#and where they are going is a city we both doing enjoy being in but she is like I’ll go for them | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

houseofhyde · 7 days ago

Note

I LOVE MANCHILD BUCKY SO MUCHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! can u pretty pretty please do something literally anything where he picks the reader up and he's so strong and whatnot 😛😛😛 love ya thankssssss ur the best

wine, dine, whine. a manchild drabble.

pairing. bucky barnes x fem!reader. synopsis. bucky's plans go to shit on the night of your birthday. yet, beneath city lights and raining skies, he learns how little you require to have a good time. it turns out, all you need is bucky's strong arms. warnings. smut ( unprotected piv, strength kink, sex against a door, clothed sex, creampie bc i'm a whore with a very specific kink 🧍‍♂️, fingers are getting put in pussies and mouths!, the bucky barnes begs agenda 2025™ continues, lowkey sub!bucky ), protective!bucky aka guard dog!bucky, anger issues, banter, unlabelled relationship bc i like torturing these two losers, angst, fluff, the overall vibe when it comes to the narration of this is a little bit different to manchild due to this being told from bucky's pov but hopefully it's still enjoyable! reader inclusivity. bucky is able to pick the reader up (which, duh, he's a super soldier, bestie <3) and one mention of his jacket being too big for her. wordcount. 3.6k (we're playing fast and loose with the term 'drabble') hyde's input. i've realised i have a strange obsession with having it rain a lot when it comes to these two ( as y'all will see in the next full-length fic i'm writing abt them ), but they just give me such rainy couple vibes, y'know? ( i sound stupid 🤠 ) i hope you enjoy, anon! thank you for requesting, you are the best <33

Fate is either a gigantic cunt, or she simply hates one James Buchanan Barnes.

Every little thing that should have gone right tonight has taken the left exit into wrong-ville. First, it was the missed reservation — Bucky tried to argue the ten minute delay was out of your control but the restaurant had already handed your table off to someone else. Before the soldier could choose between grovelling and threatening, your hand clasped onto his and you dragged him someplace else. Just when he settled into the perfect routine of sipping his wine and admiring the glow of you across a candle-lit table, your dinner arrived and, with it, more problems: the edge of your plate had been ‘decorated’ with crushed almonds. While he was red with anger, you were calmly apologising to the waiter for not having mentioned your allergy. In the end, you both ate the food off his plate.

Slipping off to the bathroom at one point , he’d been confronted with a crooked tie and the fact he’d put his cuff links on wrong — meanwhile, back at the table, you were the image of a goddess, elegant and effortless, wrapped in a pretty black dress and a pair of stilettos. Another disaster struck after dinner, back out on the streets, when a stranger shoulder-checked you and caused the ice cream you’d just bought to fly out your hand; while he wanted to grab the stranger by the scruff of the neck and force them to apologise, you busied yourself with stealing a bite from his cone.

Then came the rain. Unwarned, unreported. The sky simply gave a deep cry and the heavens opened up, dropping buckets worth of water down. Bucky hurried to cover you with his suit’s jacket and you used the downpour as an excuse to tuck yourself into his side, arms curling around his mid-riff and head finding rest against his shoulder.

Now here you both are walking the rainy streets of New York, clothes reduced to soaked rags that cling to each inch of skin, and Bucky’s wondering if this is all his fault.

When he’d first learned it was your birthday this morning, a confession that cut off any loose threads of sleep still clinging to him, you had been adamant that it wasn’t a big deal.

“Birthdays are like assholes, Barnes,” you swat at his butt with the tea-towel you’ve been using to dry the dishes — this is the routine as of late, he washes them and you dry them. “We all have one, doesn’t mean we need to go around announcing it.”

Looking back, he should have left it well-enough alone. But he hadn’t been able to ignore that something that wouldn’t sit right in his chest when you told him you had no intention to celebrate yourself. As far as Bucky is aware, your existence is a blessing, an admittedly irritating flickering light illuminating the tunnel of infinite dark he’s spent most of his life wandering through.

How could he possibly sit back and not let you shine?

“I spy my with my little eye,” your voice pulls him out the pit of guilt he’s digging for himself, drags him back up to street level where you’re soft and present at his side. An arm over your shoulder, he encourages you to burrow deeper against him. “Something beginning with… P!”

You must not be very good at this game, as the likely answer is glaring at him from across the street in red neon lights: Pizzeria.

“What are you, four?” Bucky’s rolling his eyes and fighting off the red of endearment rushing to his cheeks.

“Watch it, soldier,” one of your fingers pokes into his side. “You’re already towing the line of predatory with our age-gap.”

The rain is but a drizzle now, and Bucky despises the way it has you stepping out from his embrace, curious and excited to let feel the drops of water run down your face.

“You can’t say I’m not the strongest centenarian you know,” he states, without even knowing the reason why.

Perhaps a part of him craves to prove to you he’s a worthy choice, more than just a nighttime companion but someone you can let yourself rely on, rest against, plant new roots in your life with.

He’s been thinking about it lately, more often than a man of his nature would dare voice aloud, how much of your time he’s allowed to pollute, and how much of your heart he’s allowed to consume. For all his wondering, he can’t bring himself to ask, in fear of finding out the story of you two he’s been writing in his head ends sooner than he intends.

“You’re the only centenarian I know,” you’re ahead of him on the sidewalk now, walking backwards and turned towards him to see his reaction as you tease him. “Not even my grandparents, rest their souls, would be as old as you.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” he’s trying to reach for you, feigning annoyance as the excuse to pull you back against him, where he wants you to belong.

But you’re nimble, faster on your heels than he expects you to be, and he marvels at how easily you evade his hands, feet moving so easily they almost seem to dance along the ground.

“Don’t worry, give me the greenlight and I’ll happily call you great-granddaddy while you hit it from the back-”

Like a lion pounces on a gazelle, he dashes to close the distance between you and swoops you up into his arms.

“What have I told you about watching where you’re going?” It’s an empty chastise, one that not even he pays any mind to, not when he’s so enthralled with the weight of you clinging to his neck, a vibranium arm holding up your back while his flesh one is tucked beneath your bent knees.

Your eyes are watching him, a smile upon your face that tells him you have no intention of looking at the river of a puddle he’s just rescued you from stepping into, sacrificing the polished leather of his shoes and the hem of his trousers as he walks you both across it.

“It’s more fun when you do it for me,” you wink at him, and Bucky’s in pain.

He’s known war. He’s known torture. He’s known what it means to lose every thread of autonomy, becoming nothing but a vehicle through which to kill. Never has he known ache quite like the one you carve into his heart, with something as simple as a smile and as soft as a kiss.

Deflecting his own thoughts, he jolts you higher up into his hold, closer to his chest, and renews the grip his hands carry you with. No puddles lay ahead anymore, left behind for you to finally spot over his shoulder, yet the soldier shows no intention of putting you down.

“You just had to prove your point, huh? Strongest man I know.”

The breeze brushes the skirt of your dress a little too high for Bucky’s comfort, not when there’s a group of men spilling out from a bar across the street. He readjusts his right arm, making sure the fabric stays caught beneath his iron grip.

Maybe that’s why it takes him a moment to notice you’ve altered his earlier claim, taking his age right out of the discussion.

“I never said man-”

You gasp, Bucky freezes.

“Put me down,” a command he obeys with heartbreak yet no hesitation, returning you gently to the pavement and keeping a hold on you until he’s sure you’re steady on your feet. Before he can step back, you shake your head, “Come here.”

Like a puppet, he gives himself up to you. Lets you tug him closer by his tie. Watches you place his hands firmly around your waist. Relishes in the squeeze of your arms interlocking behind his head.

Standing right in front of him, Bucky feels like he’s seeing you properly for the first time tonight.

Rivulets of rain run rampant down your face, smudged mascara paints an image of modern art across your cheeks, your lipstick has faded away to reveal the real hue of the lips he’s forever longing to kiss, the pretty shape of your dress has melted into your figure and the sleeves of his jacket keep sliding down over your hands. For every sense of the word, you’re a mess. A completely and utterly different woman to the one he stepped out onto the streets with hours earlier, before everything had gone wrong. And you’ve never been more beautiful.

Or more demanding, “Ok, now spin me.”

“Spin you?”

“Yes.”

“You want me to spin you?” It’s not outrageous, he’d argue, to seek confirmation when faced with such a strange request.

“Am I speaking fucking latin? S, P, I, N me, Barnes!”

Let the record show that there’s not a single thing, no matter how confused or skeptical it may leave him, that Bucky wouldn’t do for you. So, of course he spins you.

Gripping on tight to your waist and straightening his back, he lets his feet shuffle around in a circle and watches how your own lift off the ground.

“Happy?” He asks, his own existence hinging on your answer, as he puts you back down.

“No,” you shake your head, lips splitting in an eye-twinkling smile. “Again!

He does it again, and again, and again. Until you’re a twirling, giggling, grinning mess surrounding him. Until he feels himself begin to struggle for balance. Until a group of strangers are holding up their phones and recording the private bubble you two are living in. And, for a moment, he can almost picture it.

The before, the normal. A 1940s kind of New York, stained in the smell of cigarettes and gunpowder, and playing main stage to a love story for the ages. He imagines all the ways he would have won over your family, all the old-fashioned traditions he’d play privy to just to earn your hand. His sister would have loved you, and not just because she’d always complained at being stuck with only a brother, but because you’d be as loud, and as outspoken, and as crass as she’d always believed women should be. The kind of life where he’d leave for war with a promise to return to you, and he’d make damn sure of keeping that promise, arriving back at shore to greet you with a kiss and a ring.

When the fog around his wishful eyes clears, he’s left with the blinding lights of modern New York and the smell of your perfume. There’s no bitter feeling, however, no hatred towards the life he finds himself in now, leagues and bounds away from what could have been. It’s not perfect but there’s you, and that seems about as close to it as Bucky can imagine.

“Oh no!” You exclaim, laying a hand across your forehead as you pretend to fall faint against him. “I’m just ever so dizzy, Mr Barnes, I think you’ll have to carry me home!”

“Do you think I’m some sort of walking cab?” Despite the annoyance put behind his question, he’s eagerly offering you his back to hop onto.

“No, no,” you’re swatting him around, pulling on his strings again to command him just how you want him. He willingly gives himself to you every time. “Do it the same as before.”

One arm at your back, the other at the back of your knees, he’s lifting you against him again. For a moment, the creative part of his brain, that had painted a picture of another decade, tempts him with the thought of how this is the very same way a man carries his bride. The thought of such devotion makes him sick with shame and anticipation.

“Everyday you sound more like a spoiled brat,” and he’s the one to blame, giving way to your every whim and plea.

Your response is physical, a hand grabbing onto either side of his jaw and giving his head a shake, “God forbid a girl wants to enjoy the view of this handsome face!”

Even though he tries to frown, he can’t help the way he turns to putty with your touch.

The rain comes to a complete stop and leaves behind a satisfying freshness in the air, one that smells like hope and tastes like possibility. Or maybe that’s just the effect of having you pressed up against him, not only seeking safety in his arms but finding rest, head atop the very point where metal welds into flesh.

Here he is, a creature more disjointed than anything Frankenstein could create, and wanted only ever for causing harm, providing respite to a soul he’s spent months trying to save from herself.

Perhaps fate doesn’t hate him so much.

“The answer was party-pooper,” you interrupt his dwelling, like you do best, and make quick to clarify for his questioning glance. “To my I-Spy prompt.”

“What kind of answer is that?”

Carrying you is child’s play, as easy as breathing to the super soldier. That doesn’t stop him from putting on a show of readjusting his grip, jolting you enough into the air to earn a huff out of you.

“I don’t know, you tell me,” a finger trails over his mouth, catching on his lower lip and giving it a gentle tap. “You’re the one that’s been sulking up a storm all night.”

“I wasn’t sulking-”

“You literally were pouting at me from across the table, James.”

“I just wanted you to have a good night.”

Do you notice blood staining the tips of his ears with a blush? And, if you do, would you believe him if he said it was from the bite of the wind?

“I am having a goodnight, how could I not?” As your arms secure themselves around his neck again, he feels the brush of your lips atop the collar of his shirt. If only your lipstick were still intact, he could wake up tomorrow to a visceral stain of your kiss on the fabric. “I’m wearing a pretty dress and being carried by a hunky man.”

“Sometimes I think you only want me for my biceps,” a sarcastic comment feels easier than letting himself sink into the knowledge that he’s made the cut in your requirements for a good time.

“Guilty as charged! I’m using you for this hot bod and fine piece of ass.”

Just when he’s thinking of kissing you, you beat him to it, pulling yourself up to press your lips against his.

It’s short, it’s sweet, and it’s chaste. The kind of kiss one could blink and completely miss, but Bucky savours every second of it. Even if it does cause him to stumble with his next step.

Drawing nearer to your apartment, he wonders if you notice the way his pace is slowing, the way his feet are beginning to drag, the way he’s stretching out each step for as long as he can.

When he grows tired of the sound of passing cars and the muffled music from bars, he seeks out your voice.

“Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Depends what you want to hear,” you’re back at his shoulder, eyes slipped closed as you enjoy the subtle sway of your dangling legs. “There’s two things I’m thinking about.”

“Two or a million things,” his own voice is falling into a whisper, something sacred he wants to save for your ears only. “I want to hear all of it.”

For a moment, there’s only the tread of his footfall, and the calm of your breathing, and the wind singing a solemn tune. Then you speak and drown him deeper in his melancholy.

“You don’t need to get angry for me,” a montage of deep breaths, flaring nostrils, clenching jaws, all from tonight and completely selfish, born out of an ire that you had met only with kind eyes and forgiving words. “I don’t want a weapon, I just want you. And if that anger is the real you, then I want it too, but not if you’re forcing yourself to get worked up because it's what you think I expect.”

“Anger kept me safe,” and, if it could do that for him, then surely it could keep you safe too. “I don’t know who I am without it.”

“Then we can find out together,” you say it so sincerely he wants nothing more than to make it a reality.

Not just the prospect of relearning himself, but the togetherness of it all. A unit, a pair, a couple. Not just a man and woman living under the same roof. Would you want the same, though? Or is the way he touches you just something you enjoy, no deeper feeling buried beneath layers of skin?

“Do you wanna know the second thing I’m thinking?” There you are again to pull the brakes on his train of thought.

He nods, too afraid of the tight feeling in his throat to speak. But you, his little spitfire, are afraid of nothing and lean up to shamelessly whisper into his ear.

“About how good you’re gonna fuck me when we get home.”

The two of you barely make it past the threshold of the door.

Despite the fact his hands are on you, you’re the one leading the charge, pulling him in by his tie to meet your welcoming tongue. There’s a noticeable thud as your back hits the door but your grip tightens him against you before he can worry.

“Want you to show me how strong these arms are, Buck,” you hiss against him, clutching onto the bicep of the arm that’s snuck itself beneath your dress and writhing as his fingers swipe over your soaked folds.

Sanity has long departed from him, abandoning him to the wreckage of you. He’s barely cognisant of his own undoing, losing himself in the way you react so perfectly to his fingers curling into your cunt. You don’t let him enjoy it for too long, barely a moan ripped out of you before you’re unbuckling his belt and setting his dick free from the confines of cotton.

Following your orders, his arms hike your legs up around his waist and settle your back a little higher up the door, forcing him to gaze up at you in worship. It’s a blessing, he concludes, to watch your mouth drop into an ‘o’ as he guides you down fully onto his cock.

There’s no time for teasing. Everything is desperate and reckless, teeth clashing against teeth, hands digging into hips, skin slapping against skin. The hinges of the door shake at your back, in perfect tune with each thrust of Bucky’s cock, and, when he catches your hand gripping onto the handle, he redirects it to his shoulder and relishes in the sting of your nails digging into his flesh.

“Please,” he’s not sure what he’s asking for, but his mind tells him to grovel, to plead, to pray. “Oh, please, fuck!”

“Yes James, that’s exactly what we’re doing,” you somehow find the time to giggle, and he swears he might just lose his mind when he feels your walls squeeze around him. “I didn’t think you’d have a senior moment so soon.”

You’re so irritating, and maddening, and endearing. Bucky’s all confused, mind oscillating between turning you around, pressing your face into the wood, and showing you just how ‘unsenior’ he is, or focusing on how ridiculously breathtaking you are to gaze up at.

If you’re a siren, then he’s a sailor who’s more willing than ever to drown in the waves with you and your melodic moans. Hungry eyes pull up the hem of your dress and seek out the sight of your pussy fucking itself down onto his cock. Lost in the sight of your bodies syncing together, he’s none the wiser to his open jaw until he tastes your fingers sink inside it.

“Look at you,” you coo, and he loves it, works harder and fucks deeper to hear more of it. “A big, bad soldier who’s whining for me.”

And he is. Pathetically, unabashedly, lips wrapped around the girth of your two fingers and letting you feel the vibrations of his pleasured whines.

Bucky is the first to crescendo, with a fractured whisper of your name followed by stuttering hips. His eyes roll back as your legs lock around him and force him to deliver, devote every last drop of himself inside of you. He comes through just in time to press his thumb to your clit and guide you off your own edge into paradise, squealing and cheering against the door before he swallows your sounds with his lips.

In the dark of the apartment, you two search for a single breath between you, lazy-boned against the door as hands simply trail over one another’s outline.

“So,” your hand in his hair, tugging lightly until his chin rests on your chest and his hazy eyes stare up at yours. “Was tonight our first date?”

“No,” he almost laughs at how quickly the smile falls off your face, but he’s too busy rushing to fight away the disappointment that seeks to replace it. “You won’t have to ask when it’s our first date, you’ll know.”

And there it is again, the smile he likes best.

“Aww, does that mean I’m not getting a goodnight’s kiss?”

This time he does laugh, slowly bringing your feet back onto the ground and bumping the tip of his nose against yours.

“What you’re getting is tied to the bed and ruined until you forget your own name.”

+ extra hyde

· reader really loves to walk bucky like a dog (as she should!) · also its been a week since i posted manchild &, i don't mean to sound pathetic and emotional but i'm on my period so give me a break, i'm really happy that you all liked it enough to not only give me really kind feedback but to want more of them :( i love writing so much but i kind of hit a wall creatively about 8 months ago. i'm currently getting a degree and part of that degree requires me to not only write a lot but to write outside of my comfort zone (romance) and, despite achieving a first, it really just drained me and sucked the fun out of writing. so it's been really nice to feel myself slowly chip away at the writer's block & a big part of that has been thanks to every like, comment, reblog, and ask you guys have sent. thank you for making this loser (me) happy <3

#bucky barnes smut #bucky smut #james buchanan barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #james buchanan barnes x reader

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serinic · 27 days ago

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Inkfluence (01) | JJK

pairing: politician jk x journalist reader

warnings: yandere jk, corruption, sensitive topics, deaths, future smut (dub-con).

words: 1.8k+

As vile as it sounds, politics has decayed into a ruthless game—where truth is treason, and those who pursue it are silenced, buried beneath the crushing weight of power. You entered the game with eyes wide open, fully aware there may be no escape. But it turned far more sinister when its master took a strange interest in a mere pawn—you.

“It's raining so hard again. The streets will be flooded soon,” Jiwoo sighed for the third time, gazing out the window. You walked toward her and did the same—staring through the glass that kept you both from getting soaked. You frowned as you watched people on the street, doing their best to avoid the pouring rain. As much as you wanted to help them—you couldn’t. Your landlord would kick you out for letting random people into her apartment.

Your heart ached even more when you saw children—some crying, some praying—probably begging for the rain to stop.

But your sorrow quickly turned into rage when you heard on the TV that the mayor—now former—had left the country and taken the people's money with him. The money that was supposed to be for flood control, which he kept talking about just last month.

You and Jiwoo both turned around and looked at the screen, disgrace and anger evident on your faces. You both knew this would happen—but you didn’t expect him to steal the money so quickly. Our money.

You looked out the window again, back at the people. Another politician had failed them. The man who promised that this city would be better, that the people would have a better life—just months ago.

The same man who, in the end, stole someone’s future, someone’s chance at a better life, and fled to another country to enjoy a life of luxury.

Many politicians have done the same—some even worse—to the point that you’ve grown used to it.

But what angered you more was how citizens still kept voting for the same people who were turning their lives into a living hell.

Had they really not learned?

“It's the people's money, not theirs!” you exclaimed, emphasizing each word—every syllable coming straight from your heart. Jiwoo looked at you sadly and bit her lower lip. “I know.”

“Ms. Y/N, could you please rewrite your work? Choose more appropriate words.”

Your boss placed the article you submitted on your desk. Your eyes widened—what did you just hear? You’re a journalist, for fuck’s sake!

You stood up and spoke firmly, “But we are journalists. We speak the truth and do not sugarcoat words!” You quickly pressed your lips together when she shot you a glare.

“Please, just do what I said,” she replied, flashing you a fake smile and giving a careless shrug before walking back to her office.

You stared at her back with defeated eyes. What’s happening to our profession? Did they really forget our oath?

“You know, the company's just being careful. None of us want to become a target, especially with everything going on right now.” Doa, your co-worker, placed her hands on your shoulders. Her words made your mind drift back to what happened just a week ago.

The police had stopped people from getting too close to the body. A garbage collector was the one who found it and immediately called the authorities.

The head was covered with a black trash bag, and several wounds were visible on the corpse. "Sir, what do you think?" one of the officers asked the investigator, who was crouched beside the body, studying it closely.

"Looks like he was tortured first… then killed. Body was dumped here carelessly," the investigator replied grimly.

Later, the victim was identified as Min Do-hyun, a reporter from CLM.

It was said that shortly before his disappearance, Min Do-hyun had been seen at a press conference held by Governor Kim Ji-hoon. He had questioned the governor about the missing healthcare funds—and it looked like Do-hyun struck a nerve. A week later, he was found lifeless. You pinched the bridge of your nose, trying to calm yourself. Looking at Doa, you forced a smile. She nodded slightly and returned to her cubicle. You sat down, fully aware that people like you—too curious, too bold—could end up just like Do-hyun. Once again, anger began to consume you. People in your profession were being silenced for speaking the truth, for trying to protect the public from distortion, disinformation, and evil. You hadn’t spent years honing your craft just to end up as a corpse, unfinished and unheard. You were terrified but your passion to help people burned brighter than your fear.

“Are you all ready?” Mr. Kim cheered enthusiastically. Why the hell is he happy?

The company you work for is one of the few companies invited to the President's party. Ironic, isn’t it? You people were supposed to stand against corrupt people, and President Jeon Jae-won is practically one of them—maybe even the root of it all. It seems like even the company you work for has been bought. They need reporters like you to sugarcoat their names ahead of the upcoming election. You've thought about resigning. But maybe this is an opportunity. An opportunity to observe, to listen, to uncover. The people attending this party might be the same ones funding and enabling these politicians. You need to know who they are. You plan to gather as much information and evidence as you can. You won’t stop until you drag them all down. This country, and its people—deserve a better future.

“Everyone, make sure to smile and watch what you say. We need to stay on the president's good side!” he declared again, the warning in his tone was clear. You bit your tongue to stop yourself from saying something that would get you kicked out of the building on the spot. Money and greed really do change people, your boss is living proof of that.

