#hot take hes not even morally gray

[nightmare-foundation-2]

If I see another person call ozpin manipulative I might actually go feral and attack someone

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐈 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 ❞

❝ PROF. GETO'S CLASS IS SO HARD, BUT HE'S SO HOT!! ❞

✧ pairing: professor!geto x f!reader (part one of the prof geto series)

✧ summary: you were a 4.0, straight A student, until professor geto's class, the same far too hot ethics professor fawned over by faculty and students alike. you didn't understand what was so special about him...until you start having dreams about him.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, a lot of smut (mostly fantasy), depictions of student/teacher relationship (only ok in fiction not irl!!!), reader is a grad student in my mind, but age is vague, masturbation (f + m), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), getting off to his voice in recorded lectures, arousal from reading his writing, amateur's take on moral philsophy and ethics, art by @/jatinsohanvi, google scholar graphic by platonic loml @laneysmusings

✧ wc: 10,149 (i have a problem) | part two

“You’re late,” 

Your first impression of Professor Suguru Geto’s class was that you could never be late again, unless you would like to be chided in front of all your peers for your tardiness. 

Your first impression of Professor Suguru Geto himself was that he was truly the most breathtaking man you’d ever laid your eyes on. His inky black locks tied into a neat bun, his deep royal purple vest buttoned over a crisp white button up with pressed gray slacks, his pretty lips pressed in a small frown, as his dark gaze pierced through you. And you don’t know what stirs in your chest — a fleeting moment that is tucked away under a bite of your bottom lip and burning cheeks. 

And now you knew why when you had walked into class, the amount of unfamiliar faces in this course had far outnumbered the ones in your usual course load — the same reason why this man undoubtedly had three chili peppers next to his professor rating on some website out there. 

And now you were faced with him staring you down as you stumbled down the stairs of the all too full lecture hall. 

As you muttered apologies, and took your seat far too close to the front of the class, smack dab in the very front of the very same professor whose eyes still were concentrated on you, before sliding back to the class at large. 

“Now, where were we?” he says, continuing the lecture. 

Ethics was not your major — you were a philosophy grad student, and although the two went hand in hand — no, they were not the same thing. Ethics are the moral principles — like rules to follow to live a moral life — people can follow, while philosophy is the study of knowledge, reality, and existence. And this class encompassed both — an ethics and moral philosophy class. Your eyes slid around the room — and compared to all the random majors stuffed into this classroom, you had no doubt you’d do well. Your eyes met Professor Geto’s — maybe one slight doubt. 

And when you get your first essay back, you eagerly flip to the last page of the paper, wondering what accolades and compliments you’d receive this time. Your eyes find the grade, and your stomach drops, a gaping maw that consumes you from the inside out. 

You got a B. 

A B+ — an 88 on your paper in this course, and you stared at the grade on the very last page of the paper you had collected from his desk — Professor Geto had insisted everyone submit their papers both physically and electronically — his scrawl in red pen littered each page of what you thought was a thoughtful and even clever paper on the existence free will and the ethical and moral dilemmas that surround it. And he had given it an 88. 

You had a 4.0 point average — you had gotten the highest scores in some of the most difficult courses required by your major, and now you were going to be derailed by a class you took on a whim? That’s not happening. No, you were going to get him to change your grade. You were seeing as red as the ink that tore your paper to shreds. 

“Come in,” your knuckles had rapped against Professor Geto’s door, your heart in your throat, as you heard his reply, entering his office. His office was as pretentious as he was. A much larger office than you had seen before (poor Professor Ijichi had a shoebox of an office), while Professor Geto’s was three times the size, outfitted with large, beautiful windows, distinct bookshelves, and even a lovely deep mahogany colored couch with decorative cushions. And you knew why that was the case — Professor Geto was an expert in his field, revered, even at his relatively young age. And the university had coveted him, and managed to lure him to work behind these ivy covered walls. While other professors who have been here longer are stuck with offices that don’t begin to compare. 

