#but it's up to her. if she decides not to then. it's entirely her right.

[yieldtotemptation]

PAROXYSM ft. Mina

mina x male reader smut

part two of strange currencies

16k words

Go ahead, try and pretend like you’re not obsessed.

Like you’re not bothered that it’s been weeks since you had Mina—felt the heat of her body, the silk of her skin, the sweetness of her breath on your neck.

Since you've seen that ass. Had it in your hands, spread her cheeks with your fingers, stretched her wide with your cock and left Mina in tears, crying out—

"God, I can never go back from this."

And it’s not like you haven’t been searching for opportunities; a party you’d both be invited to, another gala, some event with enough plausible deniability for when you inevitably, ‘accidentally’ bump into her again.

But for some reason, nothing seems to align.

You’ll get word that she’s in Korea, basking in a rare stretch of free time, while you’re in Hong Kong, signing deals and making promises of dubious sincerity.

You’ll be rushing to return, already planning out how you’ll steal another taste of her, another touch; only to find out she’s been whisked away again—to Japan, or Brazil, or any one of the countless countries desperate to host her.

Glimpses is all you ever truly get—paparazzi shots, magazine covers, the odd video that passes through the digital ether.

So, yeah.

You let it rest, go through the motions, try to recreate it in the aggregate. There are plenty of pretty faces, eager bodies in your orbit.

But they're all just that: bodies.

Empty shells of what you had. They don’t laugh like her, they don’t keep you on your toes like she can, they don’t look at you with the same hunger.

(They don’t say your name like Mina did.)

—

“So,” is the first word you hear from Mina. Too much time has passed, and you’ve officially given up on any pretences of nonchalance. Decided to get straight to the point with the right people and just get her number. “I guess I’m not the only one who can’t stop thinking about that night.”

“Uncharted territory and all,” you’re repeating, and there’s a beat of silence on the other line.

A deep breath, and you swear you can hear her smile. “Definitely unique.”

It’s well past midnight and you’re tired and you’re feeling unusually vulnerable, so you're admitting things you'd usually keep under lock and key. “It’s been—you’ve been stuck in my head, Mina.”

“I know the feeling,” she sighs. Just the timbre of her voice and there’s shivers down your spine. “The memory alone is still—”

You finish for her, “Vivid.”

“I was going to say really fucking hot, but yes,” she laughs. “It’s helped me through some lonely nights. Remembering how you felt inside me, everything we did together it’s—God, you have no idea.”

“I’d argue I have the entire idea. For one—the stairs,” you’re supplying, grinning to yourself, leaning back in your chair, remembering the way she clung to you. How tight she was around you, how fucking new she felt as you filled her. “You were so fucking gorgeous. Never felt anything like it.”

“And the shower,” she counters, “you had me pinned against the tiles. Couldn’t move without you fucking me deeper. Just stuck with nowhere to go but further down your cock. No one’s ever done that to me.”

“Don’t forget the kitchen,” you add, “We got pretty creative with the utensils.”

Mina giggles. You didn't know she was capable of sounding so girlish. “I’ll never look at a spatula the same.”

It’s getting dangerous, each memory rekindling the flame of a night that you’d tried to convince yourself couldn’t have been as epic as you remembered. Couldn’t have mattered so much.

And yet here you are now, letting Mina stir up thoughts of her cunt gushing down her thighs, her nipples stiffening between your teeth, her ass choking your cock, the look on her face when she came all over you—and you know she’s wading through the very same set of flashbacks.

“Every time I close my eyes, I’m back in that garden. Your hands are all over me, your mouth everywhere—”

“Your cunt on my tongue—”

“Your fingers in my ass—”

“Your fucking moans, Mina—”

“Wait, I need to—”

Mina stops you, and you find yourself releasing a breath you didn't even know you were holding. You think you can hear her; hear the shutting of a door, a lock turning, frantic pacing, the squeak of a bed.

Your eyes close and you're picturing it now—Mina, laid back on pure white sheets, sprawled out like a Goddess. It's all there, crystal clear. Fingers dancing over her collarbones, tracing the delicate line of her neck down to the swell of her breasts.

Teasing herself, running her thumbs over her areola, the skin there a shade darker, a touch more sensitive. Pinching and pulling, peaks hardening into tight buds, missing the roughness of your tongue.

And then going lower, down over her ridged abs and between her toned thighs. Spreading her legs out in an invitation, toes curling into the mattress. Finding herself slick with need, so, so soaked. Dipping down to trace over her folds before sliding right into the wet heat.

Mina gasps. It's not your imagination. She moans into the phone.

You can almost taste her again.

She finds her voice. "Please, keep talking."

—

The first photo comes through the very next day.

You can intuit from the architecture in the background—the steep roofs, the brick exteriors, the gothic towers—she’s somewhere in Paris.

And there’s Mina, flat on her stomach, sheets tangled around her like the aftermath of a hurricane that’s swept through. Smiling at you straight down the barrel of the camera, cutting through the digital space between you. It’s sly and knowing and a little bit wicked, because she knows that it’s not the view of the city behind her that you’re looking at, nor is it even her face, usually so stunningly unavoidable and instantly captivating.

It's her ass.

Plump and round, poking over her shoulder, filling a whole corner of the frame. And you're spotting the indentations where your fingers have sunk in, the stretch of alabaster that your grip turned a shade of pink. A map of memories etched across the curve of her cheeks.

It’s a thousand words in a single photo, a message loud and clear, carefully composed to make you ache. So, you do. You ache.

You save the picture—not because you think you’re going to forget, but because you need to have a piece of her with you at all times.

Something to pull out when the days are too long, too dull. Something to look at when your memories of her aren’t enough anymore.

The photo, you notice, comes with a caption: ‘The only thing missing here is you.’

—

“Stability,” Mina’s telling you nights later, after you’ve spent close to an hour describing to her all the ways you’d like to have her again, like to break her down until she’s just a trembling mess of limbs and cum.

It’s a habit the two of you have picked up; these clandestine calls that come in the dead of night, during those rare occasions you’re in a reasonable enough time zone to talk. You’re actually in the same country this time. The States, but on different coasts, so, close enough.

She’s sending these breathy whispers down the phone; still coming down from her high, from the way her thighs clenched around her own hand, from the way she painted your name onto her skin with her own juices.

Still coming down from you, from the meticulously detailed step-by-step explanations of exactly what you’d do to her if you weren’t thousands of kilometres apart.

“Stability,” you repeat the answer she’s given to the question that’s been burning in your mind for weeks now. It’s certainly a faux pas to ask right after she’s made you cum across your own chest; but it’s late, and tonight’s suite is far too big and much too quiet—the kind of quiet that lets you think too much.

And so you had to ask her. Why was she still with him?

“That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Mina confirms. “I like stability, I like routine, I like knowing what to expect. Means I can never be disappointed.”

“Never be surprised, either,” you point out. She laughs, the sound warm and rich through the speaker.

“That’s never really been a problem.” She pauses. “Until you.”

There’s an alarm bell sounding somewhere, triggered by the way that last syllable curls around the corners of her lips, bounces across fifty different states to land in your ear.

You.

It rattles around your brain, punches you right in the gut. You try to play it off with a chuckle. But you both know what this really is. The desperation, the need. What you do to each other. How much of a fucking mess you’d make together if you had half the chance.

You make an attempt at being casual: “Apologies, then.”

“You kinda fuck everything up for me, you know?” She admits. “I was fine with it all. Leaving all of this as just a fantasy. Living with the boredom.”

“Everything’s boring.”

“Except this.”

You should really be above all this. The pining, the yearning. Having a crush.

It’s unbecoming.

Leave her alone. Leave her to the dream life she’s built up for herself. The career, the boyfriend, the whole shiny package that everyone’s decided she should want. It’d be the rational thing to do.

And yet— “So, what are we going to do about it?”

“I suppose,” Mina says, and once again, you're swearing you can hear her smile through the phone, because this is far from the end of things, “We’ll just have to find some way to scratch this itch.”

—

(It’s an outrageous abuse of power.

But so what? You’re an asshole billionaire, that’s what everyone expects of you anyway.

Besides, compared to your peers, it falls far short of bankrupting entire economies or causing irreparable damage to the Earth’s oceans and atmosphere.

So why not go full tilt and really indulge?

That’s basically the gist of your justification for forcing fate’s hand and manifesting your own ‘accidental’ meeting with Mina.

Still. It’s only a meeting.)

—

“Quite a situation you’ve engineered here,” is Mina’s first quip, as she steps right out of your daydreams and into your office.

Oh, you’ve been thinking of her.

Spent time replaying that night in your mind, revisiting the sight of her bouncing on that staircase, the feel of her soft skin slapping against yours, the sound of her sighs in your ears.

Obsessed over the messages, the photos, the videos she’s sent—how she moves, that coy smile on her face when she knows she’s got your full attention in her grip. All these mesmerising moments captured in high-definition.

And it’s coming back to you now—the waterfall of hair cascading down her shoulders, the red of her lips, the beauty spot on her nose, above her cupid’s bow—a constellation across her face.

(She makes your office feel small.)

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, aiming for flippant, but missing the mark by a wide margin.

“Mhm,” is all you’re going to get, because you both know better.

She makes herself at home here, taking the long way to your desk. Hips swaying as she runs her fingers over the décor, the lights and the statues, the books and the furniture. Again, fitting right in with the expensive, the luxurious, the exclusive.

You’re not hiding that you’re staring, and she’s not hiding that she knows either.

Mina walks right past you, turns away so you can see the full sweep of her back, the high-waisted skirt that hugs her curves before flaring out at the waist. Eventually, she stops at the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooks the city, the urban sprawl below a far cry from the palatial gardens that backdropped your first encounter.

The sun’s setting overhead. It casts a warm glow over her. Outlines her figure in gold.

You break the silence, "Heard the photoshoot went well."

“Well, you get what you pay for,” is Mina’s second quip of the afternoon. She turns back to face you, leaning against the window frame, a perfect silhouette.

You can almost hear the glass tremble.

Mina asks, offhandedly, “You’ll have to enlighten me—is it standard practice for visitor passes to have access to every floor in the tower?”

“Security must be lacking.”

“Right,” Mina says. “And is it normal in your line of work, for the CEO to handpick the brand ambassadors?”

You shrug. “I like to get my hands dirty.”

“If that’s what they’re calling it,” she responds, smiling now. Pushing herself off the glass and taking a dangerous step forward.

“We were looking to appeal to our Japanese market,” you say, repeating the same lines you fed to your team, to her management, to anyone who bothered to raise an eyebrow. It’s a good lie. “Needed someone refined, someone that depicted class. Aspirational.”

Mina takes another step forward. Heels that make her legs look endless hitting the polished flooring with a click. "So that's how you see me, then."

"Amongst other, less appropriate things," you admit, already completely, hopelessly captivated.

"Let me guess: Stunning?"

"That's one."

“Fuckable.”

“Absolutely.”

“Submissive?”

“Are you asking, or telling me?”

Mina’s eyes dazzle as she closes the distance, rounding your desk and stopping just short of your chair. She waits for you to swivel and face her.

And then she leans forward, so close. Nose brushing yours, breath warm and sweet and familiar. Her hands land on your thighs, pushing your legs apart.

She drops to her knees.

“Telling.”

You can’t help yourself, you press your thumb to her lips, stamping it crimson.

It’s a wicked thing, how Mina’s bottom lip dips, how her tongue snakes out to lick the pad of your thumb clean. You push in deeper, watching as she takes you into her mouth, seals her lips around you and sucks.

How she’s looking at you now—building up this image of Mina; kneeling, the skirt riding up, her panties soaked with anticipation. Dressed like this is just another business meeting—masked in a high neckline and a smile so perfect against your skin.

That's today's game. Dress up.

Professionalism went out the window the moment she walked in—it barely crosses your mind to wonder whether or not she locked the door. You don’t even care.

Mina stops her little show, thumb pops out of her mouth with a wet sound, leaving a smear of red behind. There’s something about Mina, something that can’t be intuited unless she’s right in front of you, inhaling your exhales, smiling up at you like you're the only person in the entire world that matters.

It's like magic—makes everything and everyone else feel like a figment of your imagination.

“You forgot to mention a few other things,” Mina breathes on you, low and warm, priming you for a punchline that you know will send you reeling.

“Like what?”

“Oh, you know,” and she starts unbuttoning her blouse, reaching for the top button then— “How utterly,”

Then the next button.

“Desperately,”

More still.

“Needy,”

All of them.

“I am for your wonderful, perfect cock.”

The blouse opens up, falls away, drifts off her shoulders until it’s blood-red lace and vanilla-white skin.

Fuck.

(Mina’s not from this world, no fucking way. Definitely not human; jury’s out on if she’s some kind of Goddess. Probably something in between, come down from some place where the air is thinner and the lights are brighter.)

Your mouth is dry. “I could never forget.”

Mina’s eyes crinkle at the corners. Lips spread wide. She’s kissing your cock through your pants.

It’s electric. A long, teasing press of her lips that winds you so tight that just the slightest touch, just a single word could set you off.

Her teeth graze the fabric. You throb through the cotton.

“Mina,” you manage, hand dropping to the side of her face. There’s a tremor in your voice that you’re not used to, that you can’t even pretend to hide. Mina’s got you in the palm of her hand—or rather, on the edge of her lips—even though she’s the one on her knees.

“Relax,” she coos, holding her lips against you, deft fingers unlatching your belt, finding your zipper. “Let me take care of you. Let me take care of this cock,” honeyed words slipping out with the same ease that tugs you free, “Get my tongue all over it, take it deep down my throat, be such a good little whore for you—until you can’t think of anything but how much you want me to swallow every drop you’ve got for me, baby.”

You swallow, caress her cheek, “Darling—”

“Shh," Mina hushes, taking your cock into her hand, holding it against her cheek. So damn happy to have it so close to her mouth once again. “Everything you said over the phone. All that stuff about fucking my face, leaving a mess, filling up my throat—I want it all. You’re going to give it to me now, please.”

She doesn’t even look up at you, just so focused on your cock. Kissing around the shaft, and then drawing her tongue in one, slow, dragging lick all the way from your base, right to the tip. It’s gentle, careful, exploratory.

Introducing her lips to every inch of skin along your cock, over your balls, taking her time to stain all of you with the sheen of her kisses. Careful, so careful. Meticulous too, deep in concentration that you can almost feel her thoughts, intuit from the pressure of her lips how much this means to her. How much she needs it.

And it’s as her breath warms the head of your cock that you realise you’ve got a stranglehold on the armrest of your chair, holding it so tightly you could snap it in two. Not like there’s any helping it, nothing to do but brace yourself as she opens her mouth, pink tongue peeking out, and licks you again—longer, slower.

Holding still now, cock balanced on her tongue, fixing you with this stare.

A dare.

(Don’t move. Don’t interrupt. Let her do her work.)

That’s when her boyfriend calls.

Sorry, her partner.

A jarring noise, a slap in the face that breaks the spell. Vibrating atop your oak desk, a violent buzzing through the room—once, twice, thrice.

Mina’s eyes flick to yours. A split second, a single thought shared. There’s laughter on her lips because of course, because why the fuck not, because this is definitely your kind of chaos. You nod. You’re both in on the joke.

The phone’s still ringing, ringing, ringing.

And Mina’s mouth is still on you, tongue tickling underneath, lips wrapping around, before taking you in deep. Right as she accepts the call.

“Hmf?”

—

(A good idea to mention this theory you’ve been brewing for a while, the other reason why Mina still hasn’t broken up with boyfriend.

Because of you.

Because of how much fucking hotter it makes her. The thrill, the rush, putting a blemish on an otherwise spotless record.

And maybe you’re just as guilty—because you want to hear her lie to him too.)

—

“Still working,” is Mina’s deadpan over the phone, somehow keeping a straight face despite how full her hands are with you. She even rolls her eyes. “You know how it is—unreasonable CEOs jumping down my throat for no good reason at all.”

This woman.

Churning lies with such ease that you almost feel sorry for the poor, oblivious soul on the other end of the phone. Almost.

But Mina's too good at all of this. Too good at hiding it all. Too good at everything, really—whether it's singing, dancing, kneeling before you, making your cock disappear down her throat.

Just a slight adjustment in posture, and she’s taking you in deeper. A gentle suck, a swirl of her tongue around the ridge—and oh, the way she’s looking at you, eyes up and so damn full of mischief.

She’s fucking loving this. Loving the way you’re watching her, the way your hand finds her hair as she takes you in, the way you’re fighting to keep your composure. Fighting to keep your breath even and calm and to stop yourself from groaning so loud that it won’t just be her boyfriend, but the whole fucking tower that’s going to hear how much of a slut she is for you.

You can still hear his voice coming through—muted, indistinct—like a ghost, haunting the edges of this pornographic scene you’ve painted together. 

Fuck this guy likes to talk.

“Mhm,” is all Mina has to say to keep him convinced, to let him believe that she’s actually invested in whatever the fuck he’s on about. Keeping him none the wiser that her full attention is on you, her mouth moving up and down, her eyes glued to yours, watching every twitch, every drop of pleasure that flits across your face.

She reaches up with her free hand, wrapping it around the base of your cock. Gliding along your shaft in this twisting movement that sets your nerves alight.

Everything’s just so tight—her grip, her throat, your own breath in your chest.

“Mhm,” again, longer, sounding closer and closer to a moan than a casual agreement, but still, she’s playing the part. Barely listening to what he’s saying, because she’s doing this thing with her tongue—right at the tip, flicking it around your slit—that’s making you test the strength of your chair.

There’s temptation here—her mouth so warm, so wet—it would be so easy to grab a fistful of her hair and fuck her mouth like you know she wants. But you keep your cool, keep your hand gentle and steady atop her head, let her dictate the rhythm.

And when you hear the voice over the phone rise, maybe a bit of frustration or concern, maybe the start of something suspicious, Mina shamelessly pops your cock out of your mouth and answers, “Just having a snack. Late lunch break.”

She hits the mute button.

Bows her head deep, savouring each inch as she takes you deeper, making this fucking sound when your cock hits the back of the throat. Wet, gagging, sloppy noises that build this tension right at the base of your spine that leaves you aching, absolutely desperate to just give her more.

She holds herself there, choking so nicely, so sweetly, on your cock. Her eyes start water, it’s an effort to keep them open, but she’s still smiling through it all, just so delighted to finally taste what she’s been dying to have for weeks.

You’re struggling, “Fucking hell, Mina.”

Mina giggles into your cock, vibrating along your shaft. Pulls her head back; just a rope of spit that connects the two of you, glinting under the fluorescent lights. A poke of her tongue has her scooping it all up and slurping it all down, smacking her lips with a satisfied ‘ah’.

She unmutes.

“Sorry, it just tastes really good. Like nothing I’ve had before.”

There’s a confused murmur coming out of the speaker, a perturbed, “Really?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” and Mina has the gall to wink at you, the audacity to keep her hand on your cock, stroking it like it’s the most normal thing in the world. All the while she just chats to her boyfriend—partner, again—like you’re not about to cover her face with your entire load.

“Mina,” you let slip when she squeezes too hard, cranes her head to feel the weight of your balls on her tongue. Lapping away, licking and tonguing and teasing, until you’re gritting your teeth, holding back the moan that wants to break free.

The voice at the end of the line crackles, “Who’s that?”

Mina doesn’t miss a beat, “Boss for the day,” presses a wet kiss onto the head of your cock in a futile attempt to still you, “Really pushing me hard, making me work for it, you know?”

The voice relaxes, but not enough. “What’s going on over there? Something doesn’t sound right.”

“Everything’s perfect.” Mina’s just so pleased with herself, tongue dancing up and down, over and around, making the chair creak from the reflexive jerk she forces out of you. “I’m exactly where I need to be.”

“I told you that you shouldn’t do these types of jobs, you should listen to me and—”

“Get on my hands and knees and beg them to let me break the contract?” Mina smirks up at you, lips all smeared and messy with your arousal. “I can handle it” she continues on, dragging her lips to your base so she can slur into your waist, “I’m a professional. This is what I’m built for.”

God, he really doesn't deserve her.

He drops the subject so easily, moving on to talk more about him, about his schedules, his work, his boring fucking existence outside of her. And now you’re both rolling your eyes, sharing this secret, this ridiculousness that’s got you both on the edge of laughter and utter bliss.

Mina ups the ante, mutes her side of the call, and places the phone back on top of the desk.

You cock an eyebrow. “Seriously, him?”

She shakes her head. “No, just you.”

And she shows you, proves her point, because Mina’s not one for half-measures. Holds your cock tightly, strokes it again and again, one after another like it’s counting down to something explosive. Bomb’s ticking: the pressure’s building, the heat is coiling in your balls, but she keeps it steady, keeps it slow, keeps it right on that edge where it’s just enough to keep you there, but not enough to push you over.

“I’m just yours,” Mina hums, licking her swollen lips. “I’m yours to do with as you please, but,” she pauses, so she can jerk you just right, stroking with such finesse that you can't believe she's ever been with someone who didn't appreciate it, "I'm really hoping you let me swallow your cock now."

“You’re too fucking greedy.” 

Mina nods so earnestly.

So you give her what she wants, because what’s the point of playing this game if she isn’t going to win? 

You stroke the back of her head, guide her as she takes you all the way—nose to stomach, swallowing you up like you’re her favourite snack, her favourite secret. Her favourite lie to tell herself.

Fucking ridiculous. Too fucking much.

You lift your hips, leaving her to yank down your pants over your knees and to the ground. The clank of your belt buckle against marble echoes through the room, a starting gun to your undoing.

The phone’s still there, he’s still talking, a vaguely muffled annoyance. Mina doesn't even spare it a glance, just looks up at you, mouth full, eyes declaring:

‘Ignore everything else, just enjoy me.’

Fuck.

Mina’s cheeks hollow, her throat pulses, and gone is the usual effortless grace that she carries through everything she does.

No, she’s all raw, all passion. Sloppy now, greedy, showing you just how much she’s willing to do for you. It’s in the way she’s using her hand to squeeze the base of your shaft, the way she’s bobbing her head faster and faster.

Filling the room with the sounds of her slurps and smacking of her lips; her eyes watering with every deepthroat. Making her mouth this perfect, wet, hot little cave that’s swallowing you whole.

And you’re watching, watching every single move she makes. Unable to do anything else, really. Unable to think, to speak, to do anything but stare at her mouth, her eyes, her hand moving up and down, up and down—stare at Mina giving herself over to you.

“Jesus—fuck—” and there’s your voice back again, so much louder than you intended.

But Mina’s smiling around your cock, eyes still on you, urging you on, putting you under her spell. She’s playing with your balls now, her thumb brushing over the sensitive skin, her nails lightly scraping, and it’s like she’s got every button mapped out, knows exactly how to make you go off the deep end.

"Mina, you're just so," you try, rummaging through your addled mind for the right words to pin on this storm before you, "so fucking good at this," you finally settle on.

Mina's eyes light up, triumphant. Deep pools of brown swirling with all sorts of things—few that can be said out loud and even fewer that should ever be thought—and none of which she gives a flying fuck about.

Your cock slides off her lips long enough for her to slur, "Flattery gets you everywhere, sir."

“Mina.”

She's just so happy with it all—it's a little unsettling. Mina, all elegance and poise, so fucking giddy at the opportunity to debase herself at your feet.

