. 

It’s just that you’re too restless to stay put. There’s a clock ticking and if you want to do something, you need to be fast about it. No, there’s no ifs, you should do something. This is your chance.  

But the problem is that you don’t really feel like doing anything. 

An inaudible groan of frustration leaves your throat. This can’t be happening? You can’t be serious. After everything, after the hell he put you through, you can’t simply want to stay with him. 

Sex was good, sure. He was treating you well, sure. Still, he’s the same person who guided you into a trap. You’ve been stuck in that trap for a while now. 

Yet even the thought of escaping. Running away from Jungkook gives you another level of fear. As if the safe bubble you’ve been living in is about to burst. It’s scary. To think that you’ll be back in the world, wandering around. Facing Daebi and Hoseok who have a fair share in your misfortune. Maybe others do too. Maybe they don’t want you back in their life at all. Jungkook does, though. Your parents must’ve accepted that you were long gone and moved on. There is no one out there who is waiting for you. Jungkook is here for you. 

But is this the life you want? 

What about walking among people on busy nights? You didn’t love your job but you loved earning your own money. What about living your life of your own accord and not having to rely on someone else? What about travelling the world? What about late night clubbing? Meeting new people? Worrying about buying new expensive clothes? What about life? 

You can’t live your whole life this way. Stuck in an apartment while your entire world revolves around one man. You don’t want it to be like that. It’s not like you’ve fallen in love with him anyway. Right? Of course, not. You’re not a victim of Stockholm syndrome. 

No. No. No… 

You have to do something!

You take a few rushed steps toward Jungkook’s working table, without knowing what you’re actually doing. Maybe you should just risk it and try to open the front door. Or maybe you can turn on his computer and send a message- not to Daebi or any of your friends- but maybe to someone else. Police. Or anyone you could reach. You can check the drawers for a second phone. You couldー

“Fuck!” A loud curse leaves your mouth as an unexpected pain erupts from your left foot. You’ve hit it on the leg of the table. You come to an abrupt halt, mewling in pain, and bend down to rub your foot and ease the pain. You stay in that position and rub your poor toes for another long second before finally straightening up, ready to continue your aimless mission. Only to mewl again when the top of your head hits something. Luckily for you, it was just a pile of books that dropped down to the floor at the impact, with a loud thud. 

“For fucks sake!” Irritation bubbles inside you. You bring your hand up to rub your head this time, eyeing the fallen pile of books. You’ve no time to reorganize it. You already wasted enough time. That’s what you almost do. 

Almost, though. 

Just before you turn around again, your heart beating in your throat, you notice the photo on the floor. Probably was inside a book and slipped out when they dropped down. You would’ve ignored it if it wasn’t for the person in the photo. You can mistake anyone else for someone else. But yourself?

A sharp inhale fills your lungs to the brim before you let that breath out. 

It’s you who’s in the photo. Undoubtedly and unmistakably. So what? It’s not that much of a surprise to Jungkook to have a photo of you when you know he’s been stalking you. But what gets you frozen in mid motion is the fact that the you in the photo was from ages ago. 

College?  

You kneel before the scattered books and papers, feeling your legs buckle. Something uneasy gathers and swirls inside you, twisting your guts unpleasantly. You know this feeling well. You’ve been getting such kind of feelings all of your damned life and everytime you weren’t wrong to suspect something bad. Because every time you felt this way, something bad happened. 

You pick up the photo with trembling hands to take a closer look. You might be mistaken about the time frame. 

A young, carefree girl smiled back at you. You’re not mistaken. No. Definitely not. This photo was taken years ago. This photo was from another world. A world you’ve left behind and forgotten for the good. 

It’s from your college days!

You feel your head start to spin. Memories of blood plague your mind. Screams of agony echo inside your skull. Touch of warm hands tingles your skin. Wetness of a sweet pair of lips brushed across your lips. 

You close your eyes to shake away the unwanted memories. You can’t let this happen now. No. Yet all you can see is the blurred lights and silhouette of people. All you can smell is the cigarettes and alcohol. 

The cursed night!

This- Jungkook and his stupid app, and his kidnapping- wasn’t the first time you’ve been through hell. You’ve been through worse back then. But after so much effort- including countless therapy, changing universities, starting your degree all over, moving into a different city and years of pain and nightmares, you left that life behind. You were living a normal, good life until Hoseok broke up with you. 

Now, a single image is bringing all the buried memories up. The things you don’t want to remember. You swallow down a sob, forcing yourself to pull it together. 

It’s going to be fine…

You reopen your eyes and stare at the photo again. Fighting, battling. Trying hard not to break down on the spot. 

You can do this…

Just put the damn photo away and focus on your task… 

It’s past. It’s past. It’s past.

It was all over.

But how does Jungkook have it? 

You freeze again, brows furrowed in confusion. Did he stalk you so hard he found your old photos as well? Did he know about the past that you hate? Did he know about the pain you went through but still decided to traumatize you more? 

You clutch the photo even tighter. You’re fighting. There’s a war going inside your head. So many things happening at the same time. And you’re afraid you’re losing. 

Let the photo go…

You blankly stare at the photo for another second before, reluctantly dragging your gaze away, to the scattered books. That’s when you notice a second photo peeking out from one of the books. 

You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t. 

Your hand works in autopilot mode when you grab the book and turn it over, dropping at least twenty photos inside it to your lap. You let the photo of you go as you start picking up one by one. Slowly first. Eyes carefully scanning over every single one of them.

You, with Daebi, at the university café.

You, with Hoseok, inside his car. 

You, with Jimin….

With Nina….

With some other people, you don’t recognize…

You. You. You.

At your classes.

At your apartment.

At your job.

Library.

You go through the photos as fast as the wind. Your speed builds up with every photo, until one makes you freeze.

It is not you. 

A person stands in front of a building you don’t recognize. He is wearing black, head to toe. Even his face is covered in a hoodie. The memories return. Blood. Screams. Light… and a guy. His hands wrapped around you, mumbling sweet nothing in your ear. His hands were covered in blood. His face was covered in a hoodie. 

Suddenly, you are sitting in the back of that business class. A meek, nerdy guy next to you. His face hidden, all you can see is a part of his cheek and set of pretty pink lips. Even with the time and all your efforts to drown those memories, you remember him like you’re staring at him. 

Lips. 

Pretty pink lips. 

You even remember the taste of those lips. The warmth of them.

Those lips should’ve faded into memory. The memories should be jumbled. You should only remember the faded bits. But strangely you don’t. Instead, you feel like you’ve seen the same lips yesterday. You feel like those lips were pressed against yours a moment ago. 

Pretty pink lips…

Out of nowhere Jungkook’s smile flashes across your mind. The way his lips stretch, making the lip ring glint. The way he bites onto his bottom lip to contain his goofy smile. That adorable, boyish smile. 

Haven’t you seen that smile before as well?

The guy who wore that hoodie, that guy who never told you his name, kept his face hidden from you, drugged you, almost killed a person in front of you. Hasn’t he smiled the same way? It was such a rare thing but you’ve seen him smile. And you’ve seen his lips. Is it possible to recognize someone with their lips? 

No…. That can’t be. No fucking way. 

You gasp for air even though there is nothing keeping you from inhaling. That familiar fear you’ve not experienced for a long time now, shoots across your body, wrapping around your bones, flesh, and skin. 

No….

Out of all the fucked up and twisted things in your life, this can’t be one. 

You hurriedly throw away the image and pick up the last one. And with that the last threads of hope you hold onto are shredded into million pieces. 

It’s an exact similar second image of the previous one. The same person is standing in the same posture in front of the same building. Yet the hood that covered his face had fallen back, revealing his face. 

The same face that had greeted you every morning for the past couple months. The face that you always found to be astonishingly handsome. The face that lured you into this trap through that AI app. 

It’s the same person. Just far, far younger. 

Jeon Jungkook!

Right then, you lose the battle. The sobs and cries you are trying so hard not to let out, escapes you as one loud gasp, followed by uncontrollable tears. Yet before that gasp can turn into loud sobs a familiar voice distracts you. 

“Pretty?”

You turn around faster than a bolt of lightning. Your eyes meet with Jungkook who stands in the doorway, scowling, confused. In another time you would’ve been scared for your life. So startled that you start to stutter. This moment, however, you don’t feel anything remotely close to fear. Instead, a rage builds up inside you. A rage that is born from a hurt. 

Ridiculous. Why would you be hurt? You should only be angry. 

“You motherfucker!” You rush into your feet. Storm toward Jungkook within a blink of an eye. “You fucking lied to me! It was you! It was you all along! You were the prick who ruined my life back then and now….” You screech through your lungs, tears mixing with your enraged words and making your voice crack. “And you lied to me! Every, fucking, person in my life…” You curl your fists into tiny balls, the photo still clutched between your fingers, as you hit Jungkook’s chest. “Everyone… lied to me…” You hit him over and over. Clenching your teeth and pouring all your anger as tears. “I trusted you… And you lied to me too… You fuckingー”

“Pretty, hey, hey…” Jungkook grabs your fists, preventing you from attacking him like a mad cat. You struggle against him the best you can but he holds you tight. “Het, pretty… fuck! Listen to me!”

“I fucking hate you Jeon Jungkook! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! I hateー” You scream. Jungkook muffles your screams by pulling you into his chest. “I hate you so much.” So, you mumble into his chest, giving up trying to free yourself from his hold. He’s too strong for you. 

You should be mad, but what you feel is hurt. 

Did you really trust your captor? 

“I didn’t lie to you… No, baby, I didn’t.” He mutters into your hair. You don’t give him a reply. Just break into his chest. “I was just a kid, I didn’t know what I was doing.” He continues. “I just wanted a chance to show you that I- I- uh- loved you,” His hold on you tightens. “I’ve always loved you. So damn much. But you were so gone about your pathetic ex, you didn’t even notice me. I had to do something.”

You don’t even know what he’s saying anymore. Your head is spinning and your ears are ringing. Yet at the back of your mind, the pieces finally fall into place. 

“I won’t accept the defeat this time…”

“You never saw how I always loved you…”

You never paid that much of an attention to those words. Now they make sense. 

“Y-you fucking- drugged me… y-you almost let someone toー” You stutter out weakly, only to get cut off. 

“I didn’t, did I? I’d never let anyone lay a fucking finger on you.”

You ignore what he’s saying. “Y-you let me wa-watch a-as you killed a person.”

“He didn’t die.”

As if that would change anything. 

“Oh god, why Jungkook? Why me? What did I ever do to you?”

“Don’t say that, pretty. Don’t fucking say that,” Jungkook hides his face in your hair. “You have no idea how much I love you… I was just trying. I was a kid,” his voice cracks painfully, and even without looking at him, you get the suspicion that he’s joined you with the crying. “I was trying to win you over and that was a mistake. I’m so sorry, princess, don’t say you hate me. C’mon I deserve a chance. I- I- was trying while your boyfriend was getting his cock sucked by your best friend.” 

Your sobs deepen. Jungkook presses kiss after kiss into your hair. 

“I’m so sorry baby, but give me a chance… You know I’ll never hurt you. Let me tell you the full story.”

You don’t want to listen to any story. No. You don’t want this pain. 

You pull away from his chest despite his reluctance. For a second you peer into his glossy eyes. Then in the next, you pull him into a hungry kiss. 

Fuck this!

Fuck your life!

Jungkook is fucking sick. But still, you know he’s painfully in love with you. 

If you can’t escape this hell, then you might get used to it.

………………………

At Hoseok’s place

“Are you guys fucking kidding me?” Jimin practically throws the tablet away. Luckily it doesn’t hit anything but just drops into the couch. 

“What do you want us to do, Jimin?” Deabi shouts across from the living room, hands dramatically thrown in the air. 

Hoseok watches wearily as his girlfriend and best friend fight over a matter that’s worth all the fighting. 

“Is that even a question, Daebi? That’s your fucking best friend. You give her up that easily?” Jimin says, with a rage Hoseok has only seen once — on that cursed night.

“I’m tired, for God’s sake! I’m tired and I can’t do this anymore.” Daebi slumps her shoulders. 

“You’re a fucking coward!” Jimin points a finger at her. Then turns his glare to Hoseok. “You too. You both are fucking cowards. First, you went behind her back and then when she needed you, you just give up?”

“We- we’re not—” Hoseok tries to argue when Jimin stops him. 

“Save the fucking excuses, man. I can’t believe you dragged us into this shit as well? I can’t believe you did that to her.” Jimin scoffs. “But guess what? I’m better than you. I’m not fucking giving up.”

“Then what the hell are you going to do?” Hoseok yells for the first time as well. This is ridiculous. He doesn’t want to give up. No. But things have turned to a point where there is no answer for anything. After exactly four months of continuous searching, and no clue, everyone has accepted that you are dead. The case isn’t officially closed yet but the fire it had caused has died down. 

One of their good friends who was actively working on the case has informed Hoseok that there might be no hope. And after a year, the case would be officially closing and the court would declare you dead, citing your mental instability. He had asked Hoseok to give up on hope. 

Apparently, Jimin isn’t ready to do so. Which is good. Hoseok would be happy to be a part of that. But the question remains. What are they going to do? An unwavering determination without a plan is stupid, which describes Jimin at this moment.

Hoseok knows where Jimin comes from. Jimin used to be a good friend of yours. He met you because of Hoseok and therefore you were always out of reach for him. But maybe if Hoseok never was a part of that equation Jimin should’ve taken your friendship into other levels. Yet life had different plans. And Jimin settled into being that good friend who would travel impossible distances to make sure his friends are okay. 

That’s exactly what Jimin is trying to do. You grew apart after your nasty breakup with Hoseok. Hoseok knows that. Mainly because Jimin is Hoseok’s friend and Jimin was ashamed to face you. Then before you could actually become friends again you’ve disappeared. 

Then there must be the guilt. Guilt of finally knowing Hoseok and Daebi’s story. They decided to come clean to at least Jimin and Nina after you disappeared. They wanted a way to ease their consciousness, even when they knew it wasn’t going to go well. Just as expected, Jimin was ready to murder them both. Disappointed. So was Nina. Jimin even stopped talking to Hoseok, until he sent the text on the group chat today. 

The very reason why Jimin barged in.

“I don’t know… maybe trying to convince your detective friend not to give up so easily. It’s just fucking four months.” Jimin grits. 

Technically, it’s turning five in a week. And Hoseok can’t do such a thing. He is friends with a detective who was happy to take over your case. Friends. That’s the word. He is not a boss. 

“Jimin-ah…” Hoseok sighs, not knowing exactly how to explain to his friend that this is out of his control. 

Jimin lets out a bitter chuckle. “What? You can’t? Of course, you can’t.” He takes a threatening step toward Hoseok. “Well, you know what Hoseok? It’s not that you can’t, it’s that you don’t. I fucking bet you two,” he gestures between Hoseok and Daebi. “Are actually fucking happy that she went missing.” Jimin spits out making Hoseok’s eyes widen. 

What now?

And making it worse Jimin adds more to his nonsense with a low voice. “Maybe, you’re the reason why she—”

Jimin doesn’t get to finish the sentence when Hoseok practically jumps at him, grabbing from his shirt with both hands. 

“What the fuck did you say?” Hoseok screeches. Jimin doesn’t even flinch at the sudden impact. 

“Oh god, will you guys stop… we’re friends.” Before Jimin can answer Hoseok, Daebi meddles, trying to part the two friends who are about to strangle each other. 

“Friends?” Jimin shakes Hoseok’s hands off him, scoffing. “I don’t see any friends here. In fact, I’m not your friend Daebi.” With that he throws a final glare at Hoseok. Turns around. “Enjoy. Get engaged. Hell, get married so we can throw a party.” Says before walking away and disappears through the front door. 

A heavy silence falls over. 

“I’m so disappointed in you guys.” After a minute, Nina, who’s been so quiet and pale, mumbles weakly. 

Then she too walks slowly over to the front door. 

……………………………………..

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[katnipp]

hey can I request a daniela avanzini fluff where they are just chilling and it ends in a lot of kisses.

a thousand kisses— daniela avanzini

genre: FLUFFF (again?!?)

synopsis: what starts as a quiet nail painting session turns into a night full of giggles, warmth, and unexpected kisses

—

the clock blinked 1:14 a.m., and neither of them had noticed.

not when they’d been too busy jumping on the bed thirty minutes ago. not when they’d flopped down, wheezing with laughter. and definitely not when daniela had suddenly sat up with sparkles in her eyes and said, “wanna let me paint your nails?” like it was a totally normal thing to do at that hour.

y/n had hesitated—only a second—but something in daniela’s smile made it impossible to say no.

and that’s how she ended up perched on the bed, hands resting in daniela’s lap, surrounded by open polish bottles, a tiny ring light clipped to the nightstand for “nail tech lighting,” and the soft scent of strawberry lotion and buttery popcorn lingering in the air.

daniela was fully in “concentration mode” now. brows furrowed, tongue peeking out slightly, lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. she wore one of y/n’s hoodies—oversized and swallowed up her frame in the cutest way possible—and her sock-covered feet were tapping along to a playlist humming quietly in the background.

y/n watched her. tried not to. failed miserably.

“you’re doing the face,” daniela said suddenly, without looking up.

“what face.”

“the staring one.” daniela glanced up, her smirk blooming instantly. “you always do it when you think i won’t notice.”

y/n looked away, flustered. “i wasn’t staring.”

“you were totally staring.”

“maybe i was admiring the polish,” y/n mumbled.

daniela tilted her head. “my face and the polish are not the same thing, babe.”

y/n opened her mouth to argue—but then daniela gently lifted her hand, examined her work, and blew a stream of air over the freshly painted nail with the most focused expression.

she looked so serious about it. and y/n? she might’ve melted a little.