You stepped out of the car and immediately saw several people—no, diehard supporters of the Jeons—right in front of the building. Almost every one of them held banners and props. You closed your eyes. These people irritate you! The Jeons are literally the worst animals in this country, and yet they still have their support? Are these people even thinking? When you opened your eyes again, something caught your attention—a certain person. Your eyes widened, and your mouth fell open in shock. Jiwoo noticed and asked, “What happened? Are you okay?” You didn’t reply at first, frozen by what you saw. After a moment, you managed to gather yourself and said, “What the fuck? No, I’m not okay! I just saw my mother in the crowd. What the hell?”

Your eyes remained fixed on the female figure. Jiwoo followed your gaze and gasped when she recognized the woman, your mother.

Your mother didn’t seem to notice you yet. You were about to walk toward her when Jiwoo grabbed your hand. Your co-workers and other reporters from different companies were already entering the building. You sighed. You’d deal with her later, you thought, as you and your friend stepped inside. You gasped at the sight before you—the place was stunning and definitely expensive. You tsked quietly. This might be one of the few things the people’s taxes were actually spent on. You and the others took your seats. There were specific tables assigned for particular people and companies. Buffets were set up around the room. You loved food—really, you did—but knowing whose money had paid for it made it impossible to eat.

You were busy talking to Jiwoo, secretly badmouthing those animals, when an uncomfortable feeling crept over you—it felt like someone was watching. You scanned the room but found no one staring. Maybe you were imagining things, or perhaps it was a ghost longing for justice. You tried to brush it off, and after a minute, the feeling faded. You started observing your surroundings. More people had arrived—some you knew, others you didn’t—but one thing was clear: those seated apart from your section were filthy rich. Suddenly, a spotlight hit the stage, drawing everyone’s attention. The host greeted the crowd, but your focus drifted as that familiar sensation returned—the feeling of being watched.

You darted your gaze to the side and looked up toward the balcony. Immediately, your eyes locked with his—he was staring directly at you. Your breath hitched. Jeon Jungkook: the oldest son of Jeon Jae-won, mayor of another city and rumored candidate for the position of governor. You stared at each other for too long, unable to look away. His eyes were dark—so dark that the longer you looked, the more it felt like you were being pulled from heaven straight down to hell.

If it was a sin to look at him, you’d gladly be a sinner. No one knows how long you two held that gaze. The tension became unbearable, and finally, you forced yourself to turn away, focusing back on the stage.

You were just a girl, you couldn’t help but look at him again. But this time, he was gone. Only a dominating aura remained in that balcony. You pinched the bridge of your nose, dismissing both him and your racing thoughts.

You’d been so focused on Jungkook, you hadn’t noticed his father speaking on stage. Soon, Jae-won began introducing his family: his wife, then his eldest son—Jeon Jungkook—who stood beside his father, who looked proud as ever. Once again, Jungkook’s eyes found yours. You quickly looked away and instead watched his brother being introduced. Jae-won had another son, Jeon Jung-hyun, who appeared to be your age and clearly the black sheep of the family, judging by how uninterested he looked in the event.

Jae-won didn’t forget to address his political party for the upcoming election—the highlight of the night. Jungkook was obviously a key member. Once the announcement ended and the stage shifted to entertainment, you excused yourself. You approached a guard and asked where the bathroom was. He gave directions, but they were confusing, and you almost asked him to repeat when another guard nudged him, whispered something, and both glanced at you before walking away. You really needed to pee. You headed upstairs and turned left as instructed. But there were many locked doors. ‘Shit,’ you thought, your bladder protesting loudly. You found another set of stairs and without hesitation, went up.

You opened the first door you saw and gratefully, it was the room you needed. After finishing, you were about to leave when you heard voices nearby. Curious, you cracked the door open slightly and peeked outside. You froze. President Jae-won was speaking with an unfamiliar man. This was your chance.

You pulled out your phone and hit record. “Park Chan-woo was a great man, but he fucked up and ended up jailed in another country,” Jae-won said, lighting a cigarette.

“What should we do now?” the man asked. Jae-won shrugged coldly. His words left you stunned. “It won’t be long before he drags us down with him. Silence that motherfucker before he even gets the chance.”

The president patted the man’s shoulder and walked downstairs. You slowly closed the door, careful not to make a sound. You stopped the recorder and turn off your phone. Anxiety and dark, terrifying thoughts clouded your mind. You felt trapped, scared to open the door as if the devil himself would drag you to hell. Thirty minutes passed. You had to get out. It was now or never. You calmed yourself, grabbed the handle, and opened the door. You stumbled back, coming face to face with the devil himself—Jeon Jungkook. His right hand was in his pocket, while his left extended toward you.

"Give me your phone."

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05

#bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook fanfiction #yandere jungkook #yandere #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #bts imagine

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witchesverse · 10 months ago

Text

run away, toy.

pairing: dark!wandanat x fem!reader

summary: you don't know how long they've kept you as their toy, but you decided it was time to escape again. what a big mistake.

content: dark/abusive themes, choking with magic, being kept in a cage, stockholm syndrome, kidnapping, chasing, hair pulling, heavy manipulation, dubcon, strap-on sex, anal, overstim.

masterlist

You cringed at the loud slaps your bare feet made against the wet concrete. You were trying to be subtle, but obviously were failing at that. Your breathing was ragged, and your legs were burning. You wanted to slow down but you knew that if you did, Wanda and Natasha would be on you immediately.

You turned a corner and felt your heart drop. You ran into a fucking alley way. A dead end.

No, no, no.

You turned around, hoping you had enough time to escape but you didn’t.

Her red eyes shone in the dark.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You couldn’t see where the assassin was, but you knew she was near. It honestly surprised you Natasha didn’t get to you first. She has the proper training for hunting.

“Wan- “

You felt your throat constrict and you gasped for air. Your clawed at your throat and your knees buckled. Your vision started to fade.

Wanda silently stalked towards you, with each step, her boots echoed in the empty alley way. She stood over you with a disappointed look on her face.

Then everything went black.

●・○・●・○・●

You woke with a gasp, immediately sitting upwards and hitting your head on something metal. You look upwards and sigh. You’re in your cage again.

“Of course, I’m sure.”

You shudder at the sound of the familiar voice. Carol Danvers.

The blackout blanket around your cage makes it impossible to see anything, but you recognise her voice.

You mean, how could you forget?

The blackout blanket is suddenly ripped off your cage, and you’re left squinting and blinking as your eyes adjust to the bright lights. Wanda and Carol were sitting around a table, holding no doubt, coffee in their hands. Natasha stood in front of you, unlocking the cage before grabbing you by the hair and pulling you out.

You huffed as your lifted to your feet and shoved towards Wanda. You awkwardly stood in front of Wanda with your hands behind your back, just how she likes it.

Carol took this as her cue to leave.

“I’ll see both of you soon.” She smiled at Wanda and Natasha “I’ve left Valkyrie alone for too long.”

Wanda didn’t look away from you nor did she respond to Carol. Natasha did for her, wishing her a safe travel.

The moment you heard the door click and lock, you moved backwards.

You don’t get far before Natasha wraps her arm around your chest, constricting your arms and holding you to her chest.

Wanda stood, her emotionless face finally breaking.

“Do you even know what you caused?” Wanda hissed “Running around the city naked like some idiot. People saw you, and Carol had to kill them. Do you enjoy knowing that innocent people are dead because of your foolishness?”

You shook your head, already feeling the tears forming in your eyes. You wanted to believe Wanda was lying, but she doesn’t lie.

“This wouldn’t have happened if you- “

“Don’t fucking speak!”

You flinched.

“We give you a perfect life here, yet you still decide to be selfish.” Wanda was close enough to your face that you could feel her breath fanning across your lips.

Natasha's grip tightened as you tried to wiggle away.

“Should we just throw you away? Go find another toy to love?” Wanda questioned.

You shook your head, biting your lip hard enough to draw blood. You don’t understand why you disagreed with her. You had just escaped home to get away from Wanda and Natasha, and now that they were offering you another escape, you denied it.

“I’m done with you,” She scoffed “Natasha deal with her and come see me when you’re done.”

That’s when the tears fall. Rejection.

Wanda walked out of the room, leaving you alone with Natasha.

Natasha shoved you into the couch. Positioning your face to be buried in pillows and your ass in the air. She pressed down on your back, forcing you to form into the perfect arch.

“Nat,” You sniffled.

She doesn’t respond.

“Please, say something.”

Nothing.

You heard the zipping of her pants and something cold press against your ass.

“Natty?”

Silence.

Your sniffles slowly turned into soft cries as you felt the tip of her lubed strap press into you. The stretch burned and she didn’t let you adjust before she pushed her full length into you.

Her hands pulled your hips into her tummy, keeping you secure. She lent down and you moaned at the movement.

“Beg for me not to fuck you.”

You whimpered.

She's such a sick fuck.

“Please, don’t. I don’t want it today, please.”

Natasha slowly thrusted into you, forcing your hips to slam back down. It hurt so fucking bad, and you loved it.

All that could be heard were your loud moans and the wet noises of Natasha’s strap drilling into you.

The pain subsided and bursts of pleasure shot through your body. You swore you could feel Natasha in your stomach from how deep she was. It was almost overwhelming.

Natasha dug her nails into your hips, creating crescent-moon marks. She occasionally slapped your thighs, knowing that’s where it hurt the most.

It didn’t take long for you to get close, and Natasha knew it. She basically knew your body like it was the back of her hand.

Her fingers reached down and rubbed your clit in tight, small circles, electing a loud moan from you. She used her spare hand to grab onto your hair, pulling you upwards so your back was against her chest.

The sudden change in positions forced you over the edge. Your vision speckled white and your back arched.

You cried out in pleasure and pain as overstimulation quickly took place. You tried pushing Natasha away from you, but she didn’t move. She continued to pound into you and rub your clit.

“Stop, stop. Please, it’s gonna hurt.”

She refused. It didn’t take long for your second, third, and finally fourth orgasm to be pulled from you.

Natasha let you slump into the couch, pulling her strap from your arse. Tears continued to fall down your face from the overstimulation and regret.

“Is Wanda mad at me?” You whispered, staring at the wall behind Natasha.

Natasha rolled her eyes, “That’s a stupid question.”

You sniffled and watched Natasha leave the room. You were cold but too tired to find a blanket to wrap around your body. You wanted to sleep and pretend that today didn’t happen.

You thought it had been around five months since your last attempt to escape. You weren’t sure, though; time is different with Wanda and Natasha. They removed the clocks from the apartment and refused to tell you the date or time.

You knew Wanda was mad at you, Natasha too. You figured you would have to make it up to them, but you didn’t know how. You had never seen Wanda so angry before.

You had to find a way to make her forgive you.

#wandanat x reader #wandanat x you #wandanat x y/n #wandanat #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanoff x reader #wandanat smut #bluewrites

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gloomygloworm · 4 months ago

Text

I open Dragon Age: The Veilguard

I play the game, and I think to myself ‘weird I thought this was a choices and politics game ft metaphors from real history like slavery’

My friends go “you’re right that’s what it’s supposed to be but this game is lacking those things”

I go “oh bummer that sucks, I like moral quandaries.”

I see a post that publicly wonders why people are upset that one of the main metaphors (slavery) is missing from the game.

I respond saying yeah its weird that people are complaining that a Big Metaphor is missing from the Big Metaphor Game

I get asked what part of the game matches the Main Metaphor, and I respond with “well, the elves are second class citizens.” I am doing research specifically on the elves. I read in the wiki, with sources, that yeah, no, I’m right, the Church said “if you kiss an elf that’s basically the same thing as kissing a dog.” Elves don’t have rights in most of the countries that the other games are in. One of these places in the North is the Big Metaphor Place where they looooove the Big Metaphor and using the Big Metaphor, but I get called weird for wondering why it’s mostly absent from the game.

I open my blinds and find out that National Holocaust Remembrance Day is no longer a federal holiday. I also find out that my government is trying to "deport" the native citizens of said country. I go back online and find a thread from 2009 where one of the writers explicitly states “Yeah the Dalish started as a metaphor for the Roma but evolved into more like the Native Americans, and the Andrastean Elves are like the Jewish during Nazi Occupied Germany.”

I say “oh okay so Tevinter is like Nazi Occupied Germany. Yeah it’s weird that they’ve kind of sanitized this place and I can’t find the evidence of this anywhere.”

Someone calls me weird again and tells me to read the Codex. Someone else mentions the very beginning of the game, where you see shackles on the ground and there is mention of an elf who is freeing slaves, none of which I witness. I wonder if the slaves are in the room with me.

Someone else mentions that this is the first time we see Tevinter without any biases, mentioning two characters, Dorian and Fenris.

My friends, horrified, tell me Fenris is an ex-slave (who can be given BACK to his slave owner) and Dorian’s family are Slave Owners. I think to myself huh that’s kind of a weird thing to say considering the biases are “I was a slave” and “Yeah my family owns slaves but that’s kinda bad huh” cause that’s the same exact concept.

I say “well elves don’t have rights, that sucks, but I wish we got to see more of their day to day. I hear about these alienages that in other games we’ve been able to see, it’s weird there isn’t one in the very poor part of the Capital of the Big Metaphor Place, where there would be a high number of these people.”

Someone says “why do you want to see them suffering? That’s weird.”

I say “yeah but there’s beauty in adversity and I didn’t write the game, I want to see this big tree the alienages supposedly have as a sort of last hope for the city elves to cling to their lost culture.”

Someone calls me weird.

I open my blinds and politicians and big public figures are giving Nazi salutes in public rallies.

I boot up Veilguard.

I boot up Origins and get called a slur within the first five minutes of the game.

I picked a circle elven mage, but I use youtube to look up the city elf origin and go “oh holy fuck wow they just put it right out there huh? That’s the world state, now I know.”

Someone tells me that I should play the game because I would enjoy being sexually assaulted and violated.

I literally don’t have a response to that in any comprehensive way because that is a wild thing to say to a stranger. It is, in fact, two subjects I have intimate knowledge of as a victim of both domestic abuse and sexual assault.

Someone tells me to just read the Codex.

Someone tells me to just read the Diary of Anne Frank.

I buy the art book for Veilguard and see that some of the major players they nixed were ex-slaves. I look at Reva and I say “oh hey cool concept”

Someone calls me an idiot online and I laugh while closing my blinds, because purity culture is once more making a comeback and if I licked a single rock in Arlathan all I’d taste was bleach.

#datv #datv critical

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gothcsz · 3 months ago

Text

Safety Net: Part I | ~13.8k wc | Co-Written with @ovaryacted | Series Masterlist

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Motivated by boredom, Marcus goes on a sugar dating app and lands himself a date with you, the only person that captured his attention.

CHAPTER TAGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. Modern AU. Sugar daddy Marcus Acacius/Sugar baby reader. Age gap [Marcus is 50/reader is 25+]. SMUT. Plot with porn. Kissing/Makeout session. Dry humping. Premature ejaculation. Oral (f! receiving). Multiple orgasms. Overstimulation. MARCUS THE MUNCH! Sexual tension. Flirting & banter. First date chronicles. Lots of plot & world building beforehand. Takes place in Chicago. Marcus uses a sugar dating app. Reader is explicitly described as a curvy woman of color: darker skin tone, curly hair texture, etc. Reader has feminine characteristics - wears dresses, heels, jewelry, & makeup. Reader is afab and able bodied. Marcus is recently divorced. Marcus comes from old money and is a businessman. Chivalry isn't dead.

A/N: This has been in the works for far too long but finally, we managed to lock in and cook up some straight heat! This is what happens when you put two yapping hoes on a doc, so we hope everyone who feens for Marcus Acacius as much as we do enjoys the fruits of our labor lol. Reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated. Support your BIPOC writers 🖤

Another lone dinner, nothing but the gritty sound of the song echoing from his record player to accompany him.

Tonight was meant to be a small victory. Marcus had enrolled in a cooking class to keep busy after the divorce, and this meal was supposed to put those new skills to use. But as he chopped, cooked, ate and cleaned, the expected satisfaction never came. Instead, a quiet boredom crept in—maybe even isolation.

It was like his body was moving on autopilot, simply going through the motions.

He brings the rim of his glass up to his lips, eyes falling down to the city below. From his penthouse, the skyline sometimes blurs beneath a soft haze of clouds, making the world below look like a dream. The wealth, the view, the opulence—it’s everything people imagine happiness to be. And yet… loneliness seeps into his bones, slowly debilitating his already precarious joy.

He assumed that divorcing from his now ex-wife would help pull him out of this stupor. They were both in agreeance that their marriage had been nothing but one out of convenience—the best thing for the both of them at that time. No romance, no passion, just a practical arrangement that worked. At least, until it didn’t.

Marcus hadn’t expected her to fight for the marriage, but he also hadn’t expected her to fixate on the prenup. One night, in the midst of her moving out, he’d overheard her gossiping on the phone with one of her friends. It would’ve gotten a lot nastier if I hadn’t gotten what I was owed.

The words hit harder than he expected. On some level, he had loved her. Not in the way a husband should love a wife, but in a way that still meant something to him. There had been care, respect, even a kind of tenderness—out of duty, maybe, but real nonetheless. He even enjoyed being a stepfather to her teenage son.

No resentment was held, not when they were about to part ways.

She was entitled to a payout, and he made sure she got it, wiring the full amount before the lawyers could sink their teeth into the process. No use in dragging things out or turning something empty into something bitter.

So they ended it quietly and swiftly. One last dinner as husband and wife, a toast to a chapter closing, and then the signing of papers that made it official.

It has been months since then, and Marcus is right where he’s always been. The same life, the same routine—just without the pretense of a marriage. He’s outgrown the bachelor lifestyle and has no interest in jumping back to it. He’s in fifties with a divorce under his belt, family business in his care, and more money than he knows what to do with.

Most men in his position would see this as a rebirth, an excuse to run wild. He’s seen it plenty—divorcees burning through their wealth to impress women half their age, indulging in recklessness until, eventually, they wonder how the fuck they lost it all.

The thought makes him scoff slightly, shaking his head as he continues to lose himself in his own mind, still gazing over the city.

Ever since word got out that he was single again, the men in his social circle have been relentless. They want him to “get back out there,” find some young thing to do more than stroke his ego and remind him he’s still got it. Their concern isn’t for his happiness—it’s for their own validation. They want him to fall in line, to indulge like they do, to prove they’re all still kings of their own little worlds.

The idea of dating brings a faint migraine thumping at his temples. No way in hell. He doesn’t have it in him to go through first date purgatory of asking the same grueling questions, only to have nothing in common with the person at the end of the night. And his work acquaintances aren’t suggesting anything so conventional, anyway.

He’s lost count of how many times they’ve invited him to strip clubs or proposed outrageous tropical getaways filled with booze and paid company. They aren’t subtle about their misogyny, either. They brag about the escorts they’ve hired, the women they’ve bought for the night, offering him contact information like they’re handing out business cards. In case you get tired of using your fist all the time, they joke.

The detachment of sex is what he finds peculiar. It’s not about pleasure, it’s about seeking validation from other men while putting another notch at their bedpost. It’s why he rarely accepts their invitations. Avoiding their outings, distancing himself as much as he can… but only to a certain degree. Unfortunately, these men are his business partners, and in his world, he wasn’t exactly given the luxury of full separation.

The act of paying for sex isn’t the problem. He doesn’t care how they get their satisfaction, really, it only grates on him when their vulgarity spills into business meetings, when corporate lunches turn into competitions over who had the best night with the most expensive woman.

Take today, for example, when a longtime partner had sidled up to him as he was headed home for the day, practically shoving the phone into Marcus’s hands.

“Met this chick on that app I was telling you about and scored myself a date tonight. She’s hot.”

Marcus resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the way this grown man was waving the information around as if it were something to boast about. He barely glanced at the screen—a woman in a tight dress posing in front of a bar. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? Congratulations?

Before he had to give an answer, the elevator doors opened. A perfect escape. He handed the phone back and muttered a quick, “Have a good weekend,” stepping out and letting the doors shut on yet another conversation he wanted no part of.

Now he’s here, two and a half glasses of whiskey deep with a curiosity that feeds off his boredom. He retreats from his reprieve at the window, walking into the living room and settling on the couch. Flipping mindlessly through TV channels, nothing seems to hold his attention.

His fingers drum against the side of the glass cup before intrigue gives way, slipping a hand into the pocket of his sweatpants. He pulls out his phone, unlocking it with a swipe of his thumb, his whiskey resting loosely in his other hand.

With furrowed brows, Marcus navigates through his phone at an infuriatingly slow pace. He squints slightly, trying to read the small text, and his large thumbs fumble across the keyboard, leaving a string of typos that have him muttering curses under his breath. He misspells the damn thing twice until finally, the name of the ridiculous app pops up in the search results.

The little loading circle spins, downloading the application to his phone. When the prompt to open it appears, he hovers, as if contemplating if this is even worth it. A few seconds pass before the liquor in his system decides for him, opening the app with a tap.

The first thing it asks is if he’s the benefactor or the beneficiary. He huffs, taking a sip of his drink, choosing his role as the sugar daddy before ultimately filling in the blanks needed for an account set up. It all feels ridiculous, but what does he have to lose?

Then he reaches the About Me section and stops. The blinking cursor taunts him, he can’t help but scowl at it, whiskey swirling in his glass as he thinks. What do you say about yourself when you don’t even know what you want?

Marcus A. 50+. Chicago. Business Owner. Not sure what to say here. First time trying something like this. I prefer a strong drink over small talk, but I appreciate good conversation with someone who has something to say.

Not his best work, but he doesn’t dwell on it. He skips through the rest of the trivial questions—religion, favorite movies, hobbies. The longer the list grows, the more tedious it feels.

Then comes the photo prompt. Somehow, this feels like the hardest part.

Marcus scrolls through his camera roll and realizes most of his photos aren’t of him at all—just landscapes from his travels, on-site projects, plenty from his trips back home to Italy, but few that actually put him in the frame.

He settles on a lone one from an important dinner a few years back. It’s stiff, formal, but at least it’s something.

When he’s done, he studies the profile. Sparse. Impersonal. He’s not exactly proud of it, but he’s not here to impress anyone. He’s here to look—nothing more.

The next hurdle? Preferences.

He frowns slightly, finishing off his drink before setting the glass on the coffee table. He sinks further into the couch, glaring at the screen.

He sets the minimum to twenty-five. Mature enough to have lived a little, young enough that he isn’t limiting himself too much. Local, of course. No sense in complicating things.

With that, he’s finally done.

Marcus isn’t sure what he expected, but the more he scrolls, the less interested he becomes.

The app is filled with beautiful women—plenty of soft smiles, sultry gazes, perfectly angled selfies. Glossy, curated versions of themselves, posed just right, filters smoothing away any perceived imperfection. He sees them in designer bikinis lounging on yachts, captions that all seem to blur together. No hookups. Fluent in sarcasm. Just here for the pay pigs.

That last one gets a quiet chuckle out of him.

Nevertheless, it’s all the same. It bores the hell out of him. He swipes left again and again and again…

He’s about to call the whole thing immature bullshit when he comes across your profile.

