#hes just so swoon worthy and i almost never have that standard met | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years ago

Text

Long Lost Love // Part Two (D.M.)

Summary: For seven years, you watched the highs and falls of Draco Malfoy’s life. Fifteen years after twenty four letters were left unanswered, he stands on your doorstep declaring his love. What do you do?

A/N: Part two to my mini series for @stupxfy‘s two weeks of angst! The reaction to the first part really did. blow me away. I hope you like this part just as much! (There are some parts that are going to be similar, if not the exact same as the first part, that is so the story flows. This is from a different perspective after all.)

Warnings: pining, mutual pining, teenage love, teenage angst, kissing, making out, some swearing, brief mentions of the battle of hogwarts, mentions of food and drink, anxiety, nightmares.

Word count: 3k

Part One

Twenty two years ago:

By the end of your first week at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, there wasn’t a student or teacher who did not know the name Draco Malfoy.

At eleven years old, he held the arrogance of a man much older and much more experienced with the wiles of the world. At such a young age, he held the air of someone holding court. His small group of friends banding around him, watching him with expressions undefined.

At eleven years old, Draco Malfoy already started to hold the world in his hands.

At eleven years old, you knew to stay away – to protect yourself from the hurt that seemed to follow the young blonde boy wherever he went.

Nineteen years ago:

At fourteen years old, the whole school is still very much aware of Draco Malfoy’s presence. His family’s reputation preceding him; the pressure of the Malfoy name sitting heavily upon the teenager’s shoulders.

The friendship began on a Saturday.

A memorable enough day for you to remember exactly what day of the week it was. The day is seared into your mind for the fact that it had been a Hogsmeade weekend, and Draco hadn’t gone. He hadn’t missed a Hogsmeade visit since being granted permission, but for some reason he had chosen to miss this particular weekend.

And he had joined you in the library.

At fourteen years old, you were very much aware of Draco Malfoy and his title of the Slytherin Prince. At fourteen years old, you knew very well to stay away.

For a while he didn’t speak. He didn’t know what to say; that’s what he’ll admit to you in a couple of years, when you lie on his chest, reminiscing.

His first words to you are your name. They’re whispered, quiet in the hush of the library, “(Y/N)?”

You startle, losing your place in your book, “Draco?”

He points down to your book, a shy smile on your face, “What are you reading?”

You feel your cheeks begin to heat; the familiar flush that accompanies your explanation of your love for fantasy novels that include a love triangle between two boys that are as equally as swoon-worthy as the other. You clear your throat, “A fantasy novel that I’ve been meaning to read for a while.”

Draco sits himself down across from you, resting his elbows on the table, looking somewhat intrigued. He doesn’t an offer an explanation for why he sits down, and you don’t ask for one. You’re happy enough to talk to the teenager that had manage to strike fear in the hearts of many of the students in the school; to decide for yourself whether Draco’s bite is worse than his bark.

“Are you enjoying it so far?” He asks, eyes focused on you rather than the book in your hands.

You glance down to the pages, your bookmark tucked away neatly. Nodding your head, you reply, “I am. I’ve read other books by this author and I’ve yet to find a book I dislike by them.”

Draco nods, not wanting to talk any further. Puzzled, you shrug your shoulders, disregarding the conversation with the Slytherin Prince as a moment of madness on his behalf, returning to the fantasy world of angels, demons, and gargoyle protectors.

It’s an odd interaction by any standard. He never offers his reasoning as to why he spoke to you, why he sat down and then stayed with you. Instead, Draco remains across the table from you, eyes roaming around the library before he eventually settles on watching you read, tracking the movement of each page.

As the day draws to an end, Draco stands and waits for you to collect your things. Silently, a friendship is forged between you both, and you cannot help but wonder how long this will last.

Seventeen years ago:

The greenhouses were ever so dark on an evening. The long tunnels are bathed in muted light due to the vines stretching their way across the roof, reminding you of hands reaching for their lovers in the middle of the night.

How many nights had you wandered the rows with Draco? Your hand reaching for his in the same way as the vines. His hand clasping yours like a Venus fly trap grips its prey.

Nights in the greenhouses were your favourite. Draco’s guard was dropped, revealing the shy mannered teenager you had fallen in love with. His arrogance: his anger – a façade to keep curious eyes at bay. There were very few he let in; you being the one he was most truthful to.

It was in the greenhouse and the hospital wing that you found Draco to be more his true self. It in those two locations that he forged more and more of who he wanted to be after Hogwarts.

He was playful; he was happy, and he was in love with you.

You smile to yourself as you step further into the greenhouse; remembering the night he had confessed his feelings to you, under this very roof. Draco hadn’t been prepared for your reaction, for to you throw your arms around his neck and kiss him. He hadn’t been prepared the first time, but he was definitely ready for the second, and the third, and the fourth.

“What are you thinking of?” His voice sounds close to your ear, making you jump.

Gasping, you whirl around, slapping Draco on the chest lightly. He laughs, catching your hand and bringing it to his lips. You glare at him playfully before answering, “For your information, I was thinking of the night you told me you loved me.”

Draco sighs happily, hooking an arm around your waist, pulling you to him. His free hand reaches up to stroke your cheek; his eyes shine with what can only be defined as joy and adoration. “That night features in my top ten nights of all time.”

“At what number?” You ask, leaning your cheek into his touch.

Draco tilts his head to one side, pretending to think it over. He waits a moment before answering, “Possibly number one.”

“Possibly?”

He laughs, dropping his hand from your face to settle on your waist. He ducks his head, his lips so close to yours they brush as he whispers, “Would it help to know that you feature in every one of my top ten nights?”

You tilt your face back, desperate for an ounce of pressure between your lips, “It helps some, but I think I have an idea of how you can really persuade me.”

“Oh?”

You hum in answer, finally connecting your lips in the kiss you had been longing for since you had met Draco in the Slytherin common room. It was hard, you realise, to keep your hands off him when he was in this sort of mood. Playful Draco was as intoxicating, if not more so, as he was when he was quiet and solemn. It felt silly, to be sixteen years old, and already declaring yourself in love, but here you were.

Breaking the kiss, you step back from the teenager that had somehow stolen your heart. Draco follows you instinctively, hands reaching for you. It sends a rush of warmth through your body, but you force yourself to focus on the plan for the night. Things could easily slip downhill if you were to let yourself fall into the spell that Draco had managed to intricately weave around your heart and mind, connecting them both to him as his were connected to you.

“I say we get started for the night. We don’t want to let down Madame Pomfrey, do we?”

Draco huffs out a laugh, eyes bright as he watches you, “I suppose not. Let’s get started.”

“Name two purposes of Valerian Root,” You state, standing proudly by the flower known for its healing properties.

“To help someone sleep as well as to ease anxiety,” Draco answers, counting off the purposes on his fingers.

“Very good,” You laugh. You move quietly between the long rows of plants, still in awe that such plants could exist outside of their natural habitats. The wonder of magic, you think to yourself. You turn to Draco suddenly; happy to find his eyes already on you, “What is one danger of Black Henbane?”

Draco pauses his steps, eyes searching for the very flower you had spied only a moment ago. His mouth stretches into a small smile when he spies it hidden away at the back of the greenhouse – away from prying eyes and wandering hands. He walks over to you, remaining so close to you, you can feel the heat from his body as he answers, “As a member of the nightshade family, the plant can be toxic if used in large quantities.”

“Madame Pomfrey was right,” You splutter, happier and happier with his answers, “You’re going to make an incredible Healer, Draco Malfoy.”

You bite your lip, watching the heat creep up Draco’s neck to his cheeks. He ducks his head for a moment, unusually shy around you. “I don’t think I’ll get there if I don’t have you,” He admits, raising his head, meeting your gaze.

A satisfied smile spreads across your face. His admission practically heals something within you; an almost confirmation that Draco wants whatever the both of you have to last. “It’s a good job I’m in this for the long haul then isn’t it?”

“Are you really?” Draco asks; a funny tone to his voice, almost strained as if he can see something in the future.

You nod, determined. Reaching for his hand, you tangle your fingers together, wanting nothing more than to be close to him in this moment. “I’m here for however long you want me, Draco. If that means forever, then that means forever.”

Fifteen years ago:

The words are whispered so quietly you wonder whether you’ve heard him correctly, but then his hand drops yours and you watch him walk across the courtyard to be folded into the arms of the darkest wizard in a century.

“I’m sorry, forgive me.”

They reverberate in your head; clanging in your mind until they are all that you can hear. They repeat to the sound of your heart. Beating against your chest with such force you wonder whether the rest of the courtyard can hear your heart.

A broken sound leaves you; a sob mixed with a whimper drops from your lips as you attempt to follow the teenager you had pledged your forever to. Your eyes remain on Draco, watching as his mother reaches for him. You’re sure you scream his name over and over again, pushing through the crowd of remaining Hogwarts students, desperately, desperately trying to get to him.

A pair of hands grab at your waist, keeping you planted to the ground, stopping you from getting to him. “Don’t do it,” The hands all but shout, “Don’t follow him. He’s chosen his side.”

He had. He had chosen his side, and it hadn’t been with you. It’s then that you realise that whilst you had promised your forever, he had never promised you his.

--------

The letters are written out of hope. They’re written out of foolish hope that he would read them and come back to you. You write down your feelings for the blonde, displaying your love, expecting it to be thrown back in your face.

By writing down your feelings, you’re not only ridding yourself of the burden of the memories, but you’re laying down hope for a future you had promised years ago in the dark of a greenhouse.

Twenty four letters are sent.

There are no replies.

After the twenty fourth letter is sent, you wash your hands of the Slytherin Prince and the hurried kisses behind tapestries. You rid yourself of the memories of his smile and the feel of his hand in yours, of how his fingers would tangle with yours as he would press you against the wall, his lips seeking yours for a kiss that would be burnt into your memory. Deep down, though, you knew that it would be a while before you would free of the stain of his lips and hands.

He had chosen his side. The motive you would never know, but he had chosen nonetheless and now it was time for you to live your life.

Now:

The day began ordinarily. You woke with your husband; the sound of his alarm rousing the both of you. A day begun too early in your opinion. One you shared with your husband, happy at the sound of his laughter followed by the first of many kisses of the day.

The second kiss of the day landed on your mouth as you watched him head off to work. It had been a chance meeting the day you met your husband. Aiden had fallen to the floor in front of you; dramatically tripping over his own feet and untied shoelaces. After your laughter had dissipated, you had helped him up, asking for his name so you could see if he was hurt. He had stuttered his name out; already half in love with you, he later joked.

Waving Aiden off, you watch his car pull out of the driveway. Aiden hadn’t a lick of magic in him; completely and utterly ordinary save for the love he holds for you. His lack of magic had been part of the appeal; desperate to have a sense of ordinary after experiencing the extraordinary in your education.

He knew everything. Your magic wasn’t something you could keep secret, and he had accepted it as part of you, joking how much easier it would be to put the kettle on from another room.

It’s barely an hour later when a knock on the door sounds. Frowning, you automatically know it isn’t Aiden. He wouldn’t knock; he would walk straight in with a smile on his face and a greeting at the ready.

Pulling open the door, you feel your heart stop in your chest when you catch sight of the man standing on your doorstep.

Draco Malfoy.

The urge to run was overwhelming; adrenaline coiling your muscles tight, ready to spring to action in a moment’s notice. The last time you had seen the man standing before you, you were stood on the other side of the courtyard. The lines in your relationship very clearly drawn despite the letters written with love and hidden away with care, ready to be sent.

It had been fifteen years. Fifteen long years of wondering what you did wrong; of building yourself up from what he had broken into pieces; of finding a love you finally knew you deserved in the form of Aiden.

It had been fifteen years, and Draco Malfoy looked like hell.

Words fall from his mouth in a torrent; the explanation rushed out so fast it is hard to keep. You move to interrupt, to state the three words that would end it all now.

He doesn’t let you. Instead, he confesses his love for you. The love that had never died for him but had long been buried for you. He watches you in silence, watching the emotions flit over your face with a puzzled expression on his own. Draco didn’t seem to understand what was causing your hesitance, your silence on the matter.