“you’re cute when you do that,” y/n said quietly, without thinking.

daniela blinked. then slowly, her lips curled into a grin.

“you just admitted i’m cute.”

“i said when you do that.”

“still counts.”

“dani—”

“nope,” daniela laughed, gently pressing y/n’s hand back down. “don’t ruin the moment. i’m your nail girl now. it’s official.”

y/n bit back a smile, looking away.

“you blush so easily,” daniela murmured, leaning closer now, voice teasing and light. “you know, if i didn’t know any better…”

“you’d think i like you?” y/n offered, dryly.

daniela blinked, mock surprised. “you like me?”

she gasped, hand to chest like it was the most shocking reveal ever.

“oh my god, shut up.”

“can’t. i’m too busy being your beloved.”

“you’re gonna make me smudge this on purpose.”

daniela laughed, her fingers brushing over y/n’s as she adjusted them. “okay, okay, no more teasing,” she said. “at least until the top coat.”

they fell into a soft quiet after that—comfortably tangled in each other’s presence. y/n focused on her breathing, on the soft background music, on how warm the room felt with daniela right there beside her.

“done,” daniela whispered, placing the little brush down and admiring her work. “look at you. beautiful.”

y/n lifted her hands. her nails were a soft baby pink with tiny white stars on the ring fingers—delicate, a little sparkly, and kind of romantic.

she looked at daniela. “this is adorable. and unfairly good.”

“you’re adorable.”

“i thought you said no more teasing.”

“not teasing,” daniela said, gently brushing a strand of hair from y/n’s face. “just facts.”

her voice was quiet now, a little sleepy. the air felt thick with something neither of them wanted to say too fast.

“can i?” daniela asked, her thumb brushing over y/n’s hand.

y/n nodded. she didn’t need to hear the rest.

daniela leaned in. slow, soft. her lips brushed against y/n’s like she was afraid she might break her if she moved too fast. and y/n leaned in, too—into the warmth, into the quiet, into the way daniela made her feel like everything in the world could be soft if they just stayed like this.

the kiss was gentle. not rushed. not perfect. but theirs.

when they broke apart, daniela smiled so close that y/n could feel the curve of it against her cheek.

“you’re still not allowed to touch anything,” she whispered.

“what if i touch you?” (🤨)

daniela’s eyes sparkled. “that’s allowed.”

and so y/n kissed her again.

and again.

and then once more just because daniela giggled when she did, and it made y/n feel like her whole chest was filled with glitter and cotton candy and summer.

later, they curled under the same blanket, facing each other, noses almost touching, still whispering like the night was their secret to keep.

“you know,” daniela murmured, barely audible, “i really like being with you.”

“yeah?” y/n whispered.

“yeah. you make things feel safe. and soft. and happy.”

y/n blinked. her heart stumbled. “you do the same,” she said. “but you make it look easy.”

daniela smiled into the next kiss.

and then the next.

and the next.

until neither of them remembered how many there’d been—only that none of them had been enough.

⸻

the next morning?

smudged nail polish. messy bedhead. y/n wearing daniela’s hoodie.

and daniela brushing her teeth with a stupidly proud grin, because:

“you kissed me like seventeen times last night. that has to mean something.”

“shut up and paint the other hand.”

—

a/n: OH IM COOKING👅 watch me ghost you guys for a week without updates

[xiaberryy]

“i look like i got beat up, Caleb.” she deadpanned as she looked at her reflection.

adolescence comes with the joyful but difficult journey of self-discovery. they observe, learn, and mimic their surroundings. she wasn’t an exception from her peers who are obsessing over their looks, wanting to enhance their beauty with make up products.

however, she still lacks skill in that department and who else she’d go to if not the jack of all trades?

“i just followed the tutorial, Pip-squeak..”

however, it seemed like the jack hasn’t mastered this trade yet. after all, her soft cheek was dabbed too thickly with an awful shade of red and her eyelids were painted with poorly blended pink eyeshadow.

both teens sighed in unison. in the background, the youtube video continued to play but none of them wanted to pay attention to this woman who they deemed terrible at giving tutorials.

“don’t worry, i’ll figure this out somehow, okay?” Caleb smiled reassuringly while patting the younger girl’s head.

he never once let her down. so, with eyes glimmering with trust and hope, she nodded, “okay!”

the next day rolled around and he’s ready to tackle this top mission. he spent yesterday noon to night, surfing the internet for makeup tutorials, best makeup type for different face shapes, etc.

“you seem confident,” she smiled at him as she sat down.

Caleb took a hair tie and grabbed a handful of her hair, “well, confidence comes from skill,”

“oooh, are you a professional makeup artist now?” a cheeky grin was plastered on her face as she stared at his reflection in the mirror.

after he tied her hair with the right amount of tightness, he grabbed hair clips to make sure no hair covered her pretty face in the process, “i’m pretty sure i got the basics down but you can be the judge of it later, Pip-squeak,”

the first thing Caleb did was gently prep her skin. as he did, he couldn’t help but notice how incredibly soft her skin was and how delicate her facial features were.

it didn’t take long for it to dry. he began dabbing cushion foundation over her skin. seeing her face in such close proximity, his heart began to race.

she’s already so perfect, does she really need this? a frown appeared on his face without him noticing.

the girl stared at him through her long eyelashes before letting out a stifled giggle. he huffed softly while smiling, “what got you all giggly, hm?”

she teasingly poked his lower lip, “you’re frowning,”

her touch made his movements halt. he raised his eyebrows and pulled the corner of his lips into a lopsided smile. the chair creaked lightly as he rested his hands on the armrests and leaned closer.

“can’t promise i’ll stay professional if you keep poking me like that, dear client,”

she giggled while backing away, “oh no, that’s unacceptable. please continue with the service,”

a soft amused huff left him. he grabbed a brow pencil and twirled it around his slender fingers, “close your eyes for me,”

she tilted her head, “why? you’re doing my brows, not my eyes,”

his hand caressed the side of her face. it was an instinct of hers to press her cheek closer to feel the warmth better. “can’t focus with those pretty eyes lookin’ at me, y’know,” he chuckled.

a knowing smile spread on her face before she complied, “okay, then,”

Caleb filled in her eyebrows while admiring the sight of her face. he was glad she had her eyes closed, otherwise she’d see the lovestruck expression he had.

“what are we doing after my brows? my lips perhaps?” she playfully pursed those plump lips of hers.

it was an innocent question, but she had no idea how he almost leaned down and gave her a big fat smooch.

how could anyone blame him? she had her eyes closed and lips pursed, his sweet girl needed to be kissed!

when she felt the lack of movement on her face, she took it as a sign to open her eyes. the sight which greeted her was his back facing her.

she blinked in confusion, “Caleb? are we done?”

meanwhile, Caleb was pressing his palm over his heated face, trying to calm his racing heart which was ready to burst.

he dragged his hand across his face and sighed deeply, “i..need to go to the bathroom. hold on.”

without waiting for her response, he bolted to the bathroom with a speed that got her scratching her head in wonder if he really needed to pee that badly.

unknown to her, Caleb was literally dumping his head into a bucket full of water to cool down. it seems like there’s another victim of adolescence hardships aside from her.

[transboyswitchytales]

Busy Woman

Governor Claire DeBella (Alpha) x Student Fem Reader (Omega)

Part 1,I'm so mature, collected and sensible Except when I get hit with rejection To turn me down, well, that's just unethical

Part 2, But if you need my love My clothes are off, I'm comin' over to your place

Part 3, I could accommodate, I'm flexible, so just tell me what you like

Sugar Mama Claire DeBella is in trouble with her mate, can she be forgiven?

SMUT WARNING (MDNI) 18+

My Masterlist

Alpha/Omega/ Mommy kink/ Power kink/ Sugar Mama/ SMUT / Possesive kink / Jealousy Kink / G!P / Scenting Kink / Licking / Knotting/ Cum Kink / Lack of Control Kink / Power Kink / Manipulation / Porno talk - AI / Coming Out / CNC if you squint / Vouyer kink / Cum Kink / Fictional Cum Inflation Kink / Impreg Kink / G!P /

(Glass Onion Fandom)

My Masterlist

Maybe for you, though, I could accommodate

I'm flexible, so just tell me what you like

You’d started to nest a little and you kept trying to stop yourself. You didn’t want to nest. But it was futile with this much Claire smell around you. 

Claire had taken you back to the townhouse on Tuesday night. 

On Wednesday: Claire had one of her lawyers handle the breaking of the lease and somehow you got an apology from your landlord and your full deposit. Which was fucking unheard of, you’d never gotten a deposit back. You didn’t ask Claire how they’d done it. You’d told Claire you would pay rent and she’d denied every chance you’d attempted.

All of your things were moved in faster than you could say ‘Political Crisis.’. Claire had an empty in-law unit down on the basement level where your furniture was now stacked…. and forgotten about. Boxes of nicknacks now felt empty and meaningless. But they were stacked in the forgotten part of the house next to a Peloton bike and a dusty row machine.  

Claire moved fast, she had opened a joint bank account before lunch. And the number in it was terrifying, more comma’s in a bank account than you’d ever seen. And you’d refused to use it, much to Claire’s continuous displeasure. Claire’s housekeeper had stocked the fridge to your alpha’s specific instructions. All your favorite foods and comfort snacks were packed in the house. It would be sweet if it didn’t happen so fast. 

You hadn’t broken things or run up her card. Claire wished you had done any of those things. 

You were being cold and a bit aloof; distant was an understatement. And it was driving your alpha absolutely nuts. Claire didn’t know what to do. You’d never been mad at her like this. And she didn’t know how to fix it. 

You stayed in your (and her) favorite room of the townhouse, her library. You read and write, and kept out of the rest of the house. 

Claire told her team she’d be working from home all week, she’d been in her office for most of the day. She’d been scared even after being around each other, that your health would regress and get sick again. Even after you assured her you felt fine again.  

But every few hours, she’d come in and check on you. You felt her worry, smelled the pheromones. You didn’t push your own back to calm her.

 Claire would open the door, and you were reading in her favorite spot. Just like she’d dreamed of so many nights in the hauntingly quiet house. While she missed you.

You sat like everything she’d ever wanted when she’d dreamed of meeting her mate. She’d even bought that chair, hoping none day you’d sit in it with her. 

And here you were, in the plush seat in the corner, surrounded by books.

 Claire would walk over to you, and you’d flat out ignore her. But your mate would bend down and kiss your head. 

You could tell Claire wanted to say something each time, but she’d turn around and walk out, always leaving the library door cracked open. 

She also kept her office door open right next to the library, so you both could smell each other. You could hear her taking conference calls, zoom meetings; chattering about legislation and new problems. Her typing continues through the day, a gentle constant.

The pitter-patter of her fingers on keys filled the still mansion. It’s little clicks like Gene Kelly walking down a street in the rain. But you didn’t allow yourself to enjoy your mate's closeness. 

You did feel a little guilty, ok, a lot guilty. During the calls, you could also hear the strain in Claire’s voice. The anxiety and longing didn’t leave her body for a moment. 

She’d never had you this close to her, and yet you were so emotionally far. It was driving her crazy. 

You held onto your irritation still. 

Around five pm, you heard Claire’s office door creak. She padded down the stairs, opening the front door. You figured she’d ordered dinner. 

You weren’t surprised when she walked back into the library. One hand holding the big plastic bag. The other, two upside-down wine glasses pinched together and one of her more favorite Napa Red bottles of wine. Setting it all down on the coffee table that had your cold mug of tea, the one Claire made for you at lunch. You hadn’t eaten the sandwich she’d made for you either. And Claire eyed it for a moment before pushing it aside. 

The alpha dragged one of the other large-backed reading chairs across from you. 

Your Claire was smart, she knew you’d not eat downstairs with her. So she’d cornered you in the place you were nesting. No running now, Omega. 

Claire plopped down with more exhaustion than grace. Opening the small drawer in the coffee table she used the back up cork screw and opened the wine with practiced ease. Pouring it into two glasses and then setting it aside. 

Claire opened the plastic bag, she was so damn smart. She’d calculated this. 

 She didn’t speak, just moved around the space. You did notice her inhaling a little deeper, and having a hard time not looking at you. It was bittersweet, her home finally smelled like you. 

You were in her favorite room in the house. You were hers. And yet you were punishing her. 

Claire opened one of the white cartons of chow mein pushed it towards you and you noticed she’d gotten it with the sweet pork.

Governor had attention to detail that was for sure. She’d gotten your favorites; dumplings, and her least favorite crab rangoons. You were curious now and you looked into the bag to see she’d bought two orders of the rangoons.

Yeah she was groveling. Claire was desperate. You had to hand it to her, it was better than flowers. 

You reached into the container and ate one. 

Claire tried to keep her face neutral, but you saw the little shift of relief and victory at you eating. 

The two of you ate and drank in a combined quiet. Claire took it as a win, you didn’t push her away, you ate. 

And she found the smell of you was intoxicating. 

Thursday was your press conference. 

You were told in advance by Claire what everything was going to look like. But it was still uncomfortable to say the least. Claire had never had other people around you while she was around. You both didn’t know how to act. 

Claire and you were in your master bedroom, and people had sent over a lot of dressing options. You heard her employees and CNN reporters downstairs setting up lighting, camera, and sound. 

You’d taken a shower and your hair was still wet. You were standing in a towel, staring at the rack of clothes next to the bed.

You looked at the clothes nervously. Not sure what to wear from the options. Your anxiety was growing as you wondered what outfit didn’t say ‘gold digging whore?’ but you weren’t sure if that outfit came in blue? 

Claire came up behind you and grabbed your hip. You broke turning and throwing your arms around her neck. You put your nose on her bond scar and inhaled her alpha scent. She was sending comforting Mommy scent out, and it was doing the trick. Your heartbeat slowed, and you got dizzy and euphoric.

Claire was in her fluffy robe, no make up, her hair was blown dry. She looked raw and scared of what you were thinking.  

Claire didn’t say anything, she just held you against her. You missed her hugs. You cuddled in the bed at night, but you hadn’t been as physically affectionate outside of that. 

“You do not have to do this, I can tell them to leave right now,” Claire said, and it sounded sad, like she was making herself say it. But you heard the fear, felt it, smelled it. You knew she was afraid you were going to run, to leave her, to break it off.

 The ultimate heartbreak for Claire DeBella.

And bond marks weren’t something to be undone…Claire would always be longing for you. In every room, her instinct would be to look for you, to smell the air for your signature scent. 

 Every omega would smell and taste stale like dead flowers on a grocery store tile floor. Nothing would ever come close to making love to you.

 She’d never truly find love, it would be connections, but not like this. Nothing like this, not the intensity and the fever in which you loved each other. In truth, Claire knew she’d not date if you ever left. She’d probably have someone trail you, she’d lie to herself and say it was to protect you. To keep you safe, but she’d want photos…for proof she’d tell herself. 

She’d look at the photos at night with a bottle of 30-year-old scotch. DeBella would turn deranged like Miss Havisham. Like a crazy stalker, she’d spend the rest of her days missing you. 

Claire knew she wouldn’t let someone touch her after you, she’d masturbate to videos the two of you made. She’d inhale the clothes she’d steal of yours. Claire would never be whole again. Always wishing and wanting you.

You whimpered at the intensity of the change and Claire realized her pheremones had switched from comforting to downright terrified.

“I’m sorry, my love. I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry.” She said, and you knew what she was thinking of. Worst case scenarios. 

 You pulled back, and you felt her body grow tense. Like she believed this may be the moment her life fell apart. You couldn’t stand it one more minute.  

“Claire, I’m not leaving you. We are forever bonded. I want to marry you. I’m not afraid of coming out on CNN. I’m not going to be mad at you forever. I’m just mad at you right now. I love you, you know I love you, right? You know I’m committed and won’t leave, right?” You ask, and Claire chews her lip, and you realize she might not. “You silly alpha, you know I’m yours.” You tell her, and Claire moans involuntarily at the statement. 

The smell in the air changes once more.

“Say it again.” She whispers the command, and you smirk for the first time since your fight. 

“Claire DeBella, I’m your omega. I’m your mate, I’m your whore. I’m all yours.” You say, and it’s got no nervousness, it holds conviction. It’s a fact, not something you’d just decided lightly. Something that stood tall in a forest for centuries or hard in stone in some foreign museum. You were strong in your love for Claire. And her body responded to you, to your declaration. 

The older alpha grabbed you by the hips and walked you backwards until you were on the bed. You yelped but it was quickly cut off by feverish kisses. 

Claire kissed you like she needed to bite you again, like one claiming scar wasn’t enough. Like she might need to call the camera crew in here so everyone knew who owned you. 

You grabbed her thick, dark hair and pulled her closer. 

Claire was all too eager to agree, closer was non-negotiable. Claire guided your body back further, until you were lying in the middle of the bed. 

You broke the kiss as you felt her erection against you now, oh boy. Her robe parted and rode up to her upper thigh as she held you against the Tempurpedic twenty-two thousand dollar bed.  

“Claire, we don’t have time-and” She kissed your bottom lip and then your chin and your jaw. She opened her mouth, and it was hot and we,t full of so much desire. Her breath tickling your skin before her lips seared your nerve endings. 

You were powerless to resist her. How could you? When she was touching you and kissing you like that?

“Don’t care-” Claire said as she got to the spot just under your ear. Your hips bucked up, and she pulled the towel open, and you were bare under the Governor of Connecticut.  

“I-I” You whimper, and your thighs betray you as they open. Claire smirks as she moved down the bed and licks your labia, not paying attention to your clit. Just tasting the slick you make for her, that you can’t seem to ever stop making for her. 

Her mouth is creating obscene noises as she drinks from you. Your thighs open further and you are spread for her. 