Academia was truly hell. 

And yet, Professor Geto seemed to rule over it with an iron fist. Even now, you found your professor looking as annoyingly perfect as ever — his elbow resting against his desk, pen in his other hand, as he flipped through more papers on his desk, his hair in a messy bun, a few black strands falling across his furrowed brow, his pretty lips pursed in concentration, and his dark gaze flicks up from his work to you, and his lips curl, your name leaving his lips, “good to see you, please sit,” 

You had planned to attend these office hours in victory, to apologize for your misstep in the first class, and let your professor praise your paper to no end — but instead you were going to see why your paper was graded so harshly. 

Your speech was ready, you were going to lay it out, you had the perfect explanation and the excellent reasoning “Professor Geto—” 

“I know why you’re here,” he cuts you off, lips forming in an utterly condescending smile, “you want to discuss your paper, correct?” 

“I am, I wanted to—” 

He sits forward in his chair, setting down his pen, “I’m going to save us some time by explaining my comments on your paper, do you have it?” and you close your mouth, pulling the paper out of your folder and handing it to him, “Your paper was one of the best in the class — it was thought provoking, grounded in research, persuasive, even made me consider some points I hadn’t before—” 

You blink, his praise catching you off guard, your thoughts twisting in on themselves, “Then why did you give me B?” 

“You didn’t allow me to finish,” he sighs, as he flips through your paper, looking up to meet your gaze,  “your paper was excellent when it came to philosophical concepts, but your ethical conclusions on the other hand, could use some work,” 

You gaped at him, “What did I possibly—” 

“To put it simply, you were trying to use your knowledge of philosophy to cover up your lack of knowledge in the field of ethics,” 

“I wasn’t—” 

“And that’s okay, because that means I have something to teach you don’t I? That’s why you’re in this course, to learn,” he gives a tight lipped smile, tilting his head. Oh you’d like to learn a lot more from him — like the ethical dilemma of wanting to murder your professor, “and I’m here to teach — and this paper is a teaching moment — and from your expression, I assume you didn’t read the comments I left in detail,” 

And your cheeks burn, as your eyes fall away from him, “Not fully in detail,” you still swallow your shame, and meet his gaze, “I don’t mean to be a bother, Professor, but how can my paper still receive a B — I’ve never received that low of a score on any single paper—” 

“There’s a first time for everything,” and you have to bite back your retort, “yeah first time having an annoying prick for a professor,” and he rises from his desk to hand you back your paper, “the bottom line is, I know you’re capable of better, this class isn’t going to be easy — I’m not going to hand you accolades for no reason. You have to earn them — if you aren’t up for the challenge, you can drop the class.” 

The option was there — you could simply drop the course, rid yourself of Professor Geto and his ridiculous criticism forever. You could take a class with one of the many professors who delighted in your papers (even the ones you’d written at 3 AM and submitted not proofread), and go on with your life and preserve your 4.0 GPA with ease. 

But then you looked at him again. He was unfairly hot, even when he was fucking putting you down, he stood in front of you, offering your paper, his fingers long and thick brushing yours by mistake as you took back your paper, a watch on his wrist gleamed in the low light of his office. You glanced around his office, saw the awards on his walls, pictures of him giving lectures or receiving honors, and the books that lined his shelves weren’t dissimilar to your own academic shelf at home. And your eyes fell back to his, as he stared at you curiously, lips pursed, as your paper slightly crumples in your fist. 

“Next paper is due in two weeks?” and he pauses, before his lips curl in that same grin. 

“Yes it is,” and a smile graces your lips, lightning quick.

Like hell you were going to let him win. You were going to get him to praise your papers (and maybe that wouldn’t be the only thing he praised) — if it was the last thing you do. You’d get an A in his class, hell, you’d get him to beg you to be his teaching assistant (he’d look very nice on his knees for you, wouldn’t he?). 