“Draco…” You state, holding up your left hand for him to see the silver bands wrapping around the fourth finger – a sign of your love for Aiden, “I’m married.”

The effect is immediate. You watch as the fight leaves his body; as the hopelessness sets in, wringing his body for what it’s worth. The light dims in his eyes and you can the irreparable damage crack through the bright grey of eyes you once adored.

“Do you love him?” Draco asks; hating how the words taste on his tongue – bitter and filled with self-hatred. He cannot help himself; he has to know; this has to be the last nail in his self-built coffin.

You nod, feeling for the rings that have sat on your left hand for years now. “I do. I love him very much.”

“Does he treat you well?”

“Better than I deserve at times,” You admit, remembering the early days in your relationship with your husband. How he had been so patient when you woke up crying over the blonde haired man that now stood on your doorstep. How he had taken you in his arms and had not pushed; hadn’t questioned you like he wanted to – he let you cry it out and waited for you to come to him.

Years later and you still hadn’t thanked him enough for that.

Draco nods: blonde hair falling into his eyes which he pushes back with a weary movement of his hand. He steps back, a hand coming up to his chest. Whether it is an action of apology or a way to protect the heart that was now shattering in his chest, you did not know.

“I’m sorry,” He gasps, “I shouldn’t have come. I shouldn’t have done this, but I had to know.”

You step forward, one hand outstretched to the boy you had loved so fiercely at sixteen, “Draco…”

He shakes his head, face pained, “Please don’t. Don’t say my name.”

Tears fill your eyes; overwhelmed with the day already. “I’m sorry,” You whisper, “I hope you find someone. They’ll be as lucky as I was all those years ago.”

It’s the last straw. Draco’s heart shatters into unrecognisable dust in the cavity of his chest. His hands fall limply at his sides as his eyes run over your face one more time; committing to memory of what aging next to you would have looked like, what his future could have looked like if he had chosen you that day in the courtyard.

One more look is all he allows himself before he apparates away, running back to the safety of his home where he can mourn for the life he could have had in peace. If only he had spoken up, spoken out.

If only.

******

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @theweasleysredhair @harrypotter289 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @figlia--della--luna @idont-knowrn @lunalovegxxd @big-galaxy-chaos @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @mytreec @haphazardhufflepuff @stupxfy @chaoticgirl04 @accio-rogers @starlightweasley @dreaming-about-fanfictions @lestersglitterglue @msmimimerton @obx-beach @izzytheninja @slytherinprincess03 @bbeauttyybbx @breadqueen95 @acciotwinz @kashishwrites @slytherinsunrise @kylosleftbuttcheek @remmyswritings @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon @ria-rests-here @superbturtlemakerathlete @inglourious-imagines @ithilwen-lionheart @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @ilovejjmaybank @theonly1outof-a-billion @phuvioqhile @moatsnow @missmulti @storyisnotover

Draco Malfoy taglist: @the--queen-of-hell @obxmxybxnk @obx-beach @sycathorn-slush @dracomalfoyswifey @kashishwrites @justmesadgirl @detroitobsessed @aspiringsloth20 @just-a-belgian-girl @lahoete @minty-malfoy @fallinallinmendes @ravenclawbitch426 @ochrythum @beiahadid @gryffindors-weasley @dracosathenaeum

#Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy imagine

154 notes · View notes

oftenderweapons · 4 years ago

Text

The Studio - Namjoon

Pairing: Namjoon x reader (nicknamed Vixen)

Wordcount: 9.7k words

Genre: smut, angst, fluff

Rating: 18+

I told you I’d be back really soon ;) Tonight there’s a lot on schedule! I’ve been working on this piece for two weeks, since it carries a lot for both Namjoon and Vixen, emotionally speaking. It means a lot for me too, since to me it was truly a challenge in terms of the different levels of knowledge that Joon, y/n and the narrator hold. I think I’ve grown a lot in terms of writing even from Tiktok Towel Trick, which I wrote last May, but I’m really proud of myself comparing to what I used to produce a couple years ago.

Now, let me introduce this fic. The piece takes place two or three months after the two have started sleeping together (ideally late January or February). In this piece Vixen visits Joon at the studio after a bad fight and Joon’s self-imposed isolation. The two feel like they’ve come to a dead-end as they wait for the other person to cut ties. Namjoon is suffocated by his job, his tendency to lash out at his closest ones when he’s stressed and his previous traumas; Vixen is locked in her head, shut out by Namjoon and repeatedly accused of infidelity, as a sign of Namjoon’s lack of trust. Will the two manage to work things out?

Description and trigger warnings: The piece was written referring to Namjoon’s Rkive as in his vlive log. There is ANGST. Loads. There is some crying and it is not Vixen’s. Longing and miscommunication. In terms of filth: so much dirty talking the walls exude holy water by now. Unprotected sex (STAY SAFE GUYS!!!!!!!!), DDLG/daddy kink, Masturbation paired up with Voyeurism and Exhibitionism, Fetishism (Shoes, tights and lingerie), Oral (female receiving), Cumplay (eating), Marking, Spanking, Angsty doggy fucking followed by a very soft ride on the sofa. That should be all. Fluff alarm: Namjoon doesn’t want to lose his little fox and Vixen just wants to cuddle her big teddy bear Joon.

Wordcount: 9.7k

Here is my masterlist

Enjoy!!!

-------------------------------------------

Standing in the main corridor of the studios felt very strange. You looked around, uncomfortable, while the receptionist at your side stared at you, waiting. "Don't worry, he's busy all the time. We can wait, no big deal." The fact that you'd been greeted by Namjoon's driver at the entry desk had helped you get to the studios unannounced. "That boy always gets caught up on something. He shouldn't make you wait." He tutted, looking at you with a kind smile.

"____? What are you doing here?" Taehyung smiled at you brightly, close behind him Hoseok and Yoongi approached with heavy-looking bags on them.

"Oh, hi. I sort of stopped by for Namjoon." You bit your lip, smiling embarrassedly.

"He's still in his room. I can show you the way." Taehyung said, grinning.

Yoongi seemed to be observing him closely while Hoseok looked absolutely oblivious.

"No, I only have to give him this." You showed them two small bags, one containing food and the other a few things he had left at your place.

You tried not to let your heartbreak show.

"Maybe you could bring them to him, I don't want to distract him."

You smiled but you felt the tears welling up.

Yoongi's glance moved to you. It felt scorching. "I think you should bring those to him. I think he'd like to see you." His serious tone made you realise that maybe he did know what was happening. Maybe he did know better.

"I think he'd rather not see me right now." Your lips tightened in a thin line.

Both the guys turned to Yoongi. "Go, I'll see you tomorrow."

They both patted him on the shoulder and waved at you, Taehyung hugging you close. "It'll be alright. I'll see you."

Taehyung smiled at you, his cute cheeks popping upwards. Maybe it had to do with the fact that you had just granted him an exclusive piece by one of his favourite photographers. Maybe he was just friendly, maybe he simply liked you because he deemed you a decent human being.

Right at his heels, Hoseok gave you a cute wave, saying bye-bye in a cartoonish voice.

Beside you, Yoongi shook his head, still sporting a fond smile. "Uhm, I never know whether I should introduce myself. Anyway, we've never met before, so– I'm Yoongi. " He said with a tiny smile, his cheeks jumping upwards.

You introduced yourself with a small bow.

"You are just like he described you. He talks about you a lot." He commented. You blushed, almost feeling like dissolving into thin air. You never thought you would meet his friends like this.

Yoongi looked at your face. "You're exactly his type — in the best way possible." He blushed. "Let's go." He said, leading you. "I actually want to say a few things." He threw his bag on the floor, getting comfortable on the sofa in the common room. "How are you doing?"

You stared at your feet. "Decent enough."

"I'll be honest, ____. He hasn't been doing good. Not even decent, in my opinion." Yoongi announced, as if trying to prepare you for what you were going to see. "I feel like telling you a couple things about him. He can be hot-headed, and an absolute pain in the ass. He is a perfectionist, and a terrifically clumsy one at that." Yoongi huffed out. "He holds himself to extremely high standards and punishes himself whenever he feels like he's not delivering. And he has the horrible tendency to lash out when he's stressed. He just takes it all out on those who are closest to him." Yoongi patted the spot at his side, inviting you to sit. "I'll be inappropriate, maybe, but I have to say it. You don't have to stay at his side."

The sentence was like a slap to your face. It had never come to your mind to part ways with him.

"You don't have to put yourself through his tempers and tantrums. You need to be ready to handle those emotionally. If you aren't, I don't think you'll be able to go for the long run." Yoongi looked at you in the eye. "Sorry if I overstepped, usually people come to me to talk, I'm not used to giving unsolicited advice." He blushed and laced his fingers together, laying them on his thighs.

"I don't want to let go of him, Yoongi." You confessed.

"Then you should go bring this stuff to him in person. And remember, you don't have to be his therapist. If you want, you can be his partner, walk by his side, but it's not your duty to carry him." The man was incredibly smart and thoughtful. And sensitive. The more you got to know him, the more you understood Namjoon's adoration for him.

"Thank you so much." You bowed your head briefly, placing your palm on top of his hands.

He moved one on top of yours, patting gently. "Let's go find your grumpy bear, uh?"

With a groaned "aigoo" He pushed himself up, standing on his feet like an old man before bending to catch the strap of his bag. "This way."

He led you through the winding corridors until you recognised the door to Namjoon's studio. "Go on. Knock politely and be smart. Discuss. Negotiate. Compromise. And be kind to each other." He gave you the official salute and left.

You found yourself staring at the door, wondering if he'd roar at you for interrupting him.

The room sounded quiet.

You counted to three. Knocked.

"Come in." Said his voice with a weak rumble. He was probably distracted.

His studio was warm and welcoming, if a bit clustered. The lights were low and yellowy, coming from his desk and contrasting with the white gleam of his computer screen, still you could see everything perfectly in the slight penumbra, your eyes perusing your surroundings. It was easy to see why his apartment felt like a hotel room: he barely spent time there while this place really felt like home. It felt like stepping into his soul. Small sculptures and toys and collectibles were neatly lined in his bookcase together with some books. Then the baby shoes. Art catalogues. Candles. Art. A drape too big for the wall, but still there, a painting, probably from Yoongi, since you vaguely recognised his style. On the back wall, you noticed two drapes embroidered in traditional patterns. The floor was covered in thick cream carpets with geometric prints that reminded you of tribal symbols. And sweet lord, that was his wooden, swoon-worthy, customised low table, matching with the piece by the door holding one of his bonsai. A comfy couch with a fluffy, warm blanket, and embroidered pillows. You were mesmerised. You didn't have time to take it all in, your glance running from the upright piano to the microphone standing beside his chair. He didn't turn around, he kept staring at the screen, typing every now and then. His beautiful desk was crowded with stationery, electronic devices, a keyboard and all kinds of knicknacks.

"What is– oh. Hi." His expression was ice-cold.

"Hi. I was passing by, I wanted to bring you some stuff you'd left at mine."

His heart froze. This is the end then.

He'd been avoiding it for almost two weeks, hiding from you in his studio, even though the only things he could write were heartbreaking blue rhymes that had Jimin and Jeongguk exchanging pitying glances.

The beginning of this tragedy was almost comedic in its stupid futility. It was just him incapable of perfecting a pre-chorus. A dumb verse or something. He had called you, talked it out but apparently all he did was just turn down your ideas and suggestions, snapping at you until you exhaustedly told him that you were tired and needed some sleep. He took that as you umpteenth sign that you didn't care about him — which you both knew was entirely wrong — and caused a huge fight which ended on you telling him to go fuck himself, at which he unceremoniously replied that he was okay with that since you were clearly already fucking someone else.

You didn't bother correcting him, since no matter how many times you told him, he always seemed to get back at you being unfaithful and uncaring. You were done justifying yourself, apologising for things you had never done.

"Uhm. I also brought you some food. I didn't know if you had already eaten."

He looked at you like you had finally lit a candle in a dark and cold room.