She takes a breath, a real one, not the shallow, desperate ones she’s been taking for the past few minutes, and then she’s diving back down. You can see the determination in the set of her jaw, the way she’s holding herself in place with one hand on your thigh so she can devour you whole. And she’s doing a phenomenal job, really, because your cock’s so hard it’s almost painful, and your thighs are trembling with the effort of keeping still.

But she’s not done yet, Mina’s never done. She reaches behind her, unclips her bra with a flick of her thumb, slipping it off her shoulders—a silent, unnoticed escape.

Perfect little tits, perfect little dusky nipples, peaked and ready for your attention. 

She takes one in her hand, rolls the nub between her fingers, playing with it, plucking it like a guitar string, making it sing. Making sure you’re still looking, while she's still sucking you off with her mouth, still fucking grinning around your cock.

A true masterclass in multitasking.

Her other hand stays on you, working in tandem with her mouth. A stroke for every bob, a squeeze for every moan, and she’s whining into your skin, a muffled—mmph, mmph, mmph—so loving that you know it’s not just for show.

Her hand drops down, slipping between her legs, disappearing into the fabric of her skirt. You can’t quite see it, but you know by her sigh as she leans into your thigh, by the way her other hand pinches her nipple harder, that she’s pressing up and into herself.

The fabric’s too thick to see much, but you can imagine her—fuck, you don’t have to imagine—you can almost feel her, her fingers sliding into her wetness, her palm cupping her mound, her middle finger circling her clit like it’s the head of a tiny drum, matching the same rhythm that’s been driving this whole spectacle.

“Your fucking mouth, Mina.”

The words leave you on a groan, a tightening of your grip on her head as she just plays and plays. Every suck pure heaven, warm, wet, utterly divine; pulling your hips closer and closer off the edge of your seat, until you’re nearly falling down her throat.

But even Mina, for all her skill and polish, can’t hold out forever. The fingers at her cunt, the kneading of her own tits, the gagging around your cock, the oblivious boyfriend still blissfully unaware of the depraved scene unfolding on the other end of the line.

It’s a heady cocktail, and she’s had too much too quickly. Her throat’s tightening around you, rogue tears are sliding down her cheeks, and it’s about time that you both give up on pretence and hurtle straight to the crux of this entire escapade.

You stand, rising to your feet before Mina has you tumbling off your chair, sliding your cock out of her chasing lips.

“Mina,” you breathe, voice full of gravel, heavy.

Mina’s frozen, just staring at your cock dangling above her nose, her mouth open and wet, her big, brown eyes begging for its return to her lips.

“Mina,” you repeat.

“Mmm?”

“I want to fuck your face now.”  

Mina licks her lips. “Want to?”

“I will.”

“Please,” she says, a single word like a hot knife slicing through whatever restraint you have let. And you’re just about to lose it, really fucking lose it because she’s so fucking eager, so fucking hot for it, so absolutely fucking yours.

In your office, at your desk, kneeling at your feet, skirt rucked up around her waist, panties drenched.

She ties up her hair into a messy bun.

“Please, use me.”

A twist of your hips has your cock slapping against her cheek, the sound bouncing off the walls, leaving a trail of gloss across her flushed skin.

Mina laughs.

You lean down, grab her hair, thread your fingers through the strands, and guide her lips to where they were made to be.

“Christ,” is ripped from your throat as your cock is back down hers, plunging into her mouth like its home.

You push, push until her nose is squished against your pelvis, holding her there; her throat tight against your cock, her hand working her clit in double time. Whimpers escape past her lips, muffled whines that threaten to break you if you’ll let it.

But you don’t, not yet. You pull out, just long enough to let her gasp for air, only, she doesn't need the respite. She just blinks, and begs—

“Again.”

And again. And again.

Until she’s a writhing mess, until she’s shaking with the effort of holding herself together, until you’re plunging into her mouth so fast that you’re truly fucking her throat.

Deep, harsh strokes that make her cheek bulge, that fuck tears from her eyes. And Mina fucking loves it. Loves every second of it, loves having her head thrown back, her throat working for you like it’s your divine right, like her sole purpose in life has been to take your cock.

You’re fucking her face like you said you would, like she’s been begging you to do for weeks, whispering sweet nothings and filthy somethings into your ear during those late-night phone calls. Giving exactly what she’s been craving, exactly what she’s been dreaming about when she fucked herself so nicely for you to hear.

And she’s just taking it, letting you use her mouth like it’s nothing, because to her, it’s everything.

She’s lost in it, her hand a blur between her legs, her eyes glazed over. She’s so close, so fucking close, and she’s taking you with her; dragging you down into this pit of depravity that she’s been keeping warm for you.

“Mina?”

And there’s the phone again. Louder now, insistent, demanding. Finally noticing somethings not quite right.

"Mina?"

There’s panic in Mina’s eyes—but you’re quick to realise it’s not worry for him. It’s desperation for you. For you to keep going, for you to not notice, for you to keep the fantasy alive.

But you do notice. And it just makes you harder.

You're too far gone now—you're thrusting into her mouth with a fervour that’s almost violent. Mina’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she takes it all, letting you fuck her face with a reckless abandon that’s only heightened by the voice on the phone getting louder, more concerned.

You’re the only voice she’ll listen to now. “Hold still for me, Mina.”

Her eyes go wide, and she nods, her mouth stretched wide around you. Cradling her cheeks, just firm enough to feel the heat of her blush.

“Mina, why are you muted?”

She’s barely even on this planet anymore—just bringing herself closer to the edge, loosening these ragged, wet moans around your pistoning cock.

“Mina, are you ignoring me again, seriously?”

“Mmph—fuh—mmph—” is her attempt at an answer, but she’s too busy letting you use your mouth, too busy fucking herself on her fingers, too busy being the perfect little slut she’s told you she wanted to be.

It fills the room—the sounds of wet, sloppy sucking, careless fucking, your own grunts of pleasure. And somewhere in the background, that voice getting more and more insistent.

“Mina, say something, answer me!”

And she does. Just not to him. She says it to you, mouth full, eyes on yours.

Garbled, stuttered, fucked-up little pleas— “there—there—please—please—oh my god—"

Her hand moves faster, her throat seizes, her eyes roll back in her head. Her body jerks, her hand still working her clit, her mouth still full of you.

Mina cums at your feet, a terrible, beautiful orchestra of noises—moaning, gurgling, gagging around your cock. Swallowing, desperate for a breath of air, trying not to choke, eyes watering so badly it’s a surprise she can see you at all.

You pull out, so abruptly that she gasps and stumbles a little. And yet, despite it all, despite how brutally hard and fast her orgasm hits her, she’s still smiling up at you, as graceful and gorgeous as ever.

So fucking proud of herself.

And she’s not done yet. She’s never done, not really.

Her hand comes up to catch you, holding your cock like an anchor, keeping you ready as she takes a moment to recover. The other reaches for the phone, a shaky hand bringing it to her lips, level with your own tip.

She takes a breath. She’s going to answer.

She unmutes again.

“Sorry. Can’t talk. Gotta finish something big.”

“Mina—what the fuck are you—”

Mina gives you that look—that nod.

Sucks you in one last time, gives you a final choke. A desperate gag, a deep impossible swallow down her throat. And then she releases you from her lips.

The phone clatters to the floor, forgotten.

“Cum for me, please, baby.”

At her instruction, you're erupting.

Mina captures the head of your cock with her lips, keeps it balanced on the edge. Uses both hands to twist and wind around your shaft. Overwhelming you, seizing you into her mouth because this is exactly what she’s been starved for.

Breaking a fucking dam inside you, flooding her mouth with your cum, completing her with your taste. It hits the back of her throat, thick and hot and she swallows and swallows and swallows.

So fucking grateful for every drop, for every pulse that shoots into her mouth, coating her tongue, sliding down her throat. She’s drinking you down like water, like air, like she can’t get enough of you, leaving you breathless until all you can do is just repeat her name over and over again—an endless chant of “Mina.”

And when you’re finally done, when every nerve-ending in your legs isn’t burning down and threatening to take you with it, you pull out of her mouth, gasping for air.

Mina just sits there.

Looking up at you, naked chest heaving, nipples stinging red. Cum slipping out the corners of her mouth, staining her chin. Skirt ruined, panties a sodden mess around her ankles. Hand still on your cock, coaxing you to peace.

And fuck, it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

With a smile that could melt the coldest of hearts, Mina reaches down to the floor and picks up the phone. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, not even bothering to be delicate about it.

"Hey," she says, voice miraculously calm and collected. "Sorry—got distracted."

You watch, utterly stunned, as she plays the part of the girlfriend so flawlessly, puts on an Oscar-worthy performance. You can hear the boyfriend's voice, frantic and worried—and completely fooled.

But then she looks at you, clears her throat, and her smile goes wide, and you can see the woman beneath the façade. The woman who's had enough of being bored. Who's decided that she's owed the impossible fantasy.

Kneeling on the floor, yet more powerful than ever.

So, so fucking perfect.

Spreading her thighs, fingers back at her cunt, carefully toying with her clit. Building herself back up to that peak she’s just thrown herself from, because apparently, that’s what you’ve taught her to do.

To never settle, never stop, never be satisfied with just one taste.

You’re cock throbs.

“Mina, you need to tell me what the fuck is going on.”

Her hand moves faster, her thumb circling and pressing, her middle finger slipping inside herself. You can see the gleam under the artificial lights, how her cunt’s making everything sticky and messy.

Making herself nice and ready.

“There's a big mess here,” she says into the phone, all sugary sweet, a perfect story that drips from her tongue like molasses. “Lot of clean up. It’s ruined me—ruined the whole job. It’s gonna keep me here all fucking night.”

—

(It’s just an arrangement.

That’s what you’re calling it when the moon’s rising over your office, and Mina’s kissing these promises over your heart, drawing up the terms of this unwritten contract that neither of you can really commit to—even though you're both well aware of how much you want to.

Sex, as an agreement. Sex, as a release. Sex, because you’re both fucking incredible at it.

It just might be everything you both need.

You're both just too afraid to be the first to say it out loud.) 

—

Weeks later, and you get really fucking good at making time for her.

Whether it’s fifteen minutes at a party, a couple hours at an airport, or a few nights spent in a hotel room with the curtains drawn and a do not disturb sign nailed to the door—everything starts to fall into place.

There's always an empty room to be pulled in to, a shadow to be claimed, a corner of the world that belongs to you.

It’s Mina, straddling you in the backseat of a limo, her cunt tight around you as the city lights slide by. Your hand on her throat, not choking but guiding, a conversation based on pressure and pleasure alone. Her tits bounce in your face, begging for your teeth, and you give it to them, biting down until she’s gasping your name into the leather upholstery. The chauffeur pretends not to notice. You don’t pretend anything.

It's you, bending her over the bathroom counter of some stranger’s house, her rather business-like slacks down at her feet to expose the bare, wonderful convex of her ass. You spank her until she’s crying, until she’s bright red and demanding that you make good on your promise to fill her up so she can’t leave this party without globs of you leaking down her legs.

It’s hotel beds that have seen too much, office desks forced to bear your weight, dressing rooms with the door locked tight.

It’s the way she looks at you when she thinks no one’s watching, the way she says your name. How she laughs, how she teases you, how she lets you in—just a little, just enough to keep you hooked. And you do the same.

It’s sex, but it’s not just sex, no matter what you tell yourself.

And it’s Mina again, fixing her hair while you zip her into something far more appropriate, already mentioning, “I'm going to be in New York next week, if you're in the area—"

And it's you, answering in the same way that you always do, "I’ll find a way."

—

Serendipity finds the two of you in Shanghai, amidst all its concrete jungle and neon lights, kept at bay by the soundproof windows and the drawn curtains of this hotel room turned temporary sanctuary.

Mina's stretched out on the bed, wearing one of your shirts that swallows her up to her knees, her hair a mess of curls and knots that she hasn't bothered to tame. Nose buried in a book—something thick and weighty Nayeon recommended her.

Paying no mind to you, as you’re busy brewing tea in the kitchenette (piping hot, oolong, how she likes it).

You sneak a glance as you wait for the kettle to boil, at the perfect picture she's composing—her bare legs peeking out from the shirt, the soft curve of her waist, the way the light from the bedside lamp casts shadows across her skin.

It's seeing her like this, far more exposed and naked than minutes ago when she was pinned beneath you wearing nothing at all, draining your cum into her cunt and thanking you for the privilege.

The drawbridge is coming down, guards leaving their posts—just the two of you in your stolen moments.

It's nice.

She catches you staring.

Tilts her chin down, peering at you over her glasses.

You ask, "Am I distracting you?"

"Always," she says, and it's loaded with the sum of whispered secrets and inside jokes, the weight of a dozen different glances stolen across crowded rooms. She closes the book, setting it aside, and pats the you-shaped imprint on the spread next to her. "Come here."

You bring a steaming cup over, handing it to her, adding a little more warmth to her side of the bed. An unneeded murmur of thanks, a smile that's brighter than any of the skyscrapers gleaming outside, and a careful sip.

You wait for her review.

A cool, clear, "Ah."

And as for your reward, she sets the mug down on her lap, closing her eyes and pursing her lips. Waiting, patiently.

It's built in you like a habit now—lean in, get the light peck you're owed. Gentle press against her lips, nose bumping up against her glasses, sweetness that makes her cheeks flush a lovely shade of pink.

Just so fucking cute and domestic that it almost feels wrong.

The normalcy, you're realising—doing something that millions of other people do every single day—kisses that aren’t about fucking, power plays and games. Kisses that are just...kisses.

Mina's on the same wavelength, that's her thing now. Looking at you with a slanted smile. A little disbelieving, a little amused.

You're sure you're mirroring it back.

“This is... weird, right?” You finally say, breaking the silence. Feeling the weight of the question, the implication of what you’re really asking. Is this okay? Is it allowed? Can we put a name on this without the whole world imploding?

Mina's smile doesn't falter. "Kinda," she says, and her hand's slipping into yours, her thumb tracing little circles against your palm. “Very. But also, good.”

You nod, not quite believing it. You've had relationships (is that what you're calling this now?)—but none of them felt like this. Like, sure, she makes you hard, but fuck if she doesn't make you weak.

Pulling you into this loop of familiarity, learning things about her that you would've dismissed if it was anyone else. Not just the carnal things—the ones that make her thighs run with need, that make her chant your name like it’s the only word she knows.

Normal people things. Snack addictions, sleeping habits, temperature controls.

The mug goes to the bedside table, and Mina twists her body into yours, landing her head on your lap and curling her legs up so they stay on the bed.

"You know," she says, still holding your hand, fingers tracing up your forearm now, nails drawing in a light tattoo. "I thought that this wouldn't work out."

You mention the obvious. "Because you still, technically, have a boyfriend?"

Mina stretches herself out against your waist, incidental movements that just so happen to make you stir. "No, darling," she's saying, turning to look at you, making your heart stutter. "It's because you're you. Relationships just don’t seem to be in your nature."

You feign injury.  

Even though, truth be told, she has a point there. You’ve never been one for the quiet moments, for the mundane comforts, mornings next to someone you spent the night with.

Maybe it's your own guardrails you've put up, maybe it's some sappy Trojan Horse she's pushed through the gates of your stoic heart—but here you are, stroking her hair while she holds your hand, your fingers playing with the soft strands like you're trying to learn Braille.

"You know," she says, reaching it out to run her thumb down the line of your jaw, "guys like you are all the same."

You arch a brow. "I think I’ve heard this one before.”

"Let me finish," she says, "Obsessed with the thrill of the chase, with the idea of something you can't have. And when you finally get it, you just...disappear."

She grants you the headspace to ruminate over that one. 

"Are you saying I already have you?"

"Haven’t figured it out yet?" she whispers, shifting her weight on the bed. Another Mina special, the incidental movements, shirt pulling taut against her, and with benevolent grace, it slides down an inch. The swell of her breast revealed, an already pebbled nipple peeking out. A shy secret. As if.

And she knows. Mina knows what it takes to turn you on because, deep down, she’s the same. Different animals, same beasts, the roles could easily be flipped: her the billionaire, you the idol, and it would still end up the same.

You’re both chasers of thrills, craving the high of the untouchable, the unattainable.

Doing whatever it takes to feel alive—that's what it boils down to, isn't it?

"I meant it, you know," you're saying, exposing yourself, all gooey and raw. "Never once dreamt of owning you."

It's obvious where Mina's headed with this. So used to people just laying claim of her without even asking—like it's their fucking right. Believing that just because she’s in their vicinity, smiling all pretty and dressed up, she's fair game. Thinking the fame has done to her what it's done to so many others, turned them into commodities.

And maybe she's let them believe the fantasy, it's her job after all, to fuel the delusion and make it feel real. But never once did she truly belong to anyone but herself.

And yet, and yet, and yet.

Mina lifts herself off your lap, body bowing, leaving the shirt to ghost down her arms and leave her chest bare.

Closer still, until she's straddling your hips, thighs pressing down on either side of your legs, and oh, mystery solved, there was nothing under the shirt but her.

And again, Mina, on the subject of your title over her: "Not even if I wanted you to?"

—

(It takes the length of a phone call for Mina to be officially yours.

Brutal in her efficiency, cutting the guy down and pushing him off the cliff of the inevitable.

You're just as cruel, laughing between her thighs as she slurs vague platitudes, barely encroaching on an apology, uncaring bullets flying across borders.

And then the 'I can't' when prompted for a chance to negotiate, an 'I'm busy' when the pleas come, and a final 'just fucking give up already' when the desperation gets too much and he's becoming less and less important the further your tongue gets into her cunt.

Poor bastard doesn't even know he's not the only one getting fucked.)

—

You feel like you’ve earned the right to be a tad more reckless.

So, dates.

Conventional, yes, but fuck you could do with some of that now. You had the money, the power, and now you had the girl. So, secret dates, grand gestures, the whole nine yards.

And yet, each one was its own little disaster.

An example: the restaurant.

Michelin stars, gourmet courses, over-the-top bullshit that you unashamedly love. Booking out the entire joint for the night, only for it to all go haywire when Mina showed up in that dress; tight, tiny, black.

"Eyes up here, darling," is what she said, before, "Or, you know, don't. I like the attention."

Just fucking you all the way up, having you pushing her into a backroom before the wine was even poured. Ruining said dress, rucking it up to her waist, making it some poor drycleaner’s problem.

“I was never big on grand gestures,” she assures you, as you pepper her neck with kisses, hands curving around to her breasts on sheer instinct.

"Wish you'd told me that in advance."

"And miss out on this?" Mina groans something fierce when your fingers find purchase. “Never.”

It's just Mina and you, doing what you've done a dozen times over by now, having long blown past any insecurities that this might just be too good, too perfect, that one of you might be the first to bolt for the door and run.

“I swear to god,” Mina’s managing, as you’re shoving her panties to the side, because you’re both well aware that this has to happen right here, right now. “This cock is going to be the death of me.”

You chuckle against her throat. “Wouldn’t be a bad way to go though, right?”

“You’re insatiable.”

“Says you.”

“Please, just—”

Your hips snap into her. She flinches. Screams your name so fucking loud.

Each and every one of the kitchen staff receives a very, very sizeable tip.

—

It becomes a problem.

Oddly enough, neither of you are at fault.

Leaked photos light up every website, tabloid, and social media platform in mere minutes—Mina and her ex, wrapped up in each other’s arms, the unmistakable blur of a bedroom in the background. Nothing too lurid, nothing too explicit—but just enough to get the world to gasp in collective shock.

The fucking coward did it. You never knew he had it in him.

Sure there's dating on the pictures. Years, probably, back to when their happiness couldn't be called into question, but it does its job.

The statements pointing this out do little to shift the public's attention though, they've already latched on to the chance to rip apart her spotless record. You’ve seen it before, a hundred times with a hundred different celebrities. The cycle of love turned to dust in the blink of a camera flash.

And yet despite all of this, despite the shitstorm that’s swirling around her, despite the radio silence you're expecting, not an hour passes before Mina's calling you again.

“I need you.”

“Then come over.”

—

Mina belongs here, it’s so obvious.

Walking through the rooms of your home like she’s always been there, like she’s what’s been missing.

None of the art on the walls, the books on the shelves, none of the sculptures worth more money than any person should ever see in their life—none of it make as much sense as she does here, in your space.

Ours, you’re already thinking.

While you’re staring at her, she’s taking it all in—every detail of your domain, eyes brushing over the aged furniture and modern finishes, each aspect of your home that you’ve curated as meticulously as you’ve cultivated your own reputation.

She doesn’t say a word about whatever conclusion she’s drawing—because she’s not the type to judge—she’s just curious. She’s always been curious.

And then she’s in your arms.

Hands looping around your neck as you hold her tight, like it’s been years instead of the mere days since you’ve seen her. Since you’ve felt her heat, heard her whimpers, felt her nails dig into your skin like she’s trying to slip in underneath.

“It was inevitable, right?” She whispers against your collarbone. “Something was bound to fuck this all up eventually. My life, yours. It was all too perfect.”

You hold her tight. Letting her sink into your embrace, disappear into your chest. She’s so small in your arms—not that she’s ever not been, but right now, it’s stark. Like she’s shrunk, folded herself into something more manageable, something easier to hide. Something that won’t be torn apart by the teeth of the media and the rabid fans.

Kiss the top of her head to make her relax a fraction, opening a pressure valve that releases a shaky exhale.

You point out, “It still is.”

Mina blinks up at you, and you pretend you don’t see the dampening in the corners of her eyes. “I need to do the whole apology tour now. Keep my head down, hide my face. That’s what they’re saying anyway. What they expect.”

You shrug. “Could hide out here.”

That makes Mina smile, laugh even, colouring her features with something far more impactful than any of the decor. “And, I'm guessing, fucking each other’s brains out from sunrise to sunset?"

"There'll be a couple of meals in between. You may be surprised to learn I make a mean bowl of ramen."

Mina laughs again, and it’s the sweetest sound in the world—like the chiming of a bell that’s only meant for you. She looks at you, really looks, and you can see the wheels turning in her mind, the genuine consideration she's giving your proposal.

“What do you say?”

“I—”

Before she can finish, you add, “I can handle our little problem. Just leave it to me.”

Mina blinks. There’s the curiosity again. “Handle?”

“Yeah,” you reply, vaguely amused. Something darker in the back of your throat. “I know some people. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Mina stares at you aghast, the smile slipping from her lips. Wondering if she might have missed something in the reality of the billionaire with a silver tongue and a penchant for ruining dresses.

It’s your turn to laugh. “I’m kidding, Mina. Jesus, the look on your face. I’m not going to have the guy killed.”

Mina rolls her eyes. Slaps your chest with a little more force than intended.

You add, with a Disney Villain-worthy ominous tone, “For now.”

“You ass,” she says, but she’s smiling again, the tension all but dissipated.

“Not even I’m capable of having that sort of thing arranged. Well, maybe I am, just never tried, so—” you begin, only to stop immediately at the curving of Mina’s lips. “I was just planning on doing a bit of spin. Tap some of our PR Wizards, maybe offer the wolves something juicier. Whitewash the whole thing—shut him down.”

And a cherry on top of your whole plan—

"Make him wish I'd kill him instead."

Mina’s expression shifts, taking pause to study your face, your words. It’s the pragmatism that gets her, you think—but it’s baked into who you are. You don’t get to a billion dollars by making friends.

As a point of clarification, she asks, "What are you going to offer the press? I mean, you’re not going to leak dirt on someone else, are you?"

You shrug, an easy smile playing on your lips, "I was thinking we could just go public with us. Offer our whole thing."