No forced captions, no excessive filters, no painfully obvious attempts to curate some idealized version of yourself. You have a natural confidence, an ease in the way you present yourself. The way you talk about your interests—travel, food, new experiences—it doesn’t feel like a list of things meant to impress.

And then there are your pictures.

Your hair is thick, wild with curls, framing your face in a way that makes you look like you belong in the kind of old-world paintings he admires when he’s abroad. Your brown skin, kissed with warmth, glows under the soft light of a restaurant where you’re pictured, hands wrapped around a glass of wine, a knowing, almost amused look in your eyes. There’s another shot of you at a market, caught mid-laugh as you react to something just out of frame.

Marcus exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

Damn.

He doesn’t message you. Not yet.

He told himself that this app was just for curiosity, just to look and pass the time. He hadn’t expected to actually come across someone that made him consider.

The whole damn thing feels ridiculous. He’s a grown man, successful, established. And here he is, sitting alone in his penthouse, scrolling through an app designed to find a sugar baby of all things. What the hell is he even doing?

Without thinking about it, he taps the Super Like and immediately closes out the application.

You probably have a dozen other prospects already lining up in your messages, throwing out their best lines, trying to capture your attention. He’s just another name in the mix, another notification you might just skim over before moving on.

So be it, he got it out of his system—whatever that was. Some passing curiosity, a distraction fueled by whiskey and boredom. By tomorrow, he’ll be preoccupied with work, meetings, actual obligations, and the whole thing will be nothing more than a brief lapse of judgment. Maybe he should save himself the trouble and just delete the damn app now, wipe his profile along with it before he even has the chance to regret it.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he sighs, pushing himself up from the couch, stretching out the stiffness in his shoulders before making his way toward the bedroom. His night routine is as methodical as everything else.

Yet, as he settles into bed, he finds himself thinking about you and how for a moment, he had felt something he hadn’t in a long time—intrigue.

The next day flies by quickly for Marcus, swamped with the countless meetings lined up for him at the architectural firm. Overseeing a new development in the city took whatever time he might’ve thought he had, his poor assistants making multiple trips to the coffee shops nearby as the day progressed. He was already greatly familiar with the boost of caffeine running through his veins, growing more on edge with every file that lands on his desk.

By the time he got home, he was damn near slumping against his front door, tossing his keys in the trinket tray by the foyer, tugging off his blazer and throwing it over the edge of the couch while dragging his tired feet to the kitchen. Yanking on his tie and popping it off with one swift pull, he removes his cufflinks and folds the sleeves of his button down up to his forearms, plucking a few of the buttons from his collar to finally allow himself to breathe.

Reaching over to one of the cabinets, he grabs himself a glass, dropping in some ice cubes and taking his favorite brand of whiskey, filling it halfway. The headache building at his temples ebbs away as he gulps down the amber liquid, palms resting on the granite countertop under him. He merely stares at the stone, eyes blank and now deep in thought. A frustrated exhale leaves his aquiline nose, running a hand through his graying curls as the stress of the day radiates through every cell in his body.

He knows he should probably just order something for dinner tonight over cooking, his mind too fried to put together an ingredient list, and the thought of washing dishes was enough to force the decision for him.

Marcus refills his glass and takes his phone to the living room, turning on the TV and leaving the news to play for some background noise as he sorts through his options of what he might be able to stomach.

What was he even in the mood for? Italian? Korean? Chinese? Some lo-mein sounds good, maybe with an egg-roll or two? Yeah, that sounds about fine.

He calls his order in, finding some spare cash and picks it up from the lobby. He didn’t bother to remove his leather shoes when he took the elevator 50 floors down for the handoff, coming back up the same way until he was munching into an egg-roll covered in duck sauce on the couch.

Food long gone and the glass coffee table now cleared of his takeout, the gold watch on Marcus’ wrist reads 10:30 pm when he finds himself weary of the late night news turned mediocre comedy segment. Grabbing his phone and pinning a few emails for him to read over in the morning, he swipes to his apps menu, spotting the new dating application he had completely forgotten about since setting up his profile the night before.

Fuck it, what the hell.

With no thought, Marcus opens the app for a second time, watching the icon load on the screen before he lands on the main page. Swiping to the chats section, his screen explodes with the 99+ Super Likes he had gotten over the past 24 hours. Yet, he could care less of the other profiles he has to sort through. The only match that loads on his screen is from your account, an unread message he had gotten no notification of despite it sitting idly in his inbox for a day. Nervously, he taps at the message box, your icon popping up on the screen along with what you had sent last night.

“So you’re just going to super like my account and not say anything?”

The corner of his lip twitches when he reads that over, his eyes scanning over the sentence more than once with a raised eyebrow. His brain short-circuits as he tries to find a suitable response that doesn’t make a fool of himself. He’s positive he already looks like an idiot by having an account in the first place, but he’s gotten this far, might as well stick around.

After a few minutes of typing and deleting a singular sentence, he triple checks his spelling until he’s satisfied with what he came up with before hitting send.

Marcus A.: “Must’ve missed the chat option when I hit your profile. Didn’t mean to keep you waiting, I’m new to this whole thing.”

His screen updates with the dot under your profile turning green, a sign that you were active again. You definitely saw his message, and the three little dots he notices at the bottom make his pulse spike, anxiously waiting for what else you had to say to him.

“That’s okay. Figured you had other things going on. You look like a guy that has a lot on their plate, Mr. Businessman.”

Now he was smirking.

Marcus A.: “You have no idea.” He typed the reply and sent it, and you responded just as quickly.

“Try me.”

Should he talk about what he has to deal with on a daily basis with his work? Bore you with how he oversees the blueprints of different construction plans throughout the city and has extensive meetings that last all day? So much for a lasting first impression.

Marcus A.: “I wouldn’t want to bother you with work stuff. It’s not all that interesting.”

“I don’t mind really. I’m a little curious to know what takes up all of your time. Must be something serious if you’re all stressed out.”

No harm in being honest right?

Marcus A.: “Well, usually I have a lot of meetings and paperwork to handle while conducting new building developments in the city. But today was particularly hectic, I was swamped all day, probably drank way more coffee today than I had all year.”

Was that good enough? Not too much, not too little. Didn’t come off as petulant or like he wanted pity. This isn’t too bad, at least Marcus thinks so considering you were working on your reply.

“Sounds like a lot of intense work, lots of brain power. At least you have a team to help you out, takes a bit of the strain off your back. Hope you’re relaxing a bit now.”

Marcus A.: “Yeah, got home late but had some dinner. Just watching the news before I repeat the cycle tomorrow. How was your day?”

Bingo. Perfect bait and switch.

“Boring, honestly. Work was alright for the most part, finished a bit early. Ate a few hours ago, and was reading something before bed when I saw your message.”

Oh? Another avid reader?

Marcus A.: “What do you like to read?”

“A mix of things. Non-Fiction, Sci-Fi, History, Romance. It depends on my mood really, but right now it’s Circe by Madeline Miller.”

Marcus A.: “I read that a while back, it’s a pretty good book. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

“It definitely has my interest. I hit the halfway mark, so maybe I'll keep you updated once I finish it. :)”

Somehow, he wasn’t opposed to the idea.

Marcus A.: “I wouldn’t mind listening to your thoughts about it.”

The three little dots appear for a second before vanishing. Marcus stares at the screen for a beat longer, hoping it wasn’t just a fluke. Maybe he scared you off? Said the wrong thing, or something finally gave away just how out of touch he was to all of this. At this rate, he might as well get 50 & Divorced tattooed on his forehead in bright red ink.

There was no point in stressing out about this anymore, it’s late anyway, close to midnight and past his conscious bedtime. Switching the TV and lights off in the living room, he quickly showers and rinses the day off. Changing into some fleece pants and a baggy gray shirt, he brushes his teeth and spits out his mouthwash, flicking off the light as he steps into his bedroom.

As he slips into his too-big king sized bed, he untucks the cream sheets and rests his head on one of the many pillows, glaring up at the ceiling with a huff. Turning over to his side, he catches the lights of the downtown area reflecting by the window, trying his best not to think about how cold and empty the other side of his bed remained. With a sigh, he eases into slumber, hoping that whatever tomorrow brings will be significantly better than today.

The next day in his week was thankfully less hectic, but instead of document packets, his phone had been going off all day speaking to clients, other business partners, and suppliers. And that was only counting Chicago. He got other additional calls from properties in New York, Los Angeles, and now some new construction he’s attempting to get signed off in Miami. He was so preoccupied with his business phone that his personal device was left untouched for the majority of the day.

It was 8:00 pm when Marcus walks through the front doors of his penthouse, repeating the same mundane pattern of tending to his needs and finding something to keep himself occupied until he fell asleep. In the back of his head, he remembers the brief conversation he had with you last night, curiosity getting the best of him as he wonders if you left him something to read over this morning.

Tensely, he opens up the dating app, heading straight to his inbox to click on your unread message from 18 hours ago.

“Maybe I’ll send you a full book review. Put it in an episode of a podcast. I think it would do numbers.”

The circle on your icon is green now, and he rapidly types something so he doesn’t lose this momentum.

Marcus A.: “Forgive me for the terrible response time, I had another busy day in the office, dealing with non stop phone calls this time.”

The three little dots turn up again, and Marcus sighs in relief.

“No worries. You have things to handle, just part of being a working adult.”

If he wants to take his shot, he knows his best chance is to do it now.

Marcus A: “Actually, I’d like to get your number, if that’s alright. Me and this app don’t mix well. I wouldn’t want to give you the wrong idea and make you think you were being ignored.”

You begin typing before you disappear, the green circle now turning gray. He scared you off, maybe even gave you the ick when that was the last thing he wanted. Marcus was just doomed from the start, and getting on this app was a mistake. What would you even really want to do with an old man like him? It’s pitiful really.

Anxiously, he shuts his phone off and storms off into his bedroom, throwing some water on his face and getting into bed once more. He probably should’ve just went to sleep and left you alone, but his hands itch to see if you answered him. Twisting to get his phone from his bedside table and reopening the app, the empty space in his chest flutters when he sees you had left him a very clear yes with your entire phone number, right there for him to take it.

Copying and pasting your number into his phone, he sent you a quick text letting you know it was him, and you reassured him this was no problem, that you hated the app with a burning passion.

“I’m guessing it’s close to your bedtime now?”

Marcus A: “Unfortunately, I’m an old man remember? But, my phone will be on me tomorrow, so I’ll be around if you want to chat some more.”

“Sure thing, I’ll be around too. Don’t want to keep you up so I’ll let you go. Goodnight Marcus.”

He likes the way you say his name, type it out like it’s yours to say. With one last “goodnight”, his phone is off and his face is digging into the pillow underneath. For once, he is looking forward to tomorrow, and secretly hopes that you’d still be interested in talking some more. Maybe, he might just end up lucky.

Marcus quickly realizes he enjoys talking with you; at least when you both had the time to converse with each other, it was better than scrolling aimlessly on his phone. Texting is convenient for the most part when he can, sending little questions about you here and there, and you feed him breadcrumbs, still holding some control over how you want him to perceive you. He doesn’t mind, he’s mostly on your time, and if you want to play the cat and mouse game, he’ll play.

It was actually you that asked to call him the first time, a laconic talk just to hear his voice, to get a feel of him. Marcus didn’t know what to think of how you reacted to the way he spoke, but he knows hearing your voice might’ve been the catalyst to his growing interest in you. The conversation was short-lived, but it was good to hear you on the other end.

He has enough confidence to call you again later on in the week after work, a more extensive recap of both of your days. In the midst of laughing at a stupid joke he’s made, he’s thinking of the best way to formally ask you out. He’d been mulling over it for the past few days as you both tiptoed on getting to know one another, and he knows if he wants to take his shot, it has to be now.

“Out of curiosity, are you free Friday night?” He inquires, holding his phone close to his ear, anticipating every word you say.

“I might be, unless I just happened to forget my plans. Why?”

Shooter’s shot.

“I wanted to take you out to dinner. There’s this steakhouse downtown by Kinzie Street, really nice food, intimate setting, expensive wine or cocktails if that’s your thing. Think it would be a good time.”

“You had me at cocktails.” You both chuckled at that notion. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Does 7 work for you?”

“Make it 7:30. A girl needs time to get ready, Marcus. First impressions matter y’know?” It was his turn to laugh despite his hands sweating.

“Then I’ll come by at 7:30 and pick you up. Unless you want to go on your own, I can arrange a ride for you.”

You hummed on the other end of the line, contemplating your choices. Probably assessing what was the smartest way of getting out of the situation if things were to go horribly wrong.

“A ride to the place might be better. You don’t need to see me full of anxiety so early in the night.”

“Well, I want to see you either way. I’ll have my driver pick you up, alright? How does that sound?”

“Sounds perfect. It’s a date then.” There was no question or doubt from you, and he’s glad you were the one that determined what the occasion was.

“It’s a date. I’ll see you Friday night.”

The call ends, and Marcus missed how intense his heart had been beating in his ribcage the entire time. Setting a reminder to call the restaurant tomorrow to place the reservation, he spots the time on his phone screen blinking 11:45 pm on a Wednesday. Two more days until he gets to meet you face to face, and the thought alone brings an eerie sense of restlessness to his stomach.

He’s made it this far, there’s no way he could fuck this up, right?

Friday night rolls around, and the anxiety that’s been bubbling in Marcus’ gut since he asked you out to dinner rears its ugly head. He spent a significantly longer time getting ready, making sure to fit a haircut in during his lunch break and left some room for a beard trim after his extensive shower. Hyper focused on making the most ideal first impression, he dabbles some scented aftershave on his neck and mixes it in with a few spritz of his signature cologne, double checking to ensure it isn’t too overwhelming.

Sorting through the multitude of suits hanging in his closet, Marcus decides that sticking to what he knows would be the best thing for him. He pulls out a classic black suit set and matching dress shoes, foregoing a tie and leaving the first button undone, the skin of his neck slightly visible from the opening. Clicking his golden cufflinks into their designated slots, he finishes his look for the night with his golden watch on his left wrist and slipping on the emerald signet ring on his right pinkie. Before stepping out the door, he takes the bouquet of long stemmed roses he picked out for you, giving his styled curly hair a look over and walking out the front door.

Regardless of how put together he appears, he is anything but composed. Finding himself way out of his comfort zone, his lack of experience in the dating department catches up with him on his drive downtown. His phone rings with a message from you letting him know you’ve been picked up and will be meeting him soon. It was 7:15 pm when you sent that text, and the lump in his throat worsens his breathing the closer 7:30 pm comes.

He’s been mentally preparing for your arrival for the past ten minutes, repeatedly staring down at his watch or his phone to see if you’ve said anything else to him since your last message. Waiting out front, roses in hand, his mind resets to his default settings of methodical overthinking once it hits 7:35 pm.

Did you stand him up? No, maybe something happened on the commute. Must be sudden traffic, it is a Friday night after all. Or you finally came to your senses and your cold feet convinced you to turn his car around and head in the opposite direction.

By 7:40 pm, the familiar view of one of his Escalades rolling into the driveway quiets his mind, brown eyes focusing solely on the figure that steps out from the vehicle.

He is immediately struck.

The dress you’ve chosen is sinful in its simplicity—long-sleeved, form-fitting black fabric hugging every curve, sculpting you like it was made for your body alone. The light jacket you wear does little to hide your figure underneath it; the dress flows over your hips and clings to your waist, cuts off right above your knee leaving your calves bare for him to admire, not to mention the neckline teases just low enough to show the swells of your breasts.

Your curls are pulled back in a half-up style that showcases your beautiful features accentuated by your makeup, leaving the delicate slope of your neck bare—an invitation, a temptation. The golden accents—your earrings, your rings, and the necklace that rests against your collarbone—catch in the evening light, making your warm brown skin glow like you’re drenched in sunlight.

He swallows hard, his grip tightening around the bouquet in his hand as he watches you step forward, poised and self-assured, utterly unaware of the effect you have on him.

He’s staring. He knows he is, yet he can’t help it.

Because right now, with the city lights flickering behind you and that unreadable expression on your face as you scan the area for him, you look like something ethereal. Like a star that shot down from the sky and landed right in front of him, impossibly real, impossibly his for the night.

He stands frozen in awe of you until your glossy lips move, talking to him in the flesh.

“Marcus, right?” you ask, holding on to your purse with one hand. “I’m so sorry for being late, the traffic was more active than usual. I hope I didn’t ruin anything?”

He finally finds his voice in the next couple of blinks.

“No, it’s alright. It’s a Friday night, I forget everyone else has plans set.” That gets you to laugh, and he exhales at the break in tension. “You look beautiful.” It’s sincere as he says it, and from the way you smile at his words, he thinks he’s doing something right.

“You don’t clean up too bad yourself.” You were a witty one, at least from the tone of your voice and demeanor, he can tell this wasn’t your first rodeo. “You didn’t have to get me flowers.”

“I wouldn’t be a gentleman if I came empty handed. A little birdie told me that first impressions matter, remember?” The corner of your mouth curls up at the way he echoes your words from two nights ago, a light chuckle escaping you. He extends his arm to hand you the bouquet, observing your reaction as he did so.

“They’re lovely, thank you,” your voice softens as you speak to him, a faint warmth settling on your cheeks under your makeup.

“Of course. Ready to go inside?” He suggests, and with a nod you take a step forward to the restaurant’s entrance.

As the hostess ushers you through the restaurant, Marcus keeps the steady weight of his palm on your lower back, just the right amount of pressure to not seem too forceful. You are brought to a more quiet section of the place, a few other dining patrons nearby but limited in number. The setting is intended to be intimate with the dim warm-toned lighting, a mixture of stone and archived pictures of an industrialized Chicago decorating the walls around you.

The hostess steps away once you reach your table, and Marcus swiftly helps you remove your thin jacket, placing it on the edge of your chair and pulling it out for you to take a seat, pushing you in afterward. Now situated in your designated place, the older man steps around you, watching him as he undoes the front button of his suit jacket before sitting down, looking in your direction and offering a gentle smile. Mimicking his expression, you drop the flowers at the center of the table, feeling the delicate tablecloth in front of you.

“Have you been here before?” He queries once you are both settled, a waiter coming by to fill your glasses with water.

“No, I’ve been trying to score a reservation here for months but I heard it’s been booked out way in advance. Not entirely surprised you found a way to grab a table so quickly, but color me shocked.”

“I’m a man of many talents. It’s a good thing you found me when you did.” The same waiter from before returns to pass the menu, prepared to give the tailored list of the chef’s specials for the night. “Feel free to indulge. Get whatever you like.”

As tempting as the invitation is, you are more than conscious of what you order off the menu. Playing it safe with a classic salad, a hearty steak, and two glasses of wine that leave you satisfied in terms of appetite. Marcus surprisingly does a good job of keeping you engaged throughout the night with simple conversation, easing into the comfortably of letting his curiosity speak for itself with the questions he asks. Though, he quickly comes to realize you’re charismatic with your responses, almost trained to know what to expect, how to answer and the tone you should be using.

It’s by the time the entree hits your table and you finish your first glass of wine that you loosen up, flipping his questions back to him, finding out more about his career, who he is, his likes and dislikes. Your grin widens more with every sip of your drink, pacing yourself to be sensible in your consumption while you eat.

Now almost finished with your second glass of expensive red, you swirl the last drops that pool at the bottom of the glass. You glance at him from across the table, eyeing him closely with a hint of mischief. He mirrors your expression, his cheek dimpling as he looks at you from the other end.

“You’re an awfully observant man, Marcus.” You remark, a slight edge to your voice, glossy lips staining the rim of your glass as you finish off your drink.

“When something is deserving of my attention, I have a habit of not cheapening out.” He playfully shrugs, his glass running empty a while ago, declining a refill as he’s taking it easy tonight. “Are you in the mood for dessert?”

Whether he meant the next course or something else, that was for him to know and for you to find out. Though, as enticing the prospect is to take it there, you don’t want to misread the situation beyond what it is.

“I actually don’t think I have room for anything else, the steak did a number on me.” An upbeat giggle pours out of you, and he laughs along with you.

“Then unless you want another glass of wine, I can ask for the check. Or…” his voice drifts off, the suspense grabbing your attention.

“Or?” That’s when he sees it, a spark of intrigue that fills him with a boldness he’s been harboring since sitting down at this table.

“Or you can join me for a drink, back at my place, if you’d like of course. If not, I can drop you off at home before heading back to mine.” Marcus is asking you to go back home with him, at least that’s what he thinks. Yet, it almost seems like it’s more than a suggestion, but a subdued command. Not that you’re complaining, you were hoping he’d ask at some point.

“Sure, I wouldn’t mind another drink.”

He tries to hide his surprise at your answer, but after seeing the faint gleam in your eye, his cheek dimples once more.

With a quick gesture of his hand, Marcus whips out his black card and covers the tab, his palm taking its place on our tailbone as you both walk out of the restaurant together. His tinted Escalade rolls onto the street, and he steps to the side to let you in first, closing the door behind him and setting his address as the next destination. Throughout the ride, there is a comfortable distance between you, stuck on opposite ends in the backseat, throwing each other side glances when looking away from the window, a smile here and there. Still, he keeps his hands to himself, thick fingers thrumming on his lap and you hold your bag in yours, the anticipation of seeing where the older man lived incrementing inside you.

Twenty minutes later and a brief dinner recap, he extends his hand to help you out of the car, faintly squeezing your fingers as he does. He remains steadfast in keeping his touch on your lower back as he guides you through the lobby hall, the doorman greeting you both whilst passing him.

Entering the elevator, he taps part of his key on the scanner and presses the PH button at the very top of the selection, what you assume to be the penthouse. He gives you a knowing look, a gleam in his eyes as you’re sent up higher in this modernized building.

Crossing through the hallway that awaits you once the elevator doors open, you are brought to a pair of double doors. Allowing Marcus to formally unlock the door, you step into his space for the first time, and you can’t help the gasp that slips out of you.

Guided through the foyer of his apartment, you find high rise ceilings and earthy tones surrounding you, hints of creams and metallic accents left everywhere to find. The kitchen is fully decked out with modern stainless steel appliances and light wooden cabinets, a marble island taking the empty space in the middle. The open concept layout allows you to see the living room, sunken into the floor at a lower level, spotting a plush dark brown L shaped couch with smaller cream cushions behind a deep wooden coffee table, paired with a twin set of auburn armchairs and an overarching lamp between them. A fireplace is built into the accent wall, a plasma screen TV seamlessly hanging in contrast to the wooden panels that cover that portion of the room.

You can tell there is probably more for you to discover, another hallway that would allow you passage to an office or his bedroom, but that will be left for another day. What really catches your eye is the wall of books to the farthest side of the room, close to the frosted windows and balcony that grant a perfect view of the Chicago Loop area at night. The shelving carries a catered collection of works that were found over the years, and your curiosity piques to see what titles he might have in there.

The space is gorgeous, surprisingly warm and inviting, simultaneously masculine and calming. A harmonization of colors and textiles all in one space. You envy him just a tad for having such a nice apartment, though you might consider this one to be the best interior you’ve seen so far.

“What do you think? Hopefully it’s not too much,” you hear Marcus utter from behind you, taking off his suit jacket and hanging it off to the side. He offers to take off your overcoat, allowing his hands to lightly caress over your shoulders as he tugs the layer off, hanging it next to his. He also grasps the bouquet you’re holding, setting it down on the table closest to the door to grab later on your way out.