You rise from your seat, and grab your bag, “I’ll see you at your next office hours then, to discuss my paper topic,” and he watches you leave, his eyes piercing into your back as you do. 

“See you soon.” 

Oh, he would. 

“Right on time,” Professor Geto barely looks up now when you knock on his door, his door now always ajar for office hours. 

Now you had made a habit of showing up for his office hours, you’d bring your paper topic all picked out, along with your handpicked sources you had chosen for your paper, all typed up in a neat bibliography. And he’d kindly rip it apart with that same damn smile on his lips. It had been a few weeks, a few papers later — and you finally had worked your grade up to an A-, not quite an A+, but you’d get there. You had to. 

Because it wasn’t just about your GPA now — you were going to get Professor Geto to praise you — through any means necessary. The man was stubborn, even when you’d come back with an improved draft, he’d only hand it back to you with a smile barely tugging at the corner of his lips, with no compliment to be had — only small check marks scribbled in the margins in your papers, with the occasional “good” written next to it. 

“Well, we all know what happens when I’m late,” he laughs, a noise that makes the ice dagger clutched behind your back ever so slightly melt, “I made you laugh, extra credit?” 

And he rolls his eyes, and you notice that his dark eyes are hidden behind glasses today — and god, why does it only make him even more gorgeous? He’s already brilliant, it’s unfair for him to look as if he was sculpted by the gods as well, “It takes a lot more than a chuckle to earn extra credit,” and you can’t help but bite your lip. 

No, no, he’s the worst. It didn’t matter he was the epitome of every academic’s wet dream, you were above that. You had a goal. 

“So, can we discuss my next paper?” you hand him your bibliography, and he takes it, delicate fingers flipping through, your mind notes the absence of a ring on either hand, before brushing the thought aside. 

“You’re writing on the morality of good or bad actions,” he hums, as he looks over the sources you had chosen, “Scanlon, good — have you read—” 

“‘What We Owe to Each Other?’ Only about a million times — well more like six,” and he nods appreciatively, “of course you’ve read it,” 

“I didn’t just read it, I wrote a paper on it, similar to yours, actually,” and your eyes flick up to meet his, he’s leaning forward in his chair, red pen in hand, as he scribbles notes in the margins, as well as on the back of your bibliography, “of course I don’t have your penchant for rambling,” 

You pout, “I don’t ramble — I like to make my point—” 

“Many times, and the same one,” and your mouth opens, only to find a wry smirk on his lips, “I’m teasing, another one of my very tedious qualities, and how you stand it during class astonishes me,” 

You cross your arms, unable to meet his eyes, as you choose to stare at your bibliography instead, “You’re not completely tedious, more like irritating,” and he huffs a chuckle. 

You had to admit, begrudgingly, Professor Geto was a…good teacher. And you had your fair share of awful teachers — many of them were brilliant, accomplished people in their fields, but didn’t know how to translate and convey that in their lectures to students who simply knew less than them. But Geto…he knew how to break down complex concepts and theories of moral philosophy and ethics to a science, he knows how to make students understand these complicated topics that you had seen other professors fail to, and he does it while being an intellectual dreamboat to most of his students — the ones that swarm his desk after class, still there even as you slowly make your way out of the lecture hall. 

“A rare compliment from you,” he raises an eyebrow, “I’m touched,” 

“You’re one to talk,” you furrow your brow, and a smile pulls at his lips. 

“Didn’t know you wanted my approval,” he tilts his head, leaning forward to lean on his elbow on the desk, “well, you have improved remarkably in the class so far, and if you keep going like this, I may have no choice but to praise you,” 

“You will,”

“Someone is very sure of themselves,” a pause and then he adds with a quirk of his lips, “as you should be,” and he’s sliding your bibliography across the table again, and passes it back, “read the sources I recommended, and see about adding them to your paper — you may have some overlap in the other papers you chose so use your discretion on which ones you use,” 

“So don’t repeat myself?” You raise an eyebrow, and he leans back in his chair, crossing his legs. 