"You're serious, aren't you?"

"My jokes usually make you laugh."

Mina takes her time to ponder this, to consider what you’re actually saying. To process the idea of turning all this—the sneaking around, the private moments, the stolen kisses—into something so exposed. Something translated and made palatable for public consumption, to be picked apart by the vultures skirting the edges of the media.

And there’s fear there too. That the thrill could wear off for her again, the exhilaration could evaporate, and the boredom would settle in.

Or it could be a whole brand-new opportunity. Replacing one thrill with another, the rush that comes with being seen together, the excitement of the chase being replaced with the passion of the capture.

She asks, slowly, carefully choosing each word, doing her best to avoid setting off a bomb that could send this whole thing into a downward spiral. "Is this what you want to do?"

You pull her closer, fit her body flush against yours, and bring your lips down onto hers. You let them linger, let her sigh, let her melt and keen and smile against your mouth.

"Darling," you murmur against her lips, "I've been ready to tell the whole world since the moment I sat down next to you."

—

Sometimes, the conventional ways are the best.

Stumbling through your house—kissing her hard in the hallway, losing her skirt in the kitchen, tearing off her shirt at the top of the staircase. Carrying her past the threshold of your bedroom and leaving her panties at the door; truly letting her into your world in every way, shape, and form.

Holding her close, one hand at her waist, the other looping around her chest. Kissing into her neck as you lay her down onto your mattress, getting up close and personal until it’s all Mina, all the sweetness and heat of her, the richness of her perfume that’s become her signature.

The red of her blush, her lips, the marks you’re leaving on her skin. The white of her throat, her collarbone, the bra that’s half on, half of.

Pinning her wrists over her head, keeping her still, watching her pupils dilate.

Fucking flawless. Every inch, every glorious detail. Underneath you, at your mercy, already staining your sheets with her need.

And then, a beg:

“Please.”

“Greedy.”

“It’s how you made me.”

Your other hand ventures lower, drifting down her stomach, holding against her abs, leaving your fingertips to ghost over her mound.

She shudders at your touch.

You let her know, “I wasn’t complaining.”

And your tongue is on hers, soft to start, relaxing into familiar patterns, swipes of reintroductions, until Mina’s arching her back, urging you on. But you’re greedy in your own way; wanting to take your time, wanting to extract all these sighs and moans straight from the source.

Only, Mina’s having none of it.

“You’re really going to torture me after the day I’ve had?”

You quirk an eyebrow, push your thumb down against her clit. Applying enough pressure to make her hips buck.

"Torture is a strong word, darling."

Mina's huffs as you hold her there, keeping her locked in place and at your mercy. Wriggling under your grasp, but not making any real effort to escape. After all, where would the fun be in that?

"Fine," she's relenting, eyes slipping shut, unable to hide the smile that’s making its way onto her face. "Call it what you want. Just—more."

"Then let's just call it a pleasant distraction."

Your lips are together once more, your kiss quickly turning from something sweet to something a lot more demanding. Throwing Mina a bone, pressing into her a declaration of intent that has her wild for you.

You take your fingers, slide it down, swiping through her folds. Dancing around her entrance, seeing how nice and slick she already is for you, feeding that gnat in the back of your head that urges you to just fill her whole. Right before pressing up into her cunt.

“Yes,” Mina whispers into your mouth, hips rising to meet your hand, helpless little shivers around your first, then second digit—pushing until you’re knuckle deep inside her heat, making her squirm and cry, “Just stretch this fucking pussy, please.”

“Oh, you’re so wet for me,” you say, like it's a surprise, like she's ever not, like she doesn't part her legs and beg for you to take the invitation to her cunt every single time.

And Mina’s reaffirming, “Of course I am, I’m always—” but she never gets to finish her sentence, because you’re sliding a third finger in, and she’s trying so hard to keep it all together despite how determined you are to pull it all apart.

You’re too attentive—watching her face, every micro expression. Watching for every twitch, every whine, every cry that gets stuck in her throat when she tries to swallow it down.

There’s beauty in all of it, every single time, you could never get enough of it. Been burned into you now—what it takes to make Mina come undone. The right ways to touch her, the spots that make her preen. Where to be gentle, when to be rough, how to keep her guessing.

It’s all here, now, distilled to its basest elements, and it doesn’t even take much. You’re too good at this, know her far too well to need anything other than the sound of her breath to dictate your pace.

Your thumb plays at her swollen clit, doing nothing but pressing down as your fingers saw in and out of her slippery cunt, making her clench around you like she always does. Faster and faster, until she’s crying for it, shivering and trembling underneath you, struggling against your hold on her wrists because she's dying for something to hold onto.

“You—you’re too much,” Mina pants, because that’s all she can do now as you push into her with purpose. So, so fucking wet, creaming around your fingers, pooling in the palm of your hand. “Too—too—too fucking—”

Losing control over her own limbs, cumming with a sharp cry, levitating off the bed as your hand works magic between her legs, needing a hard kiss to ease her back down to Earth.

The aftershocks still roll through her body, leaving her with these tiny, frantic whimpers. You keep her pinned, soothe her with your thumb at her clit, padding around in gentle circles, feeling her spasm and pulse around your fingers.

Your kiss ends on that high note, parting lips to give Mina a chance at a complete inhale. Her chest is heaving, nipples poking out of the top of her bra, skin already sticky with sweat. Eyes opening, hazed over with need and the beginnings of tears.

“I—I need more.”

Hands let go of her wrists, fingers slide out of her cunt, and you lean back to watch her try to compose herself. It’s a battle she’s not winning.

Mina’s blinking up at you, trying to catch her breath, trying to remember how to do anything other than be fucked into oblivion by you. You help her—leaning over, thumbs hooking under her bra straps. Pulling it down with a gentle tug that makes her arch into the motion, makes her chest spill out and your mouth water.

You take the chance to admire her. To drink her in, appreciate her the way she deserves to be appreciated—a masterpiece spread out on your bed, naked and needy.

There’s the intoxication, knowing you’re the one that did that to her, knowing that you’re the one that’s going to do it again. Over and over again.

“If I have to wait another second, I’m going to scream,” Mina says, the demand losing its edge in a whine.

You chuckle, press an open-mouthed kiss onto her breast, sucking a nipple between your teeth.

Sometimes, you just can’t resist.

“Let’s not pretend that isn’t exactly what I want.”

“Make it happen, then.”

Mina holds position as you pull back, keeping her hands over her head, keeping as still as a statue as you come to your knees over her. Eyes on you as your shirt, your belt, your pants go. Eyes on your cock as your briefs fall away, leaving it standing tall and thick and ready for her.

There’s power dynamics at play here—how Mina’s so vulnerable to you, how she’s laid herself out, unwilling to move until you tell her to. She understands it, implicitly. Knows she’s playing right into your hands, forced to wait while you let the anticipation build.

You hold your cock above her, stroke it carefully. Watch her eyes track it. See her gulp.

And she begs, again, “Please,” softer now, the unmistakable tremble in her voice. "I just—I need it so fucking bad."

Whether on purpose or by instinct, her legs splay, presenting her pussy, glistening with want. There’s the pulse in her clit, the need dripping over her folds—you feed the agony just a little more, hovering over the entrance, letting the tip of your cock graze over it. Teasing, taunting.

"Beg for it."

Mina opens her mouth, but she fails to summon the words. Just leaves her lips hanging open, leaving you an opening for your fingers to push in and try to help her find the right plea.

Her tongue flicks out, licks at your digits, the taste of her arousal still thick on them. The wetness of her tongue as she sucks, the suction of her lips as she envelopes each finger, one by one. Savouring her own flavour with deep, longing slurps, with grateful hums resonating around your fingers.

Leaking down the tip of your cock, cunt getting wetter and wetter the longer she’s denied. Making you throb against her, making your hips jerk and bump dangerously close to where she needs you to be.

But you still don’t enter her. You just wait until she’s done, until your fingers are clean and wet, and she’s left a trail of kisses up to your wrist.

It’s then that you drag your fingers out from her lips and demand of her once more:

“Beg.”

And this time, Mina’s able to say it clearly, confidently, right from her chest—

“I need you inside me. Need to feel you so deep inside me that I can’t tell where I end and you begin. I want to make you cum so hard you’ll never want to leave, want to leave your mark so deep inside me that even if you do, I’ll still feel you.”

Each word, a fucking gift.

And her reward—

A hard, quick plunge straight into her cunt. Inside her, instantly buried, immediately unbearable. Just too good.

Mina can’t do anything, just dig her nails into the sheets and try not to scream at the suddenness of it, at the way you complete her without any warning at all.

It all just ripples through her, a second orgasm already possessing her and forcing her into seizure. Can’t even hold it together—can’t keep the moans contained, can’t keep herself steady—can only just lock eyes with you and hope that you’re seeing it all, hope that you’re feeling it too.

Mina’s got no control around you anymore, none at all.

“Your cock,” she’s saying, repeating it over and over. Like it’s brand new to her, like it hasn’t ever left her wrecked a hundred times over.  “Your fucking cock.”

Words punctuated by the slaps of your hips, the wet sounds of your bodies colliding, of Mina welcoming every stroke of your cock inside her. So fucking tight, gloved around you like it was forged specifically for your cock; not for anything else but you, only you.

“So hard, my God.” Mina’s hands clasp behind your neck, needing a firm hold on something solid and real. “So fucking hard for me, so—so—fuck—”

Her lips are everywhere, a flurry of butterfly kisses across your cheekbones, the bridge of your nose, the edges of your jawline. Crazed, unbridled assault of affection. Disarming, incredibly hot. Mina doing her best to mark you up before she’s torn away again.

It’s far too early in the processions—habit would usually have her playing it cool, trying to keep up the façade of control, hold onto shreds of dignity, until she’s unravelling completely and begging you to fuck her harder, deeper.

But now, she’s just letting you have her.

No games, no pretences.

Just you, and her, and this wild, hopeless need to feel good, to be consumed by this.

“Yours,” Mina’s whispering, voice cracking around the edges, “All yours.”

And you know it. Have known it. Had it signed and sealed in ink since the very first time she told you. When you made her knees buckle and eyes water as you took her in every way possible. Since she called out for you, said your name into the quiet of the night like it was a secret she never wanted to keep.

Yet it’s hearing it now, the sum of all these moments stacked on top of each other; the haunts that you’d frequent, the private corners that you’d made yours, the endless phone calls and messages and photos that could fill entire warehouses with their filth.

Finally here—both of you, panting, sweating, sex thick in the air. The world outside forgotten.

Fucking Mina so hard, so deep, euphoria shooting straight through you each time your cock bottoms out inside her. The softness of her cunt, its heat, its creaminess, its fucking divinity. Leaking out all around you and squeezing you so good that it’s a miracle that you’re still coherent enough to speak.

But you do, with a gruff, “Already knew that, darling.”

Mina’s laughing, because that’s the type of high you’re giving her. Even with the way you’re stretching her open, even with her eyes barely open and her toes curling into the bed—she’s laughing because it’s the only thing she can do. Because it’s all so absurdly perfect that she can’t find the energy to do anything else.

“All this, all of you,” you’re leaning in, at the base of her throat, licking a stripe up to her earlobe. Drumming the words into her skin, until she shivers. “Every part of you. All mine.”

Simple words that hold so much sway over her, that could pull her apart or build her right back up. Words that make Mina clench around you, make her cunt grasp you so tightly as if she’s trying to make them real.

“Always,” she’s heaving, “Always yours.”

And there’s this look on her face, like she’s lost in a dream—eyes glassy and all fogged up, breath hot against your shoulder. Glowing under the dimmed lights, making the sweat pooling at the base of her throat shimmer.

Keeping your hand there, at her neck, like it’s the only thing keeping her from floating away. Ruining her. Because really, it’s all for her. All of this is all for her pleasure, her satisfaction.

You’re just along for the ride, so fucking lucky to have her like this. So impossibly beautiful, just knowing she exists would drive you insane if you didn’t get to be with her. Didn’t get a chance at this pussy, so perfect, dripping so much, made so hot for you and only you. Your own personal slutty cunt.

It’s the way her legs wrap around your hips—the smoothness of her skin, the power in those thighs, holding you like she’s afraid you’ll pull away. Like she’s terrified you’ll leave her like this, frantic and wretched and so, so fucking wet.

The newest picture you’re painting, your magnum opus in her name—her tits bouncing with each thrust, nipples stiff and flicking in the air. The yielding of her back, bending just so she can accommodate that extra length of you inside her. And her stomach—fuck, those abs. Tightening and loosening, shaking with every hit of your hips, with every sharp gasp of air.

Demanding of you. Cum for me. Please. Now.

“I need this. Exactly this from now on,” Mina’s declaring, stuttering it like you’re fucking every syllable out of her tightness. “Just you fucking me. Whenever we’re together, every second we get alone—fuck—"

And you’re nodding because you’re always right there with her, always on the same wavelength, thinking the exact same fucking thing.

“Keep filing me up until I can’t take it anymore. Until I’m screaming so loud, I can’t even hear myself think—”

Breathless words that flood your ears, that Mina needs to get out, needs to make sure you hear. Absorbed straight into your bloodstream, pumping into your cock, fed right back into her cunt. So fucking tight. So downright incredible that you’re speeding up, driving in deep, as deep as you could possibly go.

“Until I’m so full of you that I forget my own name—forget any other name but yours—until I—until I—”

A nasty hit makes her body curve and rise, makes her pussy clamp around you, in warning of the orgasm to come, the one you’re both hurtling towards with a kind of reckless abandon that’s become second nature.

“Until I—please—just always make me feel this way—”

“You will,” you promise, meaning it, fucking it into her like your life depends on it. Like you need it to survive, because maybe you do. Maybe you’ve never truly lived until you’ve felt Mina’s cunt quiver around your cock like this, until you’ve heard her beg for you like you’re the only thing she needs to breathe. And again, for good measure, “you will."

And oh, that’s all it takes. That’s enough to have Mina spilling.

“Cumming,” is her proclamation. Repeated, ad infinitum, just, “Cumming, cumming, cumming.”

All over your cock, all around your cock. Cunt strangling you with the force of it.

And this is where you decide Mina’s most beautiful.

When she’s consumed by climax, when she’s held prisoner by it, when she’s just nothing but a canvas for you to leave your marks all over.

“Feel so good—so fucking good—”

It’s the best kind of challenge, pushing her through it.

Worshipping her in all the ways that count, treating Mina in ways woman like her should never be treated. Tearing an angel down from the heavens just to hammer her cunt into submission, and being thanked for it afterwards.

“God,” Mina’s trying, voice rasping and broken, “I—fuck—I can’t—”

You take her, hand wrapping around her tits, pinching, rolling, teasing nipples until they’re as tight as her cunt around you. Leaning in and capturing her lips, drinking down her whimpers with a kiss so deep you can taste your name on her tongue.

Fucking her, ruining that tight, little pussy, through every wave that crashes down over her, that burns her up from the inside and makes her so Goddamn hot.

Leaving her in disbelief that it could ever feel this good again, that there's a light at the end of this tunnel, that there's a life after being fucked so thoroughly by your cock.

Holding her through it, preventing her from crumbling into a million overstimulated pieces. Slowing down the pace of your hips with steady, deliberate thrusts until you’re just inside her. Cock throbbing, bathing in her heat, waiting.

Mina stirs, eyes flutter open, meeting yours. “Cum inside me. Wherever you’d like.”

There’s only one real choice. Mina knows this as well as you do.

Your cock leaves her cunt, slick with her juices, her cum. Proof of your dominion over her body, gleaming along your shaft.

Nothing but bliss on Mina’s face, so well-fucked and satisfied and just plain happy that it’s almost a surprise she hasn’t melted away into a puddle. She’s smiling, looking up at you through her lashes, sweet and soft and perfect.

Turning herself over, bowing down on her knees, pointing her ass up at you like it’s the universe itself handing you a present and saying, ‘Here, this is yours.’

You can’t resist that kind of temptation.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” Mina tells you, rolling her hips higher still, flaring out her hips, treating you to the perfectly round globes of her ass. “Waiting for you to take me. However you want. Make it hurt so good. Make me remember how you feel.”

Her hands reach back, delicate fingers spreading plump cheeks apart. The tight, pink ring of her ass winking at you. A sight that never gets old, a vision that’s forever carved into the back of your eyeballs.

One last request. “Please.”

Your cock pushes in.

“Thank you.”

Right away, it’s too fucking much. Your cock breaching through her asshole, pushing in inch by inch. Slow and torturous, the kind of thing that makes you want to yell.

Then the first thrust—that first hit, like a narcotic, straight through your veins, every single time. Feeling it, sensations so intense, so sharp, that you forget to even breathe.

And Mina’s crying. Crying out, muffled by the pillow she’s biting into. Yet still, pushing back against you, urging you deeper, even though she’s coming apart, even though she’s shaking from the sheer effort of having you fill her.

“Darling,” you call to her, “you’re doing so good,” because she is. Good, good, so fucking good for letting you split her in two like this. For letting you ruin her in all the best ways.

The second thrust is easier, smoother. Body giving in to your demands, stretching around your cock like it always does, like it’s made to do. To bend and flex to your whims and desires.

With every push, every retreat, every agonisingly, achingly slow grind into her ass, you’re nearing that rapturous end.

“So fucking good for me, Mina. Your ass is so tight around me. Such a good girl.” You’re grunting now, trying to ease her into it, to build up to the point where you can pound her, push her like you really want to.

Mina’s nodding, eyes screwed shut, sunken in the way you’re stretching her out. It’s a familiar feeling, having her ass opening up for you. A dance you’ve performed so often it’s almost muscle memory—each step painstakingly learned; each move carefully choreographed.

You’re easing into her, slow, so fucking slow that it’s a wonder that either of you doesn’t implode with want. But Mina’s good, so good, letting out these tiny, shuddering breaths that you feel down to the marrow of your bones.

And then, as your is fully seated in her ass—

“Don’t hold back,” Mina says, quietly, barely audible, but the need is crystal clear. “All of it, please.”

Hand in her hair, hand at her waist. Gripping into her, guiding her and then fucking her, really, truly flooding her ass with your cock, disappearing into her tightness until your hips are slapping into hers.

So pretty, even like this, even when her moans are getting louder, borderline screams that are cut off by the cotton of the pillow, her knuckles turning white in the effort. Her back tenses, muscles rippling underneath your palms.

She dips a hand underneath her, between her legs. Fingers at her cunt, whirling around her clit, doing all she can to keep up with you.

“Feels fucking amazing. Your ass, Mina,” you’re trying to say, but it’s coming out all gravelly and thick. “So fucking tight for me.”

It’s the one through-line that’s kept steady over these months. Mina’s transcendental beauty, Mina’s razor-sharp intelligence, Mina’s pussy that’s always, perpetually yours. All these things; but it’s Mina’s ass—that perfect, juicy, heart-shaped, fucking flawless ass that keeps you up at night.

Every time you’re buried inside, it’s like coming home to something sacred. Tightness gripping you, ass swallowing your cock in waves, the kind of feeling that makes you believe in a higher power—because nothing so divine could possibly be man-made.

“Fuck, I just—” Mina’s breathing out, quick huffs because that’s all she can manage, “just love this so fucking much. Love how you feel in my fucking ass.”

Her hand’s working overtime now, circling her clit with a fervour that’s almost religious. Pussy starting to leak again, juices running down her thighs, mixing with the sweat, pooling at her knees. Fuck, the way she’s touching herself while taking you in, so willingly, so wantonly, so utterly destroyed for you—she’s going to cum again, you can feel it. And you’re not far behind.

“I think I’m going to—fuck, I only just—but I’m going to—again—you’re going to make me—again—” She’s squealing, half-mumbling, full-crying, and your heart nearly bursts out of your chest because it’s all for you.  

You’re not even managing anything other than desperate thrusts, just fucking her with everything you have—like you’re trying to claim her inside and out, trying to leave your fingerprints on every part of her so everyone will know she’s been yours all along.

“Please, please, please,” again and again, stuttering out, “Just—just—just—”

Just keep going, keep pushing into her until she’s shaking, until she’s pleading for you to stop, to let her breathe, because she’s about to fucking break.

Or, really:

Keep going and never, ever stop.

The hand in her hair tightens, pulling her back, making her arch. That perfect spine, the curve that’s painted by God himself. Kisses into her shoulder, into the crook of her neck, making her whimper.

“Keep fucking me. Like this—like this—God—I’m going to—again—”

Pulling her closer to you, so you can feel the tremors starting from her core, spreading out like wildfire. Pushing her hand away, taking over between her legs—rubbing, teasing, circling her cunt and pushing her closer and closer to the brink. Fucking her so deeply that you can feel the first quivers of her orgasm from the inside out, daring to take over her body again.

“Keep fucking—touching me, fill me up—just don’t—please, I need it—”

A final plea, her last rites, before she’s lost.

“Cumming—cumming again—please, oh, please—oh—”

Mina’s body goes lax, a ragdoll in your arms. But you keep fucking her through it. Through the quakes and shivers, through the cries—through the crying out. Pleading. Pleading for you to follow her into oblivion.

And fuck. If you’re not right there with her.

You’re close, chasing her, feeling her orgasm, feeling it coil around your cock and pump through her veins and into yours. Feel her—her body, her muscles, her cunt—tightening, tightening, tightening around you until it’s unbearable.

“Cum for me—with me—” she’s repeating, her newest mantra, “cum inside me. Give it to me—please, I need it—please—so badly—”

Begging, dying for it. Willing, wanting to do anything for it.

But she doesn’t need to—you can’t fucking hold on any longer.

“Mina—fuck—"

You slam into her, and finally burst.

Filling her ass with your cum, feeling it spurt into her, thick and hot. Pumping into her, over and over, getting wrung dry by her ass, cumming so hard it feels like your bones might shatter.

Cumming until your vision swims, until the architecture in your knees threaten to give out, until all you can do is hold onto her hips and keep her in place, keep her right there, impaled on your cock, until every single drop of cum has found a home inside her ass.

Until you’re so sensitive it’s almost painful. Until the orgasm has passed over the two of you and left you feeling like you might dissolve into nothing but pure sensation.

“Christ,” you manage to get out, the word tearing out of you like it’s being ripped from your chest. Holding Mina close—embracing her, seeing just how much she’s loving it. How thankful she is. Taking it all, soaking it all in, moans turning into whimpers that you’d swear are prayers of gratitude.

Body limp and strung out, fucked so hard she can’t even hold herself up anymore—Mina collapses into the bed, pulling you with her, your cock still buried deep inside her.

Like the first time, like every time, it’s a complete fucking disaster.

Tangled up in sheets, in each other. Sticky with sweat, stickier with cum. And Mina turns her head to look at you, just so pleased, and so gleefully satisfied.

You lean in and kiss her, slow and deep, resisting the urge to stir, to roll her onto her back and start this whole thing over again. Claim her once, twice, a dozen times more.

But you don’t. You just lay there, breathing into her neck, letting all of this, your orgasms, your bliss, your absolute contentment roll through you.

There’ll be time to keep going, to keep fucking her. Give her the same tour of your house that she gave you that first night.

Eat her out in the kitchen. Fuck her into the sofa. And yeah, introduce her to the balconies on the higher floors.

For now though, there’s Mina, lips parting with yours, looking at you with a smile that’s this original blend of lust and love and admiration. “You really know how to ruin a girl, you know that?”

You chuckle, picking a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. “Just trying to scratch an itch.”

—

Everybody loves a love story.