“I think you’re a man of fine taste for both exteriors and interiors.” You continue to marvel at your current backdrop. “Did you design all of this too?”

“Partially. Worked with an interior designer to figure out the dimensions of things, what exactly I needed to achieve my vision. But for the most part, the colors, textures and where everything goes was all me. The sunken living room was definitely my idea, did not sit well with the building managers but they came around.”

“I’m amazed you managed to get away with that.”

“You pick up a few things here and there the more you learn about the industry.” He looks at your side profile for a second before he speaks again. “Do you still want that drink?”

“That depends. What do you have?” You turn on your heel to face him, a coy smile on your pretty face.

“Anything really. Wine, whiskey, I can mix a drink for you if you’d prefer that.” For some reason, the potential of seeing Marcus make a drink tugs at your chest. Taking a second to think of a solid option, you settle on a reasonable cocktail.

“You know how to make a whiskey sour?” You watch the way his face quirks up at your choice of drink.

“Sure do. Make yourself at home.”

Marcus wanders off to the kitchen where he has what looks to be a whole bar built into a portion of the sectioned off room. You walk around the space he’s tailored to be his, running your fingertips over the edge of the couch and admiring the paintings hanging on the wall by the bookshelves. Scanning over the varying book titles, you note the multiple accounting and real estate books, some shelves primarily only having that with the rest filled with classics you recall him mentioning to you in passing.

The sound of ice shaking forces your attention back to Marcus whose focus was primarily in making your drink. From the corner of your eye, you see he has his sleeves rolled up his forearm, his bicep flexing as he holds the shaker in his broad hand, moving it with efficiency, a curl falling over his forehead from the effort. You look away when he pops the top off of the shaker, hoping he didn’t see you ogling him longer than you should have.

Playing clueless, your eyes land on a certain part of his book collection, titles relating to history and the world catching your eye, global wars and conquests amongst other things. You were too busy scanning the spines of the different books to notice Marcus observing you as he walked in your direction with a glass in each of his hands. Turning once you feel his presence by your side, you whisper a thank you and take your drink, tentatively sipping through the small straw he offered you, to taste the perfect mix of lime and aged rye.

“How is it? I eased up on the whiskey, figured you wouldn’t want something too strong.”

“You should’ve done bartending instead of real estate. Bet you would be a hit with the ladies, make a hell of a lot of tips.” Marcus chuckles, a pleasant sound that emits through him.

“Guess the mixing classes are paying off.”

A coltish smirk lands on your face in amusement, tilting your head to the bookshelf to grab his attention. “Wouldn’t take you as a history buff.”

“What can I say? I like learning about the world, the past shaping the present and influencing the future. Plus, it keeps me well rounded as one would say, pairs well with traveling.” You hum with a nod, pointing to a specific title you notice.

“SPQR: A History of Ancient Rome by Mary Beard. I was obsessed with Ancient Rome when I was a kid, well that and mythology. Sort of ironic considering you’re from there, you’d fit in.”

“It’s a special interest of mine, but I’m curious about the history of the general area, besides what’s been passed down by family members.” He states casually, letting you wander around a bit more before heading to the couch in his living room, his hand instantly holding yours as you step down into the sunken floor along the way.

With every sip of your cocktail, you find yourself more entranced by Marcus, your eyes drawn to the muscles in his arm contracting when he takes a gulp of his whiskey. Time flies by as you converse more with him, the ice melting in your glass as you sit your empty cup on the coffee table. Your heels are now somewhere scattered on the floor, legs folded over one another as you lean into the couch on your side, facing your date. He stays seated on the corner of the couch, body angled towards the fireplace and his legs spread with his hands on his leg as he listens to you talk.

“You never mentioned it, you know, why you’re on the app to begin with. You don’t seem like the kind of man to bother with this whole sort of thing.”

“And why do you think that?” He twists his head to look at you, curious in your reasoning.

“You’re too smart to be bullshitting around with anything, and I think relationships are the same. Something happened along the way, no?”

Ah, there it is, the feared question. Why was he on that app? Originally it was a joke, he wasn’t taking it seriously, and yet here he is, sitting on the couch with someone from a sugar daddy app of all places. He could lie to you, say he just wanted some company for the night just to save his own ass. But one look at your face and he knew the last thing he wanted to do was use the usual facade that fed the void in his chest.

He pauses for a beat before finding his words.

“I was married for a few years. The divorce was finalized a few months ago, but feels like it happened way before that.”

“I’m sorry, Marcus.” Your palm flies to his knee in a supporting pat, the action not lost to him as warmth springs from your touch for a moment before taking it back.

“There’s nothing to apologize for. Things just didn’t work out, it wasn’t in the cards.” He fidgets with the ring on his right hand, a nervous tick he’s adopted over time as the air thickens in the room. Moving the spotlight from himself, he flips the question to you. “And what about you? Why were you on the app?”

“Honestly, I forgot I still had an account after doing this a few times, never really worked out in the past. I was about to deactivate my profile when I saw your super like. Didn’t want to pass up the opportunity, so I answered. Besides, I was curious about you.”

“You must’ve had hundreds of profile matches at that point.” You chortle under your breath.

“Oh, please. You open the app and it’s just all up in your face. It’s so…overwhelming. But if it’s any comfort, you were the only account I liked back.”

Marcus’ neck pivots to peer at you, sincere in your confession to him. He fights the urge to have his lips curve upwards, instead he shifts his gaze back down to the floor with a shake of his head.

“You flatter me.”

“I’m serious,” you jest, straightening your back and jokingly slapping his bicep. “You’re sitting here acting like you didn't have hundreds of likes coming out of the woodworks.”

“Seeing that high number took me off guard, I’m surprised my phone didn’t glitch from it and I was spared from getting a headache. But I didn’t really care much for the rest. I liked your account and turned my phone off, called it a day.”

Your eyes bore on to Marcus’ face, staring at him incredulously. “You didn’t.”

“I did. Lots of beautiful women on there, don’t get me wrong. However, I’m more particular about what I like.” He ogles at you, as if he needed to make it any more obvious he found you attractive. The thought brings heat to your cheeks, the alcohol doing wonders to lower your inhibitions.

Your sight detours to his hand where his thumb runs over the emerald signet ring on his pinkie, your curiosity getting the best of you.

“What’s with the ring?” You jut your chin out to point to the shiny piece of jewelry.

“Family heirloom. Been in my family since my grandfather, went to my father, and now passed down to me. Just something I mess with often.”

“Can I see it?” You move your hand towards him, suggesting that you want to see the emerald piece up close.

Marcus offers you his hand, your fingers grazing his palm as you look at the ring. He tries his best not to think too much about the way your touch feels, how your soft fingers sweep his calloused ones as you examine the way the ring circles around his thick digit, running your thumb over the emerald stone at the center.

To his disbelief, you bring his hand to your cheek, his knuckles caressing over your jaw and ear before guiding it towards your neck. The knuckle of his pointer finger rasps the front of your throat and the divot of your collarbone, your fingers circling his wrist and slowly bringing his touch down the middle of your chest. His heart pounds in his ribs when you drag his hand over your midriff before placing it on your waist, comfortably laying on your hip and he gives you a nervous squeeze.

Swiftly, you shift your position on the couch, bending on your knees to crawl towards his lap. Marcus watches you the entire time, leaning backwards and letting you get situated with zero protest. The end of your dress rides up your thighs slowly, your hands on his chest, sensing the tension radiating off of him in waves. He keeps both of his hands on your waist, his head angled back to hold your gaze, concealing the groan that threatens to escape from feeling your body over his.

“Is this okay?” You ask, seeing him nod. “Marcus…” you entice him with a whisper, leaning towards him, the tips of your noses edging together. “I really want to kiss you.”

Marcus’ eyebrows shoot up to his forehead as he gawks at you, slightly tipsy from your earlier drink coursing through your veins. He’s considerate enough to keep his hands on your waist, holding you steady as you stare at him with stars in your vision.

“Can I kiss you? Please?” You press yourself against him, one hand on his chest as your words captivate him. His focus lingers in your hazy eyes, then drifts to your lips, watching how they part subconsciously with every breath. Succumbing to his desires, he nods again, and you tip forward to slot your mouth over his.

It’s the lightest of pecks, brief and sweet enough to not overwhelm either of you, a test of boundaries. You briskly pull away, carefully watching Marcus’ reaction, reading his body language to see whether or not he wants to pause or keep going. He squeezes your waist, and that is all the initiative you need to kiss him again.

With a faint grin, you offer him another peck, then another, and another. After every kiss, the gloss on your lips fades and transfers to his mouth, and by the fourth peck, he pinches your chin and brings you forward to kiss you with more intention. Your body ignites with the prolonged feel of his mouth against yours, the curve in your spine deepens and your hands move on their own.

Marcus lets you lead him into the kiss, following your pace and sighing in content when your fingers thread through the hair on his nape, tugging the strands a little to angle his head differently. A groan rumbles in his chest from your touch, taking advantage of this position and teasing your tongue over his bottom lip, signaling you want to taste more of him.

Granting you passage, his mouth opens to welcome your tongue, curling around his own and keeping your grip on him. Slanting your head to the side to get the right angle, your body inches nearer as your hips press over his. Without much thought, his hands move up your back, the feel of his palms a comfort against your heated skin, trailing lower to cup your ass. The action forces you to gasp, pulling away to find darkened brown eyes staring at you carefully and bringing his hands back to your waist, the start of an apology dying on his lips before you interrupted him. “It’s okay, Marcus. You can touch me.” You coax his hand down to your lower back, fingers intertwined with his and urging him to squeeze your tender flesh. “I want you to touch me.”

He doesn’t need any more convincing, the desire he’s been carrying all night dominates the rest of his self-doubt. Palming your ass with one hand and keeping the other on your side, he swoops in for another passionate kiss, more comfortable in initiating this time around. You simply let him have it, the edge of your dress riding up your thighs as your hips settle over his, the center of you pulsing after another greedy squeeze.

The need for his attention grows more ravenous as you sit prettily over his lap, carding your fingers through his graying strands. Discreetly, your hips hesitantly shift over his hips, feeling the evident bulge developing under your thigh. Marcus bites your bottom lip at your slight movement, pushing his hips closer to yours as his cock hardens in his slacks.

Plucking your lips away from his, you litter kisses over his cheek and the side of his jaw, nipping at the juncture where his jaw meets his neck. He grunts when you finally reach his neck, gliding your tongue over the vein that pulses along with the rest of him. Head thrown back on the edge of the couch, he lets you touch him however you want, kneading your rear with his thick fingers, skimming over more of your bare skin as your dress moves higher up your body.

It all feels too good, the realization of just how touch deprived he is hits him like a ton of bricks. Here you are sitting on his lap, grinding against him in such a way he can feel your heat through his clothes, your scent wafting under his nose with your close proximity. It’s almost too much for him to take.

And he doesn’t want you to stop.

Controlling your movements over him, you adopt a steady rhythm gyrating your body against his thighs, his hands encouraging you with every push and pull. Your panties begin to stick to you, the gluttony enrapturing you growing to new heights as the erection hidden under expensive material twitches the harder you grind. Decorum out of the window, Marcus fantasizes what it must feel like to be between your legs; imagines if you taste just as sweet as you smell, or if your cunt would tighten and clench around him when he brought you to the edge over and over again until the only thing you remembered was his name.

His own imagination paired with your incessant humping forces his body to hit his peak prematurely, shuddering under you with a rasped groan. You’re stunned as his body betrays him, the bump in his pants deflating once the wave of pleasure is done washing over him, his grip tightening around your hips.

The air around you crackles despite the silence, stiff as you observe the man underneath you trying to catch his breath. You can tell he wasn’t expecting this to happen, much less to feel so much he ended up spilling in his briefs from a little bit of kissing and movement. His bearded cheeks are shaded with hints of pink and his eyes distantly off to the side, avoiding your observant gaze.

“Fuck, I am so sorry,” Marcus starts, the self deprecating thoughts running rampant in his head from his mediocre performance.

He curses himself, thinking he should’ve been better prepared for this, maybe jerked off before the date to begin with in hopes he would last longer. This certainly is a first for him, coming prematurely like a fucking teenager was not something he’s known for, and should be reason enough to bury him six feet under from the embarrassment.

“Don’t be. Honestly, it’s kind of flattering,” you affirm bashfully as the last bits of your arousal settle in your gut. “I think it’s hot.”

“Really?” Marcus flexes his eyebrows, seeking your reassurance.

“Feeling so good you just couldn’t help yourself? It’s sexy. I’ll take it as a compliment,” you express, kissing him sweeter than you had for the past thirty minutes. “I can clean you up if you want…”

Your hushed words make his cock twitch again despite already making a mess in his briefs. His mind is going into overdrive, envisioning you on your knees, pretty mouth wrapped around his length and your manicured nails handling the rest.

Next time.

“No, it’s alright. I’d rather repay the favor.” Sure, it might’ve appeared to be a form of damage control, but the reality is he’s developed a craving that only you could satisfy.

“You don’t have to Marcus, it’s fine really. I don’t mind.”

“I’m not the kind of man to leave a woman unsatisfied. Not in my character.” He kisses you again, reviving the same familiar pulse from between your legs. “Let me make you feel good.”

A whimper threatens to slip past your lips, but you swallow it down. From the way he kissed your lipstick off, you wondered what it would feel like to have his mouth on another part of you, granting you something you desperately needed since getting in the car from the restaurant. Reason had already left your mind a while ago, and your body spoke of your intentions before you confirmed them yourself, muttering an airy okay with a nod.

You barely register how smoothly he maneuvers you, the shift so seamless it feels like second nature. You’re sinking into the couch, your back meeting the plush cushions as he takes control.

Marcus doesn’t rush. He never does. Not in business, not in conversation, and certainly not in bed.

But right now, with you spread out on his couch, looking at him like you’re daring him to take whatever he wants, he feels something hungry unravel inside him.

He moves with intention, mouth against yours in a deep, passionate kiss. Your spine arches, breasts pressed up against his chest, fingers ghosting over his shoulders, clenching when he drags his lips from yours to your jaw, then down your neck.

You smell divine.

He lingers at your neck as he inhales against your skin, your perfume an aphrodisiac that disorients him, fogging his mind. It makes a groan vibrate deep in his chest, the sound sending goosebumps over your skin, your nipples hardening beneath the fabric of your dress.

Marcus cups your tits in his large hands, relishing the weight of them, the way they fill his palms so perfectly. He squeezes, kneading the satin-covered flesh, his thumbs dragging over stiffened peaks.

His deep exhale fans over your plump breasts before he continues downward, dragging slow, open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat. His facial hair grazes your skin, a delicious contrast to the softness of his lips.

He licks the swells of your chest, teeth nipping at the supple skin, making you yelp playfully and you can feel the small smirk that pulls at his lips before he moves lower, veiled brown eyes flitting up to your flustered face as his tongue mouths your nipple over the dress, biting down on it softly.

“You like that?” He asks, already knowing the damn answer, the satin dampening beneath his tongue as he flicks and sucks at the hardened bud.

“Yes, Marcus…” The breathy sigh of his name is like music to his ears, neck tilting back as your eyes flutter close when he repeats the action on your other breast, kneading its twin in his large hand.

“You are so gorgeous.”

He shifts again, going lower, pushing the skirt of your pretty dress up until it’s bunched at your waist. His palms are warm and firm as he trails kisses above your mound, teasing you with his descent. Your thighs twitch under his touch, anticipation buzzing through you like an electric current.

He spreads your legs wide, pushing them up to your chest and keeping you in the position he wants by pressing his hands to the back of your thighs near where your knees bend.

The sight of your barely covered sex is more erotic than if you had forgone the undergarment all together. Short, dark curls tease him over the flimsy hem of your panties and his cock stirs at the sight despite the mess he’s already made in his slacks.

“She’s real pretty.” His voice drops an octave, the rasp in it making the compliment sound wanton. Your hips move on their own ever so slightly, a natural reaction your pussy is having to his tone, chasing the sound.

Marcus hums, a quiet sound of appreciation, feeding off every little tic of yours. His lips part slightly, tongue rolling over them as his attention remains on your thong.

Thin black lace, skimpy. Practically useless.

His fingers toy with the waistband, slipping beneath it, testing the stretch. Then, with a little too much enthusiasm, he pulls and it gives, the sound of the fabric tearing setting you off even more.

He almost scoffs. The material of it feels expensive beneath his touch yet it rips so easily. He could easily buy you a hundred of these. Better.

Your eyes lazily find his and for a moment, there’s nothing but a silent exchange between you—a subtle tilt of your head, the slight arch of your brow, questioning. Are you really going to do it?

His smirk is slow, knowing. A dimple dents his cheek.

Yes.

And with that, he grips the lace and rips the damn thing off, throwing it over his shoulder. The ruined panties fall onto the coffee table behind him, forgotten.

Now you’re completely bare, the lips of your pussy spread from how he’s got your legs parted, sex aching and glistening beneath the dim opulent lighting. A perfect, needy mess just for him.

The soft trail of hair that leads down to your pretty cunt has Marcus leaning in, nuzzling his strong nose against you, inhaling the musky scent that lingers there, letting it invade his senses and seep into his bloodstream like an intoxicant.

His tongue follows next, broad and slow, dragging up the length of the strip, savoring the contrast of coarse curls against the slick warmth of his mouth. The taste of you spreads across his tongue, earthy and sweet. You let out a drawn out moan, palms sinking into the couch as you attempt to ground yourself amidst the sensation.

“Shit,” the curse word is muttered, barely audible as you feel delirious from feeling him so close to where you need him. You don’t remember how long it’s been since you craved the touch of a man like this, and it doesn’t help that the alcohol you’ve been consuming all night is amplifying your lust.

Your pussy flutters involuntarily, a fresh trickle of sweet arousal slipping lower, trailing down to the curve of your ass.

Marcus is enraptured, taking in your exposed, creamy flesh, how your smell infiltrates his nose and it’s like his eyes gloss over with a carnal desire to devour you, eat you until you’re crying and begging him to stop.

He needs to reel it in, remind himself that it’s only the first night. He can’t overwhelm you too quickly, scare you away before he’s able to show you what he’s truly capable of. Of how good he can actually make you feel.

“So wet,” he mutters as he maps wet, open-mouthed kisses along your inner thighs. His fingers sink into the soft, pliant flesh, squeezing, kneading—reverent in his touch. He drags his lips closer, his breath ghosting over your messy cunt, teasing but never quite giving.

“Hard to hold back when you’re spread out like this,” he murmurs, nosing against the sensitive crease where your thigh meets your core. “But fuck, sweetheart… I don’t think I want to.”

“Didn’t get the impression that you could hold back.” The timbre of your tone makes him pause, pulling away slightly to look at you properly.

“If I really let you have it…you’d already be begging me to let you breathe.”

The glint of amusement that flickers through your gaze is gone in a blink, replaced by unguarded desire.

“I can handle it.”

His smoldering stare rises to meet yours, narrowing just slightly, a silent challenge passing between you. His thumbs press into your skin as if testing the truth of your statement.

You’re bracing yourself beneath his touch, muscles tensing in anticipation, as if proving to him that your words aren’t just bravado. You mean them. You want this. You want him.

Good. He wants you to need this as badly as he does.

The first swipe of his tongue is slow, savoring, as if he’s tasting something forbidden, something he’s been denied for too long. But patience? That doesn’t last. It shatters the second he gets his first real taste, and the groan that rumbles deep in his chest is downright filthy.

Marcus is gone.

He buries himself into your pussy, tongue dragging flat up your slit before going taut and flicking up to your clit, testing what makes you gasp and elicit more of those sweet noises that fill his ears.

“Oh Marcus, just like that.” It’s as if he flips a switch that has your words pouring out. “You’re doing so good.”

Your praise melts into him, impassioning him. He’s been craving this kind of lust for years. It’s been too fucking long since he let himself indulge in his roaring sexual appetite.

He swirls your sensitive nub around with his tongue, sealing his lips around the pert flesh. He suckles on it, making out with your pussy, having you wail out like an aching woman.

Marcus thrives off the way your hips rock toward his mouth, groaning like he’s savoring a meal far more decadent than the dinner from earlier tonight.

Your heady and potent taste drowns his taste buds, clit pulsing against his tongue—all of it is enough to make him lightheaded. His big hands curl around your thighs, pulling you somehow closer, the friction of his nose and beard rubbing against your pussy making you keen and further lose yourself in the pleasure he is giving you.

“Fuck don’t stop, oh my god.” Your sounds turn pornographic, tugging at his hair while your other hand moves up to palm your own breast, the fabric of your dress slipping until your chest is exposed, nipples sensitive to the cool air.

The hand at your left thigh traverses up, nudging your hand out of the way and you let him grab a handful of your tit. The growl he emits vibrates against your sex as his fingers begin to roll and pull at the perky bud.

Marcus’ tongue then slips inside your fluttering entrance, fucking into you as his aquiline nose rubs your slick pearl.

The obscene sounds of his mouth working you over fill the room—sucking, slurping, the guttural groans that rumble from his chest every time he dives back in like he can’t get enough. Because he can’t. He’s drunk on you, addicted after only minutes, and the more you writhe beneath him, the more he loses himself in it.

Marcus. Marcus. Marcus. His name becomes a hymn as your orgasm looms, taunting you, threatening to end this beautiful, salacious act despite you wanting to live in this pocket of pleasure for the rest of the night.

You did not expect him to be this good or fucking eager. Most men treat a woman’s pleasure like an afterthought, something to be checked off a list before they roll over and chase their own release. But not him. He’s eating like he’s never going to get the chance again, showing you with every flick of his tongue, every messy, open-mouthed kiss to your cunt, exactly how much he enjoys this.

Your hand moves on instinct, covering his where it grips your breast, your nails raking over his knuckles and the sleek face of his expensive watch, dragging down until you can feel the veins running beneath his skin. His tongue doesn’t slow, doesn’t falter, even as you babble through a desperate plea.

“I’m right there, mmm don’t stop, please.”

You gyrate against his handsome face, claiming him in the messiest, most unceremonious way, coating his chin, his nose, those full lips that have been driving you insane all night.

He can feel your desperation in how your fingers clench his hair or how your other hand moves to grip the back of the couch, back arching high off the cushions. You’re unraveling for him, and fuck, that just makes him want to push you further.

Marcus doesn’t need his fingers to make you come. Just his mouth. Just his tongue plunging into you, curling, lapping up everything you give him, working you until you’re trembling—until those soft gasps turn into ragged, broken moans.

And when you finally finish, when you sob his name like it’s the only thing you know, Marcus still does not stop.

He takes your orgasm, drinks it down, tongue still lapping at your sex as your thighs snap shut around his head, as if you’re trying to pull him deeper, to keep him there. And he lets you smother him, lets himself drown in you.

It’s overwhelming. Your vision blurs, lashes wet with tears, streaks of mascara and eyeliner running down your cheeks. You’re coming apart under the relentless assault of his mouth again, your second orgasm stretching, rolling, growing into something bigger than yourself.