She pulls back and her mouth and chin are glistening and sticky. But Claire isn’t bothered, in fact the taste of you has her cock painfully rubbing against the rough fabric of her robe.

You cry out at the feeling of cold air against your cunt once more, her warm mouth was so good and you miss it instantly. 

“My gorgeous girl, I need you. I miss you. I crave you. I’ll go fucking crazy if I can’t have you baby girl. Let Mommy drink you. Won’t you be good for me?” Claire says, and it’s deep in her throat with frenzied appetite. 

You moan and whimper and it’s noises that a director would pay extra for an omega porn star to do. You don’t mean to, it’s natural, and it’s all for Claire. And her hips buck against the mattress. Pre cum oozing out onto the blankets and robe. 

You see the movement, and your hands go to Claire’s neck and you push your hands under the robe. You are moving it over her shoulders, and she grins at you. Claire likes you needy, always needy for her. 

“Tell Mommy what you want. I’ll give you everything, I’ll give you anything you ever ask. Just ask Mommy.” Claire says and you know she means it, if you asked for an island she’d buy it. If you wanted to adopt the late Queen of Englands corgi’s she’d have her team break into the fucking palace. Claire would do anything for you. 

You bite your lip and make a whiny noise of frustration. You don’t know why, but sometimes you got so wantonly horny you had a hard time asking for things. It gave Claire great pleasure to coax the words out of you. She’d work you up and coo her Mommy voice at you until you were puddy.

 Begging and lost to the sound of her cock making slapping noises against your body.

“Use your words hon. I’ll give you it, Mommy always gives you what you want. You have to say it.” Claire says and she goes higher in your inner thigh and she sucks hard at the skin. You bite back a scream and grab her pillow and muffle it and bite it hard. 

Claire leaves a large hickey on your right thigh. When she’s done sucking she grabs the pillow and pulls it away from your face. Claire had never been ok with you hiding in the bed to stop the noises you made for her. Claire liked your desperate, filthy cries, and she wouldn’t be robbed of them. Not even with CNN downstairs, able to hear you. She didn’t care. 

She was your alpha. 

You were Governor Claire DeBella’s omega, her bonded mate. And she had every right to impregnate you right here. 

You tried lamely again to tug at the robe. But Claire just shook her head and bent down and let her hot breath tease at your swollen cunt. 

“Mommy, please, don’t do this.” You beg, and Claire smirks, she likes this game. You didn’t mean to give her exactly what she wants.

 But that’s the thing about being mates, you just couldn’t get enough of each other. And you fit like two puzzle pieces, so when you moved one way, Claire instinctively moved with you. It was endlessly gorgeous and annoying. Your hips lift off the bed, and Claire wraps her arms around you and pulls you against her mouth. 

Letting her flat long strong muscle wipe against your hole, up your slick heat and push your clit against her tongue. Before moving away. You grind your teeth and make a pathetic noise of disbelief. 

“Don’t do that? Don’t do what, baby? You have to be more specific, my gorgeous omega. Don’t lick you? Well, that’s my right. I don’t know if you have much of a say in that. Besides, you are always so slick for me, your arousal just drips down your thighs. As your Mommy and alpha, it’s my job to clean you. I can’t let anyone else smell what you make for me, and me alone. You think that while we are on TV you will be able to keep yourself from ruining your dress? Or do you think you’ll leave a wet spot on the chair?”

You try to cover your embarrassed face, and Claire growls, it’s deep, it’s menacing, it’s a warning. You uncover your face and look at Claire’s flushed cheeks.

“I think I wasted time yesterday. I should have done this all along. You are mine, I take you when I want to. You lost the right when you let me bite you. I think I’m going to throw away your birth control.”

Your knees jolt and then almost close. Not from fear, but from overwhelming arousal. You need your thighs closed so your clit stops throbbing and you stop producing so much fucking wetness from your aching pussy. 

Claire knows what she’s doing. She’s getting you desperate for her so that you beg. She didn’t need to wait long. You needed her just as bad. And these threats were just making your brain fog over, too horny to think. 

“Is that what you want, little omega? You want your powerful Mommy to knock you up and not tell you? I think they can hear us downstairs, don’t you? Your cute little noises, I wonder if they’re recording. Do you think they know the things I’ve done to you? The places you let me lick and touch? Should I talk louder? Do you think they want to know about how I use the dildo you made from the mold of my dick to double penitrate you? That my knot swells from the very scent of your dirty thong in the hamper.”

You are humping the air and Claire’s cock is holding all of the blood and adrenline in her body. But the more she speaks the more thick the smell of arousal gets. 

The towel underneath you is soaked but not from water. Claire has never tasted anything more delicious. It was like you were made for her taste buds. No wine, no food, no drug would ever be this good. 

She couldn’t help herself, Claire dove her mouth back against your clit and she sucked. Before you could get close to any relief, she moved her tongue back into your tight hole. You claw at the blankets, and Claire grabs both your hands with hers. Threading your fingers she feels your bond ring and her cock twitches. 

You were hers. 

You gasp and then work very hard to make words come out of your mouth. 

“Mommy please fuck me. Take your robe off, please, need your skin. Need you everywhere, all over me. Fuck me Mama, I’ll be so good. Please, I need to have your seed deep in my womb while we sit on TV. I can’t be without it one more second. Don’t do this, give it to me. I need your cock. I’ll behave. Please, please, please, please, Mommy please, please, Mommy please, please, please, please, please Mama.” You chanted, and Claire couldn’t tease you one more minute. She tore at her robe and threw it behind her. 

Before grabbing the pillow you’d just used to try to quiet yourself. She stuck it under your ass so she could be sure to get the right angle. 

You grabbed at her forearm to tell her not to use her nice pillow under your cum soaked pussy. But Claire smirked and you realized…..she wanted it to smell like your cum. God, you two were filthy, and you loved it. You smiled and blushed, but she didn’t have the strength to talk about it now. 

She grabbed her dick and stroked it twice before smearing the tip up and down your puffy cunt. You grabbed her shoulders and pulled, and your nails bit into her creamy skin. But Claire didn’t listen to your dangerous hands. 

She didn’t care that CNN was waiting for you both to go downstairs. No, Claire was going to fill you with her semen. She’d gone a day without being inside of you, and it had been a day wasted. 

She pushed slowly until her mushroom tip head was engulfed in velvet heat. Claire tried not to roll her eyes back at the extreme tightness that had her cock feeling more loved and at home than anything ever had. 

“Mama, go faster. I can’t wait. Please, I need you.” You beg, but Claire just rocks her hips slowly and pushes little by little inside. 

“Mommy has to stretch you. Baby girl is so tight. But you live with me now. I’m going to train your holes to take me. You will always be ready to be filled by me. You are so wet gorgeous, no one gets this wet.” Claire puts one hand on your clit and collects more slick and puts her fingers in her mouth. Like she’s gone four seconds without the taste of your cum on her tongue and it’s torture, she’s famished. 

“Please fill me, I want your cum to leak out of me. I want to smell like your cum. I can’t - I ne-” You ramble, and Claire knows what will help her mate. She pushes the rest of the way and your mouth opens wide. Claire bites her lip hard as she focuses on not losing her control and rocking into you like she’s feral. 

Someone knocks on the door. 

Claire doesn’t shush you, doesn’t help you. 

“Governor, we are ready down here for you two to get your makeup done. What time do you think you’ll be down? Do you two need any help?” The polite person said through the door. 

Claire grinned like a primal animal. She leaned down so that her nose almost booped yours. Your eyes met and she talked into you. 

“Should I tell her we need help? Have her come in and see you like this? You do look like you need help baby, but not something anyone else can provide. Only me, your alpha, your Mama. Only I can ease this ache in you. But I think I should invite her in. Everyone should see what power really looks like. It’s having my sweet omega’s cunt forced open. It’s having you speechless as I force my cock deeper inside, in places no one else can touch. You are mine. She should see it, you look so pretty for me. Everyone would be so jealous.” Claire says, and it’s not quiet. And your body blushes all over and Claire rocks forward and the noise of your soaking wet pussy is LOUD. 

“Claire, tell her to go aw-away. Please don’t let her see this.” You beg because, realistically, you know Claire wouldn’t let anyone come in….right? She was the most possessive, jealous person you’d ever met…But also, you wondered if part of her wanted an audience. To see how only she could touch you. 

Claire used one hand and grabbed your throat, and you moaned entirely too loudly. 

“Claire isn’t what you call me when you are begging me to impregnate you in our bed. Claire is what you call me when you push your thong in my suit pocket when we go to dinner. You aren’t allowed to call me that here. I’ll tell you what. I’ll answer her, if you moan out Mommy. I’ll give you my seed too.” Claire said, and it was a terrible deal. But you didn’t care. 

“Hello, are you two in there?” The woman outside your bedroom door knocked again. 

“Last chance, moan ‘Mommy’ or she’s going to see where babies come from. She’s going to see how the Govenor of Connecticut abuses her wifes sweet cunt with a room full of reporters a breath a way. I think she’ll take a picture, I hope she does. I hope she get’s to see the face you make when I do this-” Claire cut off her own rant by hitting your cervix and you gasp and tears fall as you scream out. 

“MOMMY!”

That’s all Claire needs and she fucks you fast and hard, the sound of her balls hitting your body is so loud. You are sure the poor person is no longer outside the door, right? 

You grab the sheets for help, but Claire grabs your hands and you hold on. It’s gorgeous, its raw, it’s primal, it’s romantic. 

It’s fucking love. 

Claire pants and her body tensens every muscle, and she pushes into you with unrelenting power. Claire knows before you do that you are going to cum. 

“MA-A mMAA-” YOu try but she leans down and kisses you as you squeeze her cock so tight she can’t pull out all the way. You both cum form the intensity of your bodies colliding.

 It hurts so good and Claire cums with almost the force of a pressure washer into you. It pushes against your walls and fills every bit of you. White hot and warm with that sticky feel. Your stomach bulges a bit at the pressure and volume. 

Claire’s knot starts to swell. You tap her twice to alert her. Claire’s licking her top lip, and her body twitches with aftershocks.  

“We-w-” You are shaking as you stutter out a warning. 

Claire nods once in understanding. 

“It’s so ha-hard not to knot you baby. I don’t-don’t even know hh-. It just starts to build and I can’t stop it. But you are right, we don’t-don’t have time. Which is too bad because I love being tied to you for hours. I have to pull out of you now.”

Your bottom lip automatically turns to a pout. Claire pecks your lips three times and lingers on the last kiss. 

“I don’t like it either. It’s gonna hurt to not be inside you. Plus, the swelling won’t go down while we are sitting there either. You need to wear a pad, between the slick and cum it’s going to be hard for it not to fall down your leg.” Claire warns you, and you nod and shiver at her words. It’s true. 

Claire’s knot is getting bigger, and she isn’t even thrusting into you. Her body just can’t help itself when it has you. You know she was stalling for you both, but you nod again, and she closes her eyes and grimaces as she pulls out. 

You both clench your jaws as cold air and tightness make you both uncomfortable. White semen starts to ooze out of you, and Claire sighs at the sight. She leans down and kisses your pubic hair. Like she’s paying respect to her favorite deity. 

You smile warmly and then throw your arm over your eyes. 

“We’ll be down in a bit!” Claire yells loud enough that people can hear her downstairs. Claire grabs her robe and wipes up your thighs and then carefully uses the terricloth material to wipe around your swollen pussy lips. 

She’s gentle, because Claire doesn’t have a bone in her body that would ever do you harm. Your body jolts every now and then without your permission. Claire goes over to the rack of clothes that were delivered for you both. 

She pulls out a pair of trousers and a button down for you, setting them out onto the bed next to you. Before she goes into the bathroom and comes back out with a pad and more wet wipes. 

It’s gonna be a long interview. 

Friday

You were lying in bed with CNN on in the background low, the light illuminating the dim room. It was late enough that the room had a dusk glow. You were earring Claire’s boxers and an old warn hoodie. Your laptop and phone kept dinging with notification noises.

It was a good thing Claire had a security team because you couldn’t even open the blinds in the front room. Reporters were camping out outside the townhouse. That wasn’t the only new annoying thing.

You were being hounded online, Claire’s media team had been proactive, and you’d taken down most of your accounts via their recommendation. But you didn’t think they’d find you on Twitter. You’d been wrong. 

Some comments were sweet. You didn’t realize how much the queer community was excited to see you both.  

You’d expected the negative stuff, that wasn’t surprising. Lots of threats of violence, which was obnoxious. Claire had people filtering some of the more intense or creative threats. 

But the amount of people who wanted to see you two fucking was ridiculous. The things they said were absolutely filthy. 

Someone you’d worked with on a project in class had emailed you to ‘warn you’ about some tasteless websites.  

Which is where you’d been for the last ten minutes. 

One of these website had made a porno of you and Claire. Someone had used AI to put your face and Claires on two people fucking. 

Your head fell to the side as you watched pretend Claire bending you in ways you weren’t sure were possible. Then she grabbed a bullwhip, your mouth opened in surprise. 

You didn’t even hear Claire come in. She stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of you curled in bed like you’d always been there. But before she could appreciate you she’d heard moaning coming from your laptop. 

Her anger flared and she walked over to the bed and grabbed the electronic and turned it to see what the fuck you were watching. 

“What in the world?” She screeched and you jumped. Claire watched holding the laptop like it was offending her. 

“I can explain!” You shrieked and Claire didn’t look at you but she stared at ‘fake you’ who was getting her clit whipped. 

“You are watching AI porn in our bed with our faces on it?” Claire said but her tone was now more curious than angry. 

“Uh yeah actually that sums it up. This isn’t even the worst one.” You said and Claire dropped the laptop and it kept making porno fake moans and she looked at you now. 

“You’ve watched more than one?” Claire asked and her eyebrow arched. 

“Yeah, it’s one of many. I was curious- AI is nuts! There’s one where I-”

“You remember our rules, right?” Claire interrupts.

“Claire! It’s not even real porn!”

Claire just shakes her head unimpressed and she bends over the bed and closes the window on your laptop before she slams the lid down and puts it onto the dresser. Before slipping onto the bed in front of you. She grabs both your hands. 

“You are in trouble for what I just walked in on. But more importantly, are you doing ok?”

Claire had spent a lot of the day putting out the media fire that was her announcing your relationship. You’d been alone for a lot of the day. 

“I’m totally fine!” You say too quickly and she tilts her head to the side and you cave. 

“My love.” Claire says gently and you move so that your forehead rests on hers. 

“Hold me?”

Claire hums satisfied, like the question is the sweetest thing she’s heard all day. She pulls back and lifts the fancy orange blouse off of her body before unzipping the pencil skirt. So she’s just in expensive lingerie. Before she crawls further onto the bed to her side and pulls the blankets back and you go to move ontop of her and she grabs your throat. 

“Fuck.” You moan at the feeling of her firm grip on your neck. Stopping you in the hottest way. 

“My omega gets so responsive. I was just going to remind you; no clothes in the bed. But if you moan like that, I won’t be held responsible for what I do to you.” Claire's smile is naughtily as she takes in your response. 

You remember and you move back and pull the hoodie off and you didn’t wear a bra to bed. And Claire eyes your nipples before you give her the chance to tease you more you lay ontop of her. 

Claire moves one arm down your back and puts her hand under your boxers so she can palm your ass cheek. She kneads your butt like a cat would a blanket. You find it comforting and close your eyes.

“Tell me about your day.” You say and it’s not a question and Claire clears her throat before she starts to tell you her day in order. You like the rumble of her voice against her chest as she tells you everything. 

It takes about thirty minutes before she pauses. Your eyes are still closed and you are so relaxed she asks now:

“Baby are you even awake?”

Moving one of your hands to the back of her bicep letting your fingers trail over her strong arm. 

You lick your bottom lip before you answer her. 

“Lionel called and told you Birdie wants to design my wedding dress but she’s only ever done leisure wear and Lionel doesn’t want to be the one to tell her you said that. CNN wants a follow-up interview but you can’t believe that they cut the piece about climate change and you think one of the editors on their website is secretly a flat earther.” You repeat the last thing she told you and she snorts. 

“You are a good listener.”

“I like you a lot. It’s easy to listen to you.” You say and yawn as Claire keeps one hand on your ass and the other goes to your hair to brush out the knots. 

“You like me? Well, that’s handy, because you are stuck with me.”

“Not stuck, my giddy-up is happily hitched to yours. Also you are the one who’s gonna get sick o of me.” It was a thing you thought about every now and then, of course. The great politician with her Ivy League degree. She had a large fortune, a giant collection of expensive alcohol. Hell Claire could have someone assasinated if she so pleased. She was powerful and brilliant and endlessly funny. And you had to pinch yourself often. 

Sometimes it didn’t make sense to you.

“Not remotely possible. Also if you actually believe that you haven’t spent enough time in Washington. But that’s beside the point. I crave you, gorgeous girl. I’ll never get tired of you. You are too smart and funny for us to ever run out of things to talk about. And you taste far too delicious to ever get tired of kissing.” 

You loved teasing her. 

“I thought you were saying my pussy tasted good. I guess you don’t like my pussy anymore.” You tease keeping your eyes close you smirk and Claire yanks your boxers down and slaps your ass cheek hard. You yelp in suprise. 

“Blasphemy, little girl.” Claire says and you chuckle and she hugs you tight against her. Her nose buried in your hair and she presses kisses to your head. 

“What are you going to wear?” You ask as she holds you close your thumbs fall to her hips and you rub little circles. 

“In this bed, we wear nothing.” Claire is being purposefully dense and you lean down and bite her. Claire just laughs at the feeling, she likes your teeth on her skin. 

“Are you going to wear a dress or are you going to rock a suit when we get married?”

“You’ll just have to attend and find out.” Claire says not giving you an answer and you pout. 