And yours is packaged up so nicely, polished and made shiny and perfect for the public to see.

It's the type of story the media dies for—a tale of modern romance, woven through the glitz and glamour of celebrity life. The cold-blooded billionaire who had his heart stolen by one of the nation’s daughters, and then chased her across continents in order to get it back.

You and Mina, becoming the ultimate power couple—the kind that makes the paparazzi's cameras click in unison and tabloids sell by the millions.

Together at every high-profile event, her hand nestled in the crook of your arm, your thumb tracing lazy circles on her wrist—a secret promise of the bruises she’ll wear under her designer dresses. A whispered reminder of the things you’ll do to her when the lights go out and the world isn’t watching.

But nobody sees that. The public sees the smiles, the kisses, the sweet little glances that pass between you—and they eat it all up.

They'll never see the way she begs for your cock, the way you fuck her until she can't walk straight, the way she rides you until all you know is her name. They don’t know that it wasn’t love at first sight—it was lust, paroxysms of it, pure and raw and unbridled.

But here you are.

Mina, in your bathroom, smiling at you through the mirror. Dressed to the nines, looking like a fucking dream. Making it so obvious now that you wonder how you missed it at the start. The way she looked at you that first night, the way she looked. It was all there, laid out in big bold letters, all caps, telling you that this is what you’ve been searching for—what you needed all along.

That dress she’s wearing—some dazzling shade of green. Olive? Celadon?

“Emerald,” she smiles, catching you staring. “It’s emerald, darling.”

You grin back. “Then it should match.”

Mina’s eyes flick to the box in your hand, curiosity piqued.

“Got you something.”

You hand her the box—a simple, muted green velvet, lacking any markers or logos to give away the contents. Ergo, it’s really fucking expensive.

She takes it out of your hands. Opens it, and her breath catches.

“It’s—” Mina whispers, lifting a necklace from the box. A simple, stunning piece. A thin diamond band with a solitary jade teardrop hanging from the center.

"Yours."

Mina holds it up against the light, seeing how it dances through the stone like it’s alive. When her eyes come back to yours, she’s beaming—a smile so wide it makes you wish you had your phone ready to snap a photo.

“Help a girl out, would you?” she says, turning her back to you, sweeping her hair over her bare shoulder.

You step forward, kissing the skin there, feeling the softness of her neck, the pulse of her vein. Your hands come up to fasten the necklace around her, the coldness of the diamonds brushing against your knuckles.

“You know, there’s one thing I was wondering about,” you murmur, letting the jade rest atop her throat.

Mina giggles, tilts her head slightly to the side. The jewels sparkle. “Oh?”

“That first night. The gala. You came alone.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Mina repeats, amused. Happy to have her own little secret, the one thing you've yet to pry out of her between the sheets. She regards you through the reflection, a twinkle in her eye that says she’s been wondering what took you so long to ask.

“Yeah, I’ve never quite figured it out. I mean I know why you were alone. But why did you come at all? What were you doing there, just sitting all pretty and by yourself. It felt so wrong to me at the time.”

That makes Mina laugh, making you feel somewhat silly to even ask. She spins on her heels, facing you; the necklace sitting perfectly against her skin. She runs her fingers over the chain, ending at the pendant. Tapping it. Once. Twice.

And she doesn’t even need to ask you if it looks good on her or if it suits her because she knows. She can tell by the look on your face.

She wears it like a fucking collar.

“Why?” Mina says again, stretching the syllable out long and wide, until you’re staring at her lips, knowing you’re about to kiss her again, knowing that you may very well not make it out of the house tonight, likely not even make it out of the bathroom.

You’ll be ruining that dress, fucking her against the sink, pushing her up into the mirror, kissing into the top of her spine and repeating over and over again—mine, mine, mine.

“Because you invited me.”

[defmaybe]

Casual: Part II

tripleS’ Seo Dahyun x Male Reader

1k words

Sequel to Casual

A/N: Thanks to capslocked and midnightdancingsol for helping with beta-ing and editing!!!

—

Dahyun’s body tenses up as the first of your fingers enter her soft cunt, one knuckle, two, then almost all the way. Her walls welcome you—contracting along with your lazy motion. She’s velvety. She’s warm. She’s tight. And the most important of all, she’s fucking wet.

“Fuck,” she drags the syllable into an airy moan.

The noises she makes are primal. Her entire body is trembling under your overwhelming touches—mouth on her nipple, a finger inside her, and an anticipation that more are soon to follow.

There’s a wet sound whenever you slide in and out of her cunt. It’s all sticky, full of her own lust. You wonder how she tastes, but now is not the time.

You decide that another finger is needed, so one knuckle, two, then almost all the way. She shrieks as you stretch her out wider. Her voice crescendos, and it’s pleasing to the ears.

“Fuck, you–you feel so full,” she grunts, and this is with your third finger resting just on the outer rim of her cunt.

(To push her to the limit, there’s a switch inside her sitting just along the roof of her pussy—the one that’s going to make her hips fucking jump, the one that’s going to shatter her voice—but now is not the time.)

She curses out your name, God’s. You swear that she looks so gorgeous like this—all writhing and moaning and twisting under your touches, in her goddamn glasses.

You have your thumb brush along the side of her thigh—smooth—heightening the sensations she has been enamored with. Her hips move ever so erratically, bucking up and down into the flutter of your fingers. Her hands find their hold in your hair—twisting, pulling, wrenching. It hurts, but your thoughts are mostly inside her taut body at this instant.

“Want more of these?” you tease, running your index finger along her clit. Your fingers still fuck her carefully.

She peers down to meet your eyes, words all stuttering, “Please.”

One knuckle, two, then almost all the way.

She presses the heel of her hand over her eyes, slightly smiling. The noise coming out is half-moan, half-laugh, as if she’s unable to make sense of what is coursing through her synapses right fucking now.

“Should’ve,” she stutters, there’s nothing but lust in her voice, “tried this the first time, huh?”

“I mean–” you pull back from her stiff bud, saliva drips down from your chin “–you didn’t ask.”

Dahyun laughs, intersected with moans alongside as your fingers are still doing its work. The sticky sounds are more prominent than ever. It echoes around the room with her unstifled whimpers.

“I still have another trick up my sleeve, if you want,” you say.

“Try.”

With the challenge, your fingers push into her as deep as you can (without hurting her, of course), eliciting a soft whimper from her pouty lips. You rest just there, letting the anticipation construct itself.

Voice shaking slightly, she asks, “Waiting for something?”

“Are you sure you’re ready?”

“Always ha–”

Her whine cuts through the deafening silence of the room. Her hips jump violently into your fluttering fingers. Her fingers yank your head to her side violently. That’s how badly your curl affects her.

“God! Fuck!”

Despite the pain, you quickly find your rhythm inside of Seo Dahyun’s cunt—slide and curl, repeat, again. The friction is lighting every nerve along her spine aflame. She’s overwhelmed. She’s lost. She’s at the mercy of your touch.

“I’m–I’m gonna cum,” she mewls, her hand pushing you down towards her pert breasts again, which you happily take them into your wet mouth once more. Her free hand grips onto the Hello Kitty bedsheets tightly. She’s so fucking frustratingly close.

The familiar ache hits her, you can tell. A glance down her body is enough—to see her feet trembling in pleasure. “Yes, yes, yes, yes,” she’s panting, nodding her head in these tiny little shakes. Her hips push into your touch.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god–”

Her orgasm hits her—loud, electric. She cries out at her own unravelling, head sinking into the pillow. Your name spills out of her little mouth. You push yourself fully into her gushing cunt. The pads of your fingers are pushed into her skin, pressing into the peak of her pleasure. Liquid surges out of her needy, wanton pussy like a fucking fountain.

She groans, yanking your head off her firmness, making you watch the wreck you made of her. She’s all flushed, highlighting all the important features of her taut body. The center of her sweatpants is all wet from her squirt. 

Fuck, she just looks beautiful.

“You sure can finger a woman,” she chortles tiredly, panting. Her head is probably still dizzy from the fucking tsunami that just hit her. You can’t help but laugh along.

“I can pull out, right? Been thinking of tasting you.”

“Go,” she stutters, still coming down from her high, her body in the dreamy afterglow, “Go ahead.”

You pull your fingers out of her spent cunt, making her groan under the oversensitivity plaguing her aching core. You watch as her eyes roll into the back of her head through her glasses, letting out a small whimper as your digits graze the inner walls of her cunt. You can’t help giggling.

You watch your fingers slick with her juice under the moonlight, before you give them a taste. Her tangy taste elicits something electric inside your brain—something raw, something carnal. The soft suck becomes harsher and harsher, drinking the very last of her salty juice.

Fuck, she tastes so good.

Dahyun looks at you tiredly, half-smiling at how you’re enjoying her taste.

“Like it?” she gauges, still flushing.

“Three Michelin stars,” you reply with an okay sign. She does taste that good. You lie down and propping yourself up on a single elbow, placing kisses along her nape again. She squirms softly. 

“Ready for the real one now?” you huff, your nose brushing along her neck. The scent of vanilla hits you.

Dahyun chuckles, “Glasses on or off?”

“On.”

—

[drdoofenfaithcreatingchaos]

Slinky the Snake||Lando Norris x fem!reader

Word count — 924

Summary: Lando’s afraid of snakes. Y/N has a snake. Love’s about compromise, right?

A/n it’s 3:30am and I’m finally over the stomach bug and now I can’t sleep mostly because I’ve slept all day.

The first time Lando stepped into Y/N’s apartment, he was struck by how cozy it felt. Plants hung from the windows, books lined the shelves, and her couch looked so inviting that he immediately imagined sprawling across it.

But then he noticed the terrarium. “Uh… what’s that?” he asked, already feeling a strange mix of curiosity and dread building in his chest.

Y/N, who was halfway to the kitchen, froze. Slowly, she turned back toward him. “Oh, um, that’s Slinky’s home.”

Lando blinked. “Slinky?”

Y/N hesitated, debating whether to dodge the topic or dive right in. Finally, she sighed, crossing the room to lift the lid of the terrarium.

“Slinky’s my snake.”

And there it was—a ball python, small and unassuming, poking his head out from under a log. Lando’s eyes went wide, and before he even realized it, he’d taken several large steps back.

“Wait… you have a snake?”

“Yes,” Y/N said, her tone defensive but calm. “He’s my pet. And before you say anything, he’s harmless.”

Lando’s face was a mix of disbelief and mild horror. “Harmless? That thing eats live mice! How is that harmless?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “He’s a ball python, Lando. He doesn’t even have venom. He’s basically a noodle with a face.”

“A noodle with a face,” Lando repeated flatly, looking at the snake as though it might launch itself at him at any moment.

“Look, you don’t have to love him,” Y/N said, crossing her arms. “But… you like me, right?”

Lando’s gaze snapped back to her. “Of course I do.”

“Then give Slinky a chance. Please?”

Fifteen minutes later, Lando was sitting stiffly on Y/N’s couch, eyeing the snake now draped over her shoulders like a scarf.

“He’s not gonna bite me, right?” he asked, his voice an octave higher than usual.

“Not unless you smell like a rat,” Y/N teased.

“Not funny, love.”

Y/N chuckled, reaching up to gently stroke Slinky’s head. “Relax. He’s just curious. See? He likes you.”

Slinky was stretching toward Lando, his tongue flicking as if trying to taste the air around him. Lando, meanwhile, had his hands gripping the couch cushions as though they might save him from a sudden snake attack.

“I don’t think ‘like’ is the right word here,” he muttered.

Y/N leaned back, giving Lando some space. “You don’t have to touch him today. Just sit with us for a bit. Baby steps.” Lando nodded, though he wasn’t entirely convinced.

The next time Lando came over, Slinky decided to make himself the star of the show. While Y/N cooked dinner, Lando kept one wary eye on the snake, who was exploring the coffee table. At one point, Slinky nudged Lando’s phone, flicking his tongue against the screen.

“Uh… he’s touching my phone,” Lando called out.

“He’s playing with it,” Y/N replied from the kitchen.

“Playing or trying to eat it?”

Y/N walked in just in time to see Slinky knock the phone off the table. She picked up the snake and laughed. “He’s just being clumsy. He gets like this sometimes.”

Lando watched as Slinky managed to tangle himself in a lamp cord, looking entirely unbothered by his predicament.

“Should we… help him?” Lando asked hesitantly.

Y/N shook her head, untangling the snake with practiced ease. “He’s fine. He’s like a toddler—always getting into trouble but too cute to stay mad at.”

Lando frowned, watching as Slinky made a beeline for Y/N’s arm, curling around her wrist like a bracelet. “Yeah… I’m not seeing the ‘cute’ part yet.”

After weeks of awkward encounters with Slinky, Lando finally decided it was time to face his fear.

“Okay,” he said one evening, standing in Y/N’s living room. “I’m ready to hold him.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You sure? No pressure.”

“I’m sure,” Lando said, though his hands were already clammy. “Just… don’t laugh if I scream, okay?”

Y/N grinned, gently lifting Slinky from his terrarium and walking over to Lando. “Alright, hold your hands out like this,” she instructed, demonstrating the proper way to support the snake.

Lando mimicked her stance, and she carefully placed Slinky in his hands.

“He’s heavier than I thought,” Lando murmured, his voice tight.

“Yeah, but see? He’s just chilling.”

Slinky curled lazily around Lando’s wrist, flicking his tongue in a gesture that Y/N swore was friendly.

Lando froze for a moment, his eyes locked on the snake. But when nothing bad happened, he exhaled a shaky breath. “Okay… this isn’t so bad. He’s kind of… soft?”

“Exactly!”

Y/N stepped back to snap a picture, and Lando immediately glared at her. “Don’t you dare post that.” Lando says as they settled on the couch, Slinky slithered across Y/N’s lap, eventually draping himself over Lando’s legs as well.

“You know,” Lando said, glancing down at the snake, “he’s not so bad. I think I might even like him.”

Y/N smirked. “Just wait till he tries to hide in your hoodie.”

“One step at a time, love. One step at a time.”

[g4rvez-r3id]

Naughty Boy

Post Prison! Spencer Reid x Unit Chief! Fem Reader

Synopsis: You and Spencer are trying to have a little fun in secret until Emily walks in… Spencer decides to make it a little more interesting underneath your desk.

Category: Smut

Warnings: established relationship, power dynamics, reader and spencer keep their relationship private so it’s a bit of forbidden love trope, kissing, smut warnings: lowkey sub!spencer, and also lowkey perv!spencer, spencer has a boner, straddling, stroking, cunnilingus, getting caught, exhibitionist kink? fingering, cumming in pants, use of ‘sweet boy’, ‘good boy’ and ‘naughty boy’, spencer lowkey pathetic- idk that should cover it

Author’s Note: hey lovelies! lowkey this one kinda sucked but i wanted to write a smut oneshot 🤭 got this idea watching a sitcom lmao anyways post prison sub spencer supremacy 🛐 debating on writing a part two to this one where reader punishes spencer hehehe let me know! please enjoy this one!! <3

A lot of changes happened since you’d become unit chief of the BAU. It wasn’t your intention of becoming unit chief but Emily Prentiss believed otherwise. She passed down the tassel to you since you’d had so much experience on this team for years. And she also knew Hotch would’ve wanted it, too.

After Barnes tried to take the BAU down, Emily was given back her job and hiring authority. Feeling as if you’d earned the spot, she promoted you. Of course, you were a little anxious taking charge at first but Emily assured she’d stay every step of the way and even offered to take over when you felt the power to be a bit too much.

You and Spencer’s relationship had become more balanced since he got back from prison and you felt the need to keep your relationship under wraps for as long as possible. Nobody knew you two were together, you both were very careful when it came to your relationship. You’d only been dating for a year and a half since he got back from prison where he’d finally confessed his undying love for you and that he’d show you just how much he loved you when he got out.

You’d both been pining after each other for years before the fact. And since then every moment you’d shared together has been wonderful, despite keeping it hidden from your colleagues. It was for the better, especially now that you were a higher power. If it wasn’t strictly forbidden before, it definitely was now that you were unit chief.

You were lucky that you’d chosen someone that was usually good at keeping secrets. You both never arrived to work together, you both left work at separate times and only ever spoke in a professional manner to one another. Of course, nothing too far as to not speaking to each other entirely. You were surprised that no one had suspected a thing for the year and a half you’d been together.

Today, you were in your office, filing everyone’s paperwork and signing off on them one by one. You’d just finished JJ’s when there was a knock on your door. “Come in.” You spoke and behind the door had been your loving and doting boyfriend.

“This a bad time?” Spencer asked as he waited for your okay to come in. “No, no, not at all. Come in.” You smile and turn towards your already closed blinds. If you hadn’t already closed them, it definitely would’ve looked suspicious if you closed them now.

As soon as he shut your door, you stood up from your seat with a sly smirk and walk over to him. “So, what can I do you for?” You ask. “Oh, nothing, I just—” Spencer rests his hands on your hips. “I just missed you.”

You smile as you hold him close. It’d been a minute since you had a moment together. Cases were often disrupting already what little time you two had together.

“I missed you too, my love.” You say, looking into his eyes with a loving smile. “Why don’t we go out for dinner tonight? I’m working on the paperwork now so I won’t have to stay here too late tonight.” You suggest and he smile right back at you. “I’d like that. We could use a date night.”

You pull him closer to kiss you on your lips and as you pull him flush against your body, you feel it. It’s definitely unmistakable that he’s hard in his pants.

“Uh, baby?” You ask, pushing him a bit. “Yeah?” He asks as he leans his head down towards his collarbone. “Are you… hard just from a few kisses?” This wasn’t the first time he’d gotten an erection just from a few simple kisses from you. He pretty much gets turned on by anything you do. And you secretly love it.

“I can’t help it, Spencer admits into your neck. “You’re gorgeous.”

You blush at his words and smile, “Aw, thank you, my love.” His mouth stays on your neck, sucking on your pulse point. You pull him towards your chair and push him into it, getting on top of him and straddling him with a smirk etched on your face as you lean down and kiss him on his lips.

He tries to speak into the kiss, pushing you away for a brief moment. “Wait, wait, wait.” He says and you look down at him, your index finger tapping on his plump pink lips, staring down at them. You had a bit of an oral fixation when it came to Spencer Reid. Whether it was for yourself or for him.

“What’s wrong?” You ask. “I just don’t want us to get caught, that’s all.” Spencer stated and you smile, “I know, sweet boy. But you let me worry about that, okay? Right now, I just want to take care of my boy.”

You run your hand towards the front of his slacks and palm his hard cock through his pants. He moans a little too loud and you are quick to clasp your free hand over his mouth. “If we want to this to work, you’re gonna need to be a good boy and be quiet, okay?” He nods vehemently into your palm.

You stroke him a few more times through his pants and you check and see that your sweet boy’s eyes are rolling to the back of his head. You wonder how long you can keep him on the edge, how long you can make this until he’s shouting that he can’t take it anymore, how much he’ll—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

You and Spencer look at each other in horror before you quickly usher him underneath your desk and fix yourself up to the best of your ability, sitting in your seat. Surely, you could’ve explained that Spencer was just in here for a moment but you acted quickly and couldn’t risk whoever was coming in to talk to you to see what you two were doing. You two didn’t exactly have the best poker faces in the world.

“Come in.” You say, attempting to sound as normal as you can. The door opens and in walks Emily. “Hey, Y/n. Care if we talk for a moment?”

“Of course, come right in.” Emily nods, shutting the door behind her and sitting in the chair in front of your desk.

As Emily begins to talk with you about your most recent case paperwork and begins on giving you pointers on how to handle it quickly, Spencer is crouched underneath your desk and he has a perfect view up your skirt.

You’re too distracted with Emily being in the room to feel how his hands — his gorgeous hands — glide up and down your calf and they begin to reach in a higher place and you flinch as his nimble fingers touch your underwear.

Your eyes widen as Emily furrows her brows at you and seems to notice you’ve flinched. “Are you alright?” She asks and you nod, “Oh, yeah, super. Just too fidgety today,” You hold up your mug. “Too much coffee.”

Emily continues her advice as you feel Spencer removing your underwear down your thighs. You don’t see how he stuffs them in his pocket. He bunches your skirt to the best of his ability and you look down just for a brief moment to see that he’s become in a trance as he gawks at your wet pussy.

You’re so lucky that your desk is too high up for Emily to see what you two are doing. This is so wrong. You should definitely try and stop him but the fact that he could be caught underneath your desk — it just turns you on even more. Who knew you were such an exhibitionist?

“Another thing that I recommend that you do is—” You hardly listen to Emily as you try your best to give your undivided attention to her but it’s really difficult when the man you love is underneath your table, lapping at your pussy with his useful tongue.

You feel everything as he begins to suck on your clit and sticks his fingers into your hole and you try your best to keep a straight face. You bite your lip and try and keep yourself as hunched over as you can to not draw suspicion.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Emily asks, once more. “Uh, yeah,” Your cheeks redden. “I’m… just not feeling very…” You feel as he rolls his tongue in a figure-eight on your bundle of nerves. “Well at the… the moment.”

“If you need to go home, I can take over the rest of the day.” Emily offers and you think about it. You definitely need the time to punish your sweet boy for being needy and impatient, so maybe going home would be a good idea.

“Uh, that’s probably a good idea.” You say. “Why don’t you let the rest of the team know?” Emily nods and leaves the room and you wait for the door to shut to finally gasp and whimper.

As Emily exits the room, she walks away from the door and shudders. Yeah, she knew what the hell was happening. The team pretty much knew you two were together already. You guys didn’t have the best poker faces in the world.

“Oh, you naughty boy.” You back your seat up a bit as you run your hands through his hair. He takes his mouth off of you for a second to breathe. “I like seeing you in an authoritative position. It’s sexy.” With that, he dives back in, running his tongue through your folds again.

You take your hand through his locks, pushing him impossibly deeper into your pussy. “Oh, my God!” You exclaim softly, eyes rolling back as he finishes you off. “Come on, cum for me. Please. Please. Baby, please.” He pleads in your pussy, moaning and sending vibrations through your body as he sticks his fingers back inside.

You bite your lip to contain your moans in your office and you feel yourself gush over his face and look at him, his eyes blown with lust and love. “Did I do good?” Spencer asks, wiping his mouth of your essence and you smirk.

“You did.” You admit. “Now, that Emily’s gone, maybe I should finish what we started.” Spencer looks down and shakes his head, “No, I, uh, actually don’t need help with that anymore.”

You furrow your brows, look down and sure enough, Spencer’s slacks are a shade darker near his crotch. You should’ve expected this, he’d cum at the slightest touch.

“Somebody definitely wants to get punished tonight.” You tease, dragging a finger to his chin and he holds his arms up in surrender. “Hey, sorry I wanted to look good for my boss.”

You shake your head with a chuckle. He can be so impossible sometimes.

So, you tell him to exit the office as discreetly as he can with his blazer over his crotch to hide the evidence and to call in for the rest of the day, making an excuse that there’s a bug going around so you can edge him for hours on end when he gets to your apartment.

[keepingitformyself]

older (and wiser): i

synopsis: in which time could have never undone what she left.