“I—I—” The words tangle in your throat, lost in the heat of it all, stolen by the wicked, practiced flicks of his wet muscle. When he pulls back, it’s only to drag his tongue over his bottom lip, hollowing his cheeks and spitting filthily onto your throbbing cunt.

“Thought you could handle it?” He taunts before diving back in, both hands returning to keep you firmly against his face.

You can’t think straight, thoughts slipping through your grasp like water. “T-Too much, oh—” you attempt to pull your hips away, body writhing as if you were a possessed woman, the overstimulation of it all feeling like you’re burning from the inside out in the best way possible.

But Marcus keeps you locked down tightly, staring intensely up at you, letting the edges of his teeth graze along your sensitive clit. A white-hot jolt of sensation rockets up your spine and makes you scream so high-pitched, you’re sure the windows of his penthouse rattle from the force of it.

Your back bows violently, stiffening as the pleasure crashes over you, unexpected and devastating. Your release gushes out in a messy, sinful rush, soaking the lower half of his face. Marcus groans deeply, slurping it, shaking his head against your cunt to smear it all over, the primal feel of it all only intensifying with each drop of yours that he tastes.

Only when you finally slump against the couch, spent and trembling, does he ease up, pressing lingering kisses to your clit, enjoying how your pussy twitches from coming so hard. A thin string of your essence clings to his lips as he finally—reluctantly—pulls back, breathing heavily, dragging the back of his hand across his slick beard.

The blissfully wrecked look on your face is one that’s going to be burned into the back of his eyelids for eternity. It’s in this moment; as he takes in your swollen lips, ruined makeup, and your ravished body, that something in him clicks. It makes Marcus recognize that whatever this is sprouting between you two is something he wants to continue to chase.

He flashes you a lopsided smirk, one that deepens when the single curl falls onto his forehead. Kisses are placed on each quivering inner thigh in an attempt to soothe the tremors still running through your body, before he begins his ascent, reversing the path that led him to the heaven between your legs.

The skirt of your dress is smoothed down with careful hands, his large fingers tugging the fabric into place, covering you as if he’s tucking away something precious. Then, with the same tenderness, he draws the neckline back over your chest. But his lips don’t stop their journey. They find your neck, trailing up to your jawline, the corner of your mouth—teasing—before finally claiming your lips.

The smell of your pussy clings to him as he kisses you passionately, making you taste yourself. It makes the kiss filthier, his mouth moving against yours with the same fervor he’d shown between your thighs. You whimper into him, feeling the lazy roll of his tongue as he takes his time with you. Neither of you wants to break the moment.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, still kneeling between your legs, his hand coming up to cradle your face, thumb grazing your cheek before tugging at one of the curls that’s slipped loose from your updo. “Taste so good, too.”

Your smile comes naturally—not coy, not calculated, but soft, bubbling over, breathless. There’s a twinkle in your eyes, and Marcus feels himself get lost in it, entranced by the way you look at him. If this is what he’s rewarded with every time he makes you come, then he’ll gladly do it over and over again.

“Thank you for not holding back,” you finally manage, your voice still wrecked, but carrying that teasing lilt. Your fingers weave into his curls, tugging lightly as you take him in—his dark, blown-out gaze, the shine of your slick still glistening on his beard. “Even if it looked like I was tapping out there for a second. You’ve got real magic in that mouth of yours.”

Marcus huffs out a laugh. “Thanks.” His brown eyes soften while he wipes the streaks of your makeup away with his thumb. You could stay like this all night, just looking, feeling, letting the attraction simmer until it boils over and you’re tangled in his sheets with his name on the tip of your tongue.

But you both know better. This is something to savor and let breathe, allowing chemistry to take the lead.

“Did you enjoy yourself tonight?”

“More than I anticipated.”

The answer strokes something deep in his chest, an ego he rarely lets get the better of him. But with you? He allows it, just a little.

“I’d like to keep seeing you. If it wasn’t obvious.”

You sigh, still reeling from his ministrations, tilting your head, unable to stop drinking him in. “Same here. You are a very intriguing man, Marcus.”

“And you are a very fascinating woman.” He gently takes the wrist of the hand in his hair, bringing it to his lips, placing a kiss on your palm. It makes your heart stutter. “I’ll call the driver to take you home if you want to go freshen up.”

You raise an eyebrow, teasing, “Oh? You’re kicking me out?”

“If you want to stay, be my guest.”

The invitation lingers in the air between you, heavy with temptation. And it is tempting, yet despite the fact that he had his mouth buried between your thighs not even five minutes ago, you don’t want to lay all your cards on the table just yet.

“I’ll get out of your hair. My bed beckons me.”

Marcus stands, offering his hand as he helps you to your feet, pointing you to the direction of the master bathroom. You feel the intensity of his gaze as you walk away, aware of how his eyes track the intentional sway of your hips. You can’t help but smirk.

Only when you disappear behind the door does he exhale, rubbing a hand down his jaw, feeling the sticky remnants of you still clinging to him. He glances at the ruined scrap of lace on the coffee table, sporting a smug smile of his own, grabbing his phone to call the driver.

Once your ride is handled, he moves around the space to gather your things, adjusting himself in his pants, cringing at the reminder of the mess that’s there.

You emerge a few minutes later, face wiped clean, hair slightly more composed yet just as gorgeous, your legs carrying the delicious remnants of euphoria in every shaky step.

“Mailing you my doctor bill if this problem doesn’t go away anytime soon,” you joke, sinking onto the couch to slip your heels back on.

Marcus smirks, shaking his head as he watches you, holding your gathered belongings in his hands. “Think of it as a souvenir. Something to remember me by until we see each other again.”

“Yeah? And when will that be?”

“You tell me.”

You hum, pretending to consider as you rise to your feet, your body brushing just close enough to tempt. “I’ll have to check my schedule and get back to you.”

You reach for the delicate scrap of lace left abandoned on his coffee table. “You owe me a new pair, by the way.”

He chuckles, helping you slip into your jacket, then handing over your things. “That thing was on its last thread. Surprised it didn’t just dissolve off you with how soaked you got it.”

You roll your eyes, biting down on your lip as warmth creeps up your neck at the memory. He watches the way you react, the way your body still responds to him even now, and it only cements his need to see you again.

Guiding you out of the penthouse, he keeps conversation light, the easy chemistry between you both lingering like an unspoken promise. But the moment you step into the lobby, you feel the burn of the doorman’s knowing stare, his amusement barely concealed as he tips his head in greeting.

“Have a good night, miss,” he says, and you fight the urge to duck your head in embarrassment, thanking him quietly.

Outside, the cool Chicago night air wraps around you as a sleek black Escalade idles in the porte-cochère, waiting. Marcus, ever the gentleman, steps ahead to open the car door for you.

You stop just before getting in, looking up at him, your voice soft. “Thank you for tonight. I had a wonderful time—you’re great company.”

He grins. “Likewise, beautiful. I’m glad you didn’t deactivate your account when you did.”

Your heart flutters at that, and before you can second-guess it, you lean up on your toes, pressing a series of slow, lingering kisses to his lips. He hums against your mouth, his hand naturally finding its place on your waist, the metal of his ring grazing the fabric of your dress.

“Let me know when you make it home, alright?” he murmurs against your lips.

“I will.”

One last kiss, then you pull away, climbing into the backseat. You share a final, lingering glance through the open door.

“Good night, Marcus.”

“Good night, sweetheart.”

You smile, and with that, he shuts the door. The SUV pulls away, disappearing into the city streets, swallowed by the skyline. Marcus watches until you’re gone, your touch still burning against his skin, your scent still clinging to his shirt.

He exhales heavily, running his fingers through his hair before turning back toward the building.

“Have a good evening, sir?”

Marcus smirks, the memory of your body, your taste, your voice still fresh in his mind.

“The best I’ve had in a long time.”

#pedro pascal #marcus acacius smut #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x woc #gladiator ii #marcus acacius fic #marcus acacius fanfic #woc reader #poc reader #sugar daddy au #ovaryacted fics #⋆♱ nic works ♱⋆

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maroonpascal · 2 months ago

Text

Sweet nothin’

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader

Summary: nights are never easy for Joel, his mind being flooded with memories, but luckily he doesn't have to fight them alone anymore

Warnings: jackson!joel, soft!joel, mentions of nightmares, trauma, anxiety and insomnia, use of pet names (babe, darling, my love, my sunshine)

Word count: 1.8k

Notes: wrote this literally when I couldn’t sleep after that episode and I needed some comfort, so here we are 🧸 title is from “Sweet Nothing” by Taylor Swift

Divider creds: @ianrkives

|| MY FICS ||

“Joel, babe, come to sleep.”

You’re leaning on the door frame of the living room, the dim light bathing him as he’s at the table still working on something you don’t quite understand, and he has been at that since the afternoon.

He’s still tinkering there, wearing his cute glasses and his hands managing the tools; you know he needs this at night sometimes, as the nights are always the worst. Sometimes he’s afraid of going to sleep, as the nightmares can have the best of him, disrupting his sleep and waking him up; Joel would sit in bed panting, chest pounding and his heart beating strongly against the ribcage, holding his own hand there before yours, before you can embrace him and kiss him behind his neck, nuzzling there, whispering that it was all a bad dream, but he could rarely go back to sleep after one of those. The only thing that works is being hugged by you, he enjoys that, going pliant in your arms and letting himself rest.

“Joel.” You call him again, breaking that silence and now going closer to the table, him taking off his glasses to take a look at you, the way he’s so careful with them making you break a smile, “Hey.” You say softly when he’s in your reach, your hands going behind his neck and tangling your fingers through his curls, him closing his eyes for a moment, sighing at the soft touch.

“Hey.” He repeats your word, looking up at you and you notice all the tiredness in his eyes and all over his face. He’s working so hard for the benefit of the city, determined to do so much good, almost as a way to redeem himself from his past.

Your right hand reaches his eyebrows, smoothing your thumb over the space between them, taking away the furrowed look, Joel softening his eyes immediately at your touch, “Aren’t you tired, babe?” You ask, him rising his shoulders, lips crooked in half a smile, “Just a little, but you know that this helps me,” he presses a kiss on the inside of your wrist, beard tickling your skin, “And you’ve helped me too, so many times,” his dreamy look on you, and you can read in his eyes how he’s thinking of all the nights spent lost among the bedsheets, how you surely knew how to make him forget about everything else.

“Should I help you too tonight?” You jokingly say, keeping your tone light, as you brush your hand behind his neck and smoothing the other one on the collar of his checkered shirt, where the very first buttons have been left open, giving you a sight of his cleavage. But you know from the tired look in his eyes that all you can do for him tonight is just convince him to go to bed and then hugging him to sleep.

He sighs over your skin, his lips warm on your wrist, “Not tonight, darlin’,” he lets out, as you cup his face with both hands and brush your thumb over that scar, before pressing a kiss on his forehead, letting him know without a word that you know how he feels. “But I would love if you could hug me until I will fall asleep.” He mutters, as you beam already at the thought of doing that, and being so happy with the fact that he is so outspoken now about what he actually wants, what can make him feel at ease and comforted, not shying away anymore from asking what it can make him feel better.

“Of course, my love, of course.” You bow on his lips, kissing him softly as you feel a hand going over your waist, holding you gently.

You take that hand in yours when you part from his lips, him finally leaving that table and letting you guide him until your bedroom, reaching the warm lights of it.

“’M sorry that I’m keeping you up so late these nights.” He says, you squeezing his hand back, letting him sit on the edge of the bed, “These dreams, no, these nightmares that I have-” his voice breaks a little, and you’re ready to pick up the pieces by wrapping your arms around his shoulders, letting him rest his head over your chest, actually feeling like you’re wrapping a safe around him to shield him from all the nightmares, from all the evil that there is in this world.

“It’s okay, Joel, it’s okay,” you utter, placing a kiss over his curls, “I’m the one choosing to stay up with you. There is no other place where I would rather be, only here with you, no matter what.”

He lightly nods on your chest, a hand gripping your t-shirt, anchoring himself to you, his safe harbour.

The nightmares most of the times are flashbacks, moments that wouldn’t leave his mind, not even while being asleep, not giving him peace. And somehow, the only peace he has is you. He feels that sense of peace as he’s holding onto you right now, feeling your fingers through his curls and thumb behind his neck, circling in a soothing movement. Your heartbeat is the best symphony he could ever hear, it’s what brings him home every single time, each heartbeat allowing himself to get away from the cruel reality and hiding somewhere else, a place where nothing could ever hurt him or hurt you.

And he wishes he could make his heart stop drumming so hard against his chest, that he could connect it with the rhythm of your heart, calm and soothing.

You can feel his heartbeat against you, strong as ever, “Joel, no one can hurt you, you are safe.” Your whisper followed by a kiss on his curls.

Your hand reaches over his back, trying to ease his anxiety by rubbing it there, feeling so much tension.

“I’m here, my sunshine, I’m here.” You repeat, him actually rising up his head at you at the word sunshine, a little smile drawn on his lips.

“Nothing could ever hurt you again.” And he really lets those word sink into his mind, become part of it, leaving somewhere else the baggage of trauma that he carries with him.

A hand goes through his curls, and you thank him mentally for having let those curls grow, so soft under your fingertips.

Slowly you can feel his grip on you becoming less strong just like his heartbeat is coming back to normal, his calm breathing over you neck now, brushing your thumb over his forehead.

“Feeling better?” You ask, pressing a kiss on his head, as you still cradle him in your arms.

You get a slow nod from him, feeling his thumb brushing over your hip, still slightly holding you, “Yes, thank you.”

That is all that matters to you, because it really doesn’t matter that sometimes you have to stay up a little longer with him to give him some of that peace he searches and aches for so desperately, you could do that again and again, and you’re sure that you will always do, never trading that for something else. Everyone has traumas in this world but you knew even before getting together with him that his trauma was really heavy, that it doesn’t heal in one night, that it takes patience and a lot of time. And you happen to have lots of that.

“Finally feelin’ tired,” he utters, leaving your hips and looking up at you, the golden in his eyes making you feel a wave of warmth over you.

You press another kiss on his forehead, him blinking his eyes slowly at you, like cats would do, “Let’s go to sleep then, alright?” You check in, waiting for him to nod before climbing the bed and then waiting for him to come lay down next to you, under the warm blankets.

You close the distance with him when you press your lips over his, him pulling you even closer with an arm around your waist, your bodies coming together like magnets.

“You are my North Star.” His words fall softly from his lips onto yours, your caress gentle on his beard, “Thank you for always bringing me home.”

“You are my whole universe, Joel.” You reassure him, him sinking a little more on the pillow, and you swear your could see really the whole universe in his eyes.

He presses a kiss on your forehead, hand hovering on your cheek; his thumb brushing on your skin, as your hand goes wrapping around his arm, until reaching his shoulder, rubbing it a bit there.

“Just turn around, babe,” you say softly over his his cheek, leaving a kiss there as you brush away a curl from his eyes, him nodding and being so content about the way you call him “babe”, how it feels so right to him and so endearing.

He does as told, and you soon cocoon on his side, wrapping an arm around him, landing it on his chest, rubbing it a little there, the heartbeat under your palm telling you how finally relaxed he is right now.

And Joel really thinks that he couldn’t ask for more, as he sinks in your hug, sighing at the way you land kisses behind his neck, carefully placing each one with so much tenderness. He never thought he could ever experience such softness again in his life or that he even deserved to have it, as he had thought for such a long time that he wasn’t deserving of that, that somehow no one would have ever dared to be with him.

And that is why he cherishes every single moment, every single joy that he has with you, he puts it in a sacred place carved in his heart, hoping that nothing will ever take that away; being hugged to sleep definitely goes into that place, it is probably his favourite thing, how he can allow himself to let his guard down, and not be in charge of anything, but letting someone else protect him and shield him, both metaphorically and physically.

“I love you so much, Joel.” He feels your words on his neck, your nose brushing on his skin, and his chest reverberates with his answer, “I love you too, darlin’” his words coming out slow and slurred, the sleep having the best of him right now.

He lets himself fall more into your arms, feeling your heartbeat behind his ribcage and for the hundredth night he thanks whoever put you in his path, because life has never been the same ever since and it never will.

And that is the life he’s settling for, a slow life, with easy mornings with shared coffee, patrolling together in the early morning and then coming back home together, him being able to tinker with his stuff and then knowing that at night he will always end up in his safe space, that your arms will always be ready to hug him and bring him home.

#joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #pedro pascal #the last of us #joel miller imagine #the last of us fic #my fics

680 notes · View notes

ruesol · 8 months ago

Text

You suspect that Simon might have a crush on you (much to your happiness). So you decide to harmlessly manipulate him into admitting it by asking him to set you up with one of his friends.

Note: fem!reader

main masterlist

—

r/advice

u/throwaway123:

How do I (F) subtly find out if my friend (M33) likes me?

Replies:

u/sudsysoap: there’s no need to be subtle. ask him to sleep with you lmao [+50, -10]

u/pricetag: agree with u/sudsysoap, men will sleep with anything as long as it has a hole [+30, -20]

u/log1cal: ask him to set you up with his friends. I did that and now we have 2 kids and a third one on the way. That prank will work wonders [+100, -7]

You had a feeling that Simon liked you. It felt obvious. He would walk by the street on the sidewalk to protect you, brought you deadbolts for your mangy apartment that you only live in for the cheap rent, would buy you groceries when you were too tired to leave your bed, and of course, would be very patient with you when you’d be feeling irritated.

Okay, maybe, he just treated you like how a best friend should but that still wouldn’t explain why he’d come to your apartment, in your crime ridden neighborhood and cuddle with you right after deployment. Not even bothering to shower before laying himself down on you like a starfish.

“I just want to feel warm,” was his answer whenever you’d ask him why he did so.

You never complained though. Instead, you relished the feeling of his heavy and exhausted body against yours. Enjoying the almost territorial hold he had on you. Like most friendships, it was a symbiotic relationship.

You both never kept much from each other. Obviously there were many aspects of his job that you couldn’t ask about and you respected that.

However, you both had hidden feelings and neither of you wanted to put your cards on the table out of the fear of rejection.

You watched as the man scarfed down his Sunday breakfast- a sort of inside tradition where you’d both go to a cafe near your apartment and scarf down food. It always happened on the first Sunday after his return from deployment.

The words from that one Reddit comment lingered in your mind.

He felt your eyes on him from your end of the booth and placed his fork down, still in his grasp. “Somethin’ on my face?” his gruff voice asked.

“No, I’m just wondering if they even fed you at all.”

He let out a sarcastic ‘ha’ and went back to eating. You were getting antsy to the point where you began to pick at your hash brown with your fork, the crisp golden patty crumbling with every poke.

You wanted to try the trick so bad.

But what if he doesn’t like you like that? What if he does end up setting you up with a man you aren’t interested in because you decided to be sly for a moment?

Fuck it. At least this would be the least explicit way.

“I’m so tired of being single,” you huffed as you leaned back into the leather cushioned booth. Simon did not give any sort of reaction. Instead he directed his attention to his coffee as he mixed it with some zero calorie sweetener.

“All the guys in this city are so weird. I’ve done everything to get a boyfriend,” you continued to complain. Simon sipped his beverage and looked through the menu again (probably for a second helping of sausages).

Still no reaction. Sometimes you wondered how you even became friends with him.

“Wait, I know.”

His demeanor changed as his blue eyes flit to your figure. “You should set me up with one of your military friends,” you said as you smiled like a scientist who had just made a great discovery in their field.

Simon beckoned you over with his hand. Confused, you slid towards his end of the booth. “What?”

He lightly knocked on the top of your head like it was a door. “Thank God,” he muttered out.

“What was that for?” You replaced his hand with yours on your head, checking to see if he was trying to remove any lint.

“Tryin’ to check if your skull was hollow.”

“Fuck you, Simon. All I did was ask for a favor.”

The man folded his arms, biceps begging to be let out of the confinement of his sleeves. Your heart couldn’t help but beat a little faster at the sight.

“Is it because I’m not pretty?”

“Where’d that even come from? I-“

“So you agree that I’m not pretty,” you imposed before huffing and turning away from him.

“Oh my—fuck, just listen to me.”

You open your mouth to say more but you decide to give your friend a break.

He cleared his throat and turned your shoulders towards him. Your skin burned when his calloused palms situated themselves on you. “First of all, you’re not ugly. You’re basically out of their league.” You never understood why he couldn’t just compliment you like a normal person.

“Second, you deserve someone who will actually give you all their time. Something my military friends can’t do. You’re not going to be a priority.”

You felt like shrinking in your seat. His reasoning was ambiguous. You couldn’t tell if he was denying your request because he didn’t want your heart broken or because he actually liked you.

“Oh, okay.” You looked away from him in embarrassment. So much for miracles.

“Besides—“

He then went on to replace the deconstructed hash brown on your plate with his non battered one.

“—you might find someone if you look hard enough.”

Your head perked up. Was the ever so candid Simon Riley hinting at something?

“What do you mean?”

“Go out with me.” No beating around the bush anymore.

“Very funny, Simon.”

“I’m not good at making jokes. I like you.”

Oh.

OH.

You made a mental note to thank that one Reddit comment later. Trying your best not to smile, you let out a deep a breath before speaking. “Truth be told, I like you too. I don’t just let any man barge into my house and lay with me.”

“You’d better not,” Simon said as he pulled you into his side and then pushed your head close to his with his hand behind your neck.

“Been waitin’ for you to admit that,” he said before leaving a deep kiss on your mouth.

948 notes · View notes

lilbluustar · 3 months ago

Text

they don't know about us

pairing— idol!reader x idol!anton

content— fluff, drama, secret relationship, idol!au, forbidden love, slow burn, confession, first kiss, established relationship, angst with a happy ending, comfort, sm au, based on real feelings, weverse posts, hidden moments, public reveal, emotional rollercoaster.

note— woooow, this is the longest drabble i've written so far! 🫣 i really enjoyed writing something completely different from what i usually write hahahah, btw: i think i'll end up writing a drabble with every 1D song at this point, but hey! thanks to these i get quite a few ideas, hehehe

it all started with a casual conversation.

anton didn't know you personally, but he had seen you. several times, actually.

in the break room. walking around with your coffee in hand. rehearsing with your headphones on and your head down. Always discreet, always with that air of being in your own world.

and though he wouldn't admit it, there was something about you that left him wondering.

he kept looking at you.

until one day, Shotaro, with the subtlety of a train, came up to him and said:

"hey… y/n is amazing, you know?"

"y/n?"

"yeah, you should talk to her. seriously."

sohee, who was eating next to him, just mumbled with her mouth full:

"you literally make good vibes. you have the same kind of weird energy. match made in heaven."

“are you two conspiring to set me up with someone?” laughed Anton.

"not with someone. with her" they said in unison.

it was sungchan and shotaro who started pushing him in your direction. they talked to him about you as if you were a named miracle, as if missing the chance with you was the biggest mistake of his life. at first, he just laughed and said he didn't have time for that… but it was enough to cross you a couple of times in the corridors for him to realize that there was no escape. He already had you in his head.

after that, it was inevitable.

the next time he found you walking down the hallway, he dared to say hello. just that.

“hi.”