“I don’t know.. I don’t know when it is, I don’t know I could be busy. Besides I don’t know if you’ve seen the front of the townhouse but all my social outings are postponed.” You tease and you feel Claire sigh exhausted under you. 

“They’re gonna be out there for a while baby girl. I’m sorry. If you need to go somewhere I have security detail for you and a-” She says and you kiss her smooth skin under your head. 

“I don’t have any social outings baby. I already had my finals. I’ve got nothing on my agenda. It’s really not a big deal. Besides, I don’t know if you figured it out after a few days of living with me. But I’m cheating on you with your library. I’m in love.”

Claire gave a deep chuckle and both her hands splayed on your naked back and she scratched you lightly and it was so good you were practically purring. 

“I don’t share my omega. But seeing you curled up in a room full of books I’ve collected over the span of my life is worth all the heart ache to get here.”

You opened your eyes now and looked up at her. Claire was staring down at you with so much tenderness you felt like you might explode. 

“You Governor, are a hopeless romantic.”

“Don’t tweet it.”

“Tempting.”

Claire made a play growling noise and you beamed a big smile at her. 

“Well if your lifetime of books ever run out I have a new hobby of AI porn to keep me busy.” You sigh like you live in a Jane Austin book and everything is so very dramatic. Claire squints at you through her lashes like she’s going to decide if you need a punishment. 

“Do I need to put a child lock on your computer?”

“I don’t know, Mommy, do you?”

“Baby,” Claire warns, and you smile. 

“It was purely educational, I just learned about a new position, even! And I have been doing yoga. I’m very flexible. I think you’ll like it!” You say like you are being a good girl and not watching porn in Claire’s bed. Your alpha eyes you before answering in a serious matter; 

“I’m going to overnight from Amazon one of those big kink cages that go under the bed. And I’ll keep you in it while I’m on conference calls. I’ll only let you out when I’m off work and you can warm my cock while I read emails.” 

You shiver in delight and Claire’s eyes widen slightly not expecting you to like it as much as you did. 

“I mean, no don’t, stop what a terrible idea.” You say monotone and you both are smiling at your shared kinkyness. 

“You are banned from the internet. No more, even if it’s AI of me railing a pretend you. No more porn, repeat after me Angel?” Claire grabs your chin to make you look into her eyes. Which was ridiculous because they were such a gorgeous blue why wouldn’t you look at her eyes?

“But you had a bullwhip!” You say like that makes it better and Claire moves to grab your now bare ass cheeks with her nails and you yelp. 

“Repeat after me; ‘I, Mrs. DeBella will no longer watch pornography because my wife will spank me until I can’t sit on my butt for a month. Then she’ll only fill my ass with cum.”

You smile and she looks at you sternly, but her lip twitches and you read her easily. But you put up your fingers like Girl Scouts and you repeat it. 

“I Mrs. DeBella, first lady of the united states will not watch pornography without the sexy Madame President unless of course she leaves my cunt empty of her cum and then everything is fair game.” You say, and Claire flips you so fast you are laughing and gasping in tandem. 

She pins your arms. Then leans down so your mouths are close but not touching. So you can feel her words against your lips. 

Claire just doesn’t lose. Not in politics, not in negotiations, and now, not in love. 

But your alpha was enjoying your little game and it showed with the hardening cock pressed against you now. 

“You are laughing a lot for someone who’s about to receive a punishment.” 

You pushed up and kissed Claire hard enough to bruise, and your alpha moaned against you. It was a needy noise and it made both of you start to hump each other with desire spilling over. 

A phone started vibrating, and you felt Claire growl in frustration.

Two more rapid notification noises, and you pulled away from her kiss and she tried to chase your lips back to hers. But you avoided her and then grabbed her face to still her. 

“Claire, baby it could be important-”

Claire forcefully moved from your hand and bit your neck and made unimpressed sounds. 

“Nothing is more important-”

Then it was clear that it was her phone from the ringtone and Claire’s body went rigid at the sound. 

“It’s Lionel.” You say knowing the ringtone that she saved for the people she despised, it was the sound of the classical Mussorgsky’s ‘A Night on Bald Mountain’. It was a stressful sound that perfectly encompassed how she felt about the group.  

“He can wai-”

“You know that’s not true, go.” Because it could be Lionel making a social call, or it could be arbout their Billionaire friend Mr. Bron. Who funding a lot of Claire’s lifestyle. If it was Miles, then it could mean trouble. Seeing as how Miles didn’t own a cellphone, he would fax Lionel, and then Lionel would pass it along to Claire. Lionel felt the whole thing was beneath him because Claire could just get a fax machine. But this was all irrelevant as the ringtone signaled possible trouble. 

You squeeze her butt and her hips shift up to make friction from her crotch to yours. But you pull away and move out from under her. The weight of Claire’s body lingering against you as you go down to the ground and grab a hoodie. Lifting it up and yanking it over your head and down your naked chest and tummy. 

 You go to collect your laptop and Claire moves faster and snatches it. You laugh at her antics but she keeps the MacBook under her arm and grabs her phone, answering it.  

“Lionel, you have exactly one minute to make this call worth interrupting me.” She says, and you roll your eyes, grabbing your cellphone and leaving the bedroom. You hear Claire calling you back, but you move around the house to the library. 

It takes about an hour and a half.

You are reading the book ‘Manchurian Candidate’, you loved politics. Even conspiracy theory novels on politics were fun, if not a little terrifying. You’d already re-read ‘1984’ since making a home in Claire’s den of books. You had found her copy and it had little notes in the margins from when she was in college. You enjoyed the old staining on the page from highlighter and ball point pen scribbles. It felt like she was talking to you about it. 

But you were now to the point in the book where you read:

“Her ambition was an extremely distressing condition. She sought power the way a superstitious man might look for a four-leaf clover.”

You mulled over the sentence for a minute thinking of Claire. Before you realized you were no longer alone. Claire walked in carrying two Waterford tumblers full of scotch. You put the book down and look at her sullen face. She hands you a glass and you take it. Before she grabs your wrist and pulls you gently but firmly up out of the chair. Your alpha moves easily behind you to sit in your seat. It’s warm from where you’d cuddled up and then Claire pulls you back onto her lap. 

You liked this better. 

You swung your legs over the side of the chair and threw an arm around Claire’s shoulders. Claire sighed more contently but you saw the stress still lingering in her face. She took a long swig of the scotch. You smelled it and then sipped, she’d opened the old stuff, not a good sign. 

You didn’t ask your politician what was going on, you waited.

Claire collected herself before answering the unsaid question. 

“They want you to come to the island.”

You let the truth hang in the air, and Claire didn’t look at you, but she stared like she’d seen a ghost. Before taking another long gulp of the smooth scotch. 

“But- Was it the news or?”

“Lionel told them we were already bonded mates. That marriage was just the last formality, that we are already together permanently and Miles wants to size you up.”

You took a long gulp of your drink and then cupped Claire’s cheek until she turned her face to look at you. 

“We knew they’d want to meet me eventually. That coming out to the public would be uncomfortable at first.” You state the obvious just so it can be said out in the air, Claire of course knew that like you.

Claire was an expert chess player. Had been since she was a teenager. She’d been taught strategy by her politician father. One of her favorite books was Sun Tzu ‘Art of War’ and she read it once a year. Even though you made fun o fher for doing so.  

So you knew your partner was thinking the long game. 

In the long game and short game…Miles Bron was dangerous. He’d always be dangerous. Claire knew that he’d covet you. You were her weakness and the thing that got her up in the morning. Miles would try to find out how to-.

“Baby…I know you are busy playing Battleship in your mind. And you are so close to sinking someone’s battleship, but…I’m going to interrupt your beautiful brain to state what you are thinking too ..Which is we haven’t been around a lot of people besides CNN for an hour….and you had to fuck me so hard and then..when they left we fucked for another four hours…Do you think as an alpha you can be tame enough around your crazy group?  You don’t like it when people look at me. How are you going to introduce me to other alphas?” You finish biting your lip but your thumb is tracing the edge of Claire’s jaw. 

Claire’s body is tense and you move the hand that was around her shoulders into her hair and you play with the little baby hairs on the back of her neck. 

Claire’s body started to relax as your talented fingers eased some of her stress. 

“I don’t have a choice it seems,” Claire said frustrated and she stared at your lips. You answered her by moving up and kissing her slow and full of devotion. Before you leaned your forehead against hers. It seemed to do the trick and Claire sighed. 

“Not very nice of Lionel to tattle on you. I’m sorry, Governor.” You kiss her twice on the lips as an apology for something you didn’t do. Claire leans her forehead against yours and tilts to the side. 

“Your apology is sweet, but oh-so unnecessary. I have a very loyal, adorable partner. I’m doing very well in politics. You and I will end up purchasing a vacation house once we decide where this quarter. I don’t need Lionel to make me a friendship bracelet and gab about ‘The Real Housewives of Atlanta’. He’s trying to survive in this world of rats trapped in a barrel. I don’t blame him for using me as a pawn. He’s got to chew on someone to survive. I’d be disappointed if he didn’t, to be honest. He’s the one I trust the most out of all of them…That’s not saying a lot, baby... I told you, I’m a woman in politics, and I don’t have friends. They are all out for themselves, and you need to know that. This weekend, they will try to manipulate you. You can’t let them. Think of this like a bunch of house representatives, and you are their meal ticket. They want you to fail, they want information.”

Claire’s jaw is tense as she talks about how these people will see you. You want to make her feel better. But you know she’s telling the truth. And it’s a gross, ugly, naked truth indeed. 

“You don’t need to-.” You tell her but she disagrees grabbing your hand on her face to kiss your warm palms. 

“You are my everything.”

“Claire.” You tell her but she doesn’t listen. 

“You mean the absolute world to me. Nothing these people say or do or think about you is true. They don’t know you like I do. And they’ll never take the time to, which is their loss and my gain. Because I’m greedy for you baby.” Claire says and her eyes are shining with something so very trade mark DeBella and you smile. 

“I know you believe that, which is insane-”

“No what’s insane is how Bron thinks he can shake us. Nothing could ever get my teeth to release from your throat.” Claire jokes and goes to bite your neck playfully. You attempted to stay on topic but her teeth nipping at your skin and then planting open mouth kisses was so delicious. You grabbed both Claire’s shoulders and tried to bring her back. 

“Claire, you don’t need to-“

You started and Claire kissed your cheek and looked into your eyes very serious again. 

“I will say it every-damn-day until I’m worm food. But I’m going to repeat it a lot this weekend so that those leeches don’t get in your head. Because if this comes down to you or Brons money it’ll be you everytime, got it?” Claire used her manicured nails to pin under your chin so that you couldn’t look away from her. You had to agree with her. But you were concerned. 

“I’m more worried about you then me, DeBella. Are you going to be able to play nice in the sandbox? Especially if someone plays with me?”

Claire used her thumb lightly under your lip to softly touch you. Keeping your chin locked so you couldn’t run from her.  

But you were trying not to smirk at Claire grimacing at the idea of someone ‘playing’ with you and the unease stuck to her facial features.

“Hmm.” She said and you know she was trying to take stock of herself now.

“Claire, it will be fine. I will be next to you the whole time. If we both keep our hands on each other, I’m sure it’ll be fine.” 

Claire hummed in agreement and you knew she liked the idea of her hands never leaving your body. Her eyes were far away now, though, you knew she was making lists. 

“We leave tonight, and we’ll get in early tomorrow. Miles already bought the tickets, I’m afraid.” Claire said it was silly and trivial. But both her hands were holding your face tenderly. Claire was almost pacifying herself by touching your face. 

“What if you get…feral? Or attack someone?” You ask gently, and Claire grabs your drink and holds it up to your lips, and you take the last swig. She puts the glass down on the coffee table. Before she cupped your jaw and kissed you, you gasped at the intensity of it, and she used that as leverage to taste the alcohol in your mouth. Claire seemed to think her expensive drink tastes better licked off your tongue. 

You broke the kiss much to Claire's dismay, but you were panting and blushing. Claire licks her lips as if she can still taste you, and she doesn’t want to waste a drop. But she answers you now. 

“If it were anyone else, I’d say of course I wouldn’t…I’m in politics for goodness' sake, I can contain my instincts and be cordial… But if Duke so much as looks at your breasts, I may commit murder in a room full of people. So you’ll need to keep my alpha pheromones in check and be a sweet omega.” Claire teases you, and you roll your eyes.  

“This is going to end with someone in the ER.” You mumbled and you moved off Claire. Who was grabbing at your hips, but you just turned to straddle her. Blue eyes look relieved and entertained at the same time at you moving onto her lap again. You felt Claire pulling you down so that your legs bent and you can feel her dick through her expensive boxers. 

“I know. But look at it this way. You were going to be in the public eye with me sooner or later. This is a trial run for us. With people who are vipers, just like politics.” Claire teases, and you put your hands on the back of her neck. It’s warm, and the little hairs tickle your hand. 

“Ya know, I have some nice people we could have done this with first.”

Claire laughs, and you wonder if she wants to get into a fight with these people. Or if she just likes the idea of owning you in front of an audience who could never touch what was Claire’s.  

[theonottsbxtch]

BACK TO FRIENDS | OP81

an: this was a request by a friend of mine, well only the song so before you start haring HATE HER NOT ME

wc: 2.7k

OSCAR NEVER SHOULD HAVE LET HER IN.

The champagne from the podium had barely dried on his race suit when she slipped into his hotel room, wearing his old team hoodie like it still belonged to her. Maybe, for a moment, he let himself believe it did. Maybe that was why, when she reached for him, he didn’t pull away.

Now, the early morning light crept through the curtains, soft and unforgiving, illuminating the tangled mess of sheets that no longer held her warmth. She was already standing by the mirror, zipping up her dress with that same detached precision he’d seen too many times before—when she’d pack her bags, when she’d walk away, when she’d pretend this meant nothing.

He propped himself up on one elbow, watching as she fixed her hair, gaze locked on her own reflection rather than him.

"You’re leaving," he said, voice hoarse. It wasn’t a question.

"You knew this didn’t change anything," she murmured, still not turning around. "We agreed."

We agreed. He almost laughed at the absurdity of it. Because once, there had been no need for agreements between them. Once, she had been his best friend. His only constant in a world that never stopped moving. Now, she wouldn’t even look at him.

"How can you do this whole thing" he said, quieter this time, "best friends in public as if we didn't fuck the night before."

She stilled, just for a moment. A hesitation. But when she finally turned to face him, her expression was unreadable. Indifferent. Like she had already put distance between them, even though she was still standing there.

"It’s just how it has to be, Oscar," she said, as if that was enough. As if those words weren’t a knife in his ribs.

He sat up properly, gripping the sheets to keep his hands from reaching for her. Stupid, really, how after all these years he still wanted to chase after her, even when she always walked away first.

She stepped towards the door, and he knew he could stop her. He had taken impossible corners at impossible speeds—what was one more risk? But he didn’t move. He just watched as she opened the door, stepping into the hallway like she hadn’t just wrecked him all over again.

The door clicked shut behind her.

For the first time in his life, Oscar wasn’t sure if he’d recover from this crash.

He didn’t move for a long time.

The sheets had long gone cold, but he still sat there, fingers curled into the fabric like it could somehow hold onto the night before. As if it could prove it had happened at all. But the only proof left was the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the air and the dull ache in his chest.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand, shattering the quiet. He forced himself to look at it, already knowing what he’d see.

PR Debrief – 9 AMMedia – 10 AMTeam Briefing – 11:30 AM

Business as usual. No time to dwell. No time to feel.

With a heavy sigh, he pushed the covers aside and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, planting his feet on the carpet. His body protested—aching muscles, bruises from a near-miss in yesterday’s race, exhaustion from weeks of relentless travelling. But none of it compared to the weight pressing against his ribs.

Dragging himself to the bathroom, he barely recognised the man staring back at him in the mirror. Dark circles under his eyes, jaw tense, hair a mess from restless sleep—if he even got any at all. He turned on the tap, splashing cold water over his face, as if it would wake him up from whatever spell she had put him under. But he knew better.

This wasn’t something he could just shake off.

By the time he pulled on his team polo and a fresh pair of jeans, the sun had fully risen, and with it, the world outside came alive. The familiar sound of trolley wheels rolling through the hallway, distant chatter from staff, the low hum of engines being prepped at the circuit down the road. The race weekend was over, but the machine never stopped.

Neither could he.

Still, as he stepped into the corridor, he hesitated. His hand tightened around the door handle, as if half-expecting to see her just outside, waiting for him like she used to. But the hallway was empty.

Of course it was.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Oscar exhaled sharply and made his way towards the lift. He knew how this went. Knew the script by heart.

He’d get through today. He’d put on the easy grin for the cameras, give the sponsors what they wanted, act like nothing was wrong. And when she walked into the paddock, all effortless poise and carefully constructed distance, he’d pretend he wasn’t still watching her. Pretend he hadn’t spent the night memorising the way she felt against him.

Pretend he didn’t want to do it all over again.

The paddock was already buzzing by the time Oscar arrived. Engineers hurried between the garages, mechanics huddled over half-assembled cars, and team personnel weaved through the chaos with clipboards and coffees in hand. It was always the same the day after a race—one team celebrating, another regrouping, everyone already thinking about the next circuit.

Oscar had barely set foot in the hospitality area when he felt the shift in the air. It was subtle—just a few lingering glances, a hushed murmur between two media interns—but he didn’t need to turn around to know why. He felt her before he saw her.

She had arrived.

He stole a glance over his shoulder, and there she was, stepping into the paddock like she belonged there. And in a way, she did.

They had grown up in places like this, back when the paddock smelled more like petrol and sweat than luxury cologne, when the only thing that mattered was who was fastest on track. Back when she was his best friend, before things got complicated.

She looked completely at ease. As if last night had never happened.