A/N: FIRST WANDA FIC!!! had this idea long ago when i was crushing hard on this girl from the theatre program at my uni; around that time i had also seen ‘past lives’ and i wanted to do something similar with that film. also at my core i know wanda maximoff would’ve totally been a theatre kid, this is me paying ode to that. while this specific part doesn’t go into that, i am gonna work on a sort of prequel to this Short Series…anyways enjoy!!!

pairings: wanda maximoff x reader

genre: angst?

warnings: it’s sad. but it gets hopeful…

MASTERLIST

please do not repost my work anywhere for any reason at all. if you do see this happen to any of my stories, please let me know. thank you x.

it had been years.

wanda had finally decided to take a breather. she’d been working non-stop ever since she left for work all those years ago after college.

she didn’t think she’d get so lucky off that one job, that it’d immediately get her into another, or another, and so on and so forth.

she loved her work, sure, but now it was catching up to her. everyone in her life, her manager, her agent, her family had all begged her to slow down.

“take some time off, wanda.” her agent, daniel had said to her during a meeting. wanda’s eyes traveled between daniel and her manager, samara.

the meeting had all been a set up. what wanda thought was supposed to be a discussion on a new project, was actually a ploy. she had no idea the meeting was meant to convince her to take a break.

“yeah right.” she scoffed. not believing in what they were saying.

“we’re serious, wanda.” samara stated, her eyes stern but with genuine care. “when was the last time you had time for yourself?”

wanda remained silent at the words. all of a sudden she felt like a kid being scolded by their parents. and she wished to be anywhere else but in the room with them.

“really.” daniel starts. “go be a real person. smell the flowers, meet people, fall in love, take in the view—”

“i meet people all the time, daniel.” wanda quickly cut in.

all daniel could do was shake his head, a sigh escaping his lips as he tried his hardest to make the woman in front of him understand.

“you know that’s not what i meant, wanda.” he gives her a pointed look.

with a jaw clenched, she crossed her arms over her chest and looked off to the side. the windows overlooking los angeles now seeming more interesting than this conversation.

“we know how much it means for you to work, we know how much you enjoy it, but you’ve been doing it for so long. we just want you at your best.” she hears samara say. and as much as she hated to admit it, daniel and samara were right.

wanda hadn’t stopped working since she started. in fact, it’s all she can think to do. she didn’t have anyone outside of work—no partner, no obligations except to her family. why stop when there was nothing waiting for her?

wanda knew the answer but wouldn’t admit it. she might as well never have fully faced it.

the truth was, she’d loved someone once. she’d loved you. and no matter how much time had passed, the thought of you still gnawed at her.

though everything was perfect for a while, her career was well off, she was successful, and her family was proud.

but wanda couldn’t help asking, is this really it?

of course, she tried meeting people. she really tried. she didn't like being miserable over someone she hadn't been in contact with for years. but even that wasn't enough. it was honestly a bit pathetic. it had happened years ago. four years, to be exact. wanda should’ve been well moved on by now, but she isn’t. at least not entirely.

so, she poured everything into her work to distract her from that gnawing feeling inside her. the one that had been lit up all those years ago. the one that was tamable with you around.

but you’re not around, and wanda couldn’t help but throw herself into more work hoping she could get rid of it, get rid of you. but she hasn’t.

“listen, wanda,” daniel cuts her train of thought. “your work is important and people need it, but to keep it up to that degree, you need to go out and just be a human.” he finishes.

wanda sighs. she leans forward on her knees and drops her head into her hands. daniel was right. they were both so right.

wanda never properly dealt with things. maybe it's time she finally did.

she looks up from her hands, a look of defeat yet understanding, with pursed lips she finally says,

"fine."

and now, two months later, wanda finds herself back in los angeles, in an empty home, eating expensive sushi.

she had gotten off the phone with her brother, pietro, who had just joined her on the recent trip she’d been on.

a trip that he insisted he’d join her on to make sure wanda would do all the resting and touristy things she should.

she had done all the traveling she could do in the last two months, jumping from plane to plane. talking to strangers, being a tourist in european cities, and befriending random people in planes.

now, wanda actually had time for herself, time with her brain. a thing she honestly didn't want to face. because even thinking about anything made it even more real.

but now wanda was bored, and the movie playing on her eighty-inch television wasn't doing much to entertain her. and it also didn't help that it was eleven pm on a thursday night and all wanda could do was feel bad for herself.

so she does the next thing she had been really trying to avoid,

stalking your social media.

wanda herself wasn’t much active online these days. she had much to do day-to-day and week-to-week, rarely would she ever have the patience to sit down and scroll through her phone much. that and she honestly tried to stay off of it.

but now she has the time. and the patience. and honestly, she’s a little scared at what she could find.

she tells herself it doesn't have to mean anything. just a little check-in to see how you were, after that she'd really work on trying to forget about you altogether.

and with the simple type in of your name, wanda finds your instagram. your profile picture, a professional headshot of you, and a bio that reads,

editor in chief.

New York Times contributor.

something that shouldn't have made wanda's chest burst with joy, but it does. and as she scrolls further and further, she finds that you now reside in new york city, that you've moved on well without her and that you have a cat and a boyfriend.

boyfriend.

she shouldn't care so much, but she does.

you were living your best life. the one you had always wanted.

just not with her. not with wanda.

but she doesn't stop there, and she ignores the lump in her throat as she exits your profile and searches for your mother's name.

and maybe she feels her heart break a little when it turns out the boyfriend you had is actually your fiancé. she finds out through a photo your mother posted.

the picture shows you, and a handsome man next to you. you’re both sat outside some restaurant in the city, his arm is thrown over your shoulder while your right hand clutches his left, and there it is. in all its glory—with the diamond on it catching the suns light perfectly. the ring on your finger.

it doesn’t help that he looks so in love with you.

out for lunch with y/n and paul again! i promised them an engagement lunch and we were NOT disappointed. make sure you try Jack’s Wife Freda if you are ever in SoHo!!#motherinlaw #NYC #loveinnewyork

is what the caption reads.

wanda freezes at the fact and immediately throws her phone on the empty seat beside her. she stares at it like it had just offended her.

many things go through her brain. how did you meet him? was it shortly after you broke up? was it really him you wanted to spend forever with? how long did it take for him to ask?

wanda had always loved your mother. a sweet woman who always had your best interests in mind. she had always pushed you to do what you loved. and wanda had always seen that some of her favorite traits of yours had come from her.

after the break up, your mom made sure to check in on wanda. without you ever knowing, wanda and your mom kept in touch, until eventually wanda had cut her line for the sake of fully moving on.

though, she never really fully did.

wanda evaluates what to do next. was this her sign? she doesn’t want it to be sign.

wanda doesn’t want to admit that it seems like you had moved on so completely.

on impulse she looks up your fiancé’s name. “paul” is all she had to type out in your mother’s following before she found his account.

she finds that paul is just as successful as you are. he’s an investigative journalist, born in ireland. he briefly worked at a publication in london but transferred to a firm in new york after a year.

he’s gorgeous, she thinks. he has blue eyes, a kind smile, and he has an accent. it would make perfectly good sense why you would choose him.

wanda’s stomach twists with a mix of happiness and regret.

“fuck!” She whispers to herself.

“of course, you’re happy. of course the man you’re engaged with is actually a decent man! fuck.” wanda says to no one in particular. in frustration, she burries her hands in her hair.

wanda is annoyed at herself.

“i need a drink,” in an instant she’s on her legs making her way to the kitchen. she finds a bottle of wine that has been kept cool in the fridge and she wastes no time in popping it open, she pauses briefly, debating on whether she’d need or glass or not.

to hell with a glass. she thinks, and makes her way back to the couch, she holds the bottle by its neck and takes a long swig from it.

it’s all so perfectly miserable. wanda maximoff stalking her ex-girlfriend on social media while she gets wasted. the self loathing has got the best of her. she finds it all ironic.

wanda maximoff could have anyone she wanted. she knew this. she has everything she could ever want or need. she has credibility, a nice home, the luxury of traveling at any moment she wants.

yet, her mind kept coming back to one thing. the one thing she’d decided she’d leave behind all those years ago. it isn’t fair, she thinks. wanda was young and stupid back then, but she was so so in love. she knew that for sure.

but sometimes…sometimes she really wishes she had fought harder.

briefly, wanda wonders if your number was still the same. if you had ever changed it or at least tried calling her. she wouldn’t know, she had changed it years ago once she started getting more attention for her work.

wanda was really drunk at this point. her better judgment had gone away as soon as she’d picked that bottle out the fridge. there was no better time than now.

she taps on her phone until she lands on the number keypad. her fingers hover over it, would she regret it if she didn’t? probably. would she regret it if she did? probably.

but if there was one thing wanda had, it’s that she’s got nerve and audacity.

so she types in the number that she doesn’t think she could ever forget, and lets it ring.

your fiancé answers the call.

“hello?” an irish accent sounds through the speaker. paul. wanda’s blood runs cold and she stays silent for a moment. all of sudden she feels incredibly sober and regretting making the call.

“hi.” she pauses. “uhm, i’m looking for y/n?” wanda manages to squeak out.

“right! who is this? your number isn’t saved.” paul says,

“an old friend. i changed my number a while back.” wanda replies smoothly.

“oh! let me pass her to you, she’s just in the kitchen.” the line goes quiet for a few moments, and she’s able to hear a few words exchanged between you and paul.

“hello?”

wanda freezes again, a hand covers her mouth as she tries not to shake at the sound of your voice. it’d been so long. she grips her phone tighter.

“hey…” her voice shaky and unmistakable. you know it’s wanda.

“wanda?” your voice betrayed the surprise you felt. from the couch paul caught your eye, a raised eyebrow on his face. everything okay? he mouthed.

you shook your head.

“i wondered if your number was still the same.” wanda says after a moment. her tone light, but with an undercurrent of something else.

your mind raced. why was she calling you? why now? your fiance was in the other room, you were getting married soon. you’d built a life perfectly fine without her in it. so why was she calling you now?

“how have you been?” her voice cuts through the line again. wanda holds the phone close to her ear, wanting to make sure she could hear every word you say.

and all you can think of is how confused you were.

“i- i’m fine. i’m good. yeah.”

“that’s good—”

“i’m sorry, uh…why are you calling?” you find yourself cutting her off. your fingers press against your forehead in act of trying to understand what was happening.

wanda pauses. she realizes just how impulsive this whole thing was. she’s on the phone with her ex of four years, while your fiancé was probably in the other room. she goes silent again. her words have to be carefully measured.

she gulps,

“uhm…i just—i just wanted to know how you were. heard you’re based in new york now...so…” wanda trails off. you don’t miss the tone in her voice as she says those words. the familiar rasp, the lowness of her voice, she’d used it many times on you when she wanted something.

you close your eyes with a sigh, “yeah. yeah, i live in new york now, engaged and everything.”

wanda smiles through the phone, her eyes almost prick with tears at the corners.

“i saw," she says just above a whisper. "congratulations, you…you’ve always wanted that.” and she means it. she knows better than anyone how much you’ve wanted this.

suddenly a wave of nostalgia hits you, and you’re brought back to when you were both in college. so young, so dumb, but god, it was one of the best times of your life. you try not to let it affect you, how much this call seems to be doing for you. you haven’t yet figured out if it’s a good or bad thing.

“thank you." your voice softens. "how have you been?” you find yourself asking her next.

wanda smiles at your question, “life has been…insane, you know?” she pauses on the line. “still missing some pieces, but overall i’m doing well,” you pretend not to hear the sudden shift in her voice when she said that.

you exhaled quietly, unsure of what to say. the air between you felt charged with unspoken words, old memories stirring to the surface.

“can i see you?” she asks, her tone hesitant. “catch up in person? i’d really like to see you.”

with your bottom lip between your teeth, you contemplate your next words. paul notices your tick from the other his seat on the couch, despite you telling him it was okay he couldn’t help but worry. he’d heard enough of the call to know something was wrong. still he knows you had it down, so he waits until you need him.

you struggle to find your words for a moment, the question being so…why?

“oh, wanda, i don’t know if—”

but wanda ever the stubborn woman she is, doesn’t relent.

“please. Just for some coffee and conversation.”

your mind is torn between keeping your peace or taking wanda up on her offer. but you were curious.

with a sigh you finally decide.

“where and when?”

you can hear wanda’s smile through the phone,

“i can fly to new york anytime you’re free. you can pick a spot and i’ll be there.”

you think for a few moments.

“okay, meet at caffe reggio in greenwich.”

wanda’s heart stutters, something she hadn’t felt in a while. her eyes flutter closed, she breathes in— out. her eyes open again. and though you can’t see it, there’s a new look in her eyes.

“i’ll be there.”

[jjscrybaby]

first dates <3

jj maybank x fem!reader | fluff | (friends to lovers, just pure adorableness tbh, sexual jokes, kissing, smoking weed.)

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

“So, what does a date with JJ Maybank look like?” Your arm was linked through his, the two of you walking down the beach; the gentle breeze had goosebumps spreading over your bare skin. Sue you for wanting to look nice.

About 97% of the days you’d spent with JJ were in a bikini, pyjamas or just some old denim shorts and a crop top. You never tried to look nice for him, because you didn’t have to. He wasn’t your boyfriend, he was your friend. Ever since Sarah had started dating John B your circles had merged and the two of you had become particularly attached at the hip. Maybe you should have realised sooner you had feelings for him, but the line between friendship and romance is difficult to differentiate sometimes.

Surprisingly, you weren’t confused when he asked you out. It felt normal, felt right. You’d given him a sweet smile, kissed his cheek and told him to pick you up at seven.

“I can’t say I’ve been on many,” he admitted, shrugging his jacket off to put on you. “But, usually, I start with food.”

“You always do,” you tease, putting your arms through the hoodie with a grin. He linked his fingers through yours, throwing you a wink as he changed directions. You didn’t realise where you were headed until you were stood outside. “You want to have our first date at the Wreck? We eat here all the time.”

“You love the cheeseburgers,” he shrugged, holding the door open for you. The bell jingled above you, you looked back at him with a giddy smile.

Kiara, luckily, wasn’t working tonight so you didn’t have her eyeing the two of you like an overbearing mother. A waiter came over to your table and he ordered, knowing just what you wanted without you having to say a word. He’d decided to sit beside you instead of opposite, in a little booth in the back, you were pretty sure it was just so he could rest his hand on your thigh.

“You look beautiful, by the way,” he complimented. You’d decided on a sundress, knowing he had a thing for them.

“You’ve told me several times,” you teased, tucking your hair behind your ears. “You look beautiful, too.”

“Aww, thanks,” he laughed, making you giggle.

First dates were usually awkward, you’d always need at least two glasses of wine to loosen up. You hadn’t even had a sip for this. You adored JJ, he already knew everything about you so there were no awkward conversations needed to be had. He’d held your hair back whilst you threw up in a bush after one too many tequila shots, so you couldn’t possibly embarrass yourself. You felt completely relaxed, it was the best you’d felt in a long time.

Your food and drinks arrived, his hand didn’t stray from your thigh the entire meal. He flirted with you nonstop, but you very quickly realised he’d been doing that since you met. The teasing comments, the unsubtle looks, it was nothing new; and yet you still blushed every time.

“What’s next?” You asked as the two of you left the restaurant, his wallet the only one feeling a little emptier.

“The nice meal wasn’t good enough for ya?” He joked, arm around your shoulders.

“It was exquisite, but I think you can do better,” you shrugged, reaching up to hold the hand he’d wrapped around you.

“We’ll see.”

The arcade was your favourite place on the island, not for the games, no, they were fun but they weren’t the reason you loved it so much. You went there purely to people watch. A variety of people came into the arcade, and you loved to make up fun stories about them. And, of course, JJ knew that.

“What ‘bout them?” The two of you were sat, sipping slushies and looking around the room. You’d played a few games, he let you win every time, and now it was time for the real fun.

“She’s pregnant but hasn’t told him yet, because it’s not his baby,” you replied. He gasped dramatically, making you snort into your cup.

“Who’s the daddy?” JJ asked, subtly pulling you closer to him so your back was leaning against his chest.

Your cheeks went pink, but you chose to ignore it and take another sip of your drink; even as he let out a chuckle. “That guy.” You pointed to an elderly man who was standing in the corner.

“Damn, he’s still got it,” JJ murmured. You giggled, turning to face him with an amused smile. Your faces were inches apart as he grinned back at you.

For a second, you thought he was going to kiss you; he cupped your cheek and gently stroked his thumb over your cheekbone, but just as you were about to lean in he brought his hand back, licked his thumb and then rubbed it over your top lip.

“Slushie juice,” he explained, licking his thumb before looking around the room again. “Ooo, what about her?”

You were on his back as you walked back across the beach, your feet were hurting because you decided to wear uncomfortable shoes that went with your dress and you’d refused to walk any further. He didn’t even flinch, just bent down in front of you and waited. He was carrying your shoes, babbling on about something John B had done.

“Where are we headed?” He asked, adjusting his hold on you. “The Chateau?”

“On the first date? Who do you take me for?” You smirked.

“Says the girl who slept with Brandon Gibbs after the first date. Am I not good enough for you?” He replied dramatically.

“Hey! You promised to never bring that up again,” you whined.

He laughed, suddenly stopping in his movements to drop you back down. Instead of giving you your shoes like you expected, he sat down on the sand and waited for you to join him. “There’s one part of a JJ Maybank date that we haven’t done yet.”

“On the beach? Dirty,” you smirked, sitting down next to him.

“Shuddup.” He pulled out a pre-rolled joint from his pocket, waving it in your face. “My speciality.”

“Did you grow it?”

“I’ve had enough of the smartass comments, baby.” You couldn’t come up with another one, not with the way the pet name left his lips. He’d called you baby plenty of times, but something about that moment just made it feel special.

You shared the joint, passing it back and forth as you talked softly to each other. By the time it was finished, you were sitting in his lap with your eyes half open and kisses being pressed to the side of your head.

“So, how’d I do?” JJ murmured, lips only inches away from your ear.

“10/10,” you replied, running your hand through his hair with a lazy smile. “Best date I’ve ever been on, hands down.”

“Well that’s good to hear,” he grinned. “You think I did good enough for a kiss?”

“Mhm, maybe,” you teased, turning your head so your lips brushed against his. He let out a shaky exhale, cupping your cheeks in his warm hands like he’d done earlier on; except this time, there was no juice.

His lips moved smoothly against yours, hands pulling you as close as humanly possible. His tongue licked over your bottom lip, causing a hum to leave yours.

“Do you want to go on a second date?” He murmured against your lips.

“And a third,” you grinned.

When you both finally pulled away, both your lips were puffy, your hair messy and cheeks flushed. Neither of you had ever looked happier.

“C’mon, you’re carrying me to the Chateau if you want that second date,” you stated, standing up.

“Am I gonna be the new Brandon Gibbs?”

“Not anymore, you’re not.”

[thecranberriesslut]

Californication

Summary: You and your best friends dad commit sin on family vacay.

Pairing: no-outbreak! Joel Miller x Fem!Reader ’Cara’

Wc: about 3k

Warnings: The age gap is girthyyyy (Joel is 40-something, reader is 18), dirty themes, smut, read at your own risk, inappropriate jokes.

Notes: It’s my first fanfic posted on this account so please be nice, also english is not my first language so sorry for any typos, also you decided to read this so don’t complain about the age cap, it’s legal guys…

Californication Pt. 2

The sky is bleeding shades of gold and orange over the navy blue early morning shade, only a couple of stars still visible from the night before. You shift in your bed uncomfortably, not having been able to sleep almost the entire night, mostly due to pure excitement. Luckily, your alarm sounds, and you get up to turn it off. 7:01, you manage to make out as your eyes adjust to the morning hue. You gather your honey-blonde hair and tie it up, so it's out of your face. As you retrieve your phone from charging on your bedside table, you see 4 new messages from Sarah, your best friend since grade school, right when you moved to the suburbs from New York.

You love Sarah, you have from the very first moment you met her. When you had just moved to a new house, and you felt all blue until you saw a beautiful blonde girl about your age in the yard next to yours-- wearing denim overalls with flowers on them, reading a book and eating a strawberry popsicle. She saw you looking through the window, and yelled to ask you whether you wanted a popsicle too. Sarah was an angel-- unfortunately, you were the fucking devil, especially when it came to Sarah's father.

Joel Miller-- You had begun to notice his appeal in the seventh grade, right around the time you started feeling things while watching that one scene in titanic. When you happened to scrape your knee outside Sarah's house and Joel had to patch you up. He lifted you onto their bathroom counter and placed a hello kitty band-aid on your knee, while looking up at you with his dark brown, captivating eyes and giving your knee a kiss. He told you that you were such a good girl for being so brave. You, being a horny 13-year-old, thought about that for months. He was your sexual awakening.

And now you're 18, still not able to look at him without your face growing hot, and your knees nearly giving out, going on spring vacation to Palm springs with your parents, Sarah, and Joel.

“Cara, are you up? We're leaving in two hours, with or without you!”

You hear your mom's perky voice yell from downstairs, she can be quite dramatic. But you wouldn't change her for anything.

“Yeah, mom!”

You quickly gather yourself and make a mental note to not think absolutely anything dirty about Joel 'sex god' Miller while on vacation. You answer Sarah's anxiously worded texts about what to pack for the vacation, and whether she can wear a bikini or will your mom think it's too whorish. The thing you love about Sarah is how much she thinks about stuff, she knows your mom loves her, and still, she's worried. You tell Sarah not to worry, and that you'd already packed, because you can think ahead too. You move onto picking an outfit for the trip.

It has to be something cute, but not too cute so my parents don't get suspicious-- but Joel has to like it.

You think to yourself, and then go on to curse yourself for thinking about Joel, and what he might like. You need to get yourself together. He's like 40, not to mention your best friend's father. You settle on some classic Levi's 501 shorts and a white Brandy Melville long sleeve, because the morning dew can cause a chilliness in the air. You decide on no makeup, and to wear your hair down, unstyled. You hurriedly grab the last of your things, phone charger, bikini-- a book.

Furthermore, you grab a Red Bull from the fridge quickly before you make it down to the driveway. Sarah's already sitting in the backseat of your moms gray sedan, and Joel's loading up their stuff. You feel weak as you see Joel, he's wearing a black t shirt that shows off his sweat glazed biceps and that damn cross necklace hanging around his neck. God-- there's something in you melting right now, and it is not from the heat outside.

“Hey darlin', need any help with that?”

Joel asks, in his low voice, smooth like whiskey, topped with the most charming southern drawl imaginable.

“Uhm, yeah! Thanks, Mr. Miller.”

You smile at him as you hand over your suitcase, trying to paint your face with an attractive smile, it is probably coming off as shy and adolescent if anything. Joel smiles back, the kind of smile that could stop traffic, and he pats you on your lower back, his hand lingering there for a second too long to be considered innocent. Even after he lets go, the heat of his big hand lingers there.

“It's no problem, a pretty lil' girl like you shouldn't be doin' heavy lifting, go on sit down, Sarah's in the car already.”

You go in the car, ready to blame the heat for your fiery crimson cheeks if it comes up. You hug Sarah excitedly and your parents carry the rest of the stuff to the car. You almost choke on your Red Bull as you see Joel opening the back door and motioning you to sit in the middle so he can fit in the back. Reluctantly, you move to the middle seat, as close to Sarah as possible, so you don't accidentally brush up against her smoke show of a father and go even more red than you knew to be humanly possible.

---------

After a long 5-hour drive of sitting next to Joel as still as you could, avoiding sliding closer to him during bumps in the road, and trying not to look at the slight bulge in his shorts. You were exhausted. You were so aroused and embarrassed, you feared that in the span of 5 hours Joel had noticed your horniness, had thought it was super gross, and had somehow telepathically told your parents about it. You were pulled out of your thoughts as the car came to a stop in front of a gorgeous white beach villa and Joel patted your thigh.