“hi” you replied, somewhat shyly.

but that was enough.

because from then on, his greetings became little shared moments.

a “how are you?”, a “did you have a lot of breakfast today?”, a “do you want something to drink?”, a “i like your sweatshirt”.

each one warmer than the last.

the first outing was a “not a date” disguised as a coincidence.

“let's some of us go eat tteokbokki near the studio, are you up for it?” sohee asked you, but you already knew who else was going to be there.

and yes, there was anton. quieter than usual, with his cheeks a little red every time you looked at him.

they talked little. you laughed more. and as you said goodbye, he said to you:

"next time… we could go just the two of us. if you want."

your heart skipped a beat.

you said yes.

the first few dates were as sweet as they were awkward.

a hidden coffee shop where you ordered things that you couldn't pronounce.

a movie in a theater where there were barely five people.

a night walking along the banks of the Han River, just talking about dreams and fears.

places where no one could recognize the both of you.

sometimes you didn't even talk much. you would just stare at each other, nervously, as if each smile could break the air.

he listened to you as if you were a song.

and you looked at him as if you wanted to learn it by heart.

with each encounter, you grew closer.

shoulders brushed. hands trembled.

then came the walks at night, the eternal conversations by message, the hands that sought each other without wanting to.

it was late that night, but you were in no hurry.

they were in a small practice room shared by some groups, just after one of those eternal days of rehearsal. the lights were dim, and the city flickered through the window as if it, too, was breathing calmly.

you were sitting cross-legged on the floor, drinking water, while he looked at you from the mirror, still not taking off his sweat-soaked hoodie. you talked about everything and nothing. about the weather, about your new playlist, about how anton had been learning to cook because he “couldn't live on ramen anymore.”

“you know?” he said suddenly, breaking a comfortable silence. “sometimes i feel like with you i can be me without putting on any masks.”

your heart skipped a beat.

you looked at him, saying nothing at first. You just swallowed saliva.

“and that scares me” he added, looking down for a moment, with a nervous smile. “because i care about you more than i thought i was ever going to care about anyone here.”

you moved a bit closer, without thinking. you were sitting next to him already, but that time your knees touched his.

he looked up and you met there, at that exact spot where you didn't need to talk anymore.

“can i kiss you?” he asked, softly.

and you… you just nodded. with red cheeks, but without looking away.

it was smooth.

short.

like he was tasting something he'd been imagining for months.

and when he broke away, they both laughed softly, nervously, like two teenagers who had just stolen something from the moon.

but it didn't end there.

days later, anton invited you to a nice restaurant, he brought you a bouquet of flowers and you ended up in a gazebo, he was weird, more serious than usual, until suddenly he took your hand in his, playing with your fingers, and then he looked at you again.

“i don't want this to stay just a kiss.”

"no?"

"no. i want to be the one who makes you smile every day. i want… you to be my girlfriend. if you want to, of course."

your response was to stay silent for a moment-just long enough for his heart to clench-and then you hugged him. tightly. as if he had just given you the place you didn't know you needed.

you hesitated.

not because you didn't feel it, but because you were afraid.

afraid of the world.

of the cameras.

of the consequences.

“if i want to, but i don't want anyone to know...” you told him one night, your hands trembling between his. "at least for now. just your friends and mine. no one else."

“then it will be our secret, your rhythm is mine.” he answered you, with a tenderness that made you fall harder for him.

he broke away a little to look at you, and nodded with one of those smiles that sticks to your skin.

and from that night on, anton was not only the boy who made you laugh, but also the most beautiful secret you kept in your heart.

and so, you became sweethearts.

a secret courtship.

made of messages that said “did you arrive well?”, “you look pretty today”, “i miss you”.

since then, the relationship has been a constant game of glances in hallways, when they pass by each other, brushing hands for a second. and when you were in the same performance or backstage, their gazes cross with tenderness and complicity.

“casual” rehearsals that magically overlap, sometimes at the same time, even in the same room if they can convince their managers that sharing space is more “efficient”.

always managed to coordinate their breaks to coincide. and in those 15-30 minutes, you would hide out on the roof of the building or in an empty room where they would sit together on the floor, share a drink and fool around, sometimes just look at each other, hold hands.

would leave notes on paper hidden in their jackets or gear, when you went to rehearse, you would find a note inside your hoodie: “i dreamt about you today, baby.”

when he went to get his drumsticks or his mic, he would find something written from you on the tape: "do awesome, toni. “

anton would also leave a post-it on your locker with things like ”it was beautiful yesterday, baby“ or ”i'll wait for you at the exit, floor 3". you answer him with stickers of little hearts and little bad drawings that he keeps in his wallet.

their safe place; the little prop room, no one would go in there. it's dark, smells like old cardboard, but it's theirs. there you kissed, laughed, cried. it's like their mini world inside the chaos

where you could pretend the world didn't exist. you were experts at disappearing together and reappearing as if nothing had happened. If anyone suspected, they said nothing.

but, over the months, you began to let their guard down.

it wasn't intentional.

it was love.

love that overflowed and could no longer be hidden.

it was becoming more and more evident. your friends didn't even ask questions anymore, they just smiled. and you… you were beginning to think that maybe you didn't want to hide it forever.

and then… it happened.

BACKSTAGE - BREAK ROOM, 11:37PM.

after the dress rehearsal, the staff had almost finished packing up. most of the team had left, and there were only a few left hanging around the place. you had snuck out looking for a moment with anton, and found him in the small break room on the third floor, where nobody usually went at that time.

you walked in without saying anything, just with that complicit look on your face. Anton smiled at the sight of you and immediately hugged you tightly, as if he hadn't seen you in weeks, when only hours had passed.

“you don't know how much i missed you today” he murmured, hiding his face in your neck.

“but we saw each other earlier” you replied, laughing softly as you wrapped your arms around him.

"it's not enough. it's never enough with you."

his words melted you. he sat you on his lap and you stayed in each other's arms, swaying gently as if dancing to a silent song. the air was charged with something warm and dangerous. and slowly, the kisses began to appear: one on your cheek, then on your forehead, then on your lips. short. then long. then... more intense.

anton caressed your waist tenderly, but soon his hands began to move up your back and down a little further to your butt, squeezing it and exploring it with restrained desire. you let out a nervous giggle as he whispered something in your ear that made your heart race and his kisses were beginning to descend on your neck, making you shiver.

“Anton... they might see us” you said, barely in a whisper, but not moving away.

"they're all downstairs...just a little while longer, baby" he said hoarsely, gluing his lips to yours again.

were so lost in their own little universe that they didn't hear the approaching footsteps.

the door burst open.

“anton, did you leave you...?” a voice interrupted by the visual impact.

they both froze. literally. you still had your hands inside his shirt over anton's chest, and he was still holding you by your ass. your faces were millimeters apart, lips still swollen, your gazes terrified.

on the other side of the door: a staff member, with a folder in hand and an expression of absolute horror, shock and a touch of “i'm going to pretend i didn't see this.”

the silence was as awkward as it was long.

“...i ... this i didn't see, okay?” the staff member said, slowly backing away.

“WAIT!” exclaimed Anton, pulling away from you but still holding your hand. “we can explain.”

but it was too late. the staff had already almost run off. you felt his stomach drop to the floor, cheeks burning, heart galloping.

“do you think he's going to tell us anything?” you asked, your voice trembling.

"i don't know. but if you do..." anton squeezed her hand. "i'm not letting go of you. no matter what."

looked at him. And in her eyes, there was fear, yes... but also that security that only Anton knew how to give her.

“if this leaks... i guess we'll have to come up with a plan.”

“or tell the truth.”

"just like that?"

"yes. because i don't want to hide you anymore, y/n."

but you and Anton stood there, your hearts beating a mile a minute.

You knew it wasn't going to stay there.

and you were right.

the next day you were called in to talk.

MANAGEMENT OFFICE - THE NEXT DAY, 3:02PM

kept shaking your leg under the table. although you tried to keep your face calm, your fingers intertwined with anton's betrayed your anxiety. He, on the other hand, seemed calm… but only because he didn't want you to feel worse. In reality, your stomach was in knots.

in front of you, two managers, one from Anton's team and one from yours, exchanged uncomfortable glances, sharing silences that said it all.

"so…“ one of them began, resting his hands on the desk, ”are you going to tell us what you were doing in that break room?

Anton opened his mouth to speak, but you spoke first.

"we were kissing," you said, bluntly.

the silence was absolute.

"mmm… well, it looked like something else was going on," the other manager muttered, looking at the staff report that had discovered them. "but we wanted to hear it from you. how long has this been going on?"

you looked down, but Anton squeezed your hand and replied:

"almost a year."

both managers blinked, dumbfounded.

"a year? and no one knew?"

"we kept it a secret… very carefully" you added. “it never affected the job or our responsibilities.”

“until now.”

the sentence fell like lead. but Anton didn't shrink.

"we know it was a mistake to hide it for so long, but we don't regret being together. we just wanted to protect what was ours."

there was a moment's pause. one of the managers sighed, dropping his shoulders.

"look, we're not dumb. we noticed things...glances, coordinated absences, escapades during off hours. but we never had proof. until now."

you fell silent, holding your breath.

“we didn't want it to happen like this, but we're not afraid to admit it anymore.”

anton looked at you as if the whole world came down to her in that moment.

“i love her,” he said, with absolute calm. "i don't care if it changes things. i don't want to hide it anymore."

the air grew thick, but the managers exchanged a resigned look. there wasn't much to hide anymore.

“the communications department will decide whether they make a statement or not,” one of them said as he stood up." but be that as it may... there was no turning back now.

anton and you got up as well. just as they were about to leave, your manager added:

"and for what it's worth... you look happy. just make sure you do it right."

ROAD HOME - 6:47PM

the car was silent. not because they didn't want to talk, but because they didn't know where to start.

you were looking out the window, watching the city tint with the last rays of the sun. your eyes were a little glassy, but you hadn't cried. not yet. Anton had one hand on the steering wheel and the other… reaching for yours.

"are you all right? he asked, barely a whisper."

you nodded without looking at him, but he wasn't satisfied. he stopped the car on a quiet street, turned off the engine and turned to you with the most sincere eyes in the world.

you turned your face slowly, and as soon as their gazes met, he caressed your cheek with a gentleness that made your soul tremble.

"i don't want you to be afraid," anton murmured. "you can't imagine how much it hurt me to hide you. having to pretend you were just a friend when all i wanted was to scream to the world that you were mine."

closed your eyes for a second, taking a deep breath. when you opened them, the tears were already there.

"sometimes i felt like we were never going to have this moment," you whispered. "that this was just a dream. but now… i'm afraid that we'll get hurt. that this will ruin everything."

anton shook his head and leaned towards her, resting his forehead against yours.

“no one's going to ruin it,” he said firmly, "because we're not going to let you ruin it. i love you, y/n. from the first rehearsal where we pretended we didn't know each other, from every hidden message, every stolen smile... no matter what comes, we face it together, okay?"

you didn't respond. you just kissed him. slow, long, with all the weight of what they had contained for almost a year. And he reciprocated as if his life depended on that kiss.

their lips parted just a little and anton smiled, lowering his voice.

"you know what the craziest thing is?"

"what?"

"that now i can kiss you without looking to see if there's a camera nearby."

you laughed softly, wiping your cheeks awkwardly. he put both arms around you, making her lay her head on his chest while he stroked her hair.

"i promise you we'll be fine," he whispered, ”i swear it."

and there, in that bubble of peace, they finally breathed. as if everything they had been silent about finally had room to bloom.

that same night, the official statement was soon released.

[OFFICIAL RELEASE - SM ENTERTAINMENT]

April 05, 2025

Hello.

We are SM Entertainment.

We are writing to address a situation that has recently come to our attention. Upon internal review, we have confirmed that two of our artists, Anton (RIIZE) and y/n (solo artist under SM), have been romantically involved for some time.

We understand that this information may have come as a surprise to fans, as both artists decided to keep their relationship private out of respect for their careers, their groups and the fandom. However, due to a situation that occurred inside our facilities, in which they were spotted by a staff member, we feel it is important to be transparent with the public and confirm the facts.

Both artists have expressed to us that their relationship is serious and has developed with maturity, commitment and professionalism. The decision to go public has not been taken lightly, but after considering the situation and listening to their voices, we decided to support them.

We ask all fans and the public to respect their privacy and continue to show the love and support they have always given them.

Thank you.

SM Entertainment.

the nets collapsed.

you had the need to say something about it, so you got up the courage and started writing with your heart in your hand.

[WEVERSE - Y/N]

hi everyone.

this is y/n, and i want to write this from a very sincere place.

i know many of you have already seen the company's announcement... and yes, it's true. anton and i have been together for almost a year now. it wasn't easy to keep it a secret, but we did it because we wanted to protect something that has become the most beautiful thing that has happened to us.

it was never out of shame, nor to hide something bad. it was to take care of us, to take care of what we were building. but now that you know, we don't want to lie or hide anymore.

anton is someone who came into my life with light, patience, tenderness and a love that makes me feel safe every day. we have shared laughter, tears, tired trials, long nights and many dreams... and still, we never stopped choosing each other.

we know this may be hard for some to take in, but we also trust that many of you will support us, as you always have. we ask for nothing but respect and understanding.

we are still the same artists who love what we do, and now we simply... love each other too.

thank you for reading this far.

thank you for understanding.

with all my love,

y/n.

a few minutes later, Anton posted something too.

[WEVERSE - ANTON]

hi, this is anton.

i know that for many this news was unexpected, and i want to take a moment to speak to you with all the sincerity it deserves.

yes, it's true. y/n and i have been in a relationship for almost a year now. we decided to keep it private because it was something very precious to us, something we wanted to take care of and protect from outside noise. it wasn't easy, but it was real. and it still is.

y/n is an amazing person. not only as an artist, but as a human being. her heart, her strength, her way of seeing life... i fall in love with her every day. and no, i don't want to keep hiding someone who makes me so happy.

i know some of you may be surprised or even upset, and i understand that. but i also hope many of you can see what's behind it: two people who truly love each other.

i choose her, and she chooses me. every day.

thank you for all the love you always give us.

thank you for respecting us, for supporting us, and for allowing us to be ourselves.

with love,

anton.

the news blew up like a bomb on social media. no one saw it coming, and the fact that they hid it for almost a year left everyone speechless.

fans of both were split between shock, excitement, and a wave of support. many started remembering little hints: shared glances, subtle gestures in interviews, matching outfits… things that now made TOTAL sense.

some fans, the more intense ones, began gathering evidence: clothes yn wore that looked like Anton’s, subtle hints in their lyrics, or days when they both looked extra happy for no apparent reason. suddenly, everything made sense.

most people celebrated the brave, genuine, and beautiful love they shared, cheering them on for defending it publicly with so much confidence and tenderness. fan comments on weverse after the statement:

“y/n, we’re so proud of you. You two deserve all the happiness in the world.” “Anton, thank you for loving her right. We can see it in your eyes.” “You guys didn’t have to tell us, but you did. And that honesty means the world.”

COMMENTS ON TWITTER/X AND WEVERSE:

“wait… ANTON AND YN HAVE BEEN TOGETHER FOR ALMOST A YEAR??? and WE HAD NO IDEA??? the best actors, literally.”

“anton used to smile different around her AND NOW WE KNOW WHY”

“yn and anton saying ‘we hope for your support’ after hiding it for a year?? power couple behavior”

“not me crying because they were so in love they couldn’t hide it anymore”

“sm staff discovering them was the best thing that could’ve happened tbh”

“the fact that he called her ‘incredible’ and said he chooses her every day?? i’m losing it.”

“you can see how in love anton is… yn, i envy you (in the sweetest way). give him lots of kisses from us LOL.”

“this feels like when your parents tell you they’ve loved each other since they were young and kept it a secret… ICONIC.”

“how did they survive hiding it for almost a year??? i can’t even last five minutes without telling someone i like them.”

“who was the staff member that found out about them? i just wanna talk (and thank them).”

“no one cares that they’re idols, what matters is that they look this happy. i support them 100%.”

“YOOO??? THEY WERE DATING THIS WHOLE TIME???”

“iconic statement, iconic couple, iconic relationship.”

@sunlightforyn: “these statements are more romantic than any fanfic i’ve ever read in my life.”

@antonismybf: “them: hiding their relationship for a year me, watching their weird little moments since 2024: suspicious silence”

@softcorecouple: “i love that you can tell it was a relationship full of genuine love and care. like they really protected each other. that gives me peace.”

@kfanupdates: “someone PLEASE make a thread of all the times yn wore anton’s clothes, because there’s legit proof from MONTHS ago”

VIRAL EDIT ON TIKTOK:

clips of yn wearing Anton’s hoodie + him looking at her like she hung the moon.

fancam of both on stage at different events, catching subtle smiles when they pass each other

POV video titled: “me reading the statements like I’m the main character in a romance drama”

background sound: people sobbing dramatically.

most reactions were overwhelmingly positive—fans welcomed the news with full hearts, celebrating the love and bravery of both of them. but, as expected, not everyone agreed. a few people voiced their anger and disappointment online, posting comments trying to dim the moment. still, with so much excitement, support, and joy flooding the timeline, those negative remarks quickly got lost in the wave of love surrounding Anton and yn.

that night, after everything became public, after reading hundreds of messages —some crying with emotion, others surprised that they had suspected it for months—, you snuggled next to Anton on the couch in his bedroom, with a shared blanket and a soft playlist playing softly.

the warm light from his lamp fell over the edges of his face, and you just looked at him, as if you still didn't believe you didn't have to hide anything anymore.

"you know?" you murmured, your voice soft as you ran your fingers along his wrist. "sometimes i thought this was going to blow up... that we wouldn't last because of all the stress, because of what we had to hide. but look at us."

Anton looked at you with a tired but smitten smile, then kissed your forehead.

"i knew you were worth it. even if i had to hide a thousand smiles, a thousand urges to hold your hand in the hallways... you were worth all of that."

you both laughed softly, as if they were still in that first rehearsal where it all began.

"what now?" you asked, snuggling closer. there are no more secrets. No more fear.

he hugged you tight, his chin on your head.

"now we live this... in our own way. no rush. no masks. just you and me. and if the world looks at us... let it look at us in love."

and so, in his arms, you closed your eyes knowing that in spite of everything, in the end all that mattered was that: the love you had nurtured in silence, could now shine without hiding.

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pshbites · 5 months ago

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JAPANESE DENIM ━ nrk

pairing : riki x fem!reader genre : fluff, strangers to lovers, yearning, college au warnings : none other than the fact riki is a lovestruck loser synopsis : you find yourself missing the boy from the music store who you dont even know wc : 1.8k a/n : this actually has nothing to do with denim but it IS inspired off the lyric from daniel ceasers japanese denim - you dont even know me, its an interpretation SO i hope u guys like it !

if u enjoyed pls like & reblog, feedback is always appreciated!! also listen to the song linked to get the full experience :)))

“why are we even here man?” riki groaned, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets as he followed jungwon around.

if there was anything that tired riki out more than classes, it was probably shopping. with his amazing luck, jungwon dragged him out to get a gift for jays birthday that was approaching. after 2 hours of running around the whole city they were here, at a music store. they sold the usual, records, cds, vinyls, everything of the sort.

“there’s this oasis record jay really wants, i’m sure it’ll be here” jungwon replied, sifting through the records on the shelf. he stood there, impatiently, hoping jungwon could mysteriously find it but instead jungwon moved to the next section making riki sigh. “just let me know when you’re done” he said, jungwon waving him off as riki navigated through the store.

he found himself at the all too familiar hip-hop section. that was where he saw you. he didn’t think anyone was in the store when him and jungwon entered but here you were. he tore his gaze away from you and looked at the records in front of him, pretending to look through them. his efforts to distract himself were in vain because he found himself looking at you again.

you were so pretty. possibly the prettiest girl riki had ever seen, he wasn’t really sure people like you existed. you had this slight pout on your lips, struggling to find whatever it was that you were looking for. he saw the rings on your fingers and smiled softly, you had good taste as well. he could tell that much by your outfit. you were laid back yet still girly, your bag was adorned with keychains of all sorts. he could recognize one being a frank ocean keychain. you had good music taste too.

his gaze shifted to the records you were sorting through, most of them being kendrick lamar albums but you still couldn’t find the one you were looking for. this was his chance, he could make a move. “some of kendrick’s records could be in rnb.” he mustered up, causing you to finally look his way. he was cute. it was crazy how he looked exactly like your type. you felt your cheeks heating up a little while trying to maintain eye contact with him. “thanks” you replied, smiling softly.

“dude come on, it’s not here” you heard someone yell out, presumably his friend. you watched the boy turn around and groan slightly. he turned back to you, “nice seeing you” he said, you nodding in return. you watched as him and his friend left, the realization hitting you immediately. you never got his name.

…

“dani you don’t get it! what if that was my soulmate, what if i never meet him again!!” you groaned out loud in the study room the two of you were. danielle sighed, setting down her pen. “yn come on, don’t be dramatic i doubt he was your soulmate. you spoke like one word to him!” she replied, causing you to look at her. you sat down across from her, leaning over the table.

“yes but what if!” you whined out, making danielle roll her eyes. “yn you have better things to focus on, like our organic chemistry exam. professor jung doesn’t go easy” she sighed out making you frown. you reluctantly sat normally in your chair and pulled out your notebook and laptop. it fell silent amongst the both of you, as you worked on your study material. your mind couldn’t help but wander to the mysterious stranger.

“do you think he works there?” “yn!! focus!”

…

riki sighed, sitting down on the couch. all around him was music and flashing led lights. yet all his mind could drift to was you. that’s all his mind has been doing these past couple days. “and now give it up for the birthday boy!” jake yelled out, jay right next to him. riki shifted his gaze to them as he watched everyone cheer for jay. next to him, he felt the couch cushion dip.

he turned to see sunoo, leaning back in the couch. “what’s up with you?” he said, making riki shake his head. “nothing” he crossed his arms, looking down at the ground. “it’s definitely something, you’re a bad liar” sunoo snickered, shaking his head as he propped his head by his hand, fully turned to riki now. riki looked up and groaned. “it’s just.. is it weird? to feel something for someone you don’t know?” he finally breathed out, looking full to sunoo.

sunoo furrowed his brows, “not at all” he shrugged, riki nodding. “is this about the record store girl?” sunoo looked to him and riki stayed silent, making sunoo groan aloud. “okay pause you spoke like one full sentence” making riki groan as well. “okay yeah but it’s so weird like.. i don’t even know her yet im like yearning to know her?”

sunoo sighed and hesitated before speaking up. “who knows, maybe youll see her again and this time actually get her name” he smiled, standing up and walking over to jake who was trying to smash jays face in the cake. he was right. maybe he would see you again.

…

either sunoo was a psychic or riki finally believed in a little word called fate. because here you stood, looking at the guitar picks. maybe it was fate, that the day jays guitar strings fray and break, is the same day that you chose to come to the instrument store. nonetheless it didn’t matter because this time he was going to approach and talk to you.

riki cleared his throat softly, looking at the shelf in front of him, something about how to clean your guitar? you looked over to see the same boy from before, clearly not interested in whatever he was looking at. “hi” you spoke, making him turn his head and seem.. surprised? “woah.. what a coincidence you know i didn’t even see you!” riki laughed nervously, scratching the back of neck.

you smiled softly at his antics, “a coincidence indeed.. i’m yn” you stuck out your hand for him to shake and he smiled, “riki” he replied, shaking your hand, his hand was a bit clammy and he was hoping you couldn’t tell. but you could, and it was adorable. he let go of your hand and walked a little closer to you, now next to you. “do you play?” he asked, presumably asking about the guitar picks.