Your heart broke some more. You asked yourself if there was any more breaking to do, at this point.

You figured there was the moment you heard his hoarse voice speak. "Let's eat together."

You didn't have the guts to deny him.

You laid the bags on the small table and took off your coat. He stood on his feet immediately, crossing the room in a few broad steps and hugging you to his chest.

Let it hurt. You told yourself. It heals faster like that.

His palms settled at your waist and his eyes closed. He breathed you in. He had never felt something really end. His exes were like a song slowly slipping into a diminuendo until they became silence. His interest burned out, his curiosity simply died down and the feelings never seemed to grow fully. They felt like a balloon which was never supposed to be blown that big. This thing with you was like a song being stopped mid-chorus, silence biting in where it wasn't supposed to be. Is this what the end feels like? He asked himself as he held you tighter, one of his hands climbing up and burrowing into your hair. He pressed your face into his chest, where his heartbeat was so strong and so loud that you asked yourself if you could somehow amplify it, if your body could register it and replay it once you were alone in your bed, mourning over this. "You feel taller." He said, noticing how your forehead reached his lips instead of slotting under his jaw.

"I still have my heels on." You replied.

"Wanna take 'em off?" He asked.

You shook your head. "No, if that's not a problem.

He breathed out heavily. He interpreted your refusal as a sign that first, you were keeping your tough-woman shield up — which he couldn't blame you — and second, you weren't intending to stay long.

You tried to part yourself from him. "One more second, little Vixen. Just a second." He whispered.

You allowed him.

"Come on, dinner is getting cold." You said softly.

He didn't let you go, he simply loosened his grip and dragged you to the sofa. He was willing to keep you as close as he could until you ripped the bandaid off, unraveling this small spell that had turned his life into a perfect, dreamlike snowball.

Sitting on the sofa, he made you sit beside him, your side sticking to his from shoulder to hip to knee to ankle.

It was all too much but you didn't have the strength to part from him. He bent down and opened the small boxes.

It was fried chicken.

Like the first time at his place, at two am, naked in his bed after he had owned you in every way that mattered.

He loved fried chicken. And now it would always mean you to him.

No chimaek after fucking with anyone else. He wanted to keep it for you, in case one day you decided to come back, and he would say he had never done that with anyone else, that he had been waiting for you. Because some part of him told him that you would come back.

Both your brains were going on the same path, already mourning someone who was right there in that moment, but already felt so far away. The room was quiet but both your minds were screaming, thinking so loud that the silence was welcome.

"I got you fried chicken. I know you love it."

I love you, his brain replied. But his mouth stayed silent. It was too late anyway.

"Thank you." He said brusquely. He reprimanded himself for sounding so harsh.

"It's okay." You said quietly, using the lid to grab a couple pieces out of the ten or so. You didn't feel like eating and he always ate two thirds of the box anyway.

He exchanged one of your wings for a leg. "You prefer the leg." He said with a shy smile, trying to make up for the coldness he had shown previously.

You had been sleeping with Namjoon for three months now, spending all your spare time together at his place, sometimes moving in for the weekend, the both of you leaving your job early so you could spend Friday afternoon together and go on small dates. He usually had his schedule on Saturdays and Sundays too, so it wasn't uncommon for you to spend several hours alone at his place. You had made small improvements, making his house feel more like a home with small handmade crafts. And when he came back, you would usually try to keep it chill but eventually you ended up in bed, or on the sofa, or the kitchen counter. Or the carpet on the corridor leading to his bedroom. Or the shower. Let's just say that you would be all over each other.

You thought how different it would be now, and how difficult it would be to get him out of your system.

"How is it going." You asked quietly after you swallowed your first bite.

"Tough. I'm polishing some stuff, but this is the part where I doubt everything and want to rewrite all of it." He explained, his fingers gripping the chicken with a precision and finesse that reminded you of his delicate, careful side.

"You'll get through it. You're a pro by now. And I'm sure you have excellent taste. You know what you want and you'll find your way to it." You praised him, rubbing your shoulder against him since your fingers were dirty.

He leaned his head on your shoulder, shrinking down to reach you. "Thank you."

The more time passed, the more you realised he still hadn't said sorry for what he had implied during that phone call.

"That's okay."

"How have you been doing?" He asked, trying not to let his worry show. It still showed, though.

You decided on being honest. "I've been missing you."

He paused eating. "I've been missing you too." He put down the chicken, using the ball of his wrists to press against his temples. "I'm sorry about what I said that day. I know my past relationships and nerves are not valid excuses for how I treated you, but I got swallowed in those and I dragged you in."

You looked at the leg and finished munching on it, stripping the bone of the last few strings of meat. You put down the naked bone, licking your fingers. "You never talked about your most recent ex." You commented.

He picked up his head. "To put it simply, I was her side piece." He said, plainly. "She was getting married to someone else. And she messed around with me." He looked at his feet. "At the beginning I didn't know. It lasted around eight months, as she was waiting for her fiancé to finish his military service. After I discovered it, we kept going for a couple weeks, but I found the whole thing so upsetting and disgusting that we parted ways. Her fiance forgave her and they got married a while ago, a few weeks before I met you." He snickered sarcastically. "I even sent them flowers."

You blinked distractedly. "Joon, I'm so sorry, baby." You brushed your forehead against his arm.

"It's cool. I mean, it's not since I'm still traumatised by it. I've been talking about it with my analyst, but it's been a while since I last went, almost three weeks, because this project had been swallowing me whole — after chewing me a little, clearly." He had his exhausted laugh on.

You felt like you needed to talk about the whole story about that girl, but right now he didn't seem in the right mindset to do that. For now, knowing that he knew he had a bias and he was tackling the issue with a therapist was enough.

"Have you been sleeping, babe?" All the breaking up was momentarily suspended. There was something to save here. You had a lot you still wanted to save from this.

He seemed relieved when you called him that. Don't get your hopes up. He shook his head. "A couple hours at a time. Small naps when I'm tired."

"Okay, so once you're done eating, we're gonna take a good, long nap."

He didn't want to sleep though. He wanted to hold you close, kiss you, make sure that he did everything he could to make you stay. The meal continued quietly, and as soon as you were fed he asked you about your job, how it was going, if you had any new clients or if you had met any new artists. You replied to each question fully, telling him about curious accidents and little inconveniences.

And he listened. He had missed your voice and it felt good to listen to someone who wasn't himself or the boys' voices over speakers and headphones.

As you were both done with dinner, he guided you to the bathroom, standing behind you as you washed your hands. He took some soap, foaming it up between his hands before he caught your left palm within his, pressing and rubbing them together to clean you up. And then he laced his fingers with yours, lathering your digits in bubbles and making sure that the sticky sauce from the chicken disappeared completely. He moved to the other hand as you laid your head against his chest at his collarbone, tipping it back so you could stare at him. You were sure you had never adored someone this much. He turned slightly to look at you, smiling softly. He bent down and pressed his lips to yours gently. No man, no person in the world had ever touched you or kissed you like he has. No one has ever talked to you like him, showed you their world like he has. He reluctantly parted from your lips.

He led your joined hands to close the tap, moving to the hand dryer. It felt all too intimate.

"Joon."

"Let's get back to my studio, yeah?" He whispered in your ear. You nodded.

He laced his hand with yours.

Once you reached the studio, he quietly dragged you to the sofa, pulling at your arm so that you fell with your ass on his lap. He hugged you again. "I am so sorry about what I said. You have told me countless times that I'm the only one."

"You hurt me, Namjoon." You said quietly.

It felt like a slap, his full name.

"Let me make it right." He kissed your cheek and your eyes fell shut. "I want you."

And you wanted him too. You thought yourself crazy for wanting a man so complicated, someone who had disrespected you, who had repeatedly and blatantly demonstrated his lack of trust towards you. Still, when you needed reassurance, affection and devotion, your bodies always came into play, talking with a language so simple and obvious to each other that you simply nodded, whispering "I want you too."

With his index finger he turned your head, kissing you square on the lips and forcing you to part them, his tongue sweeping in your mouth, making your head spin with the intimacy and intensity of it all.

Let him take you, if that would reassure him that you only thought about him, you wanted only him and no one else.

His free hand curled around your thigh, climbing up under the tight knee-length dress you were wearing. The woolen grey number was the first thing to come off as he tugged it over your head and off his way. "You're so gorgeous," He murmured painfully, looking at you and taking in every small detail. "A work of art, little Vixen." He kissed your shoulder.

You smiled shyly, trying to straddle his waist. He toyed with the lace covering your breasts and nipples, teasing them with his fingers until they pressed hard against the fabric. Next he fooled around with the waistband of your tights, making you stand between his legs as he dragged the nylon down your thighs and calves. He stared at your feet, where the garment bunched up, noticing your black stilettos. "Off." He whispered, tapping his foot against yours. Once you took off the shoes, he bent down to help your feet out of your tights. He bit your leg harshly, leaving a mark behind. "Heels on again, Vixen."

Smiling darkly, you slipped them back on, shivering a little, but so happy to wear your favourite black lace set and stilettos for him.

"Walk for me?" He asked, making you put on a little show.

And God, did you enjoy it. His jaw went slack at the Brazilian cut of your panties, exposing to his hungry eyes the perfect curve of your ass, the way it swelled fully before meeting with the back of your thigh.

That was his favourite place to bite. And spank.

You did a small catwalk with your back to him, reaching his chair, which you turned around from his desk to the sofa. Facing the chair, you bent forward, your thumbs catching the fabric of your panties at your sides and pushing them down as you bent forward, offering him the whole panorama.

He groaned. "I'm gonna get an heart attack, baby."

You smiled at him viciously over your shoulder, letting your lower piece of underwear fall to the floor. Next you dragged your full palm up the curve of your ass, smacking it playfully as your fingers made their way to the clasp of your bra.

"You're gonna kill me, Vixen." He cried out.

Bra undone, you let both strings fall down your shoulders, removing one side first and letting the garment dangle from the other side, making your arm fall and drop the delicate lace ordeal.

Your smile disappeared in an innocent pout when you turned around, completely naked except for your shoes.

"I'm gonna sit here." You announced, waiting for his approval.

He nodded eagerly. "Make yourself comfy, Vixen."

You sat down, crossing your legs and propping your elbows on your knees. Shyness was not a word in your vocabulary in that moment. Your only intention was that of distracting him from whatever it was that was mauling his brain.

"Are you going to make me wait, Joon." You teased demandingly.

He stared at you, meeting your glance. "Stay there and sit still." He ordered before grabbing the hem of his sweater and pushing it upwards, taking off both sweater and undershirt in the process. His upper body appeared, a bit skinnier than two weeks ago but maybe it was just the distance and the slouching position. His sweatpants were taut around his lap and you bit your lip as your eyes traced the outline of his length. He laid his palm there, stroking himself over the cotton. "Missed you so much, baby." He groaned and huffed. His eyes closed, his hand grew tense, stronger and heavier. Licking your lips, you kept staring at him, squeezing your thighs as he touched himself for you.

He was hot, all the time, but this… This felt like a fever dream. You were soaked. Thank god his chair was leather and it could be cleaned easily.

He moaned your name, his eyes struggling to open enough to look at you. His voice was so deep and needy, mixed with heavy huffs. "Namjoon." You whined.

He opened his eyes fully, his hand coming to a halt. It was like a cold shower. He was reminded why you were doing this, why you had come to this, the sudden distance that had come within the two of you. "What is it, baby?"

You pushed your ass against the chair, looking for friction. "Come here. Touch me." You begged.

It pained him seeing you so needy and whiny and stressed. "Listen to me, baby thing. Listen very carefully." He wanted to reassure you but he couldn't come to you. "I need you to touch yourself, little one. Can you do that for me? I promise I'll touch you after you cum, baby, but I want to see you first." He asked, palming himself again.

You licked your lips. "Can I?" You questioned innocently, placing your palm on your thigh, your fingertips grazing your crotch.

"You can, doll. Do it for me." He growled, pushing his fingers under his waistband, grabbing his hard on at the base and stroking it as you parted your legs, exposing your wetness. You were beautiful, naked on his chair, dragging your middle finger along your dripping slit. Your other hand grabbed your breast.