Oscar forced himself to look away.

He was halfway through his first coffee when someone from the media team caught up with him.

“Oscar, got a minute?”

He turned, offering a tight-lipped smile. “What’s up?”

“We’re filming some content today for the socials—just a lighthearted thing, some fun clips. And, well… since you and her go way back, we thought it’d be great to get you two together. Bit of nostalgia, childhood friends, all that.”

Oscar felt his jaw tighten. “You want us to film something together?”

“Yeah, nothing serious! Just a little throwback video—maybe some old karting stories, a couple of friendly challenges. Fans love that stuff.”

He hesitated. Every part of him wanted to say no. But then he caught sight of her again, standing by her team’s motorhome, talking to someone like she wasn’t aware of the way his world had tilted off its axis last night.

Fine. If she could act like nothing had happened, so could he.

“Yeah, sure,” he said, plastering on his media-trained smile. “Let’s do it.”

The camera was rolling, and Oscar had no choice but to play along.

They sat side by side in the media pen, a tablet between them as they reacted to old photos—grainy karting pictures, podium shots with oversized trophies, one from a race where she had shoved him off track and he had stormed off in a sulk.

She laughed at that one. “You were such a sore loser.”

He smirked. “Still am.”

It was easy, in a way. The banter, the teasing—it was familiar. A script they had both known since childhood. But underneath it, Oscar felt the strain. Every time their hands brushed, every time she smiled at him like they hadn’t just been tangled up in each other the night before, it chipped away at him.

They filmed a quickfire Q&A next.

“Who was faster in karting?”

“Me,” they said at the same time, then shot each other a look.

“Who was the bigger troublemaker?”

She pointed at him. He pointed at her. The camera crew laughed.

And then, finally—

“Who won your first-ever race together?”

Oscar opened his mouth, but she beat him to it.

“I did.” She grinned. “Oscar binned it in the final lap.”

He rolled his eyes. “I had a mechanical issue.”

“That’s what they all say.”

The filming wrapped up soon after. The media team thanked them, and she stood, stretching as if shaking off the whole thing.

Oscar saw his chance.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “Can we talk?”

She barely looked at him. “I’ve got a briefing, first F1 Academy race next week.”

“Two minutes.”

She was already shaking her head, already glancing over her shoulder.

“Please.” The word slipped out before he could stop it.

Something flickered across her face then, something he couldn’t quite place. But she just exhaled softly, offered him a small, almost apologetic smile, and said—

“Not now, Oscar.”

Then she was gone.

And he was left standing there, fists clenched, watching her walk away for the second time in twenty-four hours.

Oscar barely made it to his driver room before the exhaustion hit.

The small space was dimly lit, the hum of the air conditioning the only sound as he dropped onto the leather sofa with a heavy sigh. His head fell back against the cushion, eyes shutting for just a moment. He needed to get his shit together. One more media appearance, a debrief, and then he could disappear for the rest of the evening.

Maybe he’d go for a run. Maybe he’d sit in the simulator until his brain stopped thinking about her. Maybe he’d just stare at the ceiling until it was time to do it all over again before his flight tomorrow morning.

The door swung open with zero warning.

Lando strolled in like he owned the place, a Capri Sun in his hand, oversized McLaren hoodie engulfing him. He was the complete opposite of Oscar in every way—louder, messier, the kind of person who made himself at home wherever he went.

“Jesus Christ,” Lando said around the straw in his mouth, giving Oscar a once-over. “You look like shit.”

Oscar let out a slow breath, tilting his head to the side but not bothering to open his eyes. “Nice to see you too, mate.”

Lando didn’t reply straight away. Instead, he let the silence stretch, the sound of him sipping obnoxiously from the Capri Sun filling the room.

Then, just as Oscar knew he would—

“You saw her last night again, didn’t you?”

Oscar stiffened. “What?”

Lando just stared at him, unimpressed. “Don’t piss about, mate. I’ve known you three years. I know that face.”

Oscar forced a scoff, pushing himself up on the sofa and stretching his arms. “Dunno what you’re on about.”

Lando raised a brow. “Right. So you’re telling me you look that miserable just because of a media debrief?”

“I’m not miserable.”

Lando smirked, taking another sip. “Yeah, and I’m world champion.”

Oscar rolled his eyes, rubbing a hand over his face. He should’ve known better than to think he could play it off. Lando had been his teammate since he was twenty, and despite the two-year age gap, he had slotted himself into the role of an unofficial older brother from the very first season.

And older brothers were annoying as fuck.

Lando sighed, finally dropping onto the chair opposite. “Listen, mate. I’m not gonna sit here and give you some deep, emotional speech, because frankly, I can’t be arsed. But this?” He gestured vaguely at Oscar. “You’ve got to sort your head out. I’ve seen you drive through torrential rain, with half your front wing hanging off, and you didn’t look as wrecked as you do right now.”

Oscar stared at the floor, jaw tightening. He knew Lando wasn’t wrong. But knowing it didn’t make it easier.

After a moment, Lando’s tone softened. “It’s her, isn’t it?”

Oscar swallowed. “It’s nothing.”

Lando scoffed. “Yeah? Well, ‘nothing’ is making you look like you’ve just been dumped, mate.”

Oscar let out a dry, bitter laugh. “Can’t get dumped if you were never together in the first place.”

That shut Lando up for a second. The silence hung between them, thick and heavy. Then, after a moment, Lando sighed and leaned back in his chair, tilting his head towards the ceiling.

“Yeah, well. She’s a fucking idiot.”

Oscar blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“You heard me.” Lando sat up again, tossing the empty Capri Sun into the bin. “She’s a fucking idiot. And you’re an even bigger one if you keep letting her mess you up like this.”

Oscar didn’t respond. Because what was he supposed to say? That Lando was wrong? That this didn’t mean anything? That she hadn’t wrecked him last night?

They both knew better.

Lando sighed, standing up and stretching his arms. “Anyway. Media pen in twenty. Try not to look like someone ran over your cat, yeah?”

With that, he clapped Oscar on the shoulder and strolled out, leaving him alone with nothing but his thoughts and the fading scent of synthetic fruit juice.

Oscar leaned forward, elbows on his knees, dragging his hands down his face.

He needed to pull himself together.

But he wasn’t sure he knew how.

Oscar stayed where he was for a while longer, elbows braced against his knees, staring blankly at the floor. The room was quiet now, but his head wasn’t.

Lando was right—he needed to sort himself out. He was acting like a lovesick idiot, sitting in the dark like some tragic protagonist when he had a job to do. But knowing that didn’t change the way his chest felt too tight, like he’d been winded and hadn’t quite caught his breath since last night.

With a sharp exhale, he pushed himself up off the sofa and ran a hand through his hair, trying to shake it off. It didn’t work.

He checked his phone. Media pen in five minutes. Time to get it together.

The paddock was still busy as he stepped out, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows over the tarmac. People moved with purpose—engineers discussing data, team members rushing between garages, journalists hovering near the media zone. He kept his head down, shoving his hands into his pockets as he made his way towards the designated interview area.

And then he saw her.

She was standing near the hospitality suites, laughing at something, her head tilted back slightly. And the guy standing with her—tall, broad, someone from another team’s garage, maybe an engineer—was watching her like she was the only thing in the world worth looking at.

Oscar felt something sharp twist in his stomach.

Jealousy wasn’t an emotion he liked to entertain. He wasn’t that kind of person. But right now, as he watched her smile at someone else like she hadn’t spent the night tangled up with him, he felt it creeping in anyway.

His jaw tightened, but he forced himself to keep walking. He wasn’t going to do this. Wasn’t going to torture himself over something he had no claim to.

But then he noticed it.

The hoodie she was wearing wasn’t hers.

It wasn’t even team-issued.

It was his.

Not just some branded merch with the McLaren logo—one of his actual hoodies, one from his personal collection, from his brand. Faded black, slightly oversized, his driver number printed across the sleeve.

He felt sick.

She had taken it. At some point last night when he wasn’t looking. And now she was standing there, wearing it like it meant nothing, like it wasn’t another knife in his ribs, twisting deeper.

He dragged a hand over his mouth, looking away before he did something stupid, like march over there and demand to know what the hell she thought she was playing at.

Instead, he forced himself to keep walking.

The media pen was waiting. His job was waiting.

And if she wanted to keep wrecking him, she was doing a damn good job of it.

It's not like he could do anything.

After all, he loved her and she tolerated him outside of the track.

the end.

taglist: @dying-inside-but-its-classy @n0vazsq @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @dozyisdead @number-0-iz @curseofhecate @lilorose25 @iamred-iamyellow @iimplicitt @carlossainzapologist @skzvibes-blog

[mulloey]

so like… mtl likely to participate in hardcore cnc kink with the reader?

like, I think jun would be open to it because he’s good at acting and seems really observant but I’d like to see what your thoughts are on it and why ^-^

cnc with seventeen

first of all thanks to my girl @my-favefics for helping me with this!! and for getting me into writing svt in the first place.

this will be posted in three parts, beginning with the most eager and ending with the ones who might need a little convincing for it:)

warnings: cnc, rape roleplay, heavy dom/sub, the word ‘rape’ is used, fear play, manhandling, belting etc. this is intense. you’ve been warned. i’m not your babysitter and hate is blocked.

part one: the freaks

everything about cnc just screams seungcheol. he naturally assumes a dominant role over you, and he gets off on it too. the head rush he gets when you submit, giving yourself to him completely is comparable only to what he gets on stage—except with you, it’s so much more delicious. because you would let him do anything.

but what if he didn’t want you to let him?

what if he wanted you to struggle? what if he wanted to have to hold you down and force you to obey?

at first he’s disgusted with himself for having these thoughts. he feels like a terrible person, sick in the worst sense when he imagines you trying pathetically to fight him off, cowering and terrified when he finally subdues you. tears in your eyes as you beg him not to do this. beg him not to hurt you.

when he finally gathers the courage to bring it up he’s beyond nervous; stammering and shaking and refusing to meet your eyes until you grab his hand and nudge his face up to meet yours. “i wanna try it, cheollie,” you say.

silence, for a moment. “really?”

“yeah.”

you catch the glint in his eyes when he looks up at you; the darkness. the smile that grows on his face is nothing less than a warning.

he wouldn’t really be interested in the role play side of things; he doesn’t want to chase you down or break into the house with a knife. no, it wouldn’t do it for him if he were a stranger to you—it has to be him. you have to reject him. you have to be overpowered by him. you have to fear him—because it’s him. because you know the power he wields and all the things he’s capable of.

maybe he’ll make a move while you’re on the couch or in bed; you’ll make a show of pushing him off, hiding your excitement as you tell him you’re just not in the mood right now. and he’ll just tilt his head, cocking an eyebrow quizzically as he stares at you like you’ve just said something ridiculous. offensive, even.

“oh?” he says. “you’re saying no to me now? who taught you that, baby?”

“i have the right to say no, seungcheol.” you try to sound firm but your voice wobbles and his eyes flash with delight. “it’s my body.”

“oh is it?” he chuckles, a deep sound; and nothing about the man in front of you is the loving and considerate person he was seconds ago. “you really don’t know how this works, huh?”

“how what works?”

he moves quickly, pinning you to the couch and hovering over you like prey. “you let me have you,” he breathes. “you let me take you. that means i own you, baby. and you don’t say no to your owner.”

your breath hitches, adrenaline pulsing; despite your knowledge and delight at what’s happening a very real fear begins to pulsate as you kick and squirm under his grip, but he’s so strong he barely seems to notice. “this isn’t fucking funny, seungcheol,” you say. “i don’t like this.”

“poor thing,” he coos. “she doesn’t like this, huh? you know i could make this a lot worse for you, don’t you?”

“stop, cheol. please, i don’t—”

the strength of the slap seems to take you both by surprise; his eyes widen and you cry out, clutching your cheek but it only spurs him on. “you need to learn some respect,” he spits. “need to learn some fucking manners.”

you put up a good fight, of course; you kick and thrash and fight until your body gives out but he’s so much stronger than you—and if he has to physically drag you into position himself, or gag you with your own panties to stop you from screaming for help? then he fucking will.

it’s about time you learned your place.

—

you've always known jeonghan had a bit of a fear kink. and by a bit—well, he goes crazy for it. completely feral at the idea of you cowering beneath him; flinching when he raises his hand; reacting physically to his little displays of power.

it's his favourite game and it's yours too. it came up fairly early in your relationship; when you were just staring to explore more... extreme kinks, and had become aware of just how fucked up you both were. how much you loved it when he hit just a little too hard; used a bit too much pressure: pushed you just a little too far. he felt the way you'd clench around him when you broke down and cried; when he'd whisper threats in your ear and feel the pulse of fear rush through you.

so of course he wants to push it further. so do you.

so you don’t know why you’re so surprised when he comes up to you one day and asks if you want to play this new game he’s been thinking of.

from the look in his eye you have an inkling of what it might be; a hint of something so fucked up and depraved you’re the only person he could ever say it to. and you’re right, of course, as you usually are with him—but even you’re taken aback to hear the words “i want to rape you” come from his mouth.

“oh,” you whisper.

he raises an eyebrow, staring expectantly, if a little nervously at you. “what do you think?”

“it… in what context?” you ask.

“i mean… it wouldn’t be real, baby. you’d have a safeword. i just wanna… fuck.” he shakes his head, cheeks flushed already and it makes you pulse. he really, really wants this.

“wanna what?” you prompt.

“i wanna see you scared, pretty girl. like really, really terrified.”

oh. yes. you want to see that too.

he doesn’t tell you when he’s going to do it; wants it to be a surprise, he says. but you get a bit of a clue a few days later, when he reminds you seven times in the same morning what your safeword is.

still, for his sake you pretend to be surprised when the large presence behind you suddenly clamps a hand over you mouth and drags you over to the wall; slamming you into it with brute strength. there’s danger in his eyes; excitement on a level you’ve never seen and his dick is straining against his pants. “what do we have here?” he smiles. “walking around all pretty like that.” his eyes flicker down to your attire; the loose tshirt and panties clinging to your hips. “you were waiting for me, weren’t you?”

“i don’t know what you’re talking abou—”

he cuts you off with a hand around your throat, holding you in place with enough pressure to set your heart racing. “don’t lie,” he croons. “i know all about you, baby. i know how sluts dress when they’re wanting some attention.”

“i’m not lying.” you spit it through gritted teeth and his lips curl into a smile; somehow sweet and nauseating at the same time.

“well, let’s check, hm?”

you were definitely lying—you wore those pretty little panties you know he loves just to provoke him. unfortunately for you, your pussy does not lie, and when he slips two fingers into your panties his face tells you the jig is up.

“oh dear,” he muses. “i think you were lying, baby. i think you need to learn to tell the truth.”

“learn?” you echo. “how?”

his smile widens. “you ever had your ass fucked, dolly?”

that’s your cue, you decide; you shove him off you with all your strength and make a mad dash for the living room. he just watches you, amused more than irritated—he knows you’ve no chance of overpowering or escaping him. you just need to make a good attempt at it so you can feel like you resisted; can pretend you’re not just as aching for it as he is.

your tears don’t fool him; the sobbed pleas not to hurt you too much, not to do this, i’ll give you whatever you want, just please not this. they only spur him on—make his hips buck and his grip tighten on you. seeing you cry and writhe beneath him only makes him even more determined to destroy you—to ruin you in ways only he knows how. to make it hurt.

and he’d never tell you, but he was always a bit of a masochist too, so the cuts and scratches you leave while he subdues you only makes that first strangling squeeze of your asshole around his dick feel that much better.

—

minghao loves it when you cry. he really, really fucking loves it. to see you break down underneath him, calling his name pathetically between sobs; to see the tears on your face; the red cheeks and helpless eyes—to know that he’s the one who caused it all. there’s nothing like it on earth.

he wants to see you completely fucking broken. you’ve known it for a while now; you were just waiting for him to make the move.

he catches your arm one day as you’re walking past; pulling you towards him with a small smile. “by the way, sweetheart,” he purrs. “your safeword is turkey. don’t forget it.”

“why?” you giggle, sort of half-knowing already.

“because, pet,” he whispers. “from now on, unless you say that word… when you tell me stop, tell me too much, tell me it hurts… i’m gonna keep going. gonna use you til i’m satisfied. now doesn’t that sound fun?”

it really fucking does.

and once this new arrangements of yours is firmly established? he only gets more sadistic. he hits you harder, chokes you harder; drags you into alleyways and public bathrooms with a hand over your mouth just because he can. because you love it.

he’s been fucking you for what feels like hours now. you’re in the bed at least; a small mercy given how fond he’s become lately of forcing you onto all fours on the floor and fucking you until your knees are red and raw. but now your legs are stretched painfully as he holds them firmly on his shoulders and he’s drilling into you so hard it’s painful; saying such horrible things that it all just feels… too much.

and at the same time, it’s nowhere near enough.

but you know exactly what to say to get him to go harder.

“minghao.” you force the word out of your throat, raw and irritated from his earlier abuse. “stop.”

“what did you say?” he asks, not even slowing down for a second. “stop?”

“please, hao.”

he laughs, a sharp, bitter sound. “insolent little brat,” he grunts. “fucking bitch, you think you get to decide that? we’re done when i say we’re done, whore.”

“n-no,” you cry. you try to struggle, writhing under his grip and he slams his hand down on your clit, making you scream.

“yes,” he snarls. “shut up and take it, fuckdoll. this is my fucking pussy and i’ll use it until i’m done.”

you’re sobbing now, hot tears streaming down your face and he leans over you; eyes dark and delighted. “oh, that’s it,” he coos. “let it out, honey. i’ll take care of you. i’m gonna break your pretty brain until there’s nothing left.”

you can’t even talk now, too overwhelmed to think as the pace and force of his thrusts only quickens; you feel like you’re being split open, all your senses in overdrive and your entire body in pain and you’ve never, ever been more turned on.

he can tell.