“You learn fast.” 

And you do — returning to your apartment to work on your paper, as you flip through his notes — as much as you hate to admit it, his notes and criticism did help — annoyingly so. He was far more detailed and perceptive than any other professor you had. Most had let you skate by without a second thought, and you wrote papers like you deleted your internet history after a scandalous romp through elicit websites — tools, clear history — and then onto the next paper or exam. But Professor Geto forced you to face your shortcomings, face the things that you didn’t like to give a second glance to, lest your rejection sensitive self feel the agony of having to deal with criticism. 

Each time you did it, you got a little better, and he had a little less to say — time and time again. 

You leaned back on your bed, scrolling through the papers he recommended, but so what? So what if he was a good teacher? Doesn’t mean he has to be as infuriating as he is — he knew exactly what to do to get under your skin, and he didn’t prod at it, he scratched it. 

And you found yourself typing his name (“suguru geto”) and T.M. Scanlon’s name into the search bar of your university’s library collection, and his paper pops up right on top. 

You stare at the paper for a good minute, before you click on it — and you start reading. And reading. And reading — and fuck— 

It was good. It was more than that — it gave you so much insight on this topic, it made you rediscover T.M. Scanlon’s work in a new light — and you bite your lip. And it wasn’t just the research — the way it organized, the way it was presented, the way it was written — it was eloquent, but it wasn’t unreadable or incomprehensible. It was…really good. 

You imagined him, pouring over Scanlon’s work as he wrote notes in the margins of his copy, pages dogeared and passages highlighted, as he sat in his office typing away at this paper. His sleeves rolled up, his hair let out of his usual bun, his glasses perched on his nose as he read, only his desk lamp and computer illuminating his office. The keys of his computer clacking under his touch, lengthy fingers pitter pattering as he wrote his thoughts and analysis of Scanlon’s work — his brow furrowed in thought. 

And you felt yourself flush, swallowing the lump in your throat, as you kicked off your blanket — it was so warm all of a sudden, pressing your thighs together. You shook the thoughts from your mind — what the hell were you doing? You glanced at the time, 2:39 AM it read back at you mockingly. You sigh, shutting your laptop down, and putting it aside — you need to do your skincare and brush your teeth. You glance back at your laptop—the familiar of your flush clung to your skin like a forbidden kiss— 

And you clearly needed sleep. 

“Can you read this passage to me?” Professor Geto’s voice said, as he stood in front of you in the lecture hall — as you stood behind the podium that faced the entire class — hands in his pockets, in an olive henley, his hair tied in the usual neat bun, his black bangs falling in his eyes as always, glasses on, instead of the usual contacts. The class sat all around you — his exercise in getting the class to participate and get comfortable speaking in front of others, just as philosophers had done in the past (his very own “literary salon” he called it). 

You swallow, keeping your eyes fixed on the book in front of you, “‘When I ask myself what reason the fact that an action would be wrong provides me with not to do it, my answer is that such an action would be one that I could not justify to others on ground I could expect them to accept—’” 

“What do you think Scanlon meant by this?” he asks you, but his gaze was different this time, it held the amusement it always did when it came to you, but it was warm — no — it was burning. His lips were pursed, as he crossed his arms, the henley’s fabric seemingly straining under the action. 

“He meant that an action that is wrong in his eyes when he couldn’t expect others to accept the ground on which he could justify it,” and his lips curve into that damned smile, as he takes a few steps closer, rounding the podium, as he brushes past you, the brief touch of temptation incarnate — the dangling apple of Tantalus personified before you. 

“And can you give me some examples of what kinds of actions would be wrong?” and he’s standing behind you now, and you can’t bring yourself to look at him — but you can feel his gaze on you. 