“uh no, my friend just recently had a birthday and i didn’t get a chance to go to his party so i’m sort of just buying this as a ‘im sorry’ gift” you giggled a little, turning to face him. riki laughed along with you, then watched as you tried to meticulously pick out the best guitar pick on the shelf. riki hesitated before speaking, “is he uh.. more than a friend?”you turned to face him once more, now smiling. “nosy aren’t you?” you teased, making riki’s cheeks flush pink.

“uh no- i just um- you know- was curious” he cleared his throat, trying to seem nonchalant which only made you like him even more. “no, i don’t have a boyfriend,” you finally said, making riki smile now. “oh.. cool that’s uh cool” he replied, mentally cheering. you looked back at the picks, choosing one to get for jay. you felt bad enough you missed his birthday party so it was just nicer to get him a gift.

“so.. do you have any plans after this?” riki hummed, following you through the store as you walked to the register. “hm..” you hummed in thought, making riki even more nervous than he already was. “i guess i’m free,” you replied, smiling. you were already free when he asked you but you just wanted to make him a little nervous. “cool.. cool..” riki said as the two of you reached the register. you handed the worker the guitar pick and reached for your wallet in your bag.

“riki where were you? i was looking for you!” jay called out, approaching the two of you. jay furrowed his brows as the worker handed you the bag and receipt and you turned around. “oh jay! i wasn’t expecting to see you here.” you said, now making riki even more confused. “how do you guys know each other?” jay pointed to you and riki and you two looked like deers caught in headlights.

“he’s a friend!” you smiled, looking at him and riki nodding. “yep we are friends” he grinned back causing jay to make a face. “and this is for you, sort of an i’m sorry for missing the party” you handed jay the bag, smiling as he took a peek. “a pick? i lost my old one thanks yn!” he said, smiling back. you nodded in response, now looking to riki who looked to both of you in confusion. “so-“ “i forgot we have plans tonight for dinner, so we gotta get going yn” jay said, before you could even finish your sentence. riki furrowed his brows, about to refuse but jay pulled him by the arm.

“oh.. uh bye! have fun!” you smiled softly, waving bye as jay and riki left the store, making you sigh. you still had no way to talk to riki.

riki groaned as him and jay walked down the sidewalk. “i was gonna take her to get food or something man cmon!!” he groaned even more, making jay laugh. “why don’t you first get her number, then take her out on a date” he slung his arm around riki’s shoulder which only made him side eye him. “yeah! i can’t even do that because i didn’t ask her” “you forget i have her number” jay said. riki looked to him and smiled, clearly happier.

…

you entered your apartment and sighed as you plopped on the couch. it was weird, you didn’t even know riki yet you found yourself thinking about him so often. his smile was so cute and you could tell he was a genuine good guy, something that was rare nowadays. you were also sure he went to your university because he seemed quite familiar. yet at the same time he seemed like a stranger, a stranger you wanted to know more about. ugh you should’ve gotten his number or something.

you pulled out your phone and just when you did, it buzzed with an incoming message.

unknown: hey? is this yn? unknown: it’s me, riki :) unknown: u know from like the music store unknown: and from the instrument shop unknown: riki also jays friend unknown: same jay you know

you giggled softly at his multiple messages, quickly saving his contact. now suddenly things were looking up for your relationship with riki.

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millersfinest · 6 months ago

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untethered³ | e.w

00s!ellie williams & 00s!miller!reader

wc: 8.1k

series: chapter one, chapter two, chapter three (you’re here!), chapter four , chapter five

blurb: it’s been awhile since you’ve been back home; in upstate new york where you’ve spent most of your life waking up early and tending to the animals that moo’d and meh’d. after graduation high school, and then college, the city life has stolen most of your attention. enabling you to visit only a handful of times through the years. when your lovely adoptive parents (tommy and maria miller) invite you back for a thanksgiving dinner—a troubled old flame from your childhood manages to get your attention, despite its explosive ending.

cw: +18, lmao flip phones, r and ellie NOT beating the cheating allegations, more use of y/n then i would prefer, she/her pronouns, afab anatomy mentioned, some vulgar language, fuckgirl!ellie (kind of), the millers, r is a writer (she doesn’t write much in this ch wink wink), dina being a bitch, more horndog ellie, r being a little self-deprecating, elements of longing, ellie is #1 lesbian yearner in the world, jealous ellie, some early 2000s references, thanksgiving, r is still very jealous of cat, hella angst, rich!abby (one of r’s evil exes), emotional cheating (from ellie), r using abby for sex, repressed emotions, crazy mature chapter (wasn’t intentional lmao)

note: lmao guys, i just wanna say as i proceed with this series… i do not agree w cheating on your partners DONT DO IT. don’t be like ellie (or the reader), it hurts people’s feelings and it’s just not worth it. i hope i tagged everyone who wanted to to be. bisous little lesbians/sapphics in my phone <3 please, enjoy this dramatic ass chapter x

Normally, you wouldn’t be so pliant with Abigail—letting her hands drift toward the small of your back. Clearly, expressing her attraction, because she lost that privilege a while ago. But, you were weakened. And with the burning dark irises of an old friend into the back of your frame, you couldn’t help but let her. It was like she was some sort of cloak of invisibility. Some made up thing in your head ease your spirits.

You met Abby about a year ago, 2004, at some high profile event your agent made you go to. Isa introduced you as an aspiring author to anyone that she could, getting your name out there—which was a good thing, but horribly embarrassing at the time.

Abby was there with her dad, a well-known general surgeon in the city; when she was still in medical school. Wanting someone to talk to, you offered her a drink; a flute of expensive champagne. You didn’t hide your attraction to her, but you approached her with an open mind. Fortunately for you, the night consisted of flirting and great conversation. She was smart, and you loved smart women.

Give or take a few months, you withstand her busy schedule—dating each other, giving only a sliver of intention to one another. You weren’t sure what you wanted, but what you did know is that you couldn’t stand flakiness. Abby began to flake on you a lot; whether it was for her friends or work or school. For work and school you understood, but even then there were days you spent laying around each other completing your priorities. Somehow in the midst of your temporary romance, she began to cast you aside. Maybe it was because you weren’t drowning in money like she was. Or, she just didn’t like you—both were awful options.

Taking the lead, because you’d rather dump than be dumped, you broke up with her—she then hit you with: we weren’t in a relationship. Which was rough on the ears and heart. That was the first time you actually tried with someone in a long time, and she fucked it up. You learned your lesson, though.

The two of you didn’t speak for a few months, but then you called her on a very lonely night, begging for warmth. And, ever since then, it’s been off and on—you playing hard to get and her playing wanting to have.

In the bar, with your hand clutching your cold, cheap cocktail, you walked with her in the direction of Ellie. Abby had her eyes set on her friend group, so she didn’t realize you were slowing down. “I’ll catch up with you…”

“Oh—“ She looked down, seeing the table of three practically gawking at her. Abby made a face that was unreadable. “Don’t make me have to come and find you.” She purred in your ear, slipping her arm from around your shoulders. Abby was such a show off when she wanted to be, which was more often than not.

An uncomfortable smile rested on your lips, hand waving, shortly, to the three sat at the rocky table. Ellie looked completely taken aback, leaning forward on her elbows. “Who the fuck was that?” Ellie whispered as you slipped into the seat she saved for you. Her jacket was placed on the back of your seat, holding it for you.

“Hey, y/n!” Jesse spoke, grinning ear to ear, leaning back in his wooden chair.

“y/n,” Dina said, plastering a fake smile on her glossy lips.

Jesse snickered, taking a sip of his beer. “Is that all you? Goddamn.”

“She’s just a friend from New York…” You waved a hand, dismissively.

“We just watched her feel you up and buy you a drink. Some friend she is.” Ellie countered, glancing over her shoulder at the tall, muscular blonde sitting with her friends. And, weirdly enough, Abby had her eyes on her, too.

You scoffed, holding up a hand. “Okay, she didn’t feel me up. Just forget it.” Shaking your head, you replaced that stern look on your face with a smile. “Anyway, how are you guys? It’s been a long time.” You wrap your lips around the straw sticking out of your drink. The sweet tangy flavor of the alcohol mixed with cranberry juice spreading over your tongue—easing your worries.

He glanced at Ellie, briefly. So fast, you almost missed it. Almost. “I’m doing good. Just moved into my new place in Boston. How about you, Dina?” Jesse raised an eyebrow, nudging her arm.

She stirred the ice in her water with her straw, raising a thick eyebrow. “I’m great.” Dina responded, simply.

“Great.” You say, sipping your drink, awkwardly.

There was silence between the four of you that could only be classified as awkward, uncomfortable and tense. Ellie boring her big eyes into the side of your face as you, purposely, ignored her. Dina no longer having a reason to speak because of your sudden appearance. And, Jesse, well… He was normal. If anything he was trying to fight the demon that was the awkward silence.

Ellie shook her head, a scoff falling from her lips. Abruptly, she stood up, walking over to the bar. Even though her beer was barely touched. “What’s wrong with her?” You mutter, watching her get up. She motioned for the bartender, and you watched them fill up a shot glass. Her slender frame leaned over the bar top, on her toes. Pale skin exposed between the belt holding up her jeans and the hem of her shirt. You couldn’t help but let your eyes linger there—places you’ve touched with the pads of your fingers…

“I don’t know… But, I’m curious. Be right back.” Jesse stood to his feet, taking his beer with him. Leaving, none other than, you and Dina left alone.

Chewing your lip, you slide your drink forward, looking her in the eye. Perhaps, it was the liquid courage settling in your muscles. “Things shouldn’t be weird between us… Ellie wanted me here.” You felt the need to defend your place. Ever since that day, she always seen you as some predatory figure—now, that you think of it… She had even before that day. Just did a better job at hiding it. You were the predatory animal chasing over your gullible and prancing prey—Ellie

“Yeah, and sometimes she doesn’t know what’s good for her. So… I’m sure she did.”

Ouch.

You physically coiled at her words. A dry, pissed scoff fell from your lips. “Fuck you, Dina.” You cursed, leaning back in your chair. Ellie could never do wrong in her eyes—it was obnoxious. Did she have a crush on her or something?

She dryly laughed, shaking her head. “Fuck me?” Dina raised an eyebrow. “Look at her!” She jutted her brown eyes in her direction. “Every time you’re around, she ends up looking that. A wilted fucking flower.” She scolded you, causing you to follow her eyes. Jesse spoke to her with intent eyes. Ellie ran her hands through her hair, eyes shifting side to side. You didn’t know what they were talking about, but it seemed serious. “Just face it, y/n… You’re the common denominator here.”

The common denominator. What an interesting choice of words.

“She’d probably have a better night if you just leave. Go home. Let blondie over there take you home… Or a taxi. I don’t care.” Dina turned her face from you, like you were nothing.

Your hands began to shake and tremble from her words. The muscles in your face twitched and heated up like a furnace—eyes welling up with pained tears. You sniffled, standing up from your chair. Trying every which way not to make a fuss—saving face. She was always such a bitch! So, instead, you rushed to the bathroom with the stiffest posture. Heels stalking by Ellie and Jesse with eyes set on the women’s restroom to unleash your fury.

It was like a gust of wind passing her, Ellie’s words trailed as she unloaded onto Jesse about where her minds been. He was, probably, the only person she could even share it with. Dina didn’t like you very much, she was too emotionally involved. Jesse wasn’t bias and could give her proper advice—it was just up to Ellie if she wanted to follow it or not.

Ellie confessed that the feelings she had for you hadn’t gone away. Something he already knew. But she explained it like an act of a possession—as if the softness of your skin, the beauty of your features, the smell that exuded from you was a spooky presence that just won’t leave her alone. A poltergeist. It was becoming a carnal need the more she saw you.

But what about Cat?

What about her?

Then, on cue, you passed her. Ellie only caught a glimpse of your face. Jaw trembling, the sound of your emotional hiccups. Immediately, her olive eyes shifted to the young woman left at the table. She clenched her jaw, shaking her in disapproval. “Jesse, can you get a fucking handle on her?”

“Easy, Ellie. Don’t talk about her like that. She’s just looking out for you— or trying to.” He told, shifting on his feet. “…And she’s pregnant.”

Her eyes widened. “What?!” Jesse motioned for her to whisper.

“Shh! I wasn’t supposed to say anything. Dina’ll kill me.”

“You guys aren’t even together—“ Ellie pinched the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut. “Congratulations.” She intoned, running her hand through her hand. “If you don’t mind, I’m gonna go check on—“

“Yeah, go ahead. I’ll talk to Dina.”

Meanwhile, you paced around the single person bathroom. Purse thrown to the ground, makeup smudged down your cheeks. Fists clenched at your sides, and every few minutes pounding a spot on your thigh that inflicted enough pain to briefly distract you from the pain inflicted on your heart. Dina doesn’t understand! You’re not a bad person for what happened that day. When will Ellie get the heat for what happened? Why does it always have to be you? It was always your fault.

So much time has passed, meaning you’ve thought about the altercation for a long time. Hell, it was all you thought about at times. You should’ve never put your hands on Ellie that way—you knew that. But, she shouldn’t have pushed you to do it either. That was her mistake. Pushing and prodding at someone she claimed to love. Ellie was aware of that, too. She wrote about it in that letter she hand delivered on her eighteenth birthday.

Wringing your hands out, you heaved. Emotions still weighing heavy on your heart. Her words cut you like a knife—triggering you. Before you met Tommy and Maria Miller, life was so much harder. Everything was your fault and your birth parents—and the numerous foster parents that you had—made sure that you knew that. It wasn’t fair then, and it wasn’t fair now.

What stopped your progressing thoughts was the gentle call of your name, and a soft knock. It was Ellie.

“Go away!” You sniffled, leaning over the sticky sink to get a look at your appearance. It was a tragedy.

“Please, just let me in. I don’t know what Dina said… But, I’m sure it was fucked up— look, she has her reasons.”

“She has her reasons—?!” You exclaim, looking at the door through the reflection.

“But that doesn’t make it right. I know.” You heard her lean against the door. “Please, y/n.”

Wiping your face, you sighed. Sniffling, you walked over to unlock the door, gulping. “It’s unlocked…” You spoke, weakly. Positioning yourself with your back against the sink, you crossed your arms. Watching her push inside the bathroom, locking the door behind her. Ellie pressed her back against the door, observing you with the softest pair of green eyes you’ve ever seen. It was charming. Through her thick eyelashes, pelvis leaning forward—like she was a child in trouble.

“I’m so sorry about Dina. I should’ve never invited you… I just thought things would be different.” She frowned, fiddling with her fingers in front of her body. Her fingernails had chipped black nail polish on them; focusing on that was easier than focusing on her.

“Well…” You dryly chuckled. “You thought wrong.” Slowly, you drag your eyes from her hands, to her face—avoiding her eyes, though. “Apparently, you’d be better off if I left… Or died; if it were Dina’s way.” Your voice trembled, tears falling from the corners of your eyes. Dina didn’t tell you to die, but that’s what her tone told you. All you were doing was existing. If that’s what stressed Ellie out then… Fuck. Maybe you should just croak, huh?

Ellie ran her hands over her face, taking quick steps towards you. “Fuck— I don’t know why she said that.” Her hand ran through her straight hair, frustrated at herself and Dina. “I—… I do want you here. She doesn’t know what the fuck she’s talking about.” She reaches a hand out for you, but you flinch. There was a slight height difference to the pair of you—your heels caused you to look down at her. But, you weren’t looking down on her.

She was close enough for you to notice the orange-brown flecks in her irises. The ones you missed… So much, and desired wholly. However, you pushed yourself into the ceramic sink, fighting temptation. “Don’t tell me you actually believe what she said?” Her doe eyes looked up at you, demanding a response.

“I don’t know… It’s more than that, Ellie.” You analyze her features as inconspicuously as you could—which wasn’t possible. She noticed everything because she was doing the same thing.

Your bodies drew to each other like the opposite sides of conjoined magnets. Eyes intertwining and overcoming like they always did. Tensions were high, and you were in an enclosed space—your stomach rumbled with anticipation. “Tell me what it is, then.” The feeling of her fingers sliding up the curve of your elbow caused you huff, moving to the toilet to sit down. Cold air replacing where her fingers attempted to tether to you.

Ellie sighed, bunching her hand into a fist at her side. She knew what she was doing—after all, she was a pusher. It was hard to identify when to stop.

You dropped your head into your hands, forcing even breath from your lips. “It’s just… Old shit, okay? Dina struck a nerve.” You glanced at her through your hands, lips quivering.

Ellie took your previous spot, pondering. She knew about your life before your parents—how awful those people treated you; and she couldn’t understand why. You were a scorned person, like most of the kids you grew up with, but underneath it all you were soft. She’s witnessed that softness. And she will regret it for the rest of her life that she was the one to pull you from that that—all for dumb proof of trauma.

She realized too late that she was never alone in that traumatic suffering of the adoption system. After that day, she never wanted to see you hurt like that again. Or at all. Ellie wanted to make everything up to you.

Seeing those tears staining your cheeks; she wanted to kiss it better.

“I’ll talk to her.” The words fled from her mouth. Her old converse squeaked toward you, squatting before your sat figure on the filthy toilet. You turned your head, shutting your eyes and shivering at the thought of her. “Hey,” Her fingers grazed your jaw, pulling your eyes into her line of sight. “I will. She crossed the line— this isn’t my favorite version of you.” Her eyebrows deepened, pressing her lips into a firm line. She wanted to be level with you—not above or below.

Those words were music to your ears. Supple in its raspiness. The warm touch of her fingers on your face, you leaned into her hand. She had a favorite version of you? You reached up, gently gripping her wrist to pull it from you. Ellie shouldn’t have been touching you like this. But, even so, your bodies somehow gravitated toward one another. Eyes staring at each others parted lips, wanting. Needing. Her hand bracing on your thigh, pulling herself closer until your lips met.

Soft and forbidden. You gasped against her mouth, pulling away for a brief moment. Her olive eyes were pleading, and you just couldn’t say no. Being a victim of your flesh, your hand found its way to the back of her neck to pull her lips flush to yours. Mixed whines coming from the both of you; lips merging and meshing together. Creating something beautiful.

Every time you were physical with someone they were missing something. This was it! The passion, the history—the things that matter. The fucking chemistry; it was all there with Ellie. And, deep down, you knew that it was the only place you were going to find it.

She pushed into you, being guided by her carnal desire. Whining and growling into your mouth. Hands gripping at your hips, and the side of your backside. Ellie was hooked under a spell you concocted—some aphrodisiac that exuded from you. And she wanted to breathe more of you in until she couldn’t anymore. She was gluttonous.

Breaking her trance was a rough knock on the bathroom door. The two of you basically jumped apart; you falling into the toilet, nearly touching the water, her falling on the floor. Some of the glitter on your lips had rubbed off onto hers—it looked nice on her, but that was besides the point.

“Some people need to piss! Get out of the fucking bathroom!” Some heavy handed woman exclaimed from the other side.

A smile spread on her lips, hazy eyes watching as you pulled yourself up. “Fuck, Ellie. Why are you smiling?” You walk to the mirror, taking a look at yourself. You and Ellie had just kissed. The same Ellie who’s girlfriend is waiting for her back at the guesthouse. The pressure was already hitting you like a ton of bricks—Ellie was right, you had a terrible poker face. How could you forget about this? “Can you hand me that?” You pointed to the purse beside her.

She chuckled, standing up from the floor. Your purse was in her hand as she walked up behind you, handing it over. Her other snaking around your hips—clearly, still overcome. Taking the purse, you smack her hand away. “Enough!” You scold, deepening your eyebrows. She pouted, crossing her arms. Leaning her back against the wall, shutting her eyes. But it was soon replaced with a smirk.

Your fingers rummaged through your purse for your lipgloss. “This didn’t happen… This never happened…” You muttered to yourself. Once you found the sparkling tube, you began to apply it like a nervous tick. “I still don’t know what you keep finding so funny— nobody can find out about this, Ellie.” You turn to her, dropping your lipgloss back into your purse. “What just happened isn’t fucking funny—“

You were a homewrecker, a thief of girlfriends—watch out New York!

“You’re spiraling.”

“Yeah, and I have every reason to. This isn’t me. I’m not this person. You have a girlfriend!”

Ellie watched you ramble with a look of in awe in her eyes—you were fucked, and so was she. “I remember…” She couldn’t compel herself to care about the repercussions of hr actions; Ellie just wanted you. Even more now than before. She was given an inch, and she was ready to take a mile. Perhaps, longer if that was possible. Your ethics only made her want you more.

The glitter on her lips distracted you, causing you to reach your thumbs near her lips to wipe away the signs of you. Her wide eyes looked up at you, hands wrapping around your wrists. Where did she learn this type of behavior from? VHS porn?“Ellie, will you quit it?!” You stomped your foot, squeezing your eyes. “Fuck me.” You whisper to yourself, adjusting your purse.

“I’ll see you at home…” You mutter, placing your hand on the door handle.

“Am I not driving you?”

“No. You’re gonna stay here, mingle—fuck, I don’t care.” You shook your head. “Abby’s gonna take me home.” The words rushed from your lips because you were thinking and speaking at the same time. You needed an alibi and that’s what Abby was going to be.

The auburn-haired woman rolled her eyes, scoffing under her breath. Jealousy peaking inside of her like it did earlier. “Abby. Abby… The buff blonde you walked into the bar with— the one who was feelin’ you up.” She popped the p sound, nodding her head with searching eyes.

“She wasn’t feeling me up. I don’t think you know what feeling up looks like.”

“Show me, then.”

Your jaw almost dropped from its hinges, gasping at the woman before you. She was shameless, and you were the complete opposite—it was a recipe for disaster. “Like I said… I’ll see you at home.” You opened the door, slipping through to allow her some privacy. The people must’ve opted for the men’s restroom. Fucking freak. You thought, fighting the amused smile off your lips.

Adjusting your top, you approached Abby’s booth. She was surrounded by familiar faces—you knew them-ish. “Abs, can I talk to you for a second?” She looked up at you, blinking with slight confusion at your state.

“Oh, hi, y/n!” A short-haired woman grinned, wiggling her fingers at you.

You smiled at her, while Abby shimmied out of the booth. Taking her hand, you led her away from her friends, keeping her large hand in yours as you began to speak. “I know it’s early, but could you take me home? Like, now?”

She deepened her eyebrows, a hand dropping to your face, wiping at the mascara stains that had run down your cheeks. “Are these tears?” She bunched her eyebrows, gripping your chin and moving your head side to side. “I saw you run to the bathroom—“

“It’s not important, all right?” Your eyes peer up at the blonde woman, pressing your lips into a line. Pleading and batting your eyes at her—you really wanted to go home. And you weren’t necessarily doing it for Dina, it was more so because of her. As well as the fact that you had just made out with a woman who was spoken for. Whose girlfriend who is only ten minutes away, and who also offered to get champagne for Thanksgiving after you mentioned its absence. It was currently, probably, chilling in the fridge as all of this unfolded.