"You're a vision, Vixen. You're magnificent, pretty thing."

"I want your tongue, daddy." You mewled, your finger dipping inside, emerging covered in glossy wetness.

He groaned, taking his cock out of his pants, moving the waistband to his thighs. “I’m gonna eat you later, pretty doll. I’ve been starving for weeks for that sweet cunt of yours.” His erection immediately sprung up, arching to his belly button, the lower tendon looking so inviting along that thick vein that always had him throwing his head back whenever you traced it with the tip of your front teeth. As your fingers met your clit, eliciting a whine from your throat, he used four fingers to press on the vein, his thumb already playing with the tip. His hands always looked incredible whenever he used them on himself, strong fingers and spidery tendons making the vision sinfully erotic. However, he was lost in you as much as you were lost in him, his lips parted, his breath panting while you opened your legs wider, using two fingers in small upward circles that teased the underside of your clit. You felt a chill run down your spine, your legs trembling and closing a little with an involuntary reflex. You giggled at that, closing your eyes and moving your grip to the armrest of the chair. Your upper body inched forward a little and your hand stopped.

“Too much, babygirl?” He asked and you smiled brightly, nodding.

You’re gonna miss it, the way she smiles when you’re doing it right, his brain reminded him and as a way to shut it up, he stroked himself faster, with more pressure, his spare hand brushing his abdomen and moving upwards, spreading over his pectoral, scratching the skin there before his thumb and forefinger curved around the base of his neck, pressing there.

You observed the motion, unpausing the movement between your thighs and humming as he gave you his desperate stare, the one that meant that he couldn’t take it anymore, that he was on the verge of it and even the smallest addition to the current situation would have him screaming and cumming.

“Joonie, lemme get close. Cum in my mouth, Joon, please.” You whined.

“No, naughty girl. Stay there and cum for daddy.” He groaned. “Come on, baby, I’m waiting for you.” He said, with a harsh and strained command.

Arching your neck, you started moving faster, opening your legs as far as the armrests allowed, but they only allowed an inch more than what you already had. Huffing with disappointment, you closed them and propped the back of your right knee on top of the armrest and repeated the gesture with your left leg, spreading yourself wide, almost hitting a split with your legs bent at the knees.

“God, you’re the dirtiest. You stretching it out for me? You’re so good, showing daddy how wet you are for him.” He teased, using that raspy voice that he knew always drives you insane.

With short, quick breaths you brought yourself closer and closer to the edge. “Daddy, please, keep talking to me.”

His hand slowed down. “Need to hear my voice, babygirl?”

You nodded and he snickered. “Then I’ll talk to you, little one. You know what I’m gonna do after you cum? I’m gonna crawl to you and kneel between those wondrous legs of yours. I’m gonna push your ass to the edge of the seat and feast on you like I’m trying to die eating that pussy. And do you know what you’re gonna do, Vixen?” He provoked.

You shook your head. “What am I going to do, daddy?” You questioned innocently, your words stumbling a few times as your breath got stuck somewhere in your throat.

“Oh, little fox, you’re gonna grab my hair and push that lovely cunt on my lips and tongue, fucking my face so hard and fast, pressing your sexy heels on my naked shoulders. I want to hear you gasp for air because I make you cum so good you forget to breathe, you forget how to speak.”

“Joon, I’m cumming.” You cried out, your legs starting to quiver and your clit getting too sensitive to stand the movement of your fingers, slipping them inside and pushing them in slow circles around your cervix.

His fingers moved back to the tip, the other hand massaging his balls. “Take it, Vixen, that’s it baby. I’m cumming, ____.” He moaned your name, spilling his release on his lower stomach.

You were still staring at each other with your chests heaving, eyes wild, hands stained by your pleasure. It was always the two of you. Always getting caught up in each other, always getting tangled in each other's fantasies with this constant lust pulling you in and never having enough. You wondered when the hunger would stop, when you would grow tired of his insecurity and possessiveness, when he would find out you're too kinky, too needy, too fucked up for a busy man like him to handle.

He cleaned his hand with one of the unused paper towels from dinner, crumbling it and throwing it in the box with the garbage from dinner.

"Joonie." You whispered, waiting.

"Coming, baby fox." He replied, standing up and taking off his sweatpants and boxers, walking straight to you. You closed your legs, a bit cold and embarrassed now that your high was over. Standing right in front of you, he cupped your cheek, making you look up at his face, however, even though your head was tipped back, aimed at his eyes, your glance hung low, staring at the droplets smearing his abdomen. "What are you looking at, spoiled little fox?" He said, with a sardonic smile.

"I wanna lick."

He grinned and scooped some liquid with his digit, bringing it to your lips.

Parting your lips, you licked your lower one first, then you let your tongue dart out and swipe at his finger, carefully sucking it into your mouth before he lowered his eyes, staring into yours and smirking seducingly as he pulled his digit out. You smacked your lips and savoured his taste, your eyelids falling shut as you hummed at his flavour.

His cock, once half soft, was now hardening again, swelling intermittently and slowly rising to his navel. But Namjoon's eyes were focused on your face. "Want more?" He asked once your eyes opened and your gaze focused on his face. With a sex-addled, lazy grin you nodded, opening your mouth.

He grinned right back. "Such a hungry little girl."

Impatient, you grabbed his hips, pulling him towards you and licking his belly clean. He groaned, observing you closely.

I'm going to teach her some patience and some manners, he thought darkly. However, he immediately reminded himself that he would never have the time, your liaison coming to an end.

With this unfortunate thought, he cupped your face. "I'm the one supposed to be eating now, ____. Let me take care of you, darling." He said, before falling to his knees. Immediately he pushed the back of the chair to the table, so that it wouldn't cartwheel out of his grasp.

Once more you asked yourself how many times he had done that before, thinking about how the relationship with the bride-to-be must have been mostly sexual, since you don't usually have much romance and dates with someone who is taken. Even though he didn't know she was taken. Whatever.

In that moment he was there, kneeling before you, placing your heels on his shoulders, cupping your ass and tipping it forward so he could easily and comfortably give you that first, glorious lick from your hole to your clit. "Taste so good." He said, nuzzling his lips side to side as he spoke, mixing the movement to the vibration of his voice. He bit the small tattoo at the top of your thigh, where it met your pelvis, just shy of your hip bone. "Sexy little thing." He kissed it. "Drove me insane since day one." As usual, he sucked at it, causing a dark purple mark to bloom over it. "Fucking perfect."

He laid his tongue flat against your slit drawing the tiniest circles with the whole length of it.

You hand-combed his hair back, holding it so you could look into his dragon eyes. He looked vicious and dangerous and so cunning, so smart in the most atrocious way.

"Namjoon." You moaned, your hips arching closer to his mouth.

He snickered cockily, moving his tongue slowly back into his mouth, allowing only the tip to wander up your crevice and reach the apex of your labia. He delivered a set of ten licks, slow and curling perfectly against your nub. "Are you good, little fox?" He asked.

You nodded and pushed his head back between your legs.

He laughed loudly, fighting against you. "I'm not done talking, brat." He bit your lower belly gently. "I'm gonna pump your clit with my mouth, Vixen. I'll suck it twenty times, then I'll let you rest until I'm ready again. I'll keep going until you cum. Remember that after twenty I'll pause. This could easily turn into edgeplay, baby, so you'd better get very horny very fast. You okay, Vixen?"

He checked on you and you nodded, impatient to simply have him on your clit.

"Be verbal, little girl." He reprimanded.

"Yes, daddy."

"Good girl. Let's get started."

He wasted no time. He wrapped his lips around your clit and started sucking, sucking so hard that you knew the following day his jaw and ears would hurt. At pump fifteen you already knew you needed more than twenty to cum. And as twenty arrived you whined but you felt confident that the next set would suffice.

This time you felt your edge at twelve, still you needed more. You were getting wetter and wetter, so soaked that his saliva and your slick mixed up and made you feel uncomfortable between your asscheeks.

"Joon–" You said, at which he mumbled "language" in between two pumps.

"Daddy, I want your fingers inside." You said, indulging his every whim.

He fumbled around with his arms, securing you with his left, making sure that your backside wouldn't get too close to the edge of the seat, and cause you to fall. His right arm moved back to your front, his index and middle finger coming to your entrance and waiting, his drool sliding from his tongue down your slit and directly on his fingers which, now lubricated, slipped in with no friction or resistance. The pressure was mind-blowing, your head spinning. "Daddy, please."

"Please what?" He said, hitting his pause.

"Make me cum. Let me." You asked, as meekly as you could.

"Why should I, uh?" He teased.

"Because I am a good girl." Because I love you, said an obnoxious part of your brain.

"Then I need you to say it one last time, Vixen. I know I've tormented you, but I need to ask it once and for all. Is there anyone else?" He said, his voice almost breaking.

"No, Namjoon. I swear to God, there's no one else. I promise it. I swear on everything that I love the most. Please." You begged, hoping that he would feel the desperate honesty in your voice. "Please. You're my only daddy. I have you, only you. I am yours." You said, and God if it felt right, if it felt true, being his, belonging to him.

Tell him you love him, your brain said again, but you refused.

He smiled brightly at your declaration. "We're done playing, if you want to, Vixen."

You simply nodded, batting your lashes at him. "I want to."

"Then hold tight because I'm not going to stop until you're fucking my face and screaming my name and shaking on this seat. Understood?" He warned you.

"Yes, daddy." You replied.

"Then hold tight, baby fox. I'm gonna eat you alive."

"Try." You challenged him.

And that's when he pounced. His pumps became longer, impossibly tighter, and the small pause between one and the next became shorter. Your eyes locked with his, brows knitting together, lips parting in a mewl as you threw your head back. "Namjoon. Please, daddy."

Smirking, he mixed the pumping motion with a barely-there curl of his tongue, teasing your clit with such delicate pressure that you couldn't even wrap your head around the incredible amount of tension that it was causing in your body. Your hands tightened in his hair, your moans dissolving into small giggles.

He wanted to tell you how good you sounded, how pretty you looked, how he wanted to see this every day for the rest of his life. He loved seeing you this happy, this carried away. He loved your morning voice and your late night cuddles. He loved breakfast in bed and midnight snacks and three a.m. quickies. He loved watching you take off your bra from under your t-shirt before going to bed, he loved seeing you shiver as you went to the bathroom early in the morning, clad in his t-shirt, plain cotton briefs and a pair of socks even in the dead of winter, since he always kept you warm under the covers by holding you close. He wanted to confess it all: the heartwarming wonder he felt staring at you had when you focused while reading and studying, when you brushed your hair, when you got dressed before leaving for the day, when you stood at the kitchen counter, cooking, with your back to him, and again when you applied lotion all over your body after showering, when he kissed your nape, standing behind you and donning the zipper of your dress.

However, he stayed silent, showing it all with the reckless ministrations of his mouth as your chest blushed, your hands grabbed his hair almost painfully and your hips snapped, your mouth opening in a silent scream.

You hadn't even bothered telling him you were cumming. He knew anyway. His mouth became more gentle, resolving to small licks while his fingers massaged your walls deep and slow, perfectly responding to the contractions of your muscles. "Here, pretty thing." He murmured, his hair tickling the skin of your stomach. "I've got you, baby. Shhh." He calmed you down, your breath coming in heavy pants, your heartbeat going like crazy. He rubbed his soaked fingers against his thigh, briefly cleaning himself before coming up to your face, cupping your cheeks. "Are you okay, little one?"

You nodded with your eyes closed, getting sleepy.

He caressed your face. "Open your eyes for me, baby girl, let me see your pretty eyes."

With a beatific smile you tried to look at him, eyelids lifting, taking a few seconds to focus on him.

"There she is, my moonshine." He cooed, pressing a kiss to your lips. "You look really happy, baby thing."

You simply moved your head in a nod.

"Do you want more, little fox?" He asked, still fussing over you. "Can you take it just one more time, babe?"

Licking your lips you nodded again with a giggle.