“good girl,” he mutters. “so fucking wet for me. don’t worry, honey. i’m gonna fucking ruin you.”

he does.

—

if there’s one thing that gets wonwoo off, it’s your size difference. doesn’t matter how big; he just adores it. he adores the way you look so tiny and fragile under him; how small your hand looks in his—how easy it would be to overpower you with his big, strong body.

but how easy would it be, if you actually put up a fight?

you never really have—you love it when he manhandles you; when holds you down, uses his size against you, so you’ve never really resisted it. the only taste he’s ever had of a true fight are those little play fights you have from time to time; stupid, half-heated fighting for stupid reasons. but even that was enough of a taste to drive him absolutely wild. he needs more. he needs to win you.

“sweetheart,” he calls for you as he walks into your apartment after work. you come running immediately as you always do, pulling him into a hug and he laughs. “hi, honey. you—”

you pull away suddenly, just enough to peer up at him with those wide, innocent eyes, and all else is forgotten. you look so small like this. he can’t wait any longer. he won’t.

“fuck,” he curses. you raise an eyebrow, head tilting. “baby. tiny girl.”

“yeah?” fuck, your voice is so soft. so weak.

“sweetheart. i wanna try something new with you.”

“o…okay.” you sound confused; a little nervous—good. you should be. “what is it, woo?”

“i want you to fight me off.”

the silence is thick and painful and never ending as he awaits your response; you blink once, twice, three times as you process what he’s said to you. “fight you off?” you repeat. “like, in sex?”

you don’t sound disgusted, at least—just unsure exactly what he’s asking you. he hums, nodding his head. "i want to overpower you, baby," he says. "i wanna earn that pussy—fight for it, you know? wanna see you struggle."

fuck. you do know, now that you think about it. "yeah," you say. "i think i wanna try it."

"yeah?" he grins, demeanour shifting; it amazes you sometimes, how quickly he can let the nerves fall away and fully envelop himself in what he's doing. "you wanna fight me off, baby?"

“yeah.” you swallow, lightheaded already. “i wanna.”

“good girl.”

you’re half expecting him to pounce on you straight away, but instead he presses a kiss to your forehead and walks off. you decide not to question him; knowing your boyfriend, he’s already got this planned out to the letter, and by the sounds of it, waiting and wandering when he’s going to strike is half the point.

but if he thinks taking you by surprise will make you easy to subdue, he’s dead fucking wrong.

the moment his hand closes over your mouth some days later, you’re ready; adrenaline kicks in instantly and you shove back against him; your hands fly up to claw at his forearm where he’s wrapped it around your neck, pressing against your throat with just enough pressure to make you panic. “come on, easy, easy baby.” his voice is soft, soothing and it fools no one. “don’t struggle, you know i don’t like it when you struggle.”

a lie, of course—his dick is rock hard and pressed against your ass, twitching each time you thrash and struggle against him. he loves his—even loves it when you bite down on his palm hard enough to draw blood.

“fuck,” he curses; he pulls his hand away from your mouth but the arm against your throat is more than enough to keep you still as he yanks your head back to meet his eyes.

the face that stares back at you is unlike you’ve ever seen it; none of the love and tenderness you can usually find even in the most intense of scenes—rather pure, uncompromising darkness. ice.

“you bitch,” he spits. “fuck, i was gonna be nice to you, y’know, was even gonna let you cum a few times but you obviously can’t behave.”

“fuck you,” you grunt. when his grip loosens momentarily you try to make a run for it but he just laughs, pulling you back into him as easily as if you were a tiny puppy who’d wriggled out of its leash.

“i don’t think so, doll,” he says. “you don’t run from me. now be good and i won’t have to hurt you too much, yeah?”

the answer is no, obviously, just as he wanted it to be—it doesn’t stop him from holding you by the hair and belting your ass raw while you cry and squirm on his cock, though.

doesn’t stop you from loving every second of it, either.

—

[writeriguess]

hii, can I request a fic where the readers grandma is in the hospital with little to no chance of living and Bakugou is the only classmate who knows/comforts them. childhood friends/crushing maybe :)

The Strongest Shoulder

You barely notice the way the heavy rain pelts against the windows, each drop a sharp reminder of how cold the world feels right now. The sterile scent of antiseptics clings to your clothes, lingering long after you’ve left your grandma’s hospital room. The hum of the fluorescent lights overhead buzzes incessantly, but you’re too drained to care.

Class 1-A was quick to notice something was off—well, most of them. You didn’t want to talk about it, though, so you plastered on a smile and went about your day. No one questioned the bags under your eyes or the way your hands trembled when you held your chopsticks.

No one, except Katsuki Bakugou.

“You look like shit,” he’d grunted on day three, unceremoniously dropping into the seat beside you. It wasn’t exactly a comfort, but you could feel his eyes on you all class, sharp and unrelenting.

You didn’t answer. Didn’t want to. What would he do if you told him? Yell at you for being weak? Mock you for crying? He’d always been prickly—rough around the edges with a temper hotter than his explosions. But he never outright bullied you, not since you’d defended him in kindergarten. Back when he’d been a bratty kid throwing tantrums, and you were the quiet one tugging him away before he could punch the wrong person.

But things were different now. You’d drifted apart, just like childhood friends tend to do.

The days dragged on. Classes blurred together. You went to visit your grandma every evening, sometimes alone, sometimes with your parents. She was unconscious most days, hooked to machines that hummed and beeped like a heartbeat. The doctors said she might not wake up. The words sank deep into your chest, anchoring you in place.

“Oi.”

You blink back to the present, the hallway outside your dorms stretching long and empty. Bakugou’s standing there, arms crossed, expression sharp and annoyed.

“You deaf now?”

“What do you want?” you snap, weariness making you irritable. The last thing you need is him barking at you.

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You’re fucking useless.”

“Excuse me?”

“Can’t even talk to your friends, dumbass,” he growls. His voice drops. “You think we can’t tell something’s wrong?”

Something in your chest cracks. Your fists clench. “Not everything is your business, Bakugou.”

“Like hell it ain’t,” he snaps back, unflinching. “You’re moping around like a zombie, not eating, not talking, acting like you’re the only one who’s ever been hurt.”

Anger flares hot in your gut. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Then tell me!” he demands, stepping closer until he’s towering over you, crimson eyes blazing.

Your chest heaves, words spilling out before you can stop them. “My grandma is dying, okay? There’s nothing the doctors can do. She’s just—just lying there, and I can’t do anything to help her!”

The hall echoes with the force of your confession. You swallow hard, throat tight, tears pricking at your eyes. You won’t cry—not here. Not in front of him.

Bakugou’s expression shifts. The scowl remains, but there’s something softer behind his eyes. Regret, maybe. Understanding.

“Why the hell didn’t you say something?” he mutters, voice gruff but lacking the bite from before.

“Why would I?” you mumble, arms wrapping around yourself. “It’s not like anyone could help.”

He glares, but it’s more exasperated than anything. “You think I’d just ignore you if I knew? Idiot.”

“I don’t want pity.”

“Tch. Ain’t pity.” He grabs your wrist, grip firm but not rough. “Come on.”

“W-What? Where—”

“Shut up and move.”

He drags you to his dorm, kicking the door open and shoving you inside. You blink, glancing around. It’s cleaner than expected. Minimalistic, practical, with training equipment piled in the corner. A punching bag hangs near the closet, looking well-worn.

He shuts the door and flops onto his bed, gesturing for you to sit. “Talk.”

You hesitate, but the stern glare he shoots you leaves no room for argument. Sighing, you sit on the edge of his bed, arms wrapped around your knees. Slowly, you tell him everything. About your grandma’s condition, the hopelessness of it all, and how the thought of losing her feels like your world is crumbling.

He listens. Not a word interrupts you, though he frowns often, fingers drumming against his knee. It’s oddly comforting, the heavy silence filled only by your shaky breaths.

When you finish, the exhaustion catches up, and your shoulders slump. “She’s the strongest person I know,” you murmur. “I just…I don’t know what to do.”

Bakugou’s expression hardens. “You stay strong. For her.”

“It’s not that easy—”

“No shit,” he snaps, leaning closer. “But you’re not some weakling, right? You’re not gonna just sit there and cry until she’s gone. You fight. You stay by her side. She needs you.”

The lump in your throat loosens. His blunt, no-nonsense words ground you, carving away the fog of despair.

“I…” You look away, wiping your eyes. “I’m scared.”

“We all get scared,” he mutters. “Just don’t run from it.”

You sniffle, a weak smile tugging at your lips. “You’re surprisingly good at this.”

“Shut up.” He looks away, cheeks dusted pink. “Just don’t let yourself fall apart.”

You nod, heart a little lighter. “Thanks, Bakugou.”

He grunts, scowl softening. “Katsuki. Call me Katsuki.”

Your eyes widen. He looks away, embarrassed, and you feel warmth bloom in your chest. “Okay. Thanks, Katsuki.”

He crosses his arms, grumbling. “And stop hiding shit from me. You look like a damn corpse.”

You laugh weakly. “I’ll try.”

For the first time in days, a genuine smile tugs at your lips. Bakugou—Katsuki—scoffs, but you catch the hint of a smirk. The rain outside slows, softening into a gentle patter.

You realize then—maybe you don’t have to carry this alone.

[elleaitch22]

Terms of Endearment

Chapter 7: Just a Little Bit of Your Heart

A/N: Please forgive any errors! Lmk what you wanna see next, and I'll try to make it happen :) As always, I hope you love it! xx Elle

Warnings: Using religion to shame, homophobia, manipulation

Word Count: 3.5k

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Paige was intentional when she every choice she made that night. She chose anything that might show she could be soft, safe, and secure. From what Ice had told her about Azzi’s ex, she figured comfort and trust were the most important things she could offer.

The white set she wore was one of the most comfortable outfits she owned. She was planning on driving her Maserati, but that car is loud and flashy – nowhere near the right tone. Instead, she changed to her Land Rover Autobiography. It was same car she used when she was driving with Soleil in the car. Familiar. Warm. Safe.

The Capital Grille was a nice restaurant, one that afforded guests with privacy. She hoped that Azzi would be able to relax without so many eyes on them.

The ride was quiet, comfortable though. Azzi looked out the window, eyes tracking skyscrapers shining against the night sky.

Say something. She’s not going to fall for you if you don’t speak.

Azzi smelled like something sweet, almost like a vanilla cupcake. The scent filled the car, not overpowering, but enough to notice if you paid attention.

“You look really nice.” Azzi’s brown eyes meet blue. “Orange looks good on you.” Paige offered, fighting the urge to cringe as she felt her face heat.

Azzi glanced down at her dress, courtesy of Paige. Her fingers fiddle with the hem nervously. “Thank you. I like your outfit too. It looks really comfortable.” Soft smile.

She wanted to figure out how to make Azzi look that way all the time.

“Do you want a set?” Paige asked.

Azzi’s eyes flashed quickly. “No, thank you.” She turned back to the window.

So, don’t offer to buy her things? That makes her comfortable. Might need to backtrack on furnishing the apartment.

The silence was stiff after that, and Paige had never been so happy to see a valet up ahead.

Paige placed her hand on Azzi’s lower back, guiding her into the restaurant. They were led to the private room quickly.

Paige had been stressing about how to talk to Azzi about her job. As soon as they were alone, she opened her mouth.

“KK told me what happened with your boss.” She wanted to drop her head to the table.

Azzi tensed, “Um, yeah. I’m trying to figure out what to do.”

“I’m so sorry, Azzi.” Paige started; composure regained. She covered Azzi’s hand with her own. “I didn’t mean for this to cost you your job.”

She shook her head, “I mean, I should have thought about it. After seeing how they reacted to you, I’m not surprised.” She took a sip of water. “I should be fine though. There’s a national teacher shortage.”

“I could get your job back, if that’s what you want. If they don’t at least apologize to you, I’m pulling Soleil out. You could be her private tutor. Or you could not work at all; something tells me you don’t get nearly enough rest.”

Azzi studied her skeptically. “I – I’ll think about it and let you know what I decide tomorrow morning. It’ll be early though; they want me out by 7.”

Paige clenched her jaw, “I’ll have Morgan be ready to drive you then.”

The waiter came in with the appetizers, and Azzi was ecstatic at the chance to change the subject.

“So has Soleil always been like that?” She smiled softly. “Bright. Happy. Literal sunshine.”

The brightness of Paige’s smile matched her daughter’s name. “Yeah. I didn’t name her that in hopes that she’d be unnaturally cheerful or anything. She was sunshine. My Sunshine. After everything, she represented goodness, strength, a new beginning.”

As composed as she was, Paige was secretly giddy. This would give her the perfect opportunity to help Azzi be more comfortable with her.

“I guess it’s time for you to hear the story. Everyone else in the family already knows. And I want you to, too.”

Paige paused, gathering her thoughts.

“I started Kairos with one of my professors during undergrad. It’s a private equity firm – we buy companies, streamline their operations, and decide if we want to sell. I built a formula my junior year that basically changed everything for us. My mentor, Dr. Martinez was the best. He was the only person who really believed in me.”

She exhaled slowly. “He died in a car accident seven years ago. He left his share of the company to his kid, Emmanuel. Manny. He said he’d sell me his shares if I married him.”

She caught Azzi’s eye. She looked shocked. Azzi figured it was because everyone knew Paige Bueckers is a lesbian.

I think he wanted to control me or maybe humble me. He knew who I was from basketball and saw me as arrogant. I don’t know. It was a bad marriage. He hit me. Hurt me in ways I won’t get into. I didn’t think I had another option, so I stayed.”

Paige looked at a small wrinkle and swallowed to keep her voice steady. “When I found out I was pregnant, I knew I had to get out. I called Nika for the first time in years, and she helped me make a plan. Then, I found out I was having a girl – I knew I didn’t want her growing up thinking she had to change who she was or disappear to get away from someone hurting her.”

Her hand tightened around the champagne flute. “Manny died in a car accident, and I was free. And four months later, I had Soleil. That whole situation was so awful, but she was so good, so perfect. She was light in my life. She gave me strength and a purpose I didn’t know I could have. Manny didn’t have a will when he died, so everything went to me.”

She shrugged. “I promised myself I wouldn’t let anyone else hurt my family like Manny did, so I threw myself into work and being a good mom.”

The room was quiet. Paige looked up from the wrinkle in the tablecloth she’d been fixated on. She had no idea how Azzi would react.

“I’m so sorry you went through that, Paige. You’re so strong.” Azzi’s eyes shone with tears. “You’re a great mom, one of the best I’ve ever seen. You’ve been fighting for Soleil since you found out she existed.

Paige swallowed hard. “Thank you, Azzi. I just want you to know the truth. The walls, the façade, it’s to keep the girls, to keep Soleil, safe. It’s hard for me to let them down, but I am trying.”

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Azzi’s heart ached. She never would’ve guessed all the things Paige had to do to survive. She couldn’t imagine dealing with someone like that while being pregnant.

Paige seemed like she was bracing for impact and judgement.

“I know I haven’t lived what you did, but I–” She started, getting flustered. “My ex was a little like yours. I still hear his voice sometimes. So if you wanna talk, or vent, or anything, I’m just a few floors down.”

She could see the tension melt from Paige’s shoulders, and she felt her own doing the same.

“So, Ice showed me the choices for your place You’re going to live in a sunrise.” She smirked.

Azzi’s lips turned down in a small pout, “I think pink, orange, and yellow look perfect together…and I love sunrises!”

Their conversation was interrupted when the waiter came back in, listing the five options the women had for their entrée.

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Paige remembered what Ice and KK told her about Azzi’s deep-rooted aversion to making choices because of her fuck ass ex.

“We’ll take all five, thank you.” Paige said, leaving no room for rebuttal.

Big brown eyes stared at her in surprise. “You just ordered five entrées.”

 “You looked like you were having an existential crisis trying to decide.” Paige said, sinking into the velvet chair. “I don’t think you should have to pick if you don’t want to. Try them all and take the leftover for lunch.” She smirked into her water glass.

“So is this a thing with you?” Azzi squinted. “Going overboard?”

Paige gasped dramatically; a mannerism Soleil had inherited. “Overboard? I’ll have you know this is what caring about people looks like.”

Head tilted to the side, and cheeks pink, “Why did you offer to do this? Why do you care?”

“Most people don’t care. They don’t care about children, or even see them as people, but you do. You made sure Soleil was treated equally, and she loves you. I don’t think you will ever understand how much she loves you, Azzi. You became family the moment you fought for her when I couldn’t.”

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

The rest of the evening flowed smoothly. Conversation was easy and the vibes were surprisingly warm. Paige was playful and sharp in a way Azzi never would have assumed. And she was so kind the entire night. She held doors open, guided Azzi with a hand on her back, and even buckled her seatbelt for her.

Azzi didn’t know if it was the champagne or the company, but her shoulders felt much less tense than normal. As she briefly gazed at Paige on the way home, she was appreciative of the quiet. Of the way Paige hadn’t demanded anything of her.

She could feel her thick, tall walls shaking with the kindness and lack of expectations Paige had shown her. She opened every door, pulled out every seat, and even buckled Azzi’s seatbelt for her, like it was a normal thing to do.

You can’t trust her just because she’s pretty, rich, and nice. People can change in a split second.

When they arrived at the Aurelia, Paige rode to the 59th floor with Azzi, walking her to her door.

“I’ll be taking you to the school tomorrow instead of Morgan. I’ve convened a meeting with the board of St. Paul’s.”

Azzi wanted to tell Paige she didn’t need to before she realized Paige was still trying to take care of her.

And then—impulsively, gently—she leaned in and kissed Paige on the cheek.