“Finally here, bet you're dyin' to stretch those legs, huh?”

He fucking knew. And now you needed to find the nearest hole in the ground and bury yourself in it. You just let out an awkward laugh as he got out of the car, and tried to console yourself.

He doesn't know anything, you are being paranoid.

You and Sarah managed to get out of the car, and you almost dropped your phone when you saw it.

“There's a huge fucking pool!”

You yelled in utter shock and excitement.

“Watch your mouth, young lady!”

Your dad yelled from behind the car. You and Sarah just laughed as you ran inside the villa, the tile floor freezing in contrast to the scorching hot air, you ran to the biggest bedroom and claimed it for you and Sarah. There was a huge king-sized bed laying in the middle of the room with expensive looking white sheets, and pillow mints set on the pillows.

“I could get used to this.”

You exclaimed, joking with a certain sense of indifference, as you unwrapped the pillow-mint. Sarah only laughed and said something about her dad, before he appeared in the doorway with our bags.

“Speak of the devil.”

Sarah said.

“You were talkin' 'bout me?”

Joel asked, a smug smile on his face, as he set our bags down with ease. The veins in his forearms prominent as his muscles bulged. He was strong, like-- incredibly strong, those bags weighed a lot, and he lifted them with not as much as a grunt. His rich dark brown hair fell over his eyes and he pulled it back with his hands, revealing some gray salt and pepper hairs underneath.

“Yeah, Cara was saying how embarrassing you were in the car.”

Sarah said nonchalantly, rolling her eyes and smiling at you. You were horrified. First of all, you were already terrified of Joel and now the fact that he probably thought you disliked him.

“I didn't say that! I-”

You defended yourself frantically, until Joel interrupted you.

“Sure you didn't, you lil' troublemaker. Your dad 'oughta teach you a lesson about respectin' adults.”

He joked. You couldn't say anything back, just stare at him as he turned to leave the room.

“Gosh, my dad's embarrassing.”

Sarah complained.

“No he's fine.”

You said quietly. Joel's jokes sounded like normal jokes to everyone else, but if you were a horny 18-year-old avid dirty book reader, his jokes always had a dirty undertone to them. Like that one time he suggested he bend you over and spank you for stealing some of his beers with Sarah. His words always had an effect on you, and sometimes you felt like he was doing it on purpose. Although every time he joked, you tried to hide behind your shy, enigmatic personality and not reveal that you had just gotten hornier than ever.

You had all settled in by the time the sun was starting to set, your parents had gone out for a walk and Sarah wanted to go scout the surrounding area for shops and things to do. So you were alone at the villa-- with Joel. You hadn't dared to leave your room yet, but your stomach was begging you to go get food already, and you had no other choice. So you gathered your courage and went into the kitchen, Joel was nowhere to be seen. You opened up the fridge to see a tuna sandwich, and came to the conclusion that it was probably for the road trip, and you could eat it now. So you took a bite, and felt someone's eyes on you, you turned around to see Joel wearing only his swimming trunks, hair soaking wet, and his abs glistening, as he dried them with a white towel.

“So... now the naughty girl is stealin' sandwiches too, huh?”

He accused you playfully, while dragging the towel across his body lazily, as if trying to torture you.

“What? I- I didn't know this was yours-”

You were quick to defend yourself.

“Relax, Cara.”

He said, a sly smile painting his beautiful face. The way your name rolled off his tongue felt like a direct attack to the tough exterior you were trying to keep up around him, and it went straight to your core.

“I'm jus' jokin' with you, you're always so tense around me, why is that?”

He asked, his voice remaining velvety smooth.

“Uhm... no, I'm not.”

You tried to sound convincing, you didn't. The way you fidgeted with your shirt hem and always slightly lowered your head when you spoke to him, suggested that you were genuinely afraid of him. But you weren't, just head over heels in lust. Wrongful lust.

“You jus' seem nervous is all... is everything all right?”

He asked as he walked slowly closer, like a predatory cat, he was a tall man, well over 6 foot. As he got closer, he started to tower over you in an intimidating but undeniably attractive manner. His build was strong, he looked like a man who could throw you across the room and not break a sweat.

“I'm not nervous.”

You lied. He looked at you knowingly, like a teacher who had just caught you cheating and was about to embarrass you in front of the entire classroom. He brought his big rugged hand to your forehead and made a caressing motion, you were confused until he held his hand to the light and confronted you.

“You're sweatin', and it ain't even that hot in here, you're also red as a beet.”

He smiled, having caught you in a lie. You were about to say something, but he stopped you.

“You know, lyin's not nice-- only bad girls lie.”

“What are you, my father?”

You clapped back, soon to realize that was a mistake. Because he placed his hand on your chin gently, but in a way that was meant to intimidate you, and forced you to look straight in his dark, scary eyes.

“No, and you're damn lucky I ain't, cause I'd sure as hell punish you for lyin' to me, make you respect your daddy.”

Your eyes widened in shock, and you could feel the familiar redness rising to your cheeks. He dropped your chin and laughed a hearty laugh.

"Listen, kiddo, I'm jus' messin' with ya.”

“Oh!”

You let out a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding and tried to shake off your dirty thoughts.

He didn't say anything sexual, you are just a weird ass dirty minded virgin.

“And I'd work on hidin' your emotions better. Gettin' all worked up by your best friend's father callin' himself daddy-- you are one sick puppy.”

His crude words should have disgusted you, you should've felt gross or violated or something, but you didn't. All your feelings were overpowered by one. Complete intoxicating arousal, purely from his words. You didn't have a lot of time to gather yourself when you heard the door and saw Sarah walking inside with something in her hands.

“What do you have?”

You asked, curious. Sarah held the items up, and you could make out two bagels and two diet cokes. You smiled like you had just seen a million dollars.

“I love you so much!”

You screamed as you ran for the bagels.

“I thought you'd probably be starving, I found this cute ass little café down the road.”

You took the bagels and headed to your room. Feeling extremely guilty about what had happened with her dad just moments prior, how could he just say something so-- vigorous out of nowhere, and now you had to pretend it didn't happen. You placed the bagels on the bed and changed your denim shorts into your comfortable pink Hollister mini shorts, you took out your MacBook and scrolled endlessly, trying to find something for you both to watch.

“Can we watch The Kardashians?”

You asked Sarah, she just nodded a quick yeah and bit into her bagel. You watched the show until it was very late, the sun had set completely, and the only sound throughout the house was the quiet hum of an air conditioner. Sarah was half asleep, you had almost forgotten about the whole thing with his dad already.

It's fine, you were just reading too much into it, he didn't mean anything by it.

You were way too in your thoughts to go to sleep, so you decided that a little midnight swim could do you good. You changed into a tan Burberry bikini and retrieved a white towel from your closet, and made your way to the massive pool. The air felt warm, the night had brought a cold breeze, but the heat of the day still lingered in the air, almost like a memory. The water was warm, it was sitting there day after day in the heat, so it had gathered some of it. You could easily just go all the way in, it felt heavenly-- After having swam a couple of laps you lifted your head out of the pool. You almost drowned when you saw Joel, crouched by the side of the pool, staring at you and smiling.

“Fuck! You scared me!”

You screamed at him. Coughing out some water you had accidentally swallowed when you saw him.

“Sorry... was jus' enjoyin' the view.”

He said, smugly. You decided that if he wanted to play games, you would play along. You splashed him with water so his sweatpants and white tee got soaking wet, and smiled at him-- challenging him.

“Whoa! Kitty's got claws... But you ain't a brave girl.”

“Why's that?”

You asked, swimming closer to him and holding onto the border of the pool, inches from him. The light of the moon reflected on you from the water. The air smelled like smoke, brittlebush, and chlorine.

I probably look fucking ethereal right now.

You thought to yourself, feeling confident, trying your best to give Joel 'fuck me' eyes, something you'd learned while reading one of your grotesque books.

“You know I can't come in that pool, you're hidin' out 'cause you know you shouldn't challenge me.”

If there was ever a time to be courageous, this was it. You lifted yourself out of the pool slowly, Joel observed you with a slight sparkle in his eye. You got out of the pool and slowly walked over to your towel to dry yourself off. Joel laughed a low, hearty laugh.

“I guess I was wrong.”

He said, holding his hands up in defeat.

“So, what are you doing up this late?”

You asked him, party curious, partly trying to relieve the tension.

“Oh, well darlin' if I told you I'd be considered a dirty, bad man. Let's jus' say I couldn't sleep.”

To be continued.

[xyywrites]

How to use weather as a mood enhancer in scenes.

Weather is more than a backdrop—it’s a tool that can subtly amplify the mood, tension, or theme of your scenes. Done well, it can evoke emotions and foreshadow events without being heavy-handed. 

Melancholy:

The rain tapped against the window, steady and unrelenting, much like the weight pressing down on her chest. She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders, wishing the storm outside could drown out the one inside.

Restlessness:

The wind howled through the cracks of the old cabin, rattling the loose shutters. It wasn’t the kind of wind that swept things away—it was the kind that stayed and gnawed, a restless echo of her own unease.

A Happy Scene with Gloomy Weather:

Rain poured down in sheets, soaking her to the bone, but she didn’t care. She laughed, spinning in the middle of the street, her soaked dress clinging to her legs. For once, the world’s misery couldn’t touch her.

A Tragic Scene on a Bright Day:

The sun was too bright, its warmth mocking the cold numbness spreading through him. People bustled past, smiling under the clear blue sky, while he sat on the curb, clutching the letter that had just ended everything.

In a Chase Scene:

Fog blanketed the forest, turning the trees into looming specters. Each snap of a branch or crunch of leaves felt amplified, like the forest itself was working against him. He couldn’t see his pursuers, but he could feel them closing in.

During a Confrontation:

The wind picked up as they stood in the open field, her hair whipping around her face like a fury she couldn’t contain. Lightning cracked in the distance, illuminating the raw anger in his eyes. Neither of them would back down.

Redemption Arc:

The first snow of the season fell gently, covering the world in white. It felt like a fresh start, even if he didn’t deserve one. He reached out a hand, watching the flakes melt against his skin, and wondered if he could ever be that clean again.

Grief:

The fog rolled in every morning like clockwork, smothering the town in its heavy embrace. It had been that way since the accident, as if even the weather couldn’t bear to let go of what had been lost.

Loneliness:

The snow piled up around the cabin, burying the path and muffling every sound. She’d never felt the silence so keenly before, as if the world had decided to forget her existence entirely.

Isolation:

The heat hung heavy in the air, making it hard to breathe. The cracked earth stretched out in every direction, offering no shade, no solace. She was utterly alone.

Subtle Anxiety:

A bead of sweat slid down her back, but she wasn’t sure if it was from the heat or the unease that had settled under her skin. The humidity pressed in, making the air feel heavier, like it carried secrets she didn’t want to uncover.

Lingering Sadness:

The drizzle wasn’t enough to drench anyone, but it clung to her skin, a persistent chill she couldn’t shake no matter how fast she walked.

Weather isn’t just a backdrop—it’s a storyteller in its own right. Whether it mirrors your character’s emotions, foreshadows danger, or contrasts with the scene’s tone, it can elevate your writing when used thoughtfully. Just remember: subtlety is key. Let weather enhance your story, not overshadow it.

[lilygaragee]

new year’s kiss

☆note: hii guys!! ive decided to create a new account here after a small break so please dont go harsh on me 🙏 english is not my first language but i tried my best so i really appreciate all of the support 🫶

☆warnings: mentions of alcohol, drug use, swearning, cheating(?), smuttish but not really smut, fluff

you were high out of your mind, watching a film on your couch with peter (your current boyfriend) you honestly hated him, you hated the way he treated you and the way you basically became a drug addict because of him.

as you two were laying in your apartment that obviously you pay for because peter is broke. Your phone vibrates from underneath your back, you silently lift your back to see who texted you without peter looking into your phone. It was sarah, you best friend since kindergarten saying that she hosts a party on new year’s eve and that you should totally come, you read the message quickly enough for Peter not to be able to and he immediately asks you „who is texting you again?” „oh its just my mom asking if i would want to come to spend new year’s with her” „i want to go to a club baby” he says giving you a small kiss on your forehead „ill go alone then” as a response he just hums and goes back to watching the film

☆☆☆☆

You have decidedto wear your favourite black dress with black thighs and shiny heeles, obviously you changed in the car so you didnt have to worry about fighting with peter that you look like a slut, he hates we you look good and you know it, he thinks that you will chase him for tne rest of his life, he hasn’t realised yet that you are so sick of him, his habits and just his entire personality, you want to kick him out of your place but you know that you dont have enough strength to do it alone.

„hey im here can you come out?” you stare at the text you sent and wait for sarah to respond or at least see the message but then you see her cherry red dyed hair running up to your car „girl cmon youre still scared to come to my house alone?” she says laughing, „im very scared of your neighbours” you respond to her looking over at the house thats right next to sarah’s

As you two were getting ready in sarah’s bathroom blasting music snd makeup just trashed everywhere you ask her „do you have a list who’s coming?” „yeah overhere” sarah passes you her phone with people’s name’s „who tf are these random people” „omg stop you literally know them” you still look at the phone confused as you try to recognise any of them as you notice a familiar name „who’s oscar piastri?” „oh he’s my friend’s friend or something like that, i dont really know the guy. What is he cute?” „i mean..maybe a little?” you still scroll through his pictures curiously „wait aren’t you with peter still?” „we broke up but he still says he loves me and wants to stay at my place but he gives me free weed do i guess its fine” trying to explain how you feel about peter is probably one of the hardest thing to do.

People stared coming to sarah’s house around 8pm and it was just a regular house party with people drinking, smoking or doing other stuff, you were looking out to see if the oscar guy that caught your attention was already here but you could not find him anywhere, after a while you just gave up, not having any hopes about seeing him, you came up to a random guy that was rolling joints and asked to borrow one he agreed after some negotiations and you went to the garden to smoke it in peace, you were sitting beside the pool smoking while a guy comes up to you and sits next to you, you were honestly shocked because wtf is he doing?? and then you notice the similarities between him and the guy that you were stalking on instagram „oh uh you want some?” you ask him shyly not confident at all like you planned in your head to be „yeah sure” he smiles and takes the joint from your hand. You’ve made the small talk while you were sharing the weed and you can already feeling it mess with your head and you can feel your mouth getting dryer by the second. „what your feeling it already?” said oscar laughing a little. „yeah” you said giggling „cmon lets go inside” oscar said standing up and reaching his hand to take yours to help you stand up, you stood up groaning, not wanting to go near people, but as soon you walked into the room full of people dancing to house music you slowly started getting more comfortable and more high. Oscar was right next to you all the time dancing and laughing with you, your just dancing your legs out of any strength at this point you feel so tired as you puy or head on oscar’s chest humming something while people around you are still dancing „hey are you ok? wanna go lay down” Oscar just see you nodding and takes you upstairs.

You were laying on Sarah’s bed in the only room that was left because people were probably having sex in all the other ones, but you weren’t there alone, you were laying on oscar’s chest listening to his heartbeat and listening to his monologue which didnt maks any sense, he probably doesn’t know what’s hes saying either. You never felt so connected and locked with anyone, you could feel his hands on your hair braiding them, you put your head up to look at him and you see his red eyes looking almost closed, you didnt have to look in the mirror guessing that you probably look the same, now your just admiring him and noticing the little moles he has and dimples when hes smiling. In the very awkward moment that Sarah catches you two just shouting fo everyone upstairs to comedown the stairs to watch the fireworks.

„How much do you want to stand up and go downstairs” oscar asks quietly „i have like zero strength left in my body so you would literally have to drag me there” „oh okay so..wanna stay here?” he asks smiling at you „yeah that would be nice” you said giving the smile back.

As you remember that you have something called a phone in your pocket that peter probably has been trying to get an answer for the last couple hours! he thinks your at your moms, you turned off your location so theres no way he’ll find you, you think „whatever all check later”

Oscar and you stood up to sit netxt to eachother while listening to people countdown seconds till new year, you take one more look at oscar and now he had probably noticed you admiring him for so long but he doesn’t do or wants to do anything about it

„happy new year” oscar says to you as he turns his head to you immediately catching eye contact

„happy new year oscar” you say back to him visibly flushed, you close your eyes as you feel his hand on your cheek pulling your lips into his, your tongue immediately started a battle with his fighting for dominance, you have really put all of your left strength into the battle but still lost to Oscar. At this point you two were out of breath and both broke contact, just for him to catch his breath and go back for even more. He picked you up from the bed, you wrap your legs around his hips while he carries you to the bathroom and puts you on the sink that you were getting ready in a few hours ago. Oscar stared to zip off your dress and you were left in your matching lacy underwear immediately teasing you, „you are so gorgeous baby” oscar whispered to your ear sending shivers down your spine while you responded with a moan. „We cant oscar…im sorry” you said quietly but loud enough for him to hear, „huh? why not” he reacted quickly, „peter would kill me if he found out, like literally” „is he your boyfriend or what?” „no, not really, were not together, but he says he doesn’t want to break up and now wont move out, hes like fucking insane” „what the fuck is wrong with the guy, i could never huty you” said oscar gently fixing your hair.

You and Oscar exchanged numbers and you told sarah everything, when you finally checked your phone you saw over 50 missed calles from peter trying to reach you without success, thank god you never gave him your mothers number even though he deemed that many times. you responded to him after few hours saying that you left your phone in the car and thought you lost it, he somehow believed it.

[rose24207]

May I request a George Weasley x Slytherin reader where after being dating in secret for a while they decide to stop hiding but George's friends are mean to her when he's not around and she doesn't want to say anything because she knows how important they are for him but George eventually finds out and defends his girlfriend? a bit angsty with a fluff ending please

What they’re like

Summary: George confronts his friends after overhearing hurtful comments about his Slytherin girlfriend, defending her fiercely and making it clear that their behavior won’t be tolerated.

Genre: angst, fluff

TW: bullying

A/N: love the idea! English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist

You’d always known dating George Weasley wouldn’t be easy, especially not when the two of you came from different houses. A Slytherin dating a Gryffindor was bound to raise eyebrows, but you thought the worst of it would come from your own housemates. You hadn’t expected his friends—people George trusted and cared about—to be the ones who made it so hard.

It started small. A muttered joke in the common room when George wasn’t there. A pointed glance or a scoff when you passed by. At first, you told yourself it didn’t matter. They didn’t know you, not really. George did. That should’ve been enough.

But then the comments grew sharper, more direct.

“Wonder how long this one’s going to last,” one of them said after you’d walked by.

“She’s probably using him,” another replied. “That’s what Slytherins do, right?”

It stung, but you kept your head high, pretending not to hear. You didn’t want to burden George with it. You knew how much his friends meant to him. If you said something, it might make things awkward for him, and that was the last thing you wanted.

Still, you couldn’t hide how it was affecting you—not entirely. You started avoiding Gryffindor Tower unless George was with you. You lingered at the edge of conversations when his friends were around, smiling tightly and letting their barbs roll off your back. Or at least, trying to.

Fred noticed first.

It was during a free period when Fred overheard it. He’d been on his way to the courtyard when he spotted you in the library. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but a familiar voice caught his attention.

“Poor George,” one of the Gryffindor girls said, her voice dripping with mock pity. “He has no idea what he’s gotten himself into.”

“Do you think she’s told him yet? That she’s just using him to make her parents angry?”

Fred frowned, stepping closer.

You were sitting just a few tables away, your back straight, your shoulders tense. It was clear you’d heard them, but you didn’t turn around. You didn’t say a word. Instead, you buried your nose in your book and pretended they didn’t exist.

Fred’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t one to get involved in George’s personal life—it wasn’t his style—but seeing you sit there, clearly hurt and refusing to show it, struck a nerve.

Fred cornered George that evening after dinner.

“Oi,” he said, grabbing his twin by the arm. “We need to talk.”

George raised an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

Fred didn’t answer right away, pulling him into an empty classroom instead. He shut the door behind them, crossing his arms as he turned to face his brother.

“It’s about Y/n,” Fred said.

George frowned. “What about her?”

“She’s dealing with a load of crap from our so-called friends, and I don’t think you’ve noticed.”

“What?” George asked, his confusion quickly shifting to concern.

“I heard some of them in the library earlier,” Fred said, his tone sharp. “They were saying awful things about her—calling her a user, a manipulator. And she just sat there, George. She didn’t say anything, didn’t react. She just took it.”

George’s face darkened, his fists clenching at his sides. “Why the hell didn’t she tell me?”

Fred sighed, his anger softening into something more understanding. “Because she doesn’t want to cause trouble for you. She probably thinks you’ll feel torn between her and them.”

“That’s not—” George started, then stopped, running a hand through his hair. “That’s not fair to her.”

“No, it’s not,” Fred agreed. “So what are you going to do about it?”

The next day, George waited for you outside the library, leaning casually against the wall as if nothing was wrong. You smiled when you saw him, your heart lifting at the sight of him.

“Hey,” you said softly, stopping in front of him.

“Hey,” he replied, reaching out to take your hand. “Walk with me?”

You nodded, letting him lead you down the corridor. It wasn’t until he steered you toward an empty classroom that you started to feel uneasy.

“George?” you asked, your voice hesitant.

He closed the door behind you, his expression unusually serious. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” you asked, though you already knew what he meant.

“About my friends,” he said. “About the things they’ve been saying.”

You looked away, your throat tightening. “It’s not a big deal,” you said quietly.

“The hell it’s not,” George said, his voice rising slightly before he softened it. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because they’re your friends, George,” you said, finally meeting his eyes. “They’ve been there for you forever. I didn’t want to ruin that.”

“They’re not my friends if they’re treating you like this,” he said firmly. “And they don’t get to insult you and act like it’s okay. None of this is okay.”

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away. “I didn’t want to cause problems for you.”

George stepped closer, cupping your face in his hands. “You’re not causing problems,” he said softly. “They are. And I’m going to set them straight.”

“George, you don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do,” he interrupted. “Because I love you, and I’m not going to let anyone make you feel like you’re anything less than amazing.”

Your breath caught at his words. “You... what?”

“I love you,” he repeated, his voice steady. “And I don’t care what anyone else thinks. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

The tears you’d been holding back finally spilled over, and you threw your arms around him, burying your face in his chest. “I love you too,” you whispered, your voice muffled.

George held you tightly, his warmth and reassurance wrapping around you like a shield.

The Gryffindor common room buzzed with its usual energy, students chatting and laughing as they settled into the evening. George stood just inside the entrance, his eyes scanning the room for the familiar faces of the people he once considered his closest friends. His jaw tightened when he spotted them clustered near the fireplace, laughing over something one of them had said.

Fred had offered to back him up, but George insisted on handling it alone. This was personal.

He strode across the room, the crackling firelight casting long shadows as the group fell quiet at the sight of him. The easygoing George they were used to was gone, replaced by someone far more serious.

“Alright,” he said sharply, planting himself in front of them. “We need to talk.”

The group exchanged uneasy glances, but no one spoke.

“I know what you’ve been saying about her,” George continued, his voice low and dangerous. “About my girlfriend. Do you think I wouldn’t find out?”

One of them, a lanky boy named Callum, had the nerve to shrug. “We were just joking, mate. No harm meant.”

“No harm?” George repeated, his voice rising. “You’ve been insulting her behind her back—making her feel like she’s not good enough. How the bloody hell is that ‘no harm’?”