He smiled. "You keep nodding, baby. Are you saying yes to daddy?"

"Yes, Joonie." You whispered slowly.

"Good girl. Can you walk, Vixen?"

"Yes."

"Great. I want you to kneel in front of the coffee table, darling." He commanded, rising to his feet and helping you stand up.

This would be the last time, he decided.

He would allow himself your heaven just one more time, then he would hold you close for a few minutes, clean you up, accompany you home and let you go. He wasn't man enough to look into your eyes. He was weak and unfair. He turned you around with your back to him, his erection brushing against the small of your back. Once you were in front of the table, he moved your hair to the side, skimming the curve of your ear with his lower lip. "Kneel, Vixen."

You did.

He kneeled behind you, moving the books and magazines on the floor, away from the two of you, while the traces of your dinner were thrown into the bag, which he would discard later. With an empty table, he pushed his palm from the small of your back to your nape, making your front adhere to the table and making sure that your hair was out of the way. "I know you love this table." He murmured.

"I do."

"I do, too." His heart felt like a burden. Without further hesitation, he grabbed his length and rubbed his tip against you. "You ready, ____?"

"Please."

With a groan he slipped in, the filling sensation causing a loud whine on your behalf. "Quiet." He reprimanded.

You got a little scared at his dark voice, knowing that at this point you'd better obey. However, it lasted little. Once he bottomed out, he growled, bending down to your neck. "You good, little one?" He said, his sweet persona back in place.

"Yes, daddy."

He was breathing heavily through his nose as he sucked at the skin of your neck, marking you. As soon as he was sure the mark would bruise and stay for at least a couple days, he released your skin. "Do you want your spanks, baby girl?"

Your eyes rolling with pleasure, you hummed. "I want them so much, daddy. Spank me, please."

He simply breathed. "With pleasure, little one." He knew no one would ever be this good to him.

His chest parted from your back, a small shiver settling in instead.

The first smack was harsh, angry. You clenched around him and he thrusted in violently, growling.

The second one hit the tender skin of your outer thigh, where it met your ass. "Daddy." You whined.

"Quiet." He chastised again, his voice strained. He hammered into you four or five times.

"Daddy, it hurts." You cried out, at which he stayed silent, simply spanking you again, twice, without rubbing soothingly at your skin. You emitted a shrill huffing sound of complaint, at which he answered with violent ramming into you, using both hands to push you onto his lap.

This was not how Joon usually did it. This was not normal. With worry distracting your mind, you turned your head, looking at him. His eyes were closed, droplets falling down his cheeks. Was it sweat or tears?

"Namjoon?" You asked, alarmed.

He shook his head, biting his lip. "You good?" He asked, eyes still closed.

"Stop." You murmured.

He obeyed, exiting your warmth and opening his eyes, still avoiding your gaze contact. "Did I—?"

"Look at me."

He shook his head. "I can't."

"Namjoon." You reprimanded.

As your eyes met his, you noticed they were rimmed with tears, and he was biting his lip to hold back a sob, shaking his head in shame.

Your initial shock was followed by an overwhelming sense of tenderness for the beautiful, delicate man in front of you.

You quickly decided what to do.

You turned around fully, facing him as you stood on your knees, your hands caressing his cheeks. "What is it, Joonie bear?"

He simply frowned and hid in the crook of your neck, desperate.

"What is it?" You asked again.

He nuzzled even more into your chest, inhaling the damp feel of your skin. "I just want it to be a good memory." He huffed with a broken whisper.

A memory? "Why would it be a memory, Namjoon?" You asked, confused.

"If it's our last time, I wanna be good to you." He said, and you could feel every ounce of sadness in his voice.

Last time? "Joonie bear, why would it be our last time?"

His shoulders shook with sobs as he stopped holding back his tears. "I've been a bastard, it's okay if you want to go." He tried saying in his most composed voice.

You frowned in confusion. "No, Namjoon."

"You want to leave me. It's okay. I need it only one last time."

You shook your head, trying to grab his chin and make him look at you. However, he strongly opposed.

"Joonie." You murmured, hugging his head and caressing his hair. "I'm not here to leave you." You whispered. "I want to be with you." You continued.

He shook his head even more. "I was dumb. You have every right—"

"No." You kissed his head, caressing his shoulders, hugging him tight. "I'm not going anywhere."

He looked up at you, his face covered in tears.

"Oh, baby bear." You cooed, touching his cheeks, kissing his forehead. "Don't cry, Joonie." He disappeared even more into you, hugging your entire figure, dwarfing you. "Don't cry, my love." You whispered, the word tiptoeing out of your lips. He sobbed harder. "I'm so in love with you, Joonie bear." You crooned, offering him all your soul in those simple, childish words.

"You love me?" He asked, confused, alarmed, petrified.

"I love you, Namjoon." You repeated.

He completely forgot his messy face and brought his lips to yours, his mouth melting into you eagerly as your tongues spoke a language that came so natural to both of you.

Breathless, he parted from you. "I love you. I love you so much." He pressed tens of kisses on your face with such speed and pressure that you felt like disappearing into him.

"I love you too." You giggled, trying to clean his face.

You both laughed, elated, his hands coming to your waist, holding you closer and closer. "I wanna make love to you." He whispered. "Let me love you."

"Missionary on the carpet or cowgirl on the sofa?" You asked.

"Why choose when you can have both?" He wiggled an eyebrow. You smiled. He smiled back. "Let's get on the sofa." He replied gently. "You'll catch a cold with your sweaty back on the freezing floor."

"But no missionary on the sofa…" You cried out like a child.

He smiled. "Do you want missionary so bad?" He kissed your temple, smiling.

"I guess I'll be happy with anything you want." You pouted, still doubtful.

"C'mere." He said, getting even closer. You slipped your stilettos off and he picked you up by the back of your thighs and with some strength you didn't know he had, he carried you to the sofa, careful not to step on your shoes. "I'm going to sit. Careful with your legs." He warned, plopping down as carefully and as gently as he could, mercifully avoiding to sit with your calves underneath him.

"Don't worry, I won't make you ride me, baby." He kissed your brow. "You're too tired for that." He cradled you to his chest, offering you a bit of his body heat. "Can you push it inside you for me, love?" He asked seducingly, kissing your neck.

You smiled and reached between your bodies. He was already pulsating, you knew he would come undone in a few strokes. Slowly, you lifted your hips and pushed his tip inside, making him groan.

"You're always so tight, babylove. Fuck, you feel amazing." He sucked at your neck some more, drawing a twin bruise to the one you had on the other side of your throat. "I feel like a fucking teenager with you. I can never get enough." His hips jutted a little, pushing into you while his forearm around your waist pulled you down, his hand gripping your ass.

"Daddy." You breathed out, your forehead pressed against his neck as he bottomed out.

"Yes?" He replied, soothing you with long caresses down your spine. "Does it hurt, doll?"

He had so many nicknames for you but you couldn't wait for your next. "No, daddy." He held your face away from his shoulder. "Are you sure babylove?"

Your face stretched in a slight grimace. "Maybe."

He giggled and kissed your cheek, sliding down to your mouth. "I'm sorry, Vixen." He pressed his lips to yours once and then again. "I'm so sorry, baby. For everything." He combed your hair back. "I can't promise you I'll never hurt you, but I can promise I'll try to make it better every single time." He held you close as your brow furrowed. "I love you." He whispered, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other pressing on your lower back.

"I love you too." You said right back. "But please, Joonie…"

"Need me to move?" He asked.

"I want you to cum." You murmured.

He smirked and nodded. "Want me to finger you?" He asked, already drawing short thrusts into you and helping you ride him with his forearm around you.

"Yes, please, daddy." You whined.

His right hand left the crown of your head, coming to the top of your thighs and beginning to draw small circles at the apex of your labia, the flat of his thumb wide enough to cover your bundle of nerves entirely.

"Would you like to take your time, Vixen?" He asked kindly, knowing that sometimes it took you a bit longer than him to actually get worked up.

"I just need you to keep going exactly like this. You're perfect, Joonie."

He grunted and started pushing into you from below. "Like this?" He said, his voice a tad strained.

His thrusts were low and deep, curling just enough to hit your sweet spot. He realised you started holding your breath. Usually that meant you were close.

He bent his head, looking down where your bodies joined. It was hypnotizing, his thumb drawing perfectly identical circles. He started kissing and licking any and every inch of skin that came close to his mouth, your shoulder, your chest, your neck, sucking whenever he managed to grip the skin for long enough to bruise and mark.

When you started shoving yourself on him, bouncing in earnest, he kept his cool and stopped fooling around, staying focused on lasting long enough, doing the exact same thing, knowing that with a few thrusts delivered just right, you would become like putty in his arms and he could just get crazy and chase his high.

With your lips parting in a high pitched moan, you pressed your hips to his two more times before your chest collapsed into his with a tired whimper. "Take what you need." You murmured before propping yourself with your forearms against the back of the sofa, lifting your hips. Your face was pressed at the crook beneath his jaw, your tongue blindly chasing the droplets of sweat sliding down the column of his throat. He emitted an animalistic groan before his palms thudded heavily against your glutes, gripping your hips so hard that both his knuckles and your flesh turned white. And then he started ramming into you from below. The sounds in the room were a mix of his grunts, the smacking of flesh and the wetness between your legs, but more quietly, under all those layers, in between a groan and the next, there were his whispered love declarations, which poured out of his mouth like prayers, until he was so close, so fucked out that he could only repeat 'I love you', over and over, interrupted only by a final howl as he spilled inside you.

In all of this you had tried to stay quiet, shushing him and kissing his neck, not sure that you were allowed to mark him.

You laid both exhausted, his body sliding sideways down the sofa, trying to rest on the seats, his head laying on an armrest as his ankles dangling from the other. You covered him like a blanket, your hair draping over his chest and tumbling down the edge of the sofa.

You were both sweaty and messy with cum and drool, still you simply laid there, until you felt too cold and shivered.

"Blanket?" You asked.

He shook his head. "I'd better dress you and take you back at mine. I can go home tonight. There's no use working late. I need to rest anyway."

"Are you sure." You asked, touching his face.

He kissed your wrist. "Sure."

"I have to clean your chair first. I should have some wet wipes in my handbag." You mumbled. "And I should clean myself too before I drip on your lovely sofa."

He hummed, tired, fake-crying as he said "I don't wanna get up."

"My bag is right beside the sofa, just stretch your arm backward." You directed him.

He fumbled around a bit, moving the bag from behind his head to your side, where you could easily reach inside. After a bit of rummaging, you fished out your wipes, making a quick work of pulling him out and cleaning yourself.

"Cold." He muttered with a pout, which you kissed away from his face.

"Come on, baby bear, get up and get dressed. I wanna shower with you and shower you in kisses." You pampered him, trying to convince him to get ready to leave.

He whined as you sat up, quickly dashing to recoup your underwear. Once you were wearing it, you cleaned his chair, quite happy when you noticed that it wasn't half as bad as you though. When you turned, you noticed he was staring at you, already completely dressed, your dress in his hands. You moved closer.

"Up with your arms, love." He said gently, and for a second you realised that your simple and emotional confessions weren't a mirage caused by arousal or desperation.

You followed his instructions as he helped you wear your dress, slipping it over your head and helping you find both sleeves. Next he gripped the hem at both sides, delicately rolling the fabric down your body. Once it reached your knees, he let his hands skim back up your hips and waist, crossing his wrists behind your back before squeezing your ass. He stared at your throat.

"Will I have to wear a turtleneck for the next ten days?" You asked, slipping the neck of your dress aside and checking the damage.

"Sorry." He murmured.

"It's okay. I like it. I'm just teasing you." You said with a playful smirk.

"Brat." He mouthed with a snicker, bending down to pick up your tights.

You tutted, stealing them from his hands. "Let me do these, they're tricky."

He simply stared, his body trembling with a new tide of arousal at the mannerism you used to put on the garment, rolling up one leg between your thumbs and forefingers, pressing your toes against the stitching and dragging the nylon up your leg. He had seen this scene in an old Italian movie, but seeing the gesture in real life helped him understand the frenzy that the main character experienced after such an act. After you repeated the movement on the other leg, his mouth practically salivating, he watched some more as you fixed the gusset and the waistband, stretching the garment around the curve of your ass.