“Senseless murder,” and he hums in approval, his breath felt like it was warming your skin, “wanton violence, reckless assault—” 

“What other everyday wrongdoings could fall under this category?” and suddenly the class before you is gone, and it’s just the two of you in an empty lecture hall, “theft, lying, student-teacher relationships?” 

And your breath catches in your throat, his cologne strangling any sense left in your mind, as his body heat nearly radiates off him, “Professor Geto—” 

“Suguru,” he corrects you, and he’s reaching for you, but he pauses, “can I—” and you only can nod, and his fingers brush your hair aside, ever so gently, “would this be considered a moral wrongness, sweetheart?” his lips press a chaste kiss to your shoulder, and you shiver at the softness of his touch. 

“Well, I am a student in your class, and even though I’m of age, it presents a power dynamic and a favoritism that might be—” and your sentence cuts off as his arms wind their way around your waist, pressing himself to your back, “I—” 

“Go on,” he’s murmuring his words against the nape of your neck now, as he pulls his glasses off to place them on the podium, “might be what?” 

“Might be viewed as morally wrong—” and he’s chuckling, the vibration sending a delicious shiver down your spine, as he presses more butterfly kisses to your neck. 

“How can something be wrong when it feels so right?” he asks, and his hand is sliding down your side, “feels so good, does it even matter what society views as right or wrong? Do their rules pertain to what we’re doing here?” and his fingers toy with the hem of your pants, teasing and pulling, as he pauses, waiting for your answer, “what do you think—” 

“Please,” you swallow, as you turn to look at him, seeing his lips in that same smile that haunted you, “touch me,” 

And his smile only grows wider, “Good girl.” 

BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ. 

Your eyes flutter open, your breath caught in your throat, as you stare at your ceiling, your hand reaching for your phone to silence the alarm. And you squeeze your thighs together, a distinct ache between your legs, your skin all too warm. 

What the fuck was that? 

You skip office hours the next week. You couldn’t bear it — you could barely tolerate going to class now, as the dream invades your nights, with filthy variations that leave you perturbed and horny (mostly horny). The common theme only being that each time you get close to anything remotely that’s anything (a kiss, a touch that’s more than a caress, anything at all), you wake up. 

It’s as if your dreams are edging you — you groan into your pillow — and it was working. 

You’re so wound up, you’ve even resorted to using your vibrator before bed, wondering if that would make a difference — it did, but only with you having a dream of Professor Geto using a vibrator on you during class — the vibrations growing even faster when you were speaking as he watched you— 

You needed to stop thinking about this. But how can you? 

God, it’s even worse when you’re in class. You sit in your usual seat, front and center — and why does it feel like his eyes are on you far too often? Even as he lectures Professor Geto attempts to catch your eye during his lecture, trying to make a point, you all but glue your gaze down to the textbook and your laptop, typing away his words, trying to drown out the whispered words and groans from your dream that ring in your ears. You can’t stop seeing him — unless you want to skip class, which you really couldn’t when attendance and participation counted for a good chunk of your grade. 

Class ended and you were packing up your things. You had to weather the storm — avoid being alone with him until the dreams were just a distant memory— 

And then you heard him say your name— 

Your eyes flick up to meet Professor Geto — who had his usual swarm of students waiting by his desk, but he parted the crowd, he approached your own seat, hands in your pockets, “Do you have a class after this?” 

“No, I don’t—” the words slip out before your sleep deprived mind can put the pieces together. 

“Then can you please stay after class? I’d like to talk to you,” he says, and before you can say anything, he turns to speak to the students waiting for him. 

And now you wait — your anxious energy singing at the frayed ends of your nerves, as you tried to hold yourself together — wondering what he could possibly want to speak to you about. His students dissipated one by one, until it was just you and him left in the lecture hall. 

Just. Like. Your. Fucking. Dream. 