“She’s a Slytherin,” another boy muttered, avoiding George’s fiery gaze. “You know what they’re like.”

George’s fists clenched at his sides. “Don’t you dare generalize her like that,” he snapped. “You don’t know her. She’s smart, she’s kind, and she’s been nothing but patient with you lot while you treat her like dirt.”

“George, calm down,” Callum said nervously.

“No,” George said firmly. “I won’t calm down. She’s my girlfriend, and I love her. If you can’t accept that—if you can’t respect her—you’re not my friends.”

The group fell silent, the weight of his words sinking in. Some looked ashamed, while others refused to meet his gaze.

“She didn’t even tell me,” George continued, his voice thick with frustration. “She didn’t want to make things harder for me. She sat there and took your crap because she knew how much you all mean to me. And you used that to make her feel unwelcome.”

“George, we didn’t mean—” one of the girls began, but he cut her off with a glare.

“You did,” he said coldly. “And you can take your half-arsed apologies somewhere else because I’m done. If you can’t show her the respect she deserves, then you’ve lost me too.”

He turned on his heel, leaving them in stunned silence as he made his way back to the portrait hole.

Fred was waiting for him just outside, leaning casually against the wall.

“How’d it go?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“They won’t be bothering her again,” George replied, his voice still simmering with anger.

Fred smirked. “Good. About time they got knocked down a peg.”

George shook his head, his expression softening as he thought of you. “I just hate that she felt like she couldn’t tell me.”

“She loves you,” Fred said simply. “She didn’t want to hurt you.”

George nodded, determination settling in his chest. “Well, she doesn’t have to worry about that anymore.”

Thank you for reading!

[cherrysolo]

CALL IT EHAT YOU EANT!! and also runner up bf luigi in college 😇

summary: you and luigi were roommates, meeting in sophomore year at Upenn. now during your final year as a students, it was harder than ever to keep your feelings at bay.

this is pure fluff and really cheesy, but it was so fun to write! I hope you guys enjoy it <3 inspired by “call it what you want” by miss taylor swift!

he was your best friend, you guys did everything together. studying, cooking, and laughing until the sun rose. even though you guys only got aquatinted about two years ago, it felt like you’ve known him your entire life. you truly believed you were soulmates, he knew you better than anyone else. his starry eyes always sparking up your darkest nights, and you truly hoped he felt the same. lingering eyes, soft touches to your back, and quaint signs of pda, that made you believe maybe he wanted more.

you’ve had enough of trial and error of relationships, awkward coffee shop dates, and hinge hookups. you wanted something real with meaning. but, lu loved you like you were brand new, even if you were only friends. he loved everything about you, your smile, your laugh, the freckles that scattered across your face, and your passion for taylor swift. he thought you were a bit crazy sometimes staying up late to see what surprise song she would sing, but his favourite was when he would catch you blasting her music in the kitchen, dancing around like nobody was watching. you thought you had annoyed lu with your obsession, constantly yapping his ear off about news about taylor, and rep tv theories, but he truly loved it more than ever. seeing your face light up, and babbling on about something you’re so passionate about, he could sit there for hours staring at you.

“I want to wear his initial

On a chain 'round my neck, chain 'round my neck

Not because he owns me

But 'cause he really knows me

Which is more than they can say,”

You recall late November, sitting at your kitchen island blasting reputation and studying for your psych final. sipping on a camomile tea, going over the same notes for hours, you were beginning to fall tired. until you heard the door unlock.

“y/n? im back from class,” luigi exclaims, walking through the door with a shy smile.

“hey lu, im in the kitchen,” your heart begins racing whenever you see him, even during small moments like these.

he places his bag down, and leans against the kitchen island. his eyes dot between you and your speaker, quirking his eyebrow.

“this is the snake album right?” he questions. you start laughing with full force, he really does try his best.

“yeah, it’s called reputation, lu. remember? I’ve only told you about a million times,” you mutter, rolling your eyes.

“im just messing with you pretty girl, i could never forget your favourite things,” he smiles, making your cheeks flush pink, and he falls even more in love with you.

“anyways, i got you an early christmas present,” lu pushes a small bag across the island. your eyebrows quirk, looking at him in confusion. you guys never did christmas presents for the years you’ve been friends. you guys always decided on a movie night together, luigi didn’t like materialistic things anyway.

“this is random. what’s the occasion? Christmas isn’t for another few weeks,” you bite your lip nervously, your brain scatters to think of what could it be.

“let’s just say my close friend taylor inspired me,” luigi smirked.

you take a small box out of the bag, and realize that it’s tiffany blue. he got you a piece of tiffany jewelry,

“no, this is way too much! I can’t accept this,” you exclaim, shaking your head, pushing the box away.

“y/n… just open it.. please?” your eyes dot back and forth between luigi and the blue box.

you hesitantly unwrap the ribbon and open the box, to uncover a silver necklace. the necklace has a heart shaped pendant with the letter “L” engraved on it. your heart stops, your face heats up, then you lock eyes.

“you know? the lyrics you always sing around the house?” luigi softly smiles. your mouth goes completely dry.

“wow. yeah, I didn’t think you noticed,” luigi starts walking towards you and grabs the box.

“do you mind? why don’t we put it on,” gesturing to help you put on the new gift. you move your hair out of the way, so that he has access. your breath hitches and so does his. you feel his fingers slightly touch your neck, and lay the necklace onto you. you feel his fingers clasp the necklace, then slowly move to your shoulder as you face him.

“wow, it looks beautiful on you, y/n.” luigi softly whispers. his eyes flickering back from your eyes to your lips. both of you are breathing heavily, not knowing what will happen next.

“thank you, lu. it’s stunning, you really do know me,” you say breathless, your eyes fluttering to his lips.

“I’ve been wanting to do this forever, is this okay, y/n?” luigi places his hand to your jaw, his thumb lovingly rubbing your cheek. you nodded, breathing too heavy you couldn’t speak.

your lips brushing his, and the mix of heavy breaths and urgency filled the air. he grabbed the back of your neck, pulling you in closer, making up for lost time. you both pull apart, blushing and overwhelmed.

“wow,” lu kisses the side of your mouth,

“maybe I do really know you,” he winks, returning to kiss you again.

the end.

[bgwlsmahf25]

Redemption Road

Natasha x reader

Genre: angst; fluff

Warnings: mentions of alcohol; kissing; suggestive themes but no actual smut; mentions of trauma; Red Room; Natasha cries

a/n: way longer than I intended haha and probably not totally canonically correct whoops

Norway, 10.00pm

Natasha shivered slightly, wrapping the blanket tighter around her shoulders as she sat hunched over her laptop. The code she was tracing was proving tricky but she knew she was close to the source. Her breath fogged in front of her as she tapped out a line of code, delving deeper into the rabbit-hole she was exploring. “That’s not right,” she murmured, a tiny frown pinching her forehead, as she tracked an offshoot of numbers. Her shoulders tensed as she prepared for a trap, but it appeared she’d taken the right route. She bit her lip, satisfied that she’d made the right call.

Outside, it was dark, a waxing moon casting shadows over the scrubby ground around her cabin. Natasha had felled most of the trees nearby, preferring to see any adversaries approaching, rather than be taken by surprise. She’d carefully set a few traps, keeping them obscure enough to be hidden, but powerful enough to hold a man down until she decided what to do with him. An owl hooted, the quavering note hanging in the air before another answered it from a few miles away. With soft wing-beats, it took flight, gliding into the darkness.

Natasha sucked in a breath as the final line of code went through. The cursor flashed lamely on the screen then someone other than Natasha started typing.

Hello, Natasha

Natasha kept her expression neutral as she typed out a reply, the clicking of her keyboard the only sound in the tiny cabin.

Hello, y/n. You’re a hard person to track down

The conversation picked up speed. On the other end, you frowned, wondering why Natasha was contacting you after a long period of silence. You didn’t trust her, and it had been a long time since you’d last seen the spy and you wondered what she was after this time.

Not always. For you, there’s no price - this time. What have you got yourself into this time? I’m not doing siberia round 2

A chuckle escaped from Natasha’s lips, she couldn’t help herself. Siberia had been an interesting but dangerous mission, and one of the last times she’d worked with you. Although your name had been one of the first to come to mind, Natasha hesitated about working with you. You were savage in your missions, never holding back on an opponent and you trusted nobody, especially not Natasha. It would be a hard conversation to get you on board, but Natasha knew she was one of a handful of people left who could facilitate that conversation and form a partnership with you, however uneasy it may become.

I need your help with a job. Something to do with home. Are you in?

I need more details. Usual place?

I can’t go there anymore. Vigeland sculpture park, 72 hours, 8.15pm. Natasha quickly ran an encryption on her message, to save it from anyone who might be reading the conversation, but she knew that you could crack it in seconds. Suddenly becoming fearful, she encrypted the entire conversation, ensuring its destruction once she typed the word ‘goodbye.’

See you there. 72 hours. Don’t be late this time.

I’m never late. Goodbye

Her screen turned black and the conversation disappeared. In its place, she was left staring at a tourist website for the Vigeland Sculpture Park in Oslo, Norway. Natasha rolled her eyes, this was your way of telling her you’d be there.

72 hours later, Vigeland Sculpture Park, Oslo, 8.15pm

Natasha pulled her hat down further over her ears and carried on strolling through the park, every so often stopping to read an inscription by the base of a statue. She knew she hadn’t been followed, she’d employed every technique to throw anybody off her tail. It had taken 2 hours but she was satisfied.

Glancing up, she noticed a statue of a crying baby, one foot raised, as though it was about to stamp it into the ground. Snow was piled on the statue’s head, making it look like the baby was wearing a hat. A figure was standing in front of the statue, gazing at it but not taking it in, and Natasha carefully making her way over.

“Good evening.” Natasha knew no Norwegian, thankfully most Norwegians spoke English so if this wasn’t you, she could pass it off as a mistake. She only hoped that you weren’t somewhere else, watching her get fooled by an innocent bystander.

You turned around, a faded black cap pulled firmly down on your head. Your face was impassive as you looked at her, instead you only frowned slightly. “Natasha.” Reaching out, you brushed snow off her shoulder. She jerked back, unsure of your movements, and you bit back a smile. “You never liked personal touch, did you? Now remember, you called me for once.”

“You chose to call me last time,” she pointed out, looking warily at you. She began walking, choosing not to wait, and knowing that you’d fall into step alongside her. She adjusted her hat and took a sideways glance at you. You were not dressed for the Norwegian weather, choosing to wear a light bomber jacket, jeans and black sneakers, the black cap completing the look. “I have a job to do.”

“You always have a job to do,” you fired back immediately, “and you always need my ass to come in and save you from whatever crap you’re stuck in.”

“I’m never stuck,” she growled, “how dare you insinuate -”

“Insinuate?” you hissed, stopping and staring at her. “What about Siberia, Nat? What about Greece, for heaven’s sake? What about -” There was a knowing glint in your eye as you rattled off locations where Natasha had required some extra assistance. Deep down, you knew that she never really needed your help and it irritated you that you were considered a last resort.

“Alright, you’ve made your point,” she snapped. Natasha carried on walking, remembering why she’d stopped calling you. She bit her lip, wondering if she was making the right call with her current mission. “Any news from back home?”

“It wasn’t my home,” you snapped back. “And no, I haven’t heard a thing.” Your voice was bitter and she knew you were hurt by the lack of contact. You had been imprisoned inside the Red Room for far longer than she had. She could only imagine the treatment you’d received, the brainwashing that had been conducted. “What’s your point? Why am I here?”

“Where were you?” You scoffed and she knew that you weren’t going to answer her question. Not for the last time, Natasha wondered if she was right to bring you on board. “The Red Room. I’m taking it down.” You burst into startled laughter, clapping a hand over your mouth and immediately dropping to the ground, one knee dug into the snow, your eyes scanning your surroundings. Once the Red Room had you, you never stopped looking over your shoulder, even if you had broken contact with them. Natasha sighed, crouching beside you. “Y/n, you know that it can be defeated and you know that I’m going to be the one to do it. Now get up and carry on walking, there’s a couple behind us and we need to blend in, not to stand out.” She grabbed your arm, yanking you to your feet.

“You can’t take down the Red Room, Nat,” you panted, standing a few feet away from her. “You know that’s a dead mission before you’ve even started. And what about -?” You stared at her, eyes wide with fear and your heart racing. Natasha had set herself apart from the other Widows a long time ago and it had sent everyone into the shadows whilst the attention - the spotlight - had been focused upon her.

“I know, I know,” she whispered, twisting her fingers through one another. “I know she’s out there, she keeps leaving me messages then disappearing when I try to read them. Listen, you’re the last person I wanted on this, but the first one who came to mind.” Natasha stepped closer. “Are you in?”

“I’m not coming all the way with you.” You shook your head, scuffing your sneaker in the snow, tracing an unintelligible shape. “I don’t believe you’ve got a chance in hell to make this work but I’ll listen.” Natasha started walking and you grabbed her arm. “The minute you pick your plan, I’m informing them.” You walked past her, carrying on through the park, knowing that Natasha’s gaze was boring into your back.

Natasha’s Cabin, Norway, 10.00pm

“Heaters don’t cost much.” You kicked the snow from your shoes and pulled the door shut behind you, watching as Natasha pounded her fist against an ancient light switch. There was a crackle then a hum and weak, yellow lighting flickered throughout the cabin.

“Heaters make noise.” Natasha pulled her hat off, her vibrant red hair tumbling down her back and you hastily averted your gaze. She sat down on a worn leather sofa, placing her hat and gloves firmly on the coffee table in front of her. Leaning back, she crossed her arms and glared up at you. “Tell me again why I thought this was a good idea.”

“I’m a good fighter, occasionally we make a good team. You want to take down the Red Room, but you can’t do it by yourself and until you find - well, her, you need me to assist you.” You chewed your lip. “Neither one of us likes this plan but it’s the best we’ve got.” You leant against the wall, mirroring her pose and crossing your arms. “This is going to take everything, have you even thought about that?”

“Everything?” Natasha hissed, leaping to her feet. “Do you not think that I’ve given everything, dedicated everything, to my career?” She pushed her hair out of her face and you looked at the ground. Looking at Natasha’s hair led to places you didn’t want to visit anymore. “I’m asking you to listen to me. Nobody else is going to hear me out.” You stared at Natasha, then laughed bitterly. “Oh yes, that’s true, Widow. Nobody will listen to your crazy ass plan. You’re going to get yourself killed staying in this business. You left, and they stayed, and that’s all there is to it. You don’t have to eliminate them to prove a point - joining SHIELD was a big enough move for you.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes, sinking back onto the sofa with a huff. As much as she hated to admit it, there was some truth to your words. Natasha wanted an out, an escape, something like the domesticity that her friend Clint had built for himself. She knew, however, that finding someone who could tolerate her was tricky. Turning away, she took a deep breath, holding back a rare wave of emotion, tears pooling in her eyes. “I’m proving a point.” She looked back at you and if you noticed the tears in her eyes, you chose not to comment on it. “Drink?”

“As long as it’s not laced this time.” She let out a short laugh at your words, opening a cupboard and pulling out a bottle of vodka. Removing the cap, she took a swig then offered you the bottle. You could taste her chapstick on the neck of the bottle and bit the inside of your cheek hard, drawing blood, as a sudden wave of arousal rushed through you. “I haven’t forgotten Greece,” you said, offering her the bottle. “I’m not going to forget Greece. That was a low move.”

“Oh come on, you followed me to Siberia and then back to New York.” Natasha raised an eyebrow at you. “If you hated Greece, you had an out, you just chose not to take it.” She watched as you slowly sat down on the floor, drawing your knees up to your chest. “Greece was bad for both of us,” she whispered. You laughed and snatched the bottle out of her hands. “What happened in Greece was the perfect opportunity for you to push me down. You chose to act like a complete bitch simply because I was there.”

“Not true,” she fired back. Natasha couldn’t help but think about her behaviour in Greece. It was a dangerous mission - most of them were - but this one was especially so. She had to infiltrate a gala and assassinate a high-ranking SHIELD official who was attending. She still remembered the look on his wife’s face when she turned around and saw her husband lying dead in the middle of the ballroom, a pool of blood beneath his head. Natasha had blended into the background, in awe of what she’d done but also fearful. “I know you’re thinking about him,” you taunted, your voice bringing her back to the present. “Be quiet,” she snapped, “I didn’t bring you here for your criticism.”

“Oh Natasha.” You got to your feet and leant towards her, resting your hands lightly on the shabby wooden box that counted as a coffee table. “We both know that you didn’t bring me here, you had no choice in that matter.” You smirked, eyes falling to her lips briefly. “I came because - well, we both know why you really wanted me here.” Without warning, she reached out and slapped you across the face, your cheek stinging from where her hand had made contact. “You don’t get to talk to me like that,” she growled, standing up and pushing you backwards so that she could move into the open space of the cabin.

You let her push you, ending up on the floor, resting on your elbows. Her show of dominance had sent another wave of arousal through you and you realised that she knew exactly what she was doing. Turning, Natasha pulled out another bottle of vodka and you let out a loud laugh, amusement playing across your features. “Oh darling,” you mocked, “are you trying to get me drunk so that I’ll agree to your stupid plan?”

“It’s not stupid.” Natasha took a long drink from the bottle and stuck her hand out, offering you a crutch to stand up. You took it, wrapping your fingers through hers and watching a faint blush appear on her cheeks. She pulled you to your feet and you took a step towards her, so that you were in touching distance. Locking eyes with her, you reached out and softly plucked the vodka bottle from her grasp. Never breaking eye contact, you took a drink, the spirit burning your insides as you swallowed. Natasha’s eyes briefly flickered down to your neck and then up to your gaze again and she bit her lip, knowing she’d been caught. “Tell me you want this,” you whispered, still refusing to break eye contact.

With a deep breath, Natasha pulled on some inner resolve and took a step back. “No.” Her reply was surprising, but you’d expected it. “No?” You raised an eyebrow, holding the bottle just out of her reach. “Natasha. Look at me.” You waited until she made eye contact. “Baby, your plan is stupid. You cannot take down the Red Room, they are far too powerful against one Widow. I know you want to find Yelena Belova, and I admire you for that, but if she doesn’t want to be found, she won’t be. You are one woman and as powerful as you are, one woman is not going to topple the Red Room. Uh-uh,” you said, as she tried to reach for the bottle, “I’m not finished speaking.”

“Yes you are,” she growled, hands reaching out to grab your jacket and pull you against her, her lips crashing onto yours. The force of the kiss took you both by surprise and you stumbled, Natasha’s back hitting the cupboard with a thud. Your hands threaded themselves into her hair and you moaned into the kiss, before she pushed you away suddenly, chest heaving and her eyes blown with want. “No. No, y/n, I cannot do this again.” Natasha took the bottle and you let her, watching her throat bob as she drank steadily, draining what was left in the bottle. She slowly put it on the counter, looking at you with a flustered gaze, but her eyes were steady and you realised she wasn’t going to sleep with you.

“Why?” The question hung in the air. There was a sadness to your voice and Natasha could hear it. She stared at you, wanting nothing more to pick you up and throw you onto the bed in the far corner but knowing that it wouldn’t help either of you. “Because…” You sighed, already knowing the answer and threw your hands up, running them wildly through your hair. “You know that I’m going to talk you out of going after the Red Room if we sleep together.” Natasha took a step towards you. “You’re already trying to, so y/n, I think it’s best that you leave.” She reached for the door and you reached out too, putting a hand on her wrist and stopping her movements. “Natasha, if you do this, just know that it will be the last time you see me.”

“What?” Her eyes met yours and she halted, shoulders tense, scanning your face for any sign that you were teasing her. “Why would you -?” You cupped her face in your hands. “I have rules to follow, orders I can’t disobey any longer. I’m not going to be an excuse for you anymore to hear what you shouldn’t do when you devise a crazy idea.” You rested your forehead gently against hers, taking in the green in her eyes. “This is the last time I answer your call. Next time, there’ll just be silence.” Natasha gripped your hands in hers, resting her head in the crook of your neck. Her breaths tickled against your skin and you sighed, hating what you were saying but believing every word of it. “Watch your back out there, Widow. The world’s not as kind as me,” you whispered, pulling back and planting a soft kiss on her lips. “You too, soldier,” she replied, kissing your cheek. You knew that she’d worked out who your orders were from but you were grateful that she didn’t push you on it, or question it.

At the edge of the clearing, you stopped and looked back. Natasha was framed in the doorway, her red hair framed around her shoulders. You took a long look at the woman, knowing you’d never see her again, then setting your shoulders, you turned towards your truck. Climbing inside, you rested your head on the steering wheel, thinking about the work ahead of you and trying desperately to put the Russian out of your mind. A tap on your window startled you and you looked up to see Natasha, gesturing for you to roll down the window. “What do you want, Widow?” you said, your voice soft. Her eyes met yours and your breath hitched. “One last time,” she said, her voice steady.

Natasha rested against you in the back of your truck. She was silent, tracing shapes on your arm mindlessly. “I don’t regret any of it,” she quietly admitted. “I know that it was dangerous and questionable, but I’d do it all again.” You smiled, kissing her forehead. “I know.” You sat up, pulling your clothes back on and adjusting your cap. “I’d better be going. It’s a long drive back to Oslo and my flight leaves in three hours.” Natasha sighed, pulling herself away and quickly getting dressed too. She left your truck, pulling you close for one last kiss. “Look after yourself, soldier.” You leant back, eyes roving over her face, committing it to memory although you knew you’d never forget it. Natasha was one in a million. “You too, Natasha. When you get there, say hello from me.” She smiled, but it faded quickly as she remembered the task she’d set herself.

As you drove away, fingers quietly drumming on the steering wheel, you thought about Natasha, her face clearly in your mind. She wasn’t going to be easy to forget, but you weren’t sure you wanted to. Time would let her fade from your mind, but the memory of her was etched into your heart. Similarly, Natasha was pacing up and down her cabin, unashamedly crying, tears dripping onto her shirt. She’d never let herself love anyone but she thought that she could have loved you if you’d had more time. Your paths had crossed when they needed to and she knew that as much as you’d pretended to hate her and reject her, your affection was as deep as hers. Her laptop lit up and she sighed, her attention once again turning to the task of finding Yelena, her sister and the destruction of the Red Room.

A breathy laugh left her lips when she read the message you’d left, the cursor still flashing.

Good luck with your stupid plan. If anyone stands a chance, it’s you. y/n.

She watched your message self-destruct, the last trace of you leaving her cabin for good. Natasha reached for another bottle of vodka, taking a sip and beginning to plan in her mind how she was going to carry out her ‘stupid plan.’

[thesunloveschips]

Obsessed - Part 10 - Epilogue (Azriel x Reader)

Summary: A decade, a wedding, and two kids later, Azriel is still obsessed.

Warnings: Fluff.

Word count: 1.4k

Click here for Obsessed (Masterlist)

****

A decade later

“This spot, right here, was where I spoke to your mama for the first time.” Azriel declared after stopping at some random part of the airport with their twins in his arms. 

What? 

“Ohh.” The children cooed with far too much energy for early morning travel. Their father seemed rather proud of their reaction. 

Y/n suspected something was off when her husband proposed a trip the week before to the country where she’d studied for her exchange program but what the actual fuck was this?

All of it started when their kids asked him about how he’d met their mother. 

As a matter of fact, she really did not remember why she agreed to this trip but Azriel had somehow seduced her into saying yes and the next thing she knew, the family had reached the airport.