"Call me whenever you need to wear those." He whispered in marvel and agony. "I might take them off you just to see it all over again."

You smiled coquettishly, grabbing your coat and wearing it.

He kneeled in front of you, holding one of your shoes. "When's your birthday?" He asked, making you lift one foot as he slipped your heel on.

You frowned, the connection unknown to you. "Mid-november. Why?"

He held your other shoe and you held onto his shoulder as you lifted your other foot, wearing the black stiletto. "I loved seeing those on you tonight. I might buy you another pair or eight as a birthday gift."

You shook your head and laughed. "I don't need a sugar daddy, I'm happy with my plain, regular one." He rose to his feet and you grabbed his cheeks, planting a big, fat smooch on his mouth. "I'm actually very, very in love."

"Hello, Actually Very, Very in Love. My name is Head Over Heels — he pointed at your shoes — in Love. Pleased to meet you."

You laughed and he felt his heart explode with joy, his nose brushing against yours with Eskimo kisses. "Your bag." He said, bending to pick it up. "My bags." He said, collecting his tote and the small paper bag with his belongings that you had brought him. He neared his desk, checking the various devices. "Equipment off, computer off–" He mumbled as he moved the mouse to shut down the system. Meanwhile you fixed the low table, putting the magazines back on top of it. He switched off his table lamp and moved towards the door. "Dinner." He reminded himself, picking up the trash bag by the entrance. "You ready, Vixen?"

You hummed in confirmation.

"Let's go."

#bangtan smut #bts smut #bangtan sonyeondan #namjoon smut #namjoon one shot #namjoon fanfic #namjoon fic #bangtan fanfic #bangtan fic #Namjoon x reader

259 notes · View notes

oveliagirlhaditright · 3 years ago

Text

Chapter Three of My Dark Angel Story “Saving the Siblings”

Summary: What if around the time of C.R.E.A.M–before Max and Logan were that close–they agreed to have a more sibling-esque relationship, since that was what Max was used to? How would the story have played out differently from there? But Lomax will still be endgame, I swear.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21821767/chapters/52075546

Chapter Three

Despite Max’s promise to herself, that she was going to try to keep Logan out of her affairs here—to try and have their relationship platonic—she found she had nowhere else to go, with some of the questions Vada had brought to light.

So, when morning came, Max found herself powering up her Ninja and driving over to Fogle Towers before Logan and Bling were even fully awake, probably.

When Max broke into the apartment—…she really probably should have done something about doing this all the time, but this was her and Logan’s tradition at this point, and who was she to break tradition?—she noticed that Logan and Bling were doing sets.

Logan was trying with all his might to push his legs up into Bling’s hands, and was working up quite the sweat, but it was still to no avail.

And if Max had ever hated herself before, it was nothing like how she felt now. But she made sure not to show it, of course.

“Logan, that’s enough,” Bling was telling Logan, as Bling tried to push his torso away from him and get him to stop for the day.

But Logan kept a grip on Bling’s shirt and kept himself near him, working. “No, Bling. Five more. I swear I can do it.”

“Logan, no. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it twice, slow and steady wins the race.”

“Bling-” Logan said sharply now; and there was the pissy quality to his voice, that Max knew so well. She almost smiled.

And deciding to save Bling, when she herself often wasn’t saved when it came from this attitude from Logan, Max decided to finally let it be known that she was there.

“Knock-knock,” she said with a smirk on her face, while she knocked on the wall behind Logan’s computer, that he nailed all his important documents onto.

Max honestly had no idea why she could be this happy in seeing these two, when just a night ago, she’d realized Vada had been a plant, Manticore had Jondy, and Zack had left her,

Max didn’t know, but that was why she had to be careful with Logan, didn’t she? It didn’t pay to get too close to anyone. Max knew that all too well from how she got burnt with Darren. She tried to lie to herself now, that it was mostly Bling she was thrilled to see, but she knew that that wasn’t true.

“Max!” Logan exclaimed, like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Max!” Bling said excitedly. “Good to see you! Are you here to see Logan? Do you want me to clear out?”

Originally, Max had been thinking that. But since Bling knew everything about her that Logan did, and was pretty sharp, she figured that she could use his advice, as well.

Plus, if he was here, hopefully it would keep her and Logan from making goo-goo eyes at each other, like she didn’t want them to.

“I’m glad to see you’re alright, Max,” Logan spoke softly to Max now, with something in his eyes, as he seemed to wake up enough now, to better remember their conversations from yesterday.

And Max knew now, that in some other life… she easily would have let herself fall for Logan Cale. But she had long ago stopped letting herself be soft. And that was some of the issue here.

“I found Vada,” Max told the two men now, sitting on the couch in Logan’s living room. And she didn’t want to look at either of them, and have them see her face, when she had to tell them that she’d fallen into a trap. But since Max was a strong little soldier girl, she showed no weakness and looked them both in the eye as she explained her failings. “And she was a mole, essentially. She was going to have Lydecker and his men close ranks on us and take Zack and I both to Manticore.

“I convinced her not to do this, for the daughter she has on the outside. But… Vada told me that Lydecker recently got Jondy. And Logan, Bling, I want to go in and get her, before they brainwash her. Before it’s too late.”

And maybe… maybe it would be okay if she and Logan never became anything, Max thought. Because the way that he and Bling were sharing a look, she wanted to believe that maybe they could find something—if it came down to it—and Logan could be happy that way.

“That’s rough, Max,” Bling spoke up, after only a minute… which was a god sent, really, because Max thought that she was drowning in her feelings here. “And I may be a physical therapist… but I also know the importance of emotional therapy. And I understand from your upbringing why you were taught to keep things in. But if you need anything, know that Logan and I are here for you. Okay?”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks, Bling.” And Max acted like she was going to hug Bling… but she really didn’t mean this. She also didn’t feel any of the things that she said there. She was too fucked up to. But she knew that Bling would call her out on it, if she didn’t at least act like she was giving it all some thought. So, she had acted.

Thankfully, Logan cut off Max’s humiliation by clearing his throat. And she held herself back mid-motion.

“Max… if you really want to try a jailbreak, I can try to get some Eyes Only informants down for it. We’re few and far between, but I know they would hate the idea of Manticore, if I blow them out of the water. And it would be better than you, Zack, and Vada, maybe, trying to go it alone.”

And here, Max had to smile… and lean in and kiss Logan on the cheek, despite how much she’d been holding herself back before.

And Max thought she might have seen a certain look on Bling’s face then, but fortunately, he didn’t say anything.

“Max, what-” Logan started, the moment she’d pulled away from him.

But Max was already interrupting him. “I appreciate the thought, Logan. And you and yours helping me would for sure be better than just the three of us doing things, they could probably help even against the genetically engineered killing machines, for a time... but I still think we’d still all die. And Lydecker taught me to think of better odds than that. So, I’m not acting until I do”

And finally knowing the truth of how she felt, that Logan had unearthed from her, Max blurred away, and hated herself every moment that she was running.

…

Thankfully, Max had gotten up in enough time, where she didn’t have to go to work yet, and could swing by her crib for some poor coffee imitation with Kendra and Vada—and check in and make sure Vada hadn’t bounced, or killed Kendra, or called Lydecker on her ass—before she had to sell her soul to Normal for most of the day.

And when Max spilled back in, the last thing she expected to see was Kendra and her sister making out in the kitchen, but that was exactly what her eyes were met with.

For a second, she thought about trying to sneak back outside to try and give the girls their privacy—because they clearly needed it, as they crashed into every nearby item on the counter trying to get to Kendra’s room; where, oh where, had Vada’s feline grace gone?—but in thinking that this may have been a ploy on Vada’s part to try and get information out of Kendra about Max, Max decided she had to break up the little love fest.

First her and Logan’s, and now Kendra’s and Vada’s. Wherever Cupid was right now, Max had no doubt he must have hated her ass.

“Kendra?” asked, going back out the door and coming back in, to give the impression that she was just now seeing all of this. “Oh. Sorry, guys! My bad. Here I was, coming to see if maybe you’d prefer if I got Vada to stay at OC’s, Kendra, but clearly that isn’t the case!” And as she said the last, Max very sweetly and awkwardly got into a thing of cherry icing that was on their little table (one of the only commodities she’d been able to find during the Pulse), and it was delicious. Though Max sort of hated having to get into it now, to try and sell this all, but she would take it.

And damn, if she wasn’t a good actress. She clearly had Kendra eating out of the palm of her hand, as she now pulled away from Vada, blushing.

Vada, however, didn’t seem as convinced. And she looked at Max with a raised eyebrow. Max couldn’t really blame her for it, she supposed. They had been taught the same things, when it came to “besting the enemy.”

Later, Max would actually have to ask Vada if it was possible for the female X series to be bi or lesbian. She’d thought not, since their damn hormones made them want to mate with a male—especially when they were in heat—but maybe it was a thing. And perhaps Vada had found the way. That would certainly be nice to tell Max’s sisters, if she ever got to see more of them again…

“Max… I’m sorry that you had to walk in on that!” Kendra exploded now, speaking a mile a minute, with her hands flying every which way. “But damn if your sister here isn’t swoon worthy. I was just telling her about some bastard said I’m too fat to be wearing crop tops. And then Vada wisely pointed out how wrong that is—one, because I’m beautiful—and secondly, because guys are always shirtless, when they don’t even have the best bodies. And then she started telling me how the standard of beauty people have to live up to is too high, anyway, which is all too true. And then she started reading me poetry, to ease my wounded heart… and here we are.”

Max laughed at that, easily being able to understand how Kendra might fall for Vada in that situation, then. She’d always thought that Kendra was straighter than a ruler. But, hey. If she’d been wrong about that, then clearly, she was the one at fault.

The only thing worrying Max here, was that she feared that Vada was being less than sincere. She wanted to believe her sister had told her the truth of it all last night… but Max wouldn’t be alive today if she trusted anyone.

“I think that’s a lovely story,” Max rued, making sure to nod at each one of her girls now.

Though she wondered if Vada noticed that she’d used the word “story”, as if that it could have been a fabrication. Knowing her, probably. They wouldn’t have been the top of the X5 class, if she didn’t. And her violet eyes definitely seemed far-away, in thought.

“I can definitely get why you two would fall for each other. I wish you guys the best. And if you both want this to be your love nest for a while, I can clear out, actually. I’m sure OC wouldn’t mind me rooming with her for a little bit.”

“Can you, Max?” Kendra piped up then, grinning. And the lovely blonde looked so in love, that it was hard to say no to her. This kind of person deserved the world, and could actually have it, and Max wished that fate would actually be kind to her, unlike it was to Max. “I don’t want to be a bad roomie here… but you know what? I’m starting to think that OC had the right of it. Maybe the problem for me was men all along. And this would be the key time for me to find that out.”

Max patted Kendra on the shoulder once, before getting into her cherry icing once more—God, she loved cherry flavored things—and she had to resist the urge to purr like the cat that had gotten the cream. “If you want time to figure out your sexuality, Ken. I can more than oblige by leaving… But I also know my sister can be a little intense,” Max whispered the last into Kendra’s ear now, being careful not to look Vada’s way, so she might now hear her. But she was sure that Vada heard all of this, anyway, with their super hearing. “If she does anything to break your heart, let me know and I’ll kick her ass for you.”

“Will do, Max! You’re the best!” Kendra sang. And Max was just about to make it out of her apartment door then (the icing in hand), when Kendra stopped her with, “Oh! And be sure to tell Logan that, since I’m on vacation, I’ll let him tutor my Japanese class a few times, like he wanted to!”

“…I’ll do that, Ken!” Max promised her. Even though that was the last thing Max wanted to do, because she was trying to stay away from all things Logan right now.

And Max was nearly out the door again, when Vada gently grabbed her arm. “So, have you decided what we’re doing about Jondy?”