You round the row you sat in, before walking down to speak to him, “Is there something wrong? The next paper isn’t due until the end of next week—” 

“It isn’t about the paper,” and your heart squeezes, as you try to keep your breathing even, as he steps closer — and why, why did he have to opt to only wear a button up today —  and a deep royal purple one no less,  “I wanted to check in with you,” and he begins to undo the cuffs of his shirt, rolling them up — exposing his forearms and the pretty veins that ran along them — the same arms that he had used in one of your dreams to bend you over that desk, the whispers of heated kisses along your neck—

You needed to get out of here. 

You blink, “I’m fine,” and he tilts his head. 

“I only ask because you’ve looked tired the last two classes, and you didn’t show up for office hours this week,” he crosses his arms, unhelpfully, as he purses his lips, the lines of his brow furrowed. 

“I’m fine, Professor, I appreciate your concern — I just haven’t been sleeping well,” you admit — it was the truth, “and that’s why I didn’t come to office hours. I was trying to catch up on sleep,” 

He nods, sighing, fingers raking through his hair — those same fingers that would feel so pretty around your neck— “I know I’m hard on you,” oh he would be, “but it’s because I know you’re capable of more — most of these students are taking the class for an elective, but I know it’s more than that for you,” yes, it’s so you can finally earn his praise, “but I’m also here for your benefit, so if you need an extension or anything else, please let me know,” 

God, all you wanted was for him to maybe wrap you in his arms and kiss you, or bend you over, pull your clothes off and fuck you, or just to leave you alone all together. 

You weren’t sure which one you wanted the most at this moment. 

“I will, Professor Geto, I appreciate it,” you murmur, biting your lip, as you try to focus on the task at hand — getting out of here, “I don’t think I need an extension, I’ve made good progress so far. I just need to finish it, so I can revise,”

“Well, let me know if anything changes,” his lips curl, “ok?” And you nod, and if you weren’t so hyperaware, you swore you would have imagined it — but you didn’t, “good girl,” 

And you pause a moment — his lips did move, you pinch yourself discreetly — and you know it isn’t a fucking dream. You only smile in return, giving a curt nod and goodbye, before beelining out of the classroom. 

But you didn’t stick around long enough to see the slight flush on Professor Geto’s cheeks — nor did you know that you two were thinking the same thing about yourselves— 

What the fuck were you doing? 

But to your relief, the dreams do subside, and you’re finally able to rest — but the thing that doesn’t subside is your awareness of your professor. 

You sit in class, watching him teach — and you knew he was attractive, hell, it was one of the things that made you all the more embarrassed to have him ream you out — having your super hot professor rail at you for your mistakes wasn’t on your list of shining achievements (lest it was him actually railing you—). 

You needed to stop doing that. 

But it felt as if you weren’t the only one who was hyper aware. You felt as if his eyes skimmed over you during class this week, his replies to your weekly discussion board were less biting than usual, and his office hours were surprisingly canceled this week. First time all semester, but you weren’t so full of yourself that you thought it had anything to do with you — right? 

Either way, you had submitted your paper and now you were done with this week—and as class finishes, you slowly pack up, looking forward to the week being over with and for a personal rendezvous with your bed. But as the usual gaggle of students make their way to chat with Professor Geto, your eyes flicker up to meet his, as he stares back a moment. 

And you can’t make yourself look away, and for a moment, neither can he. 

But then a student calls for his attention, so his eyes flicker away, a smile on his lips as he spoke — and you turn to leave, grabbing your bag, as you look back— 

But why did his smile look so strained? 

There must be something wrong with him. 

Professor Suguru Geto drummed his fingers against his desk, but he felt more like shoving his things off his desk — if only to distract him for a moment. He pulls his glasses off, and runs a hand down his face—god, he hadn’t been sleeping well. No, his nights were plagued, plagued by you — you had slipped into his dreams ever since that day he stopped you. 

Why had he stopped you? 

It wasn’t the first time he had personally stopped a student who seemed to be struggling, he could count the times he had on both his hands. 

But this, this felt different. 

You were different. 