While you semi-sensually begged the woman to drive you home in her Jaguar, Ellie had gotten herself together in the bathroom. After you left, she released a joyful laugh once the door shut behind you. As if she had finished with making out with the hottest girl in school—very teenage-like. Her cheeks were flushed, blushing a warm mahogany through her freckles. You wanted her just as much as she wanted you; the kid proved that much.

But, then, a pang of guilt settled in the pit of her stomach. A fragment. Very small and minuscule.

It wasn’t right away; Ellie was certain that you thought of her to be cold based on how she was handling the situation. She had a girlfriend and found the situation amusing? You’re right—nothing was funny about what happened before you fell into the toilet and before she fell onto the floor. The both of you had managed to dig yourselves into a hole that she didn’t want to get out of. And she was sure you felt the same—she hoped you felt the same. Holes were fun, right?

Ellie wanted to keep digging deeper, and deeper, and deeper. She wanted to envelop herself with you, just like she used to. However, this time, she wasn’t planning on letting you go.

Cat was just something—someone she had to deal with in the meantime. She’s gonna fix it… Ellie just doesn’t know how, right now. She can’t think straight. Pun intended.

Leaving the bathroom, she checked her cell. Noticing the few messages her girlfriend had left her during the short period of time she had you to herself. Her avoidant nature caused her to skim them, then slap her phone shut.

“Everything good?” Jesse questioned, watching as she approached the table.

Ellie shoved her phone into her front pocket. “Yeah… Everything’s fine.” Her olive eyes averted to Dina. “Dude…?” She squinted her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Els. I went too far, I know.”

“I’m glad you know.” She sat in her chair, glancing over at you talking to the buff blonde. “What you said was fucked up, and I should be more mad at you, right now…”

She sighed, pouting her lips. “Well, thank you for your mercy, sire.” A smile creeped onto her lips.

“Dina,” Ellie narrowed her eyes, shaking her head.

Jesse side-eyed her, pressing his lips into an unimpressed line. She looked over at him, lips parting. “Just tryin’ to lighten up the mood. Excuse me.” Dina deepened her eyebrows, sliding down in her chair.

Ellie chortled, shaking her head once more, making sure to swing it far to get a glance at you. She watched you follow Abby back to her booth, telling them that you were leaving. Her hand guiding you, rubbing circles on the back of your hand. Fuck, that should’ve been Ellie. She hated watching you lean into her like that—shrinking yourself. That wasn’t you.

You were bold, opinionated, and despite your strict upbringing, you never shrunk. If anything, Maria and Tommy’s parenting gave you confidence. That used to intimidate Ellie, but it didn’t anymore. It influenced her.

As you walked out with Abby, Ellie gave an awkward wave, but you snapped your head in the other direction. You needed to clean your pallet, and that’s exactly what you were planning to do in that shiny black Jaguar.

When the door opened, the brisk, autumn air hit you, cooling your body down. But your mind was still set on using Abby as a cleanser—a handkerchief to wipe you of your mistakes.

You feigned a straightforward destination, giving her the address of your childhood home. But, halfway, you told her to pull over onto a dark dirt path. She made a joke, asking: Is this where you kill me and steal my car?

And you respond, full of need: I don’t want your stupid fucking car. I want you. Launching yourself over the center console, wrapping your arms around her face. You swing one of your legs over to straddle her in the driver’s seat. Hips grinding against her, shoving your tongue down her throat like she was going to leave you. Although, she wasn’t going anywhere—not with you on her lap, anyway.

Abby groaned into your mouth, gripping your ass over your jeans, pushing you harder against her. Messily, you begin to trail your lips down her jaw, toward the softness of her neck. Urgently nibbling at her skin. “Fuck, you’re eager…” Abby muttered through her heavy breathing. “I like this version of you.”

This isn’t my favorite version of you. Ellie’s voice echoed in your head. It frustrated you.

Warmth built up under the crotch of your jeans; the thick seam doing very little for the pleasure you wanted. “Please, Abby…” You breathed into her ear, tugging at the silver ring through her cartilage. “Touch me.” Reaching for her hand, you place between your legs, cupping her hand as she groped you. Meeting her eyes, you taunted her, chewing on your bottom lip.

The blonde didn’t hesitate, unbuttoning your jeans and shoving her hand inside. She was always quick to give rather than receive—listening to any command you spoke. As the pads of her fingers contact with where you needed her the most, you sighed. “You’re so wet for me already…”

It was debatable whether it was for her or not. With your eyes squeezed shut, you imagined the earthy, olive eyes of your past lover. The softness of the her lips. The desperation in which she put her all into pleasing you—it was experienced before. But, at that point, you were amateurs. So much has changed since then. You were curious how much, though. “All for you.” You whined, rocking your hips against her hand. Lying through your teeth.

She pressed two fingers into you, pushing a moan from your throat. Hands gripping her shoulders, bracing your weight. You imagined them to be her fingers curling deep inside of you—pulling sounds from you like a puppeteer.

You were worser than you thought.

Abby was supposed to be a pallet cleanser, but instead she was just a vessel for your horny fantasies.

The palm of her hand rubbed against your clit, pushing you closer to an edge you wanted to fall off of. A tightness built in the pit of your stomach—burning like a prosperous flame; standing by to erupt. “Ah… Fuck, yes!” You lewdly affirmed, fingers gripping the roots of her hair, back arching into her. The smell of lavender shampoo wafting into your nose from how close you were.

Ellie would never wash her hair with lavender shampoo. She stuck to sweeter, muskier smells. The one’s you liked.

Your legs trembled around her hips, jolting with every stroke and thrust. Her ministrations intensifying causing the sounds from your lips to get louder, laced with desire. “Abby,” You trembled with a warning tone. “I’m g—gonna… Fuck, I’m comi—“ Your choppy words are cut off with the snapping of a band in your stomach—spreading over you like a brisk gust of wind. Shocking your body into a brief state of paralysis against her strong frame.

She coax’s you through your orgasm, with that same come hither motion that got you there to begin with. Although, she was so quiet. That’s when clarity hit you, as you shakily rocked against her hand. Reaching down, you grip her wrist, kissing the pressure point under her ear. “Can you check the time f’me?” You sweetly ask, still subtly, rutting against her.

Abby checked the watch on her wrist. “Eleven-something.” She hummed into your neck.

“Eleven-somethin’, huh?” You tease, lifting off her, trying to settle back into the passenger seat. “I should probably get home…” You zipped and buttoned your pants. Normally, you’d be eager to return the favor, but your plan didn’t work—and, frankly, that irritated you. That nerdy, auburn-haired, freckled woman, that you knew so well, had burrowed herself under your skin already. It was a recipe for disaster.

There was a twitch in Abby’s brow at your sudden departure from her. She felt that bite of coldness; it was something she wasn’t used to. Nonetheless, she drove you home. With you leaning on the window, watching dark, shedding trees pass you by. All the way until you felt that familiar shift from side to side as you cruised over the gravel that led to your childhood home.

“How long are you gonna be here for?” You asked as she pulled to a stop, where Ellie’s car was previously parked. It was out of courtesy to wonder; these parts of town wasn’t really for people like her.

“Until the end of the week, then back to work.” She turned toward you, pushing her hair behind her ear. “When am I gonna see you again?” Record scratch. Abby Anderson has never asked you that. She was always aloof and carefree. I’m too busy. Let me check my schedule.

You couldn’t help the laugh that fell from your lips. “I’m really tying to spend some time with my family, but— uhm… I’ll call you, okay?” Leaning over the console, you place a lush smooch on her lips—riding on the confidence from her lack thereof.

Getting out of her expensive car, you adjust your clothing before walking into your house. Thankfully, the lights were off, meaning your parents were asleep. Thank, God. You looked awful, and you preferred not to be questioned on your state, Ellie’s whereabouts, and who took you home.

Gently, you shut the door behind you, keys jiggling in your hand. Slipping out of your heels, you tiptoed toward the fridge just to prove something to yourself. The white light from the fridge illuminated your deadpanned expression as two tall bottles of champagne sat on the second shelf. Nobody likes champagne that much. You rolled your eyes, scoffing under your breath.

Cat didn’t deserve any of what happened tonight, and you hated that.

When you got to your bedroom, you wasted no time to peel the clothes from your body. Falling atop of your mattress like a starfish. Before you slipped under the covers, you pulled your laptop onto your stomach to log into your MySpace. There was a red notification on your activity icon. When you click on it, StarlightWilliams had added you back—you were mutuals now. The pads of your fingers touched your lips, remembering the softness of hers from that moment in the bathroom. The pressure of her slender fingers gripping your sides—wistfully you sighed, slumping your head against the fluffy pillows and stuffed animals against your headboard.

Suddenly, your computer makes a sound—a ping. You sit up, squinting at the incoming notification.

kit_cat79 wants to be your friend!

What a coincidence. The website exposes whether you were online or not—you couldn’t hide from her. So, you decided to add her back. Cat’s picture was of her with her tongue out, dark bangs styled to the side. You didn’t realize that she had a tongue piercing—could she get any cooler? Maybe you should get a tongue piercing.

Her mood hadn’t been recently updated, but it was: Optimistic.

Her bio didn’t over explain much, but said more than her freckled counterpart: my name is cat and i do tattoo’s !! message me for inquiries (or ur a loser). Your eyes and cursor skimmed her account, not paying attention to the smaller details. Quickly, you navigated to the pictures and videos. There were some pieces of her work, candids of Ellie, pictures of her at band shows—

kit_cat79: hey… i know it’s late, but that was you who just got back, right?

The messages appeared at the bottom left corner of the screen, blinking green.

BugsWritersRoom: Hey, yeah. That was me…

Duh.

kit_cat79: i thought you went with ellie in her truck. also… where is she? she’s not answering my texts.

Was she worried about her? Or was her questioning coming from a place of distrust? Or, a secret third option... you had a bad case of paranoia.

BugsWritersRoom: She’s still at TB. I’m sure she’s just distracted catching up with Jesse and Dina.

kit_cat79: oh…

kit_cat79: that was some car you pulled up in...

She was wanting to start conversation, but you were too tired. You didn’t want to think about, or talk to another person about Abby. Let alone, talk about her with Cat. No offense. Sleep is the only time when your mind was going to finally rest, and you can resume thinking tomorrow.

Leaving her message on seen, you shut your laptop, pushing it to the side. You took Cat’s message as a sign to shut it down, reaching to click your lamp off.

You allowed sleep to take over, cuddling into your pillows as if it were a body. Hitching your leg over it, tugging it to your chest. Could you have been more evident in your loneliness? In your restless dreams, your brain scoured for something to show you. Something relevant, of course.

Olive eyes, freckles, prominent beauty mark—it was obvious what images it was looking for. Ellie.

By the time the sun lingered on the horizon, a tragic alarming song sang in unison to wake you—the sound of your ancient alarm, and the sound of the rooster sat atop of the chicken coop. Groaning into the pillow you held, squinting your eyes open. It had pulled you from a dream that was… Certainly, a dream. It was untoward, lewd; just straight up nasty.

There was a wetness between your legs that was the first to get your attention. Out of shameful curiosity, you reached your hand under your shorts; hoping it wasn’t your period suprising you. Pulling your fingers out, there was an absence of the dark hue that was a symbol of your menstrual cycle. It was fairly clear, shiny, and slick. You were a victim of a wet dream. How juvenile.

The sight of it only made your hornier. So, while you still had time, you jumped for one of the bags you brought. You were expected for morning chores, but there was always time to rub one out.

Taking the battery-powered silver bullet from you bag, you attempt to switch it on but it doesn’t respond. You even switch the batteries around, blowing into the port. “Come on…” You complain, but it still it doesn’t adhere to you.

You groan, falling back into your pillows. There was nothing wrong with going old school, but you were a creature of habit.

Sliding your hand down your body, you slip under your shorts and underwear. It didn’t take long for you to completely rouse yourself, blinking your eyes shut to fall into your imagination. Usually, the best material was your most recent hookup—or some celebrity crush that you couldn’t get over.

The movement of your finger mirrored a strong blonde who always aimed to please you. You could imagine yourself gripping her long, silky hair, pushing her into your pussy—devouring you. Feeling her hands gripping your thighs, anchoring them to the mattress.

You relished in the feeling that was slowly washing over you. So much so that when the image of blonde hair began to fade and be replaced by short auburn strands, you barely noticed. Subconsciously, replicating the dream that kept you snug as a bug all through the night.

Your ministrations quickened as you neared finality. Bottom lip slipping between your teeth. Soft, repressed moans sneaking through them as your hand clutched your breast, thumbing your sensitive nipple. The serotonin levels increasing with every swipe and slide. Fuck, El—

Downstairs, the artist peeled dried paint from her fingers, waiting for you. Staying out late knowing she had to get up for chores was a huge mistake. There were many mistakes that happened last night. Another being, ignoring Cat’s messages. Ellie pulled into the driveway not too much later than you—it was nearing one o’clock.

When she entered the guesthouse, shrugging off her jacket—with a mind busier than New York City herself—Cat was found in the small living room. With her thin eyebrows bunched together and her arms crossed over her chest. Dressed in nothing but a fitted tank top and cheeky underwear.

Ellie had looked at her with a stressed look, “What are you still doing up?” Walking past her to the bedroom to undress and unwind. Cat scoffed, following her to the bedroom. Slippered feet stomping behind the artist.

“What am I doing up?!” She chided, twitching toward her. “I’ve been texting you all night, Ellie. You couldn’t respond to one?”

The freckled woman plopped onto her side of the bed, kicking off her shoes. She pretty much saw the messages as they were coming in; Ellie just didn’t have the nerve to respond. She didn’t feel like it. Not after what happened in the bathroom—she couldn’t come back from that. Hell, she didn’t want to come back from that. The only image replaying in her mind was your lips on hers. Your hands imbedded in her hair. The wanton sounds coming from you that she wanted to hear on again, and again, and again. That feeling of being between your legs...

And, let’s not even get into how it felt to see you leave with Abby. That ruined her whole night. Not even Jesse could cheer her up.

She ran a hand through her hair, looking over her shoulder with a tired expression. “Babe, I’m sorry, okay?” She began, standing to her feet to remove her jeans. “We just got too carried away talkin’ and whatnot.” Walking to the bathroom in the bedroom, she shed her shirt from her body. Ellie found it too easy to lie—she’s always been good at it. And, Cat was pretty gullible. But she had to throw a monkey wrench in there to really calm her down.

“Turns out… Jesse got Dina pregnant.”

“What?”

She turned on the shower, then peaked out of the doorway. “Yeah, how crazy is that?”

The tattooed girl fell onto the edge of the bed, eyes casting toward the ground, full of uncertainty. “Super crazy…”

Noticing the subtle dejection in her features, Ellie sighed. Leaving the doorframe as the shower ran hot in the background. She appeared before her, reaching her hand down to lift her chin. “Kitty Cat,” Her voice was soft and oh, so forgiving. “I should’ve responded to your texts— I’m an asshole. Let me make it up to you…” She sultrily offered, caressing the softness of her chin with her thumb.

And that’s what she did. Ellie made it up to her girlfriend of almost a year. By fucking her in the shower hard enough to make her forget about all of her uncertainties.

She had a long night.

This morning, she got up an hour earlier to get a better start on her sketch—she even started incorporating her oil paints. That’s what was stuck to her hands. The coloring in of her portrait of you in front of that shed. She felt the need to freeze that moment in time; where you embraced each other in the arms of company for the first time in too long. That hazardous kiss you shared in that sticky bathroom at the Tipsy Bison inspired her to color in the lines.

“I normally hear her up and movin’ around… She’s taking longer than I thought she would.” Maria commented, munching on a buttered bagel. “How long were you two out last night?”

Ellie inhaled, lifting her eyebrows in thought. “I got back around one, but y/n came back earlier than I did. She got a ride from a friend.” She shrugged, the ends of her lips curling, mischievously. “I think her name’s… Abby.” Ellie added, glancing between the two parents.

“Hm. What made her leave early—?” Tommy began to ask, but he stopped himself. He frowned, leaning his elbows on the counter, peering at the auburn-haired woman across from him. “How’s Dina doin’?”

She chuckled. “Still pissed, if that’s what you’re getting at?” Ellie went from peeling paint off her fingers, to fiddling with them. “They got into a bit of a…”

“Fight?” The blonde woman questioned, deepening her arched eyebrows. She never liked hearing about you fighting—or seeing it. That was a strictness Maria was never going to get rid of. Tommy used to get into fights a lot, finding himself locked behind iron bars at the county jail. But that was years before he moved to New York. When he still lived in Texas with Joel.

“No.” Ellie bunched her eyebrows in defense, shaking her head. “It was an argument, but it didn’t last long. I handled it.”

Steps sounded from the stairs, silencing the three. Pairs of eyes peered up the stairs, hoping that it was you stalking down the steps—but it wasn’t. When he began clearing his throat and coughing, loudly, they knew it was Joel. “Goddamnit…” Tommy rolled his eyes, slapping his hand against his thighs.

“Good mornin’ to you, too, Tommy.” Joel scoffed.

He huffed, licking his lips. Just like you did when you grew irritated—Tommy’s antics had rubbed off on you. “Is there any signs of life from my kids' room—? Because she should’ve been down here five minutes ago.” He looked to Joel before glancing at his watch. “Maria and I planned for her to teach Ellie how to do our grocery shipments.”

“Grocery shipments?” Ellie cast her earthy eyes toward Maria.

“It’s a lot of information, but I’m sure you’ll catch on just fine, Ellie.” She placed her hand atop of hers, pressing her lips into a smile. “If only your teacher could be timely…” Maria sighed.

The freckled artist stood up straight, pursing her lips. “I can go check and see if she’s up…” She offered, shrugging nonchalantly. “I’m sure she is— maybe she just needs a little nudge. I had rough time this mornin’, too.” To be frank, offering to grab you from the second floor of the house was clouded with selfish intentions. Ellie hadn’t seen your bedroom since she was seventeen. She couldn’t help but wonder if anything had changed.

And, she wanted a useful reason to talk to you.

Your parents are wondering what the hell you’re doing— also, how was our kiss from 1-10?

Hey, you’re supposed to be teaching me about grocery shipments, right now— hypothetically, would you kiss me again… Or?

She was such a loser for you; she always has been. “If you don’t mind. I’m sure she’d appreciate seeing you more than me.” Tommy chuckled, nudging his wife but she barely broke a smile. Staring her husband down with icy, blue eyes.

Ellie’s eyebrows twitched, but she decided not to interact with whatever happened there. Quickly, moving to the stairs to find you.

What she could remember about your room was the pink wallpaper and the posters. You used to be very persistent in upgrading old ones for new ones—saving the old ones in your closet. She found it amusing how you could never get over anything; you liked to collect things. As many things as possible—posters, collectors items, superhero figurines—you were an undercover geek!

The fascination you had with catwoman was insane. But, understandable.

The stairs of your home was guided by many picture frames. Pictures of you lining the walls. The bottom starting with photos of you when you still went heavy on the eyeliner and hairspray; gradually preceding with much happier images of you. The final photo being the whole family together, including Ellie. It was taken after your college graduation, in front of the house. You were sandwiched between your grinning parents while Joel and Ellie were on both ends; her sporting a timid smile, and him grinning just like his brother.

She was so proud of you that day, but didn’t dare to enunciate that how she really wanted to. At the time, the shoulder you gave her was ice cold. Brisker than the harsh weather of the east coast.

When she emerged at the top step, the first door in front of the stairs was cracked open. But that wasn’t your bedroom, that was your parents’ bedroom. Down the hall, to the right, after passing an open floor planned media space, was the guest room. Where Joel was spending his nights. A little further down that hall was your bedroom.

It was the best spot in the house. Your bedroom have the best view of the front of the house, and was far enough from the prying ears of curious parents.

Neither you or Ellie were innocent teenagers—you both couldn’t wait to get some alone time, and you couldn’t keep your hands off each other once you started. It was the perfect place for late night shenanigans.

Again, some things never change, huh?

Strolling toward your door, Ellie raises her hand to give a soft knock. But she pauses at the faint sounds coming from under your door. Breathy whines, the light rocking of your old, rickety bed frame. Could she hear just how wet you were from outside your door?

She leaned closer to the brown door, her bottom lip slotting between her teeth. Ellie wanted to be sure she was hearing correctly, of course. She heard you cursing and swearing, but nothing shocked her more than when she heard you squeak her name. “Fuck, Ellie…”

Apparently, Ellie wasn’t the only one who was overcome. Wanton sounds filled her ears like a mantra before she decided to interfere. Knock, knock! She heard you gasp.

“It’s Ellie... Your parents are gonna throw bitch-fits in T-minus five minutes if you’re not downstairs soon.” Ellie kept herself composed, using her hand to hold her weight against the wall. She heard you shuffling behind your door, cursing under your breath.

“I’ll be down in, like, five minutes!” You shout, the sound of quick maneuvering being heard from Ellie’s side of the door.

She wanted you to open the door, just to get a glimpse of that blissed out look on your face—Ellie anticipated that flustered look. Forgetting about her own blushing cheeks after hearing you say her name while touching yourself. She felt like a fucking king.

Stuffing her hands into her pockets, she walked to the media space. Lifting up CDs, VHS tapes, and eyeing thick books that haven’t been touched in years to pass the time. Fuck, Ellie—still played in her mind like a record. There wasn’t any scratching, only smooth playing; no interruptions.

When you appeared from your room, dressed in your working cowboy boots, a long-sleeve Abercrombie shirt and bootcut jeans—there was a shit-eating grin that just wouldn’t leave her face. Ellie turned around to lay her eyes on you, unable to help but ogle. “Do you have a condition that you’re not mentioning? Perhaps, a tumor—? Since you can’t help yourself when it comes to laughing…” You grumble, placing your hands on your hips.

Your words only made her smile more. The more time the two of you spent together, the more snarky you were becoming—she missed that. “Turns out, under some circumstances… I can be a morning person. Some circumstances.” She muttered, mainly to herself but she didn't mind if you heard. Ellie deliberated with herself on whether she was going to expose what she heard you say… Or, if she was going to hold onto it. Similar to how victorians put the hair of their lover’s into lockets.

“Whatever, Els.” You rolled your eyes, loosely calling her by that nickname, again. Ignoring the harshness of her eyes, you passed her to descend the wooden stairs. There was still a mindless sleepiness to you. It was charming to your past lover, as she followed behind you—floating on air. Thinking about how great of an idea it was to come back this year.

And, still, Ellie was barely harbored with guilt. Even more so when she inspected your features, intently. When her thoughts wandered into the gutters of her creative mind—spreading you wide in all of your glory.

taglist: @autisticintr0vert , @liasxeatt , @hopingforgoodblogs , @lia-winther , @macaroni676 , @tobiotruther , @anewkindofloove , @fatbootymuncher (i love your user lmao) , @maiaska

#🪅#millersfinest #ellie tlou #lesbian #ellie williams #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x reader #abby anderson #tlou #this ch was a lot hornier than my original plan ngl

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