And all of the wind left Max’s sails like a snap of fingers. And if she’d been a lesser woman, she would have been crying right now. Because she hated the idea that she was leaving her little sister to Psy-Ops and Lydecker right now.

“We have to get more soldiers, then we’ll come up with a battle plan,” Max assured Vada.

“…Do you think waiting is wise, Max?” Vada challenged, moving a long piece of hair behind her ear as she did, and looking so lovely while doing so.

…Manticore didn’t let you have long hair, of course, at least not while training. Eventually, when they sent you out into the world, they would, if you wanted it. And even though Vada had nearly been overcome, she had still kept her desire for long hair and that part of herself.

Since Jondy had always favored short hair… could that be a sign that she would be more easily overcome? Or was this just a stupid thought that Max was having right now, that had nothing to do with anything?

“You know that Lydecker almost had me. So, if we wait too long with Jondy, do you think her mind-”

“We’ll do as I say, Vada, because I have rank over you, and that’s that!”

What Max didn’t say, of course, was that really, she was a stinking coward and trying to protect her own freedom.

She left for work without another word.

…

“You’re never gonna believe this, Boo,” Original Cindy told Max the moment she strolled into work, jumping to Max’s side, and linking their arms together. “Normal is thinkin’ about sellin’ the place to some Mr. Sivapathasundaram, or somethin’.”

Max choked on her saliva, as she nearly died laughing at that. And Cindy had to hold her up by her arm, as she began falling over, laughing hysterically.

Normal was not pleased by that, of course, as he’d seen the whole thing and was yelling at Max the moment she showed what a “delinquent she was.”

“I’ll have you know that that’s exactly why I’m selling this popsicle stand!” he told her, looking her dead in the eye. “You kids need a reality check! Mr. Sivapathasundaram is going to make Jam Pony run the way it should! He’ll make it a proper place of business! And then you’ll all see how lucky you are to work here, or how lucky you were to have me!” Normal barked.

“When Hell freezes over!” Sketchy coughed into his arm. And Max was about to say “bless you!” to him, but since she was clearly on thin ice with Normal, she figured she’d better not. Then again… maybe she still would. She was having that kind of day, where she thought she needed to do that kind of thing to make herself feel better.

And if the Blue Lady, God, Fate, or whatever had decided to hate her, then they could decide to hate someone else today, too, like Normal. She would happily rain on his parade.

“And, as always, you’re rolling into work late, I see! What’s the excuse this time, missy? Actually, you know what? I don’t want to know. Just get to work! Bip-bip-bip! These packages aren’t going to deliver themselves!”

Max rolled her eyes, and resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at Normal while he walked back to his desk. But she knew she really would be out of a job if she did that.

Max walked to her locker with Original Cindy, to put her lunch away, and also so she, Sketchy, and Herbal (who had just joined them. And it looked like Sky might have been coming out of the woodwork, too) could carry on their conversation about Mr. Sivapathasundaram in peace.

“So, what? Is this guy your typical Republican, Capitalist, nose to the grindstone kind of male?” Max asked, already having nightmares of Jam Pony turning out to be even more like Manticore, and not knowing what she would do if that turned out to be the case.

“Seems abou’ true, mah sista,” Herbal piped up, putting a comforting hand on Max’s shoulder, and she put a hand atop his, too, knowing that he needed to feel better right now, as well. “We must look to the Almighty in er houa a need. This wasa place wher’ anyone could geta job. What’ll we do if thay take that away?”

“We’re not gonna let them, Herbal, that’s what!” Sketchy chimed in now, coming in to put an arm around Herbal’s shoulders… which Max appreciated, because it seemed like the man really needed that. But what she didn’t appreciate, was that the idiot had brought his bike in with him, and was now nearly crushing her and Cindy’s legs as he moved closer to Herbal.

“Sketchy, watch it!” Max bellowed.

“Yeah, seriously fool,” Original Cindy agreed, pulling Max closer to her—where there was less of the bike—for her safety; bless the girl, Max thought. “I know you don’ have all the beauty that home girl and I got. But that don’t mean you gotta take us out ‘cause youse jealous.”

Finally waking up to the mess he was making, as if he was coming out of a fog, Sketchy got his bicycle out of the way with a quick, “Oh! Sorry, guys!”

“Thank you!” Max praised him then, slapping him on the back one good time.

And then Sky continued the conversation the men had been having. “But you guys are right. We gotta find a way to keep him out. We can’t have him ruining slackers here’s dreams everywhere!”

“Although… now that I think about it- I have a thought. If he is your typical Republican, Capitalist, nose to the grindstone male… I wonder if he might help me with something…” Max whispered, an insane thought coming into her head now. “Sketchy, do you have his phone number? I assume you guys were going to try and come up with some crazy prank to keep him away, or whatever?”

“Yeah, chica,” Sketchy acknowledged, handing Max the paper he’d clearly snatched while Normal wasn’t looking. Quite possibly when he’d been chewing out Max before. “Why? You got a better plan?”

“…I maybe do. But you’ll never hear it.”

“What’s that mean?” Sketchy asked, clearly baffled.

But Max had already ran away (at normal speed) to make a phone call on a burner cell. She’d picked it up when dreaming that if her siblings came back into her life, they would, of course, want her to contact them with a number that couldn’t be traced. She hadn’t thought that when she finally found some of them again, it would be like this… but she was glad now that she did have the phone.

The phone rang six times, and Max was starting to get impatient, when someone finally picked up on the other end. “Hello. This is Mr. Sivapathasundaram. Who is this?”

“…Someone who won’t tell you their name yet. Maybe not even ever. But if you really want to get on the ground floor of something… how about working with Eyes Only, and helping him taking down some serious baddies doing human experimentation?”

#dark angel #james cameron's dark angel #lomax #maxlogan #fanfiction #mine #my work #shanna writes #au #max guevara #i do really love this story #saving the siblings

0 notes

lewdladylily · 5 years ago

Text

This is primarily for Anna, she wanted to see what I had been working on. This is maybe the first half of the story I have been working on, most of what I have ready to publish. around 3600 words so far, and there is at least 4000 more already written for the story.

So this story is fanfiction for a story that is roughly 600k words (the story sounds like nonsense but it is excellent, really great stuff), so a bit of information is necessary for people to understand this story out of context. You might miss some references but you should be able to get the basics and enjoy it.

Erin Penna - The viewpoint character for this fic. A submissive who recently awakened to the fact that she is very much into the idea of mind control and long term slave play. She recently discovered she is (essentially) part succubus. Was given the submissive name “Copper Swallow” by Illyria.

Illyria - Main character of the story this is based on, aka Cindy. Erin believes her to be some sort of non human magical creature with significant magic power, possibly Fae. She is actually human and just pretending to be Fae. She has a huge selection of powers, most related to sex.

Yoal-yohuali - an immensely powerful magical woman/creature that mind controlled Erin temporarily. Is actually Illyria, aka Cindy, who was using her powers to disguise herself when she randomly came across Erin. For reasons not relevant to this fic Cindy does not want her various identities to be connected, hence the different disguises.

Untitled (as of now) story

Erin had been scouring the internet for information. She had a new goal in life that meant understanding BDSM, mind control, and above all magic was a must for her. So far she was having mixed success; there was plenty of useful stuff about BDSM, mind control was mostly fanciful stories but hypnosis did seem to have real legs to it, and she had hit a brick wall when it came to actual magic. There was just too much misinformation. Some of it seemed right, some of it looked like nonsense, and she didn't know enough yet to start sorting through it. Ned was her only reliable contact to that world and his advice continued to be "take it slow and cautious". He wasn’t telling her anything useful, at least not yet. He clearly seemed to think she might do something rash given the chance.

Old people being rational and responsible was not something Erin was interested in right now.

At least she had found some nice sexy stories to read. She was currently working her way through a story about a demon and a succubus taking turns tormenting a grad student, all sorts of fun in a lot of ways she was discovering appealed to her. She was also technically following Mistress Illyria's instructions, though she was far past her second edge for the night. It was very hard to stop even if she was just torturing herself with what she couldn't have.

Bzzt Bzzt!

Running on autopilot Erin picked up her phone, keeping her eyes on the story she was reading and one hand on the vibrator between her legs. At the end of a paragraph she took a glance over to her phone.

1 Message: Mistress Illyria

Her heart leapt, story instantly forgotten and vibrator hastily discarded while she opened the message.

< Has my Copper Swallow been good? Following your rules?

Erin almost cried in relief.

Finally!

> Yes Mistress, I have followed your commands.

It had been a rough few days. Illyria’s command to edge herself and to not orgasm had come at the worst time imaginable. Erin wondered if that was on purpose or if it had been more ‘luck’ magic. She’d been mind controlled, walked through the city like a pet, been used by a crowd of strangers, and had her first experiences really indulging her masochism. It was a whirlwind of sexual firsts and she had been allowed nothing but teasing and frustration afterwards. It had been hell holding herself back for Illyria but this made it all worth it, she had been good. Maybe she would get a reward, maybe she had passed some test and shown herself worthy of her attention. Maybe Illyria would want to keep her.

It was a reckless hope. She could almost hear the lecture Ned would give her about keeping herself safe, how she knew almost nothing about Illyria, how dangerous it was to throw yourself at a stranger’s mercy. He was right of course, but he also didn’t understand. There was something right about an owner that had chosen her instead of the other way around, and Illyria was the first who had chosen her. It wasn’t romantic, not exactly, but it was something akin to romance and she had to at least give it a shot.

Erin fidgeted with her phone as time dragged on before Illyria’s response. “On edge” didn’t begin to describe her nerves right now, she was terrified her effectively complete ignorance of everything to do with Illyria’s world she would stumble into some horrible fae faux pas and ruin everything. Was calling her Mistress rude? It seemed like the thing to do, but they didn’t have any sort of official relationship.

< Good girl.

Warm thrills between her legs and excited butterflies in her stomach had Erin swooning. She was a good girl. Mistress Illyria said so.

But that couldn’t be all. Entire seconds dragged while Erin considered how horrible it would be if all Illyria wanted to check her obedience. She needed attention.

< There is a starbucks on College and 12th, be there at 7.

Erin’s train of thought exploded into a thousand conflicting voices, each shouting over the others and pulling her mind in a dozen panicked directions. She froze, paralysed by the sudden request order until one of the voices managed to ring out above the others.

Say something! Don’t make her wait!

> I will be there.

< Looking forward to it ;)

Erin took a moment to closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and silently thank any gods, demons, or fairy godparents that might be listening.

The clock said 5:53. It would take 10 minutes to get there, so make that 15 to be safe, that gave her less than an hour to get ready. There was no question that she was going all out for Illyria, the only problem was how to impress. What would Illyria like?

Clothes first.

Erin had spent a lot of time in sex shops over the past few days spending an irresponsible amount of money. Her bank account was devastated but she had never before had so many pretty things to wear. Property like her needed nice things to wear for her owner. It was necessary. So she had selection, but she didn’t know what direction to go in. There was no fashion standard for ‘potential slave meeting potential owner’ that she knew of.

When they had met Illyria’s own style balanced modesty and sexiness. The word that came to Erin’s mind was ‘alluring’ - showing off enough to get people interested but leaving plenty for the imagination to desire. That was probably a good place to start. Classy lingerie with a push up bra to accent her figure, a technically modest sweater that hugged all her curves very well, and a mid thigh skirt to give Illyria access if she wanted it.

God I hope she wants it.

Erin fought with herself over accessories and makeup, painfully aware that she was acting like a teenager getting ready for her first date. It was some comfort to acknowledge that this wasn’t too far from the truth. Illyria was a fae or something even stranger and Erin had no idea what a date with her would be like, if you could even call whatever this was a date. Ned hadn’t even tried to give her proper advice when she asked, the only thing she had gotten from him were a hundred reasons why it was incredibly dangerous. This was much less helpful than he seemed to think. It made sense she was nervous, she should be nervous, there was lots to be nervous about, tons really!

Wow, this is really not a helpful train of thought. Just shut up and chose a shade of lipstick, stupid brain.

After a lot of fussing in the mirror Erin finally had to admit that she was as prepared as she was ever going to be.