The blush that bloomed across Paige’s face was worth every inch of vulnerability.

That was definitely a date.

She closed the door, resting her head on the cool oak. She was blushing. Just like the girl she’d just kissed. What the fuck was that. Ohmygosh. She ignored the butterflies in her stomach as she rationalized with herself; she was just saying thank you.

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Azzi looked around her classroom, smiling. She knew Paige would be coming to help pack up her class, but Ice, Jana, and KK joined as well. It was a small gesture, but one that warmed Azzi up inside.

“Azzi, can I take this book home?” Soleil held up Love You by Heart, the book that got everything started.

Azzi smiled, hearing the question for the seventeenth time. “Of course, Soleil.”

“You’re not gonna have any books left if you can’t tell her no, Ms. Fudd.” Paige threw a playful smirk her way.

Azzi shrugged, “That’s fine. With my new part time job, I’ll be able to afford to buy new books.”

Before Paige could come up with a sarcastic reply, Jana spoke. “Pause. Why are we packing up your classroom if Paige is gonna bitch them out until they give you your job back?”

Heat rushed to Azzi’s face. She wasn’t sure if she even wanted to work at St. Paul’s after seeing how they treated people with different views than them.

“Thanks for the reminder, J. Come of Az. It’s time to head to the conference room. Ice, please don’t let Soleil trick you into letting her paint.”

Azzi didn’t hear anything after Paige called her Az. She had a nickname. To Azzi, nicknames were a way to show love and affection. While Az wasn’t super personal, she felt a little brighter knowing someone cared enough to give her a nickname again.

“Azzi.” The blonde’s voice interrupted her stream of consciousness. She stood up sharply, following Paige into the hallway. Her hands fiddled with the hem of her old UCLA sweatshirt. A warm hand covered hers. “Relax, Azzi. No matter what happens, you’ll be good. I promise.”

“Thanks, I’m just nervous,” She muttered, looking at her shoes. “I just – I’ve never really been in trouble like this before, and it’s not even over something I can control.”

As someone who had attended private school, Azzi was intimately familiar with hiding her sexuality to avoid conflict. It never made sense to her; hating someone because of who they love. It’s not like they could control it.

“Fuck em. They think you’re weak, but you’re not.” Paige’s voice dropped. “You’ve survived worse, and you got us now.”

Brows furrowed, Azzi gave a small nod, held herself higher, and opened the door.

The long conference room table had ten people around it, Mr. Smith and the nine board members. There was a chair opened at the end of the table, with one seat available next to it.

Azzi felt inferior in her leggings and tennis shoes, while all the board members wore suits. She glanced at Paige. She looked perfectly composed, despite being in a gray Nike tech fit.

“Ms. Fudd, Ms. Bueckers, thank you for coming this morning.” Mr. Smith said, standing. “Let’s get started, since it’s a holiday and all.”

Each board member introduced themselves, and if it was a different scenario, Azzi would have laughed at all of them being named after a saint.

When the last member, John Paul James (three saint names), introduced himself, he added something to the end. “I was assuming this meeting would be with you, Ms. Bueckers. You said something about donations?”

“She’s here for me,” Azzi replied before Paige could speak. Despite her nerves, her voice came out even. “We are here to discuss my termination.”

Peter Kingsley rolled his eyes subtly. “Ms. Fudd, you’ve been a valued and effective teacher at St. Paul’s, but we cannot retain a teacher who lives in direct opposition of what the Bible teaches.”

Azzi inhaled sharply. “Excuse me? I –”

“For this reason God gave them up to dishonorable passions. For their women exchanged natural relations for those that are contrary to nature; and the men likewise gave up natural relations with women and were consumed with passion for one another, men committing shameless acts with men and receiving in themselves the due penalty for their error. Romans 1:26-27.” Another member says.

“1 Corinthians 6:9-10. Or do you not know that the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived: neither the sexually immoral, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor men who practice homosexuality, nor thieves, nor the greedy, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God.” A deeper voice calls out.

“You are a teacher, Ms. Fudd. You are supposed to be a moral example for your students. We don’t want you do lead those children astray.” A woman spoke sternly.

Azzi inhaled sharply. “I’ve always shown them to live a life of love. I have never taught them anything that goes against–”

“You are trying to cause these children spiritual harm, and we will not stand for it.” Mr. Kingsley sneered. “Matthew 18:6 says but whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him to have a great mill–”

“I would never do that, I love my k –” Azzi’s voice wavers, eyes shiny with tears.

“You are leading them to hell–”

“Enough.” Paige’s rings out sternly. The tone is so intense that no one dares to speak.

She rises slowly, face controlled, shoulders tense. She stands tall behind Azzi’s chair, placing a gentle hand on the back of her neck. The panic that has Azzi’s body wound up melts a little. She quietly wipes the tears from her face.

“I’ve been biting my tongue out of respect for Azzi. Trying to let her handle it, but you won’t even listen to her. And I won’t sit here and listen to you berate my girlfriend for something she can’t control.”

Her hand leave Azzi has she stalks around the table. “I chose this school because of her.” She pointed. “I looked up reviews of every preschool teacher in the city, and she outshined the rest by miles. Soleil is a shy child, and I needed a teacher who would look at the whole child. Someone who would make every kid feel loved and special, and that’s what Azzi Fudd does.”

The classroom’s temperature has dropped ten degrees as Paige paused. “And you want to fire her? I would love to see you try. Let’s talk about the ramifications of firing Ms. Fudd.”

A smirk works its way onto her perfect, pale face. “I’m St. Paul’s largest donor. I have already donated triple the amount than next highest donor. I am covering the tuitions of fifty students, one of whom bullied my child because I’m gay. I have donated the money for that new state of the art library and have had documents drawn up for a science lab. You fire her, you lose the best teacher, you lose my daughter, you lose me, and every penny I bring in for this school.”

All of the board members tense at her threat.

“This is supposed to be a Christian institution. You like throwing scripture at people, huh? John 8:7. Let you without sin cast the first stone. Galatians 5:22. The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. I want you to look me in my eye and tell me which attribute Azzi is lacking in.”

She bends down, getting eye level with Mr. Kingsley. “You preach about shepherding children, and she does it. She does it well. Why do you think all her families love her so much?” Blue eyes throwing an icy glare at the man. “What you’re doing isn’t righteous, it’s pharisaical.”

Paige walks back to Azzi. “We’re leaving.”

Azzi rises on shaky legs. She’s never had someone stand up for her like that.

“Ms. Fudd,” Mr. Smith grits out. “Perhaps we’ve been a bit hasty with our judgement. You are more than welcome to stay at St. Paul’s, with a few guardrails of course.”

“No thank you,” Azzi smiles softly. “Jesus said they will know we are Christians by the love we have for one another. I want you to think if you have shown me the love and grace that you should have, and I hope you won’t make this mistake again.”

She walks out. She doesn’t look back, walking proudly until they got back to her classroom She made a beeline to the restroom, and finally let herself cry.

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Paige was feeling…a lot of feelings. She was proud of the way Azzi stood up for herself. She saddened knowing the damage this would do to the woman. She was furious at the close-minded attitude and greedy nature of the board members. But she was enraged hearing Azzi’s sobs.

They didn’t deserve her sorrow. They didn’t deserve her tears. Paige paced in front of the classroom, trying to burn off some of her fury.

“Aye, you good, P?” KK questioned cautiously.

Paige’s head snapped up, remembering where she was, and who was present. The classroom was bare, everything in boxes except for a few pieces of paper and a box of markers for Soleil.

Her daughter’s big blue eyes met hers sadly. “Mommy, why is Azzi cwying?”

She took a deep breath, kneeling to her daughter’s level. “Some people here said some mean things to her, so she’s upset.”

Soleil’s dark brows furrowed. “We should make hew feel bettew.” Lips turned down in a frown. “We go get ice cweam!” She exclaimed.

Paige smiled at Soleil’s zeal. “That sounds like a good idea, Sunshine.” She turned to her friends. “Let’s get these boxes in the car so we can go before I lose it.”

Jana, Ice, KK, and Paige loaded up the two SUVs and sat in the classroom, joking around, and waiting for Azzi to come out.

No one noticed what Soleil was doing until it was too late. “Come on Azzi! Time fow ice cweam!”

“Lei! We’re just gonna wait til she’s ready.” Paige rushed to scoop her up.

The door cracked a little, “No, it’s okay. I’m ready.” Azzi said, softly.

Soleil wiggled until her mom put her down. She threw herself at her teachers. “I’m sowwy they was saying mean things to you.”

Azzi hoisted her up, Lei’s little legs wrapping around her waist. “Thank you, Soleil.” She turned to the adults. “So, I heard we’re getting ice cream?”

Paige watched a smile stretch over Azzi’s face, a matching one lighting up Soleil’s face. And for a second, Paige let herself want a future that looked just like this.

[jellesreid]

Communication

In which Spencer and the reader have their first time together after the reader has cold feet about sex (smut!)

masterlist

tags: age gap, munch!spencer reid, bad sex, smut, giver boyfriend, fingering, eating out, kissing, making out, first time, cold feet, honeymoon phase, early relationship, love, relationship, subtle masturbation

warnings: talks of past bad sex, talks of masturbation, fingering, mention of vibrators, spencer going down on reader

notes: sorry for being away so long but i’m back!! I’ll be more active after june tho!

———————————————————

You and Spencer met through one of your close friends, Penelope Garcia, around four months ago, and your relationship was going great. The only thing you worried about was your almost 10-year age gap. Spencer was 33, and you were recently 24. There were a lot more things he had experienced that you hadn’t, and you didn’t want them to interfere with your relationship.

One of these things was sex. It wasn’t that you didn’t like sex you had done it a couple of times but it wasn’t enjoyable, you had more pleasure in doing it yourself than either of the times you had been with men in the past.

You knew Spencer was a man, he most likely wanted to have sex but you also knew he was respectful and would never force you to do something you didn’t want to. You’d spoken to Penelope about it and she told you to speak to Spencer about it but that was over a month ago.

Spencer was at your apartment watching a movie and you had been kissing for a little while until you pulled away and turned back to the TV.

Spencer fidgeted beside you rubbing his shoulder after getting comfortable, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” You said not looking away from the TV. 

“I think we need to talk about something,” Spencer said pausing the movie. 

“What is it?” You asked turning to face him again, spotting that he was flustered. 

“Are you… attracted to me?” He asked. 

“Yeah obviously baby,” You said kissing his cheek, “Play the movie?”

“No that’s not all…”

“What is it?” You asked again.

“I don’t want you to think I’m rushing you or that this is a massive deal to me but I think it’s something we should discuss…” Spencer started. 

“Okay,” You dragged out the last letter of the word. 

“We’ve been together 4 months by that time most people have gone further than kissing on the sofa, I didn’t want to bring it up because it doesn’t bother me that we aren’t having sex, I would love to when you’re ready I want to make you feel good… sexually.”

“Oh, right well I’m just not compatible with sex stuff so it doesn’t matter to me but I know guys want or need sex so I understand you asking.”

“No honey, I don’t need sex, I went a long time of my life without it. Wait what do you mean you’re not compatible with it?” Spencer raised an eyebrow.

“Umm,” You blushed and looked down, “Men can’t make me… you know orgasm.”

“That’s not got anything to do with you or your compatibility with sex,” Spencer said.

“What do you mean? It’s definitely something wrong with me if both the men I’ve been with haven’t been able to get me there,” You rolled your eyes so Spencer couldn’t see.

“Let me ask you some questions, is that okay?”

“I suppose.”

“Do you masturbate?” Spencer asked without hesitation. 

You blinked and opened your mouth to speak but closed it again not

expecting that to be his first question, “Sorry, I didn’t expect- um yeah I do.”

“And do you reach an orgasm on your own?” 

“Yeah… most of the time,” You looked up at him.

“There, there’s no problem with you it’s just the men you were with.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“You said yourself you orgasm when you’re spending time on yourself, you know what you like so you’re the best example to go off. If you need me to keep going I can ask, Did these men do any kind of foreplay?”

“Not really,” You shrugged.

“Foreplay is essential, studies show that only thirty percent of women can orgasm by intercourse alone,” Spencer said tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

“Really? So it’s common?” 

Spencer hummed, “Yes sweetheart you need someone who communicates with you that’s the main factor. Communication.”

“Okay… I’m happy to try having sex,” You said, you were already slightly turned on from the kissing and his factual knowledge of female orgasms.

“Not today,” Spencer said.

“Oh… okay,” You shrugged feeling slightly rejected.

“Wait I mean I want to make you come,” Spencer corrected himself, “without sex, I want to show you how you should be treated.”

You smiled, “Okay, how?” 

“You are going to tell me what you like while I touch you,” Spencer said but phrased it more like a question that you needed to respond to. 

“Okay.” 

Spencer tilted your head up with his thumb and finger before leaning in to kiss you once again. 

Your kisses were a little more electric and passionate than usual and when your tongues curled together a wave of butterflies burst inside your stomach. A small gasp escaped your mouth when one of Spencer’s hands moved to your thigh, running it over your clothes. 

“Is that nice?” Spencer asked pulling back from the kiss. 

“Yes,” You reconnect your lips before he squeezes your thigh. 

The kissing continued for a little while until you pulled away, “What’s next?” You asked out of breath. 

“What do you usually do?” Spencer asked, a hand moving to your hair and playing with it. 

“Well, I like being in my bedroom for starters.”

“Should we go there?” 

You nod, standing up from the sofa and taking his hand. He’d been in your bedroom before when he had slept over but this was different. 

“What next?” He asked sitting on the end of the bed. 

“I usually use a vibrator, sometimes I finger myself,” You couldn’t help but blush at your words, you couldn’t believe you were telling your boyfriend this. 

“Good, we can work with that,” Spencer smiled, pulling you closer to him. 

“I don’t want you to use my vibrator on me.”

“That’s fine honey,” Spencer kissed your swollen lips once again. 

You took it upon yourself to lay down on your bed after your lips disconnected. 

Spencer lingered over the top of you playing with the hem of your shirt, “Can I undress you?” 

“Yes,” Within a matter of minutes, your clothes minus your panties were on the floor. 

“You’re beautiful,” Spencer kissed your collarbone and the tops of your breasts. 

“Thank you,” You sighed softly. 

“I’m going to start here okay?” Spencer asked his mouth in line with your left breast. 

“Mhm o-okay.”

He lowered his mouth to your nipple taking it inside his mouth and lapping circles around it in between quick sucks while he massaged the other one.

“Oh,” A breathy moan left your mouth, “That feels so good.”

Spencer hummed sending vibrations to your breast. Your fingers threaded in his hair pulling it gently neither of the men you had been with before had ever done this. 

Spencer switched breasts doing the same for your right one as he had the left. You felt yourself growing wetter than you had ever felt, he knew exactly what he was doing. 

One of his hands made its way between your legs as he used two fingers to run over the fabric of your panties.

“You’re wet honey,” He dipped his fingers inside the underwear, “Do you want me to take them off?” 

“Yes please,” You sigh with pleasure. 

Spencer slid the underwear down your legs throwing them somewhere on the floor, “I might have to buy you a new pair,” he laughed. 

His soft fingers connected with the slick wetness between your folds rubbing from the entrance to your clit several times. He used his middle and ring fingers to rub the small nub of nerves in circles in a mix of different pressures to see what brought the best reaction out of you. 

The harder he pressed the more your eyes flickered closed, it felt amazing what he was doing, “Mhm Spence.”

“Is this good baby?” Spencer asked massaging it faster. 

“A-amazing,” You stuttered with a moan. 

Without much notice he used his other hand to start penetrating, He pushed his middle finger inside of you slowly making sure not to hurt you as he entered.

Long breathily moans exited your mouth at the feeling of him inside of you and the moans only got louder as he curled the finger moving it in and out a bit faster making sure to hit the spongy wall inside of you. 

“More,” You groaned, You could feel your stomach tightening but nothing like how it usually felt when you came on your own. You didn’t want to be upset but you were starting to feel frustrated that nothing anyone else did to you could ever get you to that point. 

Spencer plunged another finger inside of you copying the same movement as the first finger, curling it and moving both of them at a quick pace. 

“I can’t,” You groaned in frustration. 

“Honey, you can, I’m here for you. What doesn’t feel good?” Spencer asked stilling his fingers. 

“It feels good, so good, it’s just taking too long,” You frowned. 

“It’s not taking too long, It will take as long as it takes, I’ll be here for hours if I have to,” Spencer thrust his fingers again, adding his thumb to rub on your clit.  

You took your breast into your hands and fondled with your nipples to try to add some extra pleasure. 

“I’m going to try something else,” Spencer said. He kept his fingers inside of you still pushing them into your g-spot but he removed his thumb from your clit. 

In a matter of a few seconds, his mouth was on you, flicking his tongue over the bundle of nerves. 

You rolled your eyes back, the subtle ache burning inside your stomach. It intensified as his lips attached to your swollen clit sucking it gently. 

“Spencer, fuck!” You growled while trying to catch your breath. 

When he realised it was working based on the sounds you made and the clenching around his fingers he sped up both of the actions; sucking harder and thrusting harder and deeper. 

This was the familiar sensation you felt from when you used your vibrator burned inside of your stomach, “Please don’t stop,” You moaned grabbing hold of his hair. 

“Yes, Yes Spencer oh my god!” You rocked against his face to pick up as much friction as possible. 

Your walls fluttered around his fingers as he sucked harder on your clit just before you came undone, his name falling from your mouth with loud moans.

After regaining your breath he removed his fingers, sucking them clean to taste all of you. 

“Oh my god, thank you,” You pulled him up between your legs so his head was resting near your chest as you kissed his lips. 

“Honey there’s no need to thank me, I’ll always make sure that happens.” 