Y/n remained somewhere between embarrassment and mortification as he continued to narrate to his children the story of how hopelessly he’d fallen in love with their mother while skipping the inappropriate parts of his thoughts. 

She sighed.

Maybe, she could take a breather and visit the university, meet her professors and a few friends. 

She followed Azriel into a restaurant where as soon as they entered, a few men stood up from a table and made way for the family to sit. 

“This is where I had my first meal with your mama. I was sitting on this very chair and for some reason, your mama is not sitting on the same chair she was all those years ago.” And she simply smiled before deciding their food because her family were engrossed in their own world to read the menu.

All those years ago, huh? 

Time had flown by so soon and somehow so slowly. 

And a thirty-nine year old Azriel certainly looked fine. So damn fine carrying the kids with the sleeves of his black shirt folded up to the forearms and revealing his tattoos. Y/n was half tempted to drag him to the nearest restroom and kneel for him. 

The meal was a light one. She watched them quietly while Azriel narrated the legendary romance of their mama and papa to their children. 

“Mama.” The little boy, Aether, called. “When did you fall in love with papa?”

“In an apartment.” She smiled at the memories from their apartments and let them take her back in time.

When Azriel confessed how he’d arranged for them to meet by finding out her travel information, she was simply surprised. 

But then he revealed how he’d bought an entire building and arranged for them to be neighbours just so he could have an excuse to see her and talk to her. 

Her husband smiled knowingly at her as he continued to coddle and feed their children. 

And then came the time to board the flight. 

Outside the aircraft, Azriel stood with their kids as he commanded their attention. “Now, this is the plane in which I sat next to your mama for the first time. It was our first time travelling together.”

Y/n sighed. Who gave this man so much money anyway? Because he’d tracked down that particular aircraft and bought it ten years ago. It had been revamped into a private jet for the family. 

They boarded the plane and Y/n had absolutely nothing to do. The only thing she had to do was order food for them all at that restaurant earlier. Azriel had taken care of everything else. 

The plane was divided into three parts; the cockpit for the pilots, the area for the cabin crew and the bodyguards, and the area for the family, with the latter separated by doors. 

Their baby girl, Nora, was now yawning. Soon enough, Aether yawned and Y/n led them to the large bed where she tucked them and closed the window. Once they’d fallen asleep, she returned to her husband and settled on his lap. 

“Sleep, Y/n.” His hand cradled her body gently and firmly. And as she drifted away to sleep, she recalled how life had continued after their reconciliation.

It was a mess and they wanted it. They wanted to navigate it. She'd taken her time to confess her feelings about her past and so had he. And for the first time, they were raw and broken in each other's arms.

She snuggled against him, inhaling his scent. This was her husband. The father of her children. A man so devoted to her and intent on treating her right and she wondered if she was ever doing enough for him.

And just when she thought she could cry from it all, her husband pressed a kiss to her forehead and began humming a tune.

**** 

Azriel was a composed person. Always taking time to enjoy everything. Never in a hurry because he always planned everything like that. 

He’d taken Y/n out on dates where they could simply enjoy the food and the place without having to rush anything at all. 

When they were married, he was over the moon. Obviously.

The billion-dollar empire did not run on its own but he was far too eager to go home to Y/n.

After a long period of an obsession bordering on unhealthy, she was finally his wife. And they had two children. Aether had his black curly hair and smile while Nora had his eyes but the rest of them were all his sweet wife. 

Wife. 

Azriel looked at the building as the car neared it. When it stopped, he gently woke up his wife and the family was in the apartment she lived in. 

“This was mama’s apartment.”

“What’s an apartment?” Azriel proceeded to explain the word by giving the twins a tour of the place. 

****

Dinner was yet another affair as Azriel took it upon himself to tour the city, taking them to every single place they’d ever been to. “This is where we did our grocery shopping.”

“So this is how I can get a girlfriend.” The little boy mused. 

“Maybe.” The father grinned. Their son mirrored his expression and their daughter was now curious. 

“Mama.” Nora looked up at Y/n. “If I want to marry someone, will I have to wait for a boy to do all this for me?”

Azriel froze. 

His little girl? 

Marrying? 

Marrying?

What a horrifying thought. 

He immediately took out his phone and texted his assistant to increase the security around his daughter lest some random lizard abduct her from him. 

“Well. .” Y/n began. “Maybe you’ll meet someone who does something else but which would make you feel special.” My god, what was his wife saying? There was no need for their daughter to meet anyone like that. 

“But papa makes me feel special. So why would I meet someone else?” Bless his daughter, such a lovely soul. 

“Of course, my little sweet.” Yes. Papa was all that his little girl needed. There was no need for any snakes to slither into her life. 

****

A few weeks later

It was a normal day and a normal lunch. Azriel and Y/n held a child each and walked over to the table where Nesta was waiting with Cassian. 

A few years ago, when the ladies had discovered that their partners were old childhood friends, it was decided that there was no reason why they couldn’t dine together every now and then. 

Nesta and Cassian had recently gotten married in a hurry. One random morning, Y/n had been video called to be told that they were going somewhere and the courthouse was on the way, so they decided to marry. Needless to say, Y/n screamed at her friend before congratulating her. 

Conversation floated around the table. The children were coddled. Food was passed around and laughter erupted. 

“Cassian!” A voice yelled. 

The man looked up to see another one of his friends and smiled broadly. He raised a hand in greeting. “Rhys!”

Nesta looked up and saw her brother-in-law holding her nephew, Nyx’s hand while Feyre was busy looking at the pastries a few steps away from them. Once Rhys walked over to his wife and she’d also seen them, it was automatically decided that they’d be dining together. 

More seats were added and adults were catching up. Meanwhile, the twins looked at Nyx in fascination primarily because they’d never seen him before. 

Nyx, only a few months older than them at the age of six, reached out for Nora’s cheek. Once he’d ascertained that it was soft, he pulled it hard. 

The girl squealed in pain, tears brimming her eyes. She immediately turned to her brother who was already glaring at the boy. 

Y/n came and began pacifying her daughter while her son stayed close but Azriel was struck at the horror of the situation. 

“Keep your son a mile away from my daughter.” And thus began, Azriel’s paranoia that the reptile who’d steal his precious daughter would be none other than Nyx.

****

Author's Note: Thank you for accompanying me on this journey. Writing Obsessed has been a wonderful experience.

Thank you @findingstephanie @div94 for helping me. They were my beta readers for Obsessed and have helped me immensely.

I hope all of us meet people who will not only be obsessed with us but also be obsessed with treating us right.

P.S. I might write an Azriel x Reader/OC x Eris fic soon.

****

Taglist:

@fantanbietsson @angstylittleb1tch @fhgsvbnh @olive-main @cherryjain17 @halo-mystic @starofanotherworld @latinxbipride @viatorem-maris @acotarbestie @sevikas-whore @anthonys-viscountess @randomgurl2326 @thelov3lybookworm @cat-or-kitten @mortqlprojections @tele86 @rorel1a @red0202 @atomictyphoonkitten @colorfulgardenerduck @scarsandallaz @anonymousdisco @rcarbo1 @workof-a-rr-t @fuckingsimp4azriel @isabella13dusk @donnadiddadog @yannnnooooxoxox-blog @nxgh1 @thedeviltohisangel @katherinebright @fandomtrash5092 @epicsweetness712 @anik-4 @hitsxbikbv @julesvanslutta @fae-dreamer-99 @cartonkid1200 @anainkandpaper @yourwonderbelle @stefbroo @imjustagirl713 @bbykaixx @lilah-asteria @mellowmusings

[molter-writes]

pleeeasssee miller i know you let the work stand on it's own but please tell us jsut a tad bit more about the valyerian sex magic!!!!

i meannnn

on valyrian sex magic

i am not the person to ask for the true asoiaf lore, of course; but there is obviously a pervasive source of magic across Planetos — accessible by many cultures in many different forms — and the "flavour" of the magic of each is very much a reflection, i think, of what GRRM wants us to glean about each. the Starks are themselves effectively the oldest singular consistent human organisation, if you will, that we actually meet in the books, and their magic is extremely rudimentary and primordial—they turn into animals and talk to trees. It's giving primordial man, it's giving Lucy—humanity as a symbiotic participant in (rather than an editor of) the natural world.

fast forward almost five thousand years: the valyrians are not tree hugging hunter-gatherers. they are the roman empire if the roman empire were composed of evil wizards. Their magic is dark, rooted in blood and fire—it was a tool of mind control, of asymmetric warfare, of wroth destruction. It required blood sacrifice and whips and horns and knives. It mated slave women to animals to produce grotesque chimeras. The entire thing is about the subjugation, not the embrace, of nature. Obviously until we have WoW or (lol) aDoS, we won't know—and maybe not even then—but the best prevailing theory in my view is that blood of the dragon is literal. Planetos has wyverns and, more importantly, firewyrms (flightless, firebreathing lizards) that the Valyrians almost certainly combined with human beings in some ritualistic hellcurse to produce the first dragons. this explains (1) the psychogenic bond between rider and dragon; (2) why nobody without valyrian blood can ride one; (3) the decline of the dragons correlating near-perfectly with the Andalisation (read: de-magifying) of the Targaryens; and perhaps most importantly, (4) why an animal that can fly hundreds of miles in a day would for some reason be found only on a single small isle in some random corner of a massive content that has volcanos and mountains and hot weather elsewhere. only one culture having dragons is like only one airport having planes.

much like the american NRA often asserts about guns, dragons are something of a sexual equaliser. part of why rhaenyra is so much freer than alicent when they're young is not merely because of her elevated social station (which is a principal part of it, yes) but also because she is in sole possession of one of the only six nukes in the world. At fifteen Rhaenyra possesses the power to go burn Riverrun to its foundation. I mean, if you thought Daenerys had firepower—regardless of D&D's absolute boneheaded visual mistakes in the show—Syrax is bigger than Drogon.

in any case i digress; i bring this up to make the point that while we do know valyria was a patriarchy of sorts, you can imagine a world in which a valyrian noble house would be headed (on occasion) by a woman because she is the most powerful imperial military leader because she is in command of the largest dragon. as a result, you can imagine a culture that embraces less patriarchal sexual and gender politics than do the Andals, and when take this inference a step further with the chimeras and the dragon-making and all the other frankensteinian blood magic, i just don't think it's that much of a leap to imagine that some dragon-wielding all-powerful female ruthless blood wizard in ancient Valyria decided—based on blood purity or necessity or ego or whatever—to impregnate some other woman. some maesters recorded that dragons appeared to change their sex—becoming able and unable to lay and fertilise eggs. Anyway, I just don't put genderbending and fempreg past the people who—if the theory is right—invented fucking dragons. It seems easier to do magic pregnancy than to do dragons. idk. melisandre gave birth to a shadow. nearly every ancient tradition on the planet can explore the miracle of virgin conception but we can't have lesbo baby?? why?? thank you for coming to my Ted Talk

[rei-ismyname]

Teen Jean outs Bobby Drake pt 1

So... Marvel finally decided to confirm that Bobby Drake is gay in All-New X-Men vol 1. I'd forgotten it was a response of sorts to Bobby aggressively performing heterosexuality by objectifying Magik. Not that it makes Jean's behaviour any kind of model for being an ally, but it's easier to see how she arrived at this conversation. It wasn't just out of the blue.

It's clear he absolutely knows he's gay, but he's been closeted for years and I think his persona was built for self protection. A person's openness with their sexuality is entirely up to them (thank fuck telepaths aren't real) and the O5 had grown up in the 60s then suddenly were taken to 2014. Homophobia is still absolutely rampant, but the difference must have been stark. Bobby's parents are also super conservative assholes - given their attitude to him being a mutant he knows they would be awful if he came out to them. Xavier isn't exactly progressive either.

The ice barrier he puts up is him shutting the conversation down while holding back. I'd probably freeze her solid and flee. Interestingly he stops denying it very quickly (not like he had a fucking choice, JEAN) and brings up the headfuck that is his older self who 'isn't [gay.] It really is a unique situation.

I get the impression that Bobby's 'speculation' is spot on, it's obviously the same thought process he had. It's incredibly articulate and thoughtful, which should give an idea of just how much of a performance he has been putting on. Plenty of gay and queer folks date people you wouldn't 'expect' them to. Experimentation is how we figure ourselves out, and heteronormativity is a hell of a drug.

He accepts it pretty quickly, and they briefly discuss the cultural differences compared to their own time.

He accepts it super quickly and allows himself to think out loud about people he finds attractive. Warren, mainly. I don't believe him for a second that Warren is 'too pretty' as I'll discuss in part 2, but I have to say I misremembered the privacy aspect of this. Obviously Jean went to Charles Xavier school of psychic consent (literally) but she at least talks to him privately about this, and assures him 'it's no one's business until you say it is.'

She didn't so much out him as drag him kicking and screaming out of the closet, but she kept it between them and stuck to that. That, at least, is a positive model for supporting queer friends. There's a lot of trust there, and Jean outing Bobby isn't as bad as I remember it. Bobby certainly seems a LOT happier afterwards and while his exploration of his sexuality/dating is awkward as hell, that's true for everyone. I wonder if he's grateful to Jean for this. It feels weird to say it but he probably is. The flipside of telepathy existing is the misery someone who wasn't his friend could have inflicted. There's Xavier, too, who surely must have known, right? He doesn't know the meaning of privacy - what should he have done with this information? We know what he did in canon - nothing. It's such an odd situation that it's hard to judge but if someone in your care is closeted for decades then maybe you didn't provide the best environment.

Thus, the ice twink was born. Next time, Teen Jean and Teen Bobby talk to the Bobby of this time period. That's going to be awkward to write about. Ultimately, it does portray common queer experiences (albeit with telepathy and time travel involved) and emphatically normalises not being straight. It's not perfect, and it wasn't very groundbreaking for 2014, but it's something.

[mxabankzz5]

American Dream

paring: wolverine!logan howlett x f!mutant!reader

summary: Y/n, a high level mutant and vital member of the Avengers is left bewildered when another Wade Wilson, from outside her timeline, pleads for her help in his mission to save his dying world. Even more shocked when the merc reveals their other crucial ally to be a man she thought to have left in her past.

warnings: 16+, Fem!Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of Y/N, Her Avenger name is American Dream (Inspired by the comic hero), She/her pronouns, Swearing(lots), Angst, Heavy Violence, Deadpool (he's his own warning), Fluff, Possible Smut, Slow Burn, TVA

Masterlist

Logan is not fucking dead.

Sure his ‘death’ scene in Logan made for a perfect ending to a very very sad story. But that’s not how regenerative healing factors work.

You think I wanna be here in downtown North Dakota digging up the one and only Wolverine? No thank you. But the fate of my entire world is at stake.

He might not be living his best life right now but be sure as hell ain’t-

I gasped and squealed in excitement as my shovel hit something hard.

Dead.

Moving the rumble around I noticed something shiny like metal. Adamantium. It was his goddamn skeleton.

“Yes..yes of course…” I sighed before grabbing my shovel and yelling out in anger. Smashing the wooden makeshift X that marked his grave.

“FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!” Snapping the shovel in half over my knee.

“YOU SON OF A BITCH! MOTHERFUCKER UGHHH MY WORLD IS FUCKED!”

“Look, I’m not a man in science but you seem really passed away right now…but it’s good to see ya. I’ve gotta be honest, I’ve always wanted to ride with ya Log. Can you imagine the fun, the chaos?” I sighed once more, moving my hand from his metal kneecap to his jaw.

“Gday mate, nothing that’ll bring me back to life faster than a big bag of Marvel cash.” I impersonated, laying the Australian accent on thick.

“Hoo Hoo! Me too Hugh…hah but no no no no. You had be all noble and die forreal. GODAMMIT! I could really use your help right now.” I leaned forward rubbing my head in dismay before hearing the lovely sound of TVA soldiers behind me.

“Wade Wilson. You are under arrest by the Time Variance Authority for-”

“Ugh death by day player..”

“Drop you weapons and come out peacefully!”

“I’m not gonna give you my weapons..but I promise not to use them!” I groaned before repositioning myself to look up.

“There are 206 bones in the human body, 207 if I’m watching Gossip Girl. Ugh let’s go, maximum effort.” I high-fived Logan before grabbing him and leaping out from behind the snowy logs.

“Okay peanut, looks like we’re getting that team up after all.”

After unfortunately having to slaughter the army Paradox obviously sent after me, I decided to start my plan b mission.

Find Y/n Y/L/N. The reason why all of this started in the first place.

You see, Y/n and Logan are special, so special that apparently them dying means my whole timeline has to fucking end.

So Y/n decided that instead of letting a few hundred thousand people perish, she sacrificed her self by riding one of Iron Man’s nukes into space to save New York from some huge alien army trying to take over the word.

I know right? Stupidest fucking thing I ever heard.

Now this obviously took a toll on wolvy here, they were sort of..a thing?

By “thing” I mean married for 12 and a half years but who the hell is counting? It’s not like anyone knew anyway, the X-men and Avengers didn’t exactly get along publicly. Once the “cure” for the mutant gene got released, things got a little political between the two bands of heros.

But I digress! That’s another story for another chapter.

I pulled out the fancy remote I snagged from one of the soldiers and scrolled through.

Earth 10005- current timeline

Earth 58126

Earth 616- select timeline

“This one looks promising.” I clicked the button to select it and a large orange door appeared before me.

I stepped through it into a bar. I didn’t see Y/n anywhere but I did happen to recognize a familiar pair of hair tufts. Perfect!

“Logan! I’m gonna need you to come with me.”

He slowly turned to face me. “Who’s asking?” He slipped off the bar stool to reveal…a midget?

I gasped. “Well who’s this little ankle bitter. Did you stick the landing little guy? Yes you did, comic accurate short king!” I cooed, leaning down to his eye level.

He frowned, looking behind me. Suddenly a hand grabbed my shoulder and turned me around with a shocking about of strength.

There stood Y/n, surprisingly standing eye to eye with me.

“Holy fuck.. you are all legs!”

“Are we gonna have a problem?”

“Oh no ma’am! Wouldn’t dream of it. But we might if you and little Logan here don’t come with me back to my timeline.”

She frowned before crossing her arms over her chest.

“You were just leaving”

“Uh no..I don’t think so because-”

She suddenly sent a powerful jab to my stomach, sending me flying across the bar.

Goddamn that super serum does wonders doesn’t it?

“Que the fucking montage.”

And that’s how Wade got here, on earth 982.

After getting his ass beat by multiple variations of You and Logan he finally decided to enter this timeline.

Walking through the orange door he stepped into what looked like an office room. It was big and sleek but what really caught his eye was the large shield hanging on the wall like a painting.

It looked like Captain America’s shield but a bit smaller. It was in a glass display case which he assumed was bulletproof.

The gold plaque below it spelt out ‘American Dream’

But before Wade could fangirl any longer the cocking of a gun caught his attention and he quickly turned around.

You were standing behind him with a pistol to his head.

“Y/n! Wait.. oh my god are you Capt-“ Wade gawked at your outfit. It was almost Identical to Steve Rodger’s suit. From the star on your chest to the red boots that adorned your feet. Even your helmet was identical, except for an open area in the back to let your long soft curls run down your back.

“No wade, I’m not Captain America”

“Omg you know me?!” Every other Y/n didn’t bother to learn who he was before sending him flying into a wall.

“Yes wade, this is your 5th time trying to audition for the team of course I know you…”

“But wait.. if you’re not Cap then where is he? Is he alive here?? And you’re an Avenger?”

You gave him a confused look.

“What do you mean, of course he’s alive. He just talked to you yesterday he told me he rejected you...what the hell are you doing here wilson?” You reached to pick up the phone on what wade assumed was your desk, possibly calling security.

“Woah Woah calm down! I’m just shocked by the preppy, all-American sweetheart look, in every other timeline you’re always some kind of ‘anti-hero’. Ugh you and Logan really are perfect for each other.”

Wade almost didn’t catch the quick falter in your stance at the mention of the Wolverine but ignored it.

“Anyways sweetpea, I didn’t come here to audition, I came here for you.”

Your eyebrows raised in amusement.

“I’m flattered wilson but-“

“No! No! Not like that! My universe is dying, and in order to save it I need to replace at least one of the anchor beings that died in to buy it some time. If I replace both.. I can probably keep my timeline alive for good. Please, you’re the only one that can help!”

“Help how?”

Wade sighed in annoyance, gosh why all the inquiries!

“See this is where it gets a bit flakey- and please just hear me the fuck out before you flip out and punch me! *Deep inhale* You have to come back with me to my timeline, meet up with Paradox and beg him to reconsider, maybe chill out there a little bit while it slows the dying process, and then come with me to replace the other anchor being and permanently save my world.” He spews out quickly before Y/n could interfere.

He was expecting you to instantly lash out, telling him it was insane of him to ask you to abandon your timeline to go live in his with his soon to be new best friend.

But you just stood there, an almost blank look on your face. It honestly scared him, before you finally gave him a confused glare.

“Wait.. so you’re not from this timeline?”

“Uhm no.. but I would really appreciate it if-“

“And you want me to go with you to your timeline to find your other.. anchor being. What the hell is that?”

“Oh! Ugh It’s kinda this thing where if someone really really important dies then your timeline just goes to shit. Ya know I’m pretty sure if I were dead my timeline would probably be gone by now but since they needed me or whatever I decided to stick around for a bit longer.” He flipped his imaginary hair before turning back to Y/n with a hand on his hip.

“So I’m dead in your universe?”

“Bingo! And I really need you to be undead in my universe by… yesterday so chop chop!” He exclaimed, looking down at his imaginary watch before pulling out some kind of remote.

“Wait! Who’s the other anchor being?”

“Ughhhh God, all these damn questions! It’s someone you know, a very very dear friend to us. Jimmy.”

You frowned. “Who?”

“Jimmy? James? The man made of metal? Any of this ringing a bell?”

Y/n stared at him in bewilderment silently.

“Oh for christ sakes James! James Howlett! The Wolverine. Yikes Y/n you need to keep up with the lore, you’ve been around since Wolverine Orgins you should know what’s was going on girl!”

“Logan?!”

“Yes! Now let’s go find that little honey badger before he fucks around and nobly sacrifices himself again in this timeline. You do have one in this world, correct? Cause it would be soo sooo much easier if you could just call him right up for me honeybun.”

“I haven’t talked to Logan in years, I don’t even know where he is, let alone if he has a phone number I can call.”

Wade recoiled at the first sentence.

“You haven’t talked to him in years?! What do you mean, aren’t you guys married?”

Y/n’s eyes almost bulged at the question.

“Married!? Hell no! We barely even dated.”

Wade was shocked and a little dissapointed. “Oh! I just thought since in every other timeline you’re both- well nevermind. No time for stories let’s go!”

“Now hold on Wade, I don’t know if I can just leave my timeline-”

And there it was..gosh you were always so fucking responsible.

“Fine, guess I’ll have to just find Logan myself and go find another you that’ll help me.”

He tapped a button on the weirdly futuristic remote and turned away slowly, about to step through an orange door before you stopped him.

"Wait!"

The merc turned around giddy, hopeful that you would come to your senses and join him.

"What happens when I leave my timeline?

Wouldn't that fuck everything up here too?"

Wade froze, he hadn't really thought about that part. Shit!

"Uhhh well as far as I know, as long as you're not dead your world should be fine. So uhhh you should be good." He said, trying to sound as convincing as he could.

You could sense he was a bit unsure of himself but you also realized how much he needed you help.

"Y'know what, I'm in wilson."