Erin arrived at the Starbucks a good ten minutes early, giving her plenty of time to get a coffee, find a place to sit, and work herself into a near panic imagining all the ways she might mess up. She was going through disaster scenarios that involved spilling her drink when Illyria finally walked in the door.

"Hello Copper Swallow!" Illyria said in a cheerful tone. Erin gave her a nervous smile as Illyria took a seat opposite of her.

"It's been a few days since I sent your instructions. How's it been?"

"Um, very frustrating and hot Mi… Illyria."

"You were about to call me Mistress." Illyria said. It wasn’t a question.

“Y-Yes, I know it might be a bit, um, presumptuous-ah!”

Erin jumped slightly at a caress against her leg under her table.

“I like it. You will call me Mistress.”

"Thank you Mistress." Erin said, looking down at her hands while she blushed and smiled.

“Good girl.” Illyria said.

Erin reached for her coffee, taking a sip to hide her embarrassment as she tried to regain some amount of composure. Illyria was making it awfully difficult, she was tracing her foot higher and higher up Erin’s leg. Being wound up like this was wonderful but there were questions that need answers, she couldn’t lose her head just yet.

“Can I ask you a question?” Erin managed, her voice low and quiet. “It might be really strange.”

"I'm used to strange." Illyria said.

"You're not human, are you?"

The caress against Erin’s thighs stopped for a moment while Illyria gave her a mischievous grin.

"I suppose I wasn't exactly subtle, was I?" Illyria said, starting up her teasing under the table again, breaking Erin’s concentration for a moment before she remembered to answer.

"Not really, no. But I don’t mind!" Erin added quickly. “I just needed to know.”

“Had one too many brushes with the supernatural lately?”

“I’ve had a few, but they were all great! There was you of course, and then another lady that knew about me just like you did, and a guy named Ned. I think he’s a wizard? It’s all really exciting but I’m kinda freaking out.”

“I know how you feel. Lots of exciting and overwhelming things.” Illyria said sympathetically. “I understand you were led through the streets naked on a leash? I’d ask if you enjoyed yourself but I think we both know the answer to that.”

Erin’s eyes went wide, glancing around to make sure no one had heard. She tripped over her words, trying to find something to say, only managing an embarrassing squeak.

“How are you so adorable?” Illyria said.

“She said no one would know!” Erin managed to whine.

“I’m a special case. Yoal-yohuali and I… well, for now, let's just say we are acquainted.” Illyria said.

“It’s not a problem, right?”

“That someone else used you? I don’t own you, Erin. Not yet, anyway.”

Illyria seemed to enjoy every second of awkward blushing as Erin pulled herself together from that bombshell.

“Are you reading my mind?” Erin blurted out. She knew what she wanted, she knew her name, was she reading her like a book? The idea of someone who could read all her secrets, see every dark fantasy…

No, bad brain! We are asking questions, stop being turned on for two seconds, come on.

Illyria giggled and shook her head.

“No. Good guess though.”

Erin ran a hand through her hair in exasperation.

“Then what is going on?” She said. “What are you?”

“Are you alright?” Illyria asked.

“I don’t know what is happening! The entire world has turned upside down and, and it’s so good but what if it just goes away? What if I say or do something wrong and I make it go away? I don’t think I could handle that. I don’t want to mess it up.”

When Erin met Illyria’s eyes her expression was sympathetic but reserved. Erin could practically see the wheels turning in her head as she worked through something. Erin sighed, looking down at coffee again.

“I don’t actually need to know what’s going on. Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it, ok? Whatever you want, I’ll do it.”

"Erin, look at me." Illyria ordered.

“I am sorry, I got carried away teasing you. You are very teasable.” Illyria said with a sweet smile. “What I am is not a question with an easy answer. But what really matters is that you are not going to lose it. You wont mess it up with an innocent mistake, you don’t need to worry about it suddenly going away. And you don’t need me to get what you need. That is especially important."

Erin wiped away the tears that had started to form on the corners of her eyes, her worries evaporating as she turned Illyria’s words over in her head. It was going to be ok, everything would work out. She was sure of that even if it didn’t make sense.

“Feeling better? Did that help?” Illyria asked.

Erin nodded. This felt a lot like when Lady Yoal-yohuali made her stop being afraid, Illyria must have used a glamour. That’s good. No fear, no insecurity. What a kind thing Mistress Illyria was doing for her.

“Good. Now, if you are still interested in my attention…” Illyria pulled a long black cloth out from her purse and put it on the table. “Tie this over your eyes."

“What are you going to do to me?” Erin asked, a now familiar thrill rising up inside her.

“Whatever I feel like. Touch you, play with you. Maybe call my boyfriend, let him have his way with you.” Illyria said casually. “You know, this and that.”

Unbelievably hot. Erin was reaching for the blindfold without a second thought. She blushed furiously as she tied the blindfold and her fingers trembled as she tested the knot, but she was quite sure that she wanted what Illyria was offering. Besides, it couldn’t possibly be as humiliating as her adventure with Lady Yoal-yohuali.

“Perfect.” Illyria said as Erin carefully adjusted the cloth to make sure she was absolutely blind. A moment later Illyria’s hand take hold of her arm, gently pulling her out of her chair.

“I’ll lead, you follow.” She said, linking arms with Erin.

They moved at a leisurely pace as Erin followed the gentle guidance Illyria provided. It was an entirely different experience from being led on a leash, Erin’s blind dependence on Illyria combined with her affectionate touch was much more intimate. At first her steps were hesitant, carefully feeling out where her foot landed before shifting her weight forward. As they walked she became more and more comfortable relying on Illyria. If the ground was uneven Illyria would slow down and warn her; If something might trip her Illyria would lead her around. With Illyria leading her Erin was able to move almost on autopilot, freeing her mind to focus on other things. The softness of Illyra’s skin, the sharp click of their heels, the rustling of leaves in a cool breeze.

Trust her. She won't let you fall.

Erin could also hear voices of people watching them, whispers speculating about what the two women might be doing. Norville U was the center of perversion for a city already filled to the brim with depravity, there were all sorts of rumors and everyone had even seen a thing or two. A blindfolded walk on campus didn't even register as perverted by Norville standards. From the fragments of conversation Erin was able to pick up from the outside it looked like some sort of romantic ‘trust walk’ between girlfriends. She could hardly blame them, at some point Erin could not exactly recall she had snuggled in closer to Illyria, resting her head on her shoulder. They probably looked embarrassingly saccharine. She just hoped a friend wouldn’t spot them, it would be really annoying if people tried to interrogate her about her secret girlfriend.

"This is not really what I expected." Erin said, squeezing Illyria's arm affectionately. She felt so relaxed.

"What did you expect?"

"Something intense and wild."

"My life has been a little intense lately, I thought I'd start with something relaxing. If you are bored I can kick it up a few notches."

"No, I like this. No need to rush it." Erin said, cuddling up to Illyria. Whatever, people could gossip, she didn’t care.

“Are we headed anywhere in particular or just wandering?" Erin asked.

“There are some study rooms in the library that are always empty this time of night, they should give us some privacy."

Erin felt a small thrill in her stomach. Public enough to be risky, private enough that they could have some real fun. That was a wonderful idea. She was lost in fantasies for a few moments before she realized the implication.

“You know your way around Norville U?”

“I’ve been attending classes here for over a year. I am, objectively speaking, a good student.” Illyria said with a hint of pride.

"Why would a, uh, whatever you are go to school?"

"Think of me as a normal human with sexy super powers. If I am doing normal human things it is probably because of a normal human reason."

That raised more questions than it answered and it didn’t line up at all with what Ned had claimed, but at least it was somewhere to start. The first question that popped into Erin’s head was silly, but she had to know.

“What is your major?”

Illyria laughed.

“Accounting.”

“You’re an accountant?”

Erin was struggling to fit the mental image of an accountant on top of Illyria. The best she could manage was an older Illyria dressed as some sort of office style dominatrix.

“I don’t believe you. You are making fun of me.”

“It’s true." Illyria insisted. "But If I continue school I am going to aim for some sort of doctorate."

"Doctor sexy, M.D.?"

"I was thinking more mad scientist."

It was very difficult to tell when Illyria was being serious.

"What sort of powers do you have?"

"Oh, all sorts of things. And I am gaining more all the time."

"Can you give some examples?" Erin asked, rolling her eyes under the blindfold. Show off.

"Hmm, let's see. I can find people like you. If you had lied about following my commands I would have known. I can edge my partner perfectly with no risk of them accidentally coming. Lots of things like that."

"That's so mean!" Erin whined, heat flaring between her legs with the absolute certainty that she was going to be Illyria's next victim.

"That's the point, silly girl." Illyria said, kissing Erin on the cheek. "Careful, there are a few steps here…"

“Um, how about mind control?” Erin asked.

Illyria sighed.

“Everyone is always so worried about mind control.”

“Actually, I was, um, hoping…” Erin trailed off, embarrassed to say it outloud.

“Oh no you don't. Out with it, or do I have to make talk?” Illyria said with a playful edge to the threat.

Erin huddled closer to Illyria, hiding her face in the crook of Illyria's neck while she blushed. She wondered what Illyria might to do ‘make’ her, but now wasn’t the time to test that.

“I’m actually, um, really into the idea? Of being mind controlled, I mean.”

“Oh, fun!” Illyria said. “I don’t have much along those lines yet, but I could probably come up with something. Maybe for our next date? Actually, is this a date?”

“I was wondering the same thing. It sort of feels like a date."

“I’ve not been on a lot of dates. I’m not really sure how things like this should work for a person like me.”

There was a lull in the conversation as they both considered this.

Was this how people like her found what they were looking for? The deeper they got into conversation the more obvious it seemed that Illyria didn't know the answers either. Erin had built "Mistress Illyria" up in her head as this larger than life figure. But she was just a person, and if Erin was reading her right she was young or at least inexperienced. Making it up as she went, just like Erin.

"What about the thing you did earlier?" Erin asked, breaking the silence. "You made me stop feeling scared.”

“That isn’t mind control, not really. It’s, uh, it’s very complicated and I don’t actually understand it that well, but it's like a spell that helps people know that true things are true."

“That sounds nice, but not particularly sexy?” Erin pointed out.

"Yoal-yohuali used something similar on you. What she did to you would have been horrible if you did not know you were safe, right? It makes the kind of adventures you had possible. If you look at it that way it is very sexy."

“That makes sense, but you didn't need to use it on me. I would have done whatever you said anyway." Erin pointed out.

Illyria shrugged.

"Yeah, but you were upset." Illyria said. “We're here, I’ll get the door.”

The halls of the library were quiet in the way only a very large building nearly devoid of activity can be quiet. Without ambient noise the silence was oppressive, every tiny noise carrying through the halls. The click of their heels was the loudest sound in the building, signaling their presence in a way Erin found slightly unnerving.

They took the elevator up several floors, the dead quiet even more complete in the out of the way corner Illyria was leading them to. The lack of noise should have been comforting, they might be the only people on this floor, but it only meant that if someone else was here any noise Erin made would carry nice and clear through the silence. It made Erin nervous, she was not exactly quiet, especially if Illyria decided to get rough on her. It was some relief when Illyria opened a heavy door, lead her through it, and closed it behind them; it would provide at least some sound dampening.

“Stay.” Illyria ordered, leaving Erin where she was.

Erin waited patient and still, guessing at what Illyria might be preparing for her from the sounds she was making. The scraping of furniture across tile floor, the sound of Illyria rustling through a bag and placing several items on a table, and finally the click of heels as Illyria walked back to her, taking her arm again and guiding her forward.

“Follow me… Turn, that's right, and now sit, carefully… There you are.” Illyria said, guiding her to sit in a chair. It was fairly comfortable, ergonomically shaped with decent back support. It didn’t seem special in anyway, the typical stacking chair you would find in any university.

"Hands down at your sides, sit up straight. And don’t move.” Illyria whispered into her ear, so close that Erin could feel her breath against her skin.

To be continued

#Raven gave me permission to break my rule on this post only for the sake of clarity

0 notes