But why were you different to him? He rubs his temples, from the moment you had stepped into his office he thought he had read you — an overachieving student used to getting their way, As handed out to them, and an inability to take criticism. 

He knew, because he used to be one of them. But he knew you needed to be challenged to grow — but it was a matter if you would accept it. And from the moment you asked him when the next paper was due, he couldn’t help but smile. 

And his time spent in office hours with you grew more enjoyable each time you came. And when you hadn’t last week, he couldn’t sit still, checking the time, checking his email, and even checking if his office hours had been accidentally listed wrong in his weekly email to the class (they weren’t). And the hour and half passed with many students hungry for his time and his charm  — but not the  one he was looking for. 

Then those words had slipped from his tongue when he had stopped you, left his mouth like he was possessed, and now he had found himself here. Found himself thinking about how your lips parted when he said it, thinking about how you were feeling, thinking about you, you, you— 

There’s a knock at the door, “Professor Geto?” 

And it was you. 

“I apologize, I know you canceled office hours, but I just had a few questions I didn’t get to ask you in class,” your fingers toy with the ring you wore, a folder in hand, a soft smile on your lips. 

“Of course, come in,” and you did, your dress was painfully short, the fabric riding up as you sat, the folder in your lap, “is this about your paper?” 

“It is, I was reading a few papers, and after our conversation, I couldn’t help but find your paper,” and he tilts his head, “and I want to include it as a source in my paper, but I had a few points you made that I wanted clarified,” 

He raises an eyebrow, and he can’t help but tease,  “Clarified or criticized? Are you planning on turning the tables on me?” 

“Well I do have a red pen,” you click your pen, lips curved in a smile, and there’s a hint of heat that he wishes to unearth, pluck from the earth and possess himself, “but I promise I’ll be civil,”

 “I have no doubt,” he had a million when it came to you — but that wasn’t one of them. He runs his fingers through his hair, a few strands coming loose, “of course, let’s discuss it,” 

“You discuss Scanlon’s idea of a social contract, everyone within this moral society agrees on what’s right and what’s wrong — the basic principle is that if there is a rule no one can reasonably reject as a basis, but is there such a rule that can exist?” 

He tilts his head, “Scanlon’s theory relies on this premise — are you questioning me or the premise?” 

“Both, actually,” you shrug, crossing your legs, “is there a magic switch that changes every person to be rational? Because I think only rational people can agree on what rules cannot be reasonably rejected — what about people who are cruel, inconsiderate, self-absorbed? Do those traits go away when operating under Scanlon’s social contract? You propose in your paper that moral reasons are not subjective — nothing is uncolored by human opinion,” 

“No, but—” 

“How can we agree on what is truly right or wrong? How can one hundred people agree on that when everyone views these actions in different ways? Right and wrong? Black, white, or gray?” you rise from your chair to hand him his paper printed out, the paper more red than white with the amount of writing you’ve done, “like for example,” you lean forward, your hand braced against the edge of his desk, “can one hundred people agree that student-teacher relationships are wrong? Because one veto,” your hand trails ever closer to his, toeing that dangerous line either of you had even yet to approach to cross. But here you were, seemingly barreling toward it. 

And he didn’t want to pull away. 

He swallows, whispering your name, “This can’t—” and you were so close — too close, your perfume hypnotized him, your fingers brush against his and he can’t help but hold them, his thumb rubbing across your knuckles, “they can agree that it’s wrong — the power imbalance from the authority of the professor and the age difference—” 

“I disagree, so the rule isn’t legitimate, right? Even if one disagrees, the rule cannot be make valid,” and his breath catches as your fingers slide up his arm now, resting on his shoulder, as you lean over his chair now, as your other hand toys with the loose strands of his hair, “if the two of us can’t even agree, then how could a hundred, or a thousand, or a million?” 