“That may have been the best orgasm I've ever had in my life,” You giggled. 

“I’m going to keep competing with myself to give you better ones each time,” Spencer smiled, laying his head on your breasts and using them as a pillow.

“What can I do for you?” You asked running your fingertips through his hair, scratching his scalp lightly.

“Nothing honey, Just this is perfect. Tonight was about you,” He said, closing his eyes. 

[crushpunky]

actress!reader gets asked about drew

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

based on this ask. a sort of compilation of y/n telling cute stories <3

Y/n settled in the chair opposite the podcast’s host, Claire, adjusting the mic as the interview began.

“Hello and welcome to another episode of Chit-Chat with me, your host, Claire Hale!” Claire said cheerfully before turning to face y/n. “Today we are going to be talking with the wonderfully talented y/n y/ln. Welcome!”

“Hi, thank you so much for having me.” Y/n smiled, smoothing a hand along her pants as the two of them launched into casual conversation, ranging in topics from y/n’s childhood to her favorite movies and her morning routine.

“So, I think the people are dying to know, how is married life?” Claire said, dropping her jaw open exaggeratedly. Y/n laughed, absentmindedly fidgeting with the diamond ring adorning her finger.

“It is great.” Y/n smiled. “I didn’t think it was possible to be this happy, y’know? Like I thought that I was happy before we got engaged, but actually being married is a whole other level.”

“Ugh, that’s so cute.” Claire swooned, causing y/n’s cheeks to warm as she thought back to the memory of waking up this morning in Drew’s arms. It was something that happened nearly every morning, but each time it made her heart flutter and fall impossibly more in love with him.

“I’m not even trying to over exaggerate or put on an act, I am just genuinely so happy right now.” Y/n continued, folding her hands in her lap as she smiled to herself.

“I think we are all so happy to hear that.” Claire nodded. “You and Drew have been together for such a long time, it’s so nice to just see two people who truly love and care for their work and each other. Speaking of, how do you guys sort of find that balance between work life and personal life, with both of you spending so much time away acting or away on projects?”

“It’s taken a lot of practice,” y/n chuckled. “Lots of hours of late night FaceTime calls and missed dinners until we both kind of decided that we needed to set up some boundaries and some of what we call ‘no excusers’.”

“‘No excusers’?” Claire asked, leaning in intently with a quirk of her brow. Y/n nodded, thinking back to when Drew and her had originally come up with the term. It had been after Drew missed a dinner with y/n’s parents, a dinner he had promised to be at amidst his busy schedule, just a day after y/n had to cancel on one of their preplanned coffee dates.

“Yeah, Drew and I sort of set up this system where we have certain things that we call ‘no excusers’.” Y/n explained. “They are things that the other person has to be at, or at least help to reschedule to be at, no excuses.”

“Both of us have such busy schedules, so it can just be super easy to retreat into yourself and just say ‘oh I’m too busy’ or ‘I can’t’, but we both knew that we wanted to be there for the other person when they needed it most, even if it was hard.” Y/n continued. “So, with the ‘no excusers’ we are sort of making a promise to the other person that we can count on them to be there for us, no excuses.”

“Really making sure to set aside time for you guys and your relationship and what’s important to that relationship.” Claire clarified.

“Yes.” Y/n agreed. “Neither of us had really been in a relationship with another actor or person in the industry, so we knew we had to make time for each other in our busy schedules if we wanted to keep this relationship.”

“That’s really sweet.” Claire grinned. “So, speaking of busy schedules, how did you guys find time out of yours to get married? I mean both of you had such huge and busy years last year, so I think everyone was pretty shocked to hear that you guys got married.”

“I think we were pretty shocked that we found the time too.” Y/n joked, causing Claire to laugh. Y/n remembered back to all the hectic planning on sets and over FaceTimes, getting dresses tried on between meetings with producers, tasting different cakes from the comfort of their home, pajamas on.

“No, but in all seriousness, I think we were both just so excited to get married that we were going to find time for it no matter how busy our schedules were.” Y/n said. “Both of us could barely wait a minute longer, like I remember that we had a countdown on the whiteboard in our kitchen, ‘Days Until We’re Married’, and we just made a huge deal of it each day counting down. Music, dancing, cheering, the whole shabang.”

“Stop, that’s so funny.” Claire chuckled.

“Our neighbors probably hated us, but we didn’t care.” Y/n giggled. “Like, did you expect me to not be excited to marry the love of my life?”

“No, you’re right, I can only imagine how excited you guys were.” Claire nodded. “I mean, you’ve been together for so long, like, four years?”

“Publically, yes, but privately about five.” Y/n giggled as Claire’s eyes widened.

“How did you guys even manage that?” Claire asked incredulously. “I mean, Outer Banks, like, blew up during that time, you must’ve had so many eyes on you.”

“Ha ha, yeah, that was certainly a very interesting time.” Y/n chuckled, remembering how the two of them would try and sneak around downtown Charleston, ducking into darkened allies to kiss like teenagers.

“It was during COVID, so for a while we just stayed inside. There weren’t very many opportunities to catch us, aside from the occasional social media post or livestream, but I think that we kept it pretty lowkey. I mean we already lived together, so we weren’t going back and forth between each other's places or anything like that.” Y/n continued. “But when things kinda started going back to normal, and we were going out more and more eyes were on us, it certainly became a lot harder.”

Y/n thought about a particular time in which a fan had snuck a picture of the two of them sitting on a bench just off the beach. The two of them shared AirPods, chatting casually. They hadn’t even realized that y/n had ended up perched in Drew’s lap, his hands resting on her hips as their faces sat just inches away from each other. They were too caught up in the moment, and in each other, to realize they were in public until they saw the photos later that afternoon.

“There were… multiple times where people pointed out something or noticed something that we hadn’t even thought about and we thought like ‘oh shit, we’ve been caught’, but we always managed to sorta weasel our way out of it.” Y/n giggled, brushing a bit of hair away from her face. “It was hard, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”

“Yeah,” Claire nodded. “That sort of situation definitely helps you guys to keep the relationship real, y’know? How did you guys decide to keep it private for so long? Was that a mutual decision?”

“Yes, yes it was definitely something we both agreed upon.” Y/n said. “I think we both wanted to make sure that our relationship was authentic and real, not just something shaped by other peoples’ perspectives or opinions. I really do think that that time where we kept things between ourselves helped to shape our relationship.”

“I know you said you kept it between yourselves, but other people definitely knew, right? They had to.” Claire asked.

“I honestly think that some of them knew before we knew ourselves.” Y/n laughed. There were so many moments and stares shared by the people around them who recognized the very obvious feelings between y/n and Drew. So many friends and family members would comment on the almost magnetic attraction the two exhibited, practically unable to go anywhere without the other. 

“But in all seriousness, yes people knew.” Y/n continued. “We kept it just between us for like… a month, month and a half maybe? But then we shared it with our friends, the Outer Banks cast, but they kinda already knew since we were all living together. Then a little after that we told our parents on FaceTime— because of COVID— and they also kinda had their suspicions.”

“That’s so funny.” Claire grinned. “Well, y/n, I really appreciate you taking the time to Chit-Chat with us! It was so much fun!”

“Thank you so much!” Y/n grinned. “Thank you for having me, it was a lot of fun.”

“Once again, thank you for watching and thank you for Chit-Chatting with us!” Claire said, her and y/n waving goodbye to the video and listeners at home.

[ineedpaigebuckets]

always you

synopsis: i don't even know guys just read

an: i actually just like wrote this in 5 minutes so have fun

--------------------------------------------------------------

azzi was already on the couch, one leg tossed over the armrest, hoodie unzipped and falling off one shoulder. there was music playing low from her phone, some rnb thing azzi never knew the name of but always associated with paige. she'd gone out on a little run so azzi was alone.

paige let herself in without knocking, like always. “you’re a mess,” she said lightly, tossing her keys into the bowl near the door.

“takes one to know one,” azzi mumbled, not even opening her eyes.

“rude.”

“accurate.”

paige kicked off her shoes, padded across the room, and collapsed next to her on the couch. her thigh pressed against azzi’s. warm. familiar. azzi didn’t move.

“you missed lunch,” paige said, her voice softer now.

“i know.”

“you okay?”

“i’m fine.”

a lie. not sharp, not mean. just… closed off. and paige didn’t know why, but something inside her surged at the need to break through it.

she let her head fall gently against azzi’s shoulder. “you know you can talk to me.”

“yeah.” azzi shifted, but not enough to shake her off.

“seriously, i’m like… very good at comfort. five stars. certified in emotional support cuddles, only for you.”

azzi huffed something like a laugh, but her body stayed still, tight beneath the surface.

paige let her fingers trail over azzi’s arm, light, casual at first. “and if that doesn’t work, i also offer kisses. and maybe a shoulder massage. optional, but highly recommended.”

“you’re ridiculous.”

“you love it.”

she turned her face slightly, pressing a small kiss to azzi’s shoulder through the fabric of her hoodie. azzi didn’t react.

paige didn’t stop.

another kiss, this time to the skin of azzi’s neck where the collar had slipped low. slower. more deliberate.

“paige,” azzi said, barely a whisper.

but paige was still talking, still filling the space with warmth and nervous laughter. “it’s fine, right? this is fine. i mean, you’re always-, and i just, i thought maybe you wanted-”

“paige.”

this time, azzi pulled away.

not gently.

she sat up, put distance between them with a sharpness that felt like a slap. her expression was unreadable. tight. scared, maybe. angry, maybe. both.

“what are you doing?”

paige blinked. her mouth opened, closed. her voice came out too fast. “i wasn’t- i didn’t mean to make it weird, i just-"

“you kissed me.”

“barely, that doesn't even count- i just…” paige’s breath hitched. “i just wanted to be close to you.”

azzi stood. crossed her arms. looked anywhere but at her. “you don’t get to decide that for me.”

the air was too quiet now. the music still played in the background, but it felt like it was coming from another world.

paige stood too, but slower. “i’m sorry. please… i didn't wanna make you uncomfortable. just let me stay. i just- can i just lay with you? please?”

azzi didn’t answer right away. her jaw clenched. her hands flexed at her sides like she didn’t know what to do with them.

eventually, she sighed and sank back onto the couch, but turned away from paige.

“you can stay. just don’t… don’t- don't be weird again.”

paige nodded, even though azzi wasn’t looking. she curled up on the far edge of the couch, arms around her knees. she didn’t try to touch her again.

the space between them felt like a canyon.

and still, paige ached to cross it.

the apartment had gone still again.

paige hadn’t said a word since curling up at the edge of the couch. her eyes were fixed on the window, blank and glassy. she looked so small like that. pulled into herself, like she didn’t know if she was allowed to exist in the room anymore.

azzi had never hated herself more.

she sat there for what felt like forever, fists clenched, trying to stay cold, trying to stay safe. but paige was too quiet. too still. and azzi couldn’t pretend she didn’t feel it—this slow, aching guilt sinking under her skin like ink in water.

“hey,” she said finally, voice barely above a whisper.

paige didn’t look at her.

azzi moved carefully, slowly shifting across the couch. she hesitated before reaching out, fingers hovering over paige’s arm. “look at me?”

paige turned her head. her face was red around the edges, and her eyes were glassy. not crying, but close. she looked like someone who’d just been told they were too much.

“i’m sorry,” azzi said, and it sounded rough, pulled from the pit of her chest. “i didn’t mean to make you feel like that.”

paige gave a half-hearted shrug. “you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“don’t do that.”

“i’m just tired, azzi.”

that broke something. azzi reached for her then, fully, her hand sliding over paige’s arm, pulling gently until paige let herself be held. her head came down against azzi’s collarbone, hesitant at first, then all at once like she’d been waiting for permission.

azzi wrapped both arms around her, held her tight. no jokes. no pushback. just stillness and heat and heart.

“i’m bad at this,” azzi murmured into paige’s hair. “like, really bad.”

“i know,” paige whispered.

“but i love you.” azzi’s voice cracked on it, the words like glass in her throat. “and it scares the hell out of me.”

paige pulled back just enough to look at her. her face was open now, raw and hopeful and afraid.

“say it again.”

azzi met her eyes. “i love you.”

paige exhaled, shakily, like the air had been trapped in her lungs for weeks.

“fuck,” she said, blinking fast. “okay.”

azzi pulled her back in, and this time, paige didn’t hold anything back. she curled into her like she belonged there. and maybe- just maybe- she did.

[firelilyfox]

Cooldown

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Summary: You are having a migraine and Bucky is happy his bionic arm can do something good.

Words: 1k

Warnings: fluff, migraine, dating Bucky, couple kissing

_______________________________

„Have you seen her today?“ Bucky asked looking for you in the living room. 

Yelena shrugs. „Nah, she haven’t been around all day. But I’ve heard Sam talking to Ava about her having a nasty brain thingy.“ 

„A brain thingy?“ He repeated in confusion and a little alarmed. He’d known that Yelena takes things kinda easy but if y/n had a bullet in her head or something she wouldn’t be this … chill, right? 

„Yeah … like the thing that comes when you are stressed. What is it called?“ She takes a big bite out of the apple in her head searching for the right words to describe it. „A migraine!“ 

„Ah shit. That’s not good.“ Ava takes a sharp inhale in empathy. „Sucks. She must’ve get the real bad ones if she is up there all day. Poor thing.“ 

With each word Bucky gets more nervous about your wellbeing. He had headaches before and bad ones too, but he’d never knew the difference between that and a real migraine. The only thing he knew was that people told him they were way more painful. 

„What do you do to make them go away?“ 

Ava raised her eyebrows. „Make them go away? Ha. Buck you are just to cute!“ She laughs but Bucky wasn’t in the mood for jokes and his expression made it pretty clear that he wasn’t to be fooled around with right now. „Well, you do nothing. You just let them pass.“ 

„So she is just at the mercy of time to pass by?“ 

Yelena chuckles. „Look at you. All worried about your woman.“ 

A slight warmth creeps up his neck and he could feel his cheeks getting warmer too. „She is not my woman.“ 

„Aw cut the shit, Barnes.“ Sam walks in with a big cheeky smile. „We all know you are down bad for this girl.“ He pats Bucky on the back. „And the walls are thin, ya know.“ 

„Alright, alright. Enough“, he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighted in surrender. These people will be the death of him. „So what can I do to help her?“ 

„Make sure she drinks some water!“ Ava called. 

„Turn out all the lights. They hurt.“ Yelena adds rising the apple in acknowledgement. 

„And be quiet. Noise is just as painful as light. Especially if it comes from you.“ Sam laughs and gives Bucky another brotherly pat on the shoulder. Bucky flips him off immediately. He had a mission now, so he wouldn’t waste anymore time to talk to this knuckleheads. Bucky wanted to see his girl and make sure you get everything you need. 

The door clicked softly behind him. Your room was all dark except for a little gap in the curtains that let a bit of the sunset in. With a few long and soundless steps he made it over to the window and tucked the curtains tightly together to make sure not one inch would let any light in this room. 

„Mh… Bucky?“ You whimpered so silent he almost clutched his chest. Your pain was clearly hearable in you voice. 

„Yeah it’s me, doll“, he answered careful to not be too loud. „I wanted to check on you. The others told me you got a nasty migraine.“ 

Bucky stepped over to the big kingsized bed that was a big mess of pillows and different blankets. You curled up in the middle like a lost puppy. It was hard to see anything to clear but he could make out your silhouette. He sat down on the edge of the mattress. 

„I got you some water and painkillers just in case. Ava said they don’t work but I though maybe …“ 

„Can you stay? Please.“ You asked and reached blindly for this bionic arm. „I think I could need that right now.“ 

„All you want, doll. Of course.“ He didn’t hesitate and kicked his shoes off to snuggle up behind you. His armes opened wide in an invitation for you to hide away between them. But you had something different in mind. 

„Give me your hand“, you demanded weak. He obeyed without question and reached out his right hand. „No the other one, please.“ 

„What for?“ Bucky asked in confusion but still did as you told him. 

You took his bionic hand in yours and laid it on your forehead. A silent sigh of relief left your mouth. „That’s nice. God i feel like I’m burning up. You have no idea how much i needed you right now.“ 

Bucky chuckles softly. „If that’s what you want, doll, then I am always at your service.“ He places a soft kiss on your cheek while gently massaging your temples and offering you the much needed cooldown. „I’d do anything for you.“ 

„Anything you say?“ You ask with a smile in your voice. 

„Just say a word and you got it.“ 

„Kiss me, please.“ 

„Would that make the pain go away?“ Bucky asks amused and pushed himself up on one elbow. 

You slightly turned your head in his direction. All you could see was his pretty face in the darkness, only touched by the minimal light behind the curtain. „No but it would me help forget it. So will you help me forget?“, you ask sweetly. 

„Yes ma’am.“ 

You could feel his lips touching yours and this time Bucky was the one who sighted in relief. Gently tasting you as if you were the only thing important in this world right now. His cool bionic hand never looses the contact to your skin, worshipping you, protecting you from any harm. And it really worked. The headache slips almost completely in the background of your consciousness. There is only Bucky and his lips on yours. His warm hand on the side of your hip, gently pulling you closer to him. You let your hands wander up his muscled arms, over his strong shoulders and find his defined back. He let himself sink more on to you, followed the pressure of your hands pulling him down to you. 

Bucky pulled away, leaving the two of you a little out of breath. „Did you forget the pain already?“ He asked with a husky voice. 

„You’re a very good kisser.“ 

„That’s too much of praise. I would not say that my mouth can magically heal a migraine“, Bucky shakes his head with a little smile. „You should rest now. For real this time.“ 

You sighted in surrender. „Fine. You’re probably right. But you will still stay with me… right?“ 

Bucky placed a little kiss on the tip of your nose. „I wouldn’t leave you even if my life depended on it.“