“But—” 

“But what?” you pout, your fingers dragging down his chest, toying with the top button of his button down, “I don’t see you pulling away, do you want me to stop, Professor? Because I will,” 

And he swallows thickly, but he can’t stop you — he doesn’t want to, “But, we shouldn’t — it isn’t a reasonable objection—” he tries his hardest to stand firm, but he only crumbles when your fingers brush his cheek, tracing the cut of his jaw. And it feels like flames tickling at his skin, begging him to thrust his hand into the fire. 

“Like I said, people are not reasonable,” your lips draw closer, and he can feel your breath warm his own, and god, why are you so tempting? And your lips stop short, barely an inch between your faces, “and besides, would you rather be reasonable or satisfied?” 

And there’s only one answer — you. 

He leans forward, lips nearly brushing yours— 

RING. RING. RING.

He jerks awake from his desk, papers sliding as he does, his breath caught in his throat, and his eyes wander — and finds no one else there. 

A dream. He runs his fingers through his hair again, crumpling the paper he had oh so lovingly drooled during his nap. He needed to get his shit together. 

But his current predicament wasn’t making that easy — his cock strained against the fabric of his pants — was he a grown adult or a horny teenager? 

Fuck. It wasn’t going away — no matter what he thought, his mind kept circling back to you. 

And his eyes slide to the time: 1:40 AM. 

Far past the time any soul would be here, even cleaning staff would have been long gone. It was just him—

And you. 

“So good for me, baby,” he’s panting, palming his erection, an embarrassing amount of precum drips from his cock for a barely wet dream. He ignores the gnawing guilt in the back of his mind — but he can’t help but imagine the image of you, spread out on his desk, hiking that oh so teasing sundress up, only to find your underwear drenched — just for him. 

His fingers would slide up your plush thighs, squeezing to draw a gasp from your pretty lips, “Professor—“ you’d say, unable to form a sentence, all those brilliant falling away under his touch, until it was just him occupying every crevice of your mind. 

“Where’s that mouth now? So needy f’me,” he’d murmur, “but such a good girl,” and you were, his thumb tracing his slit, smearing his pre-cum, as he imagined you spread on his desk, your puffy folds nearly showing through your far too translucent panties, “my best student’s so pliant for me now,”

And his hand moves faster, and he can imagine your fingers reaching for him too, your smaller fingers wouldn’t be able to even touch as much as he can — but god it would feel so much better. 

But he’d want you to feel even better than he did.  

He’d tug your underwear down, stuffing it in his pocket (his fee for all of additional office hours), and he would prep you right — fuck you open with his fingers, two or three, before he tasted you. Your fingers would dig into his scalp as you moaned his name again and again, before you came all over his face. 

He’d lick his lips clean of your release, before dragging his cock down your sweet cunt, watching his precum mix with your cum, as your walls flutter around nothing, craving to have him sink into you. 

“Professor, please,” you’d beg with pretty, kiss bitten lips between pants, “please,” 

“Where’s all those quips now, sweetheart?” he’d tease, as he would let his tip tease your clit, pulling a moan from your lips, “all those words fall away when you want this cock, don’t they? Been thinking about you like this, wondering what you’d look like spread out under me,” and he would lean down to kiss you, “it’s even better than I expected,”

He’s jerking himself off in earnest now, the lewd noises of his hand around his cock filling most of the silence, his low groans filling the rest. And he’d finally sink into you, inch by inch, until he’d kiss your cervix with his weeping tip. 

And, god, he wishes his fingers fisted around his cock would be as good as your cunt would feel around him. He would fuck you slow at first, “I know those boys can’t fuck you as good as I can, as well as I can,” he’d tell you, as he would pick up the pace when you’d tell him to, making you cum again and again with his cock, thumb rubbing at your clit, until he was finally close. He’d either cum all over your stomach, marking you with his release, or if you’d let him, he’d cum inside you, filling you with his seed—and then he’d watch it drip out when he would pull out. He groans your name lowly, shuddering as he comes all over his hand, hard. 

Fuck. 

That’s the hardest he’d cum in a long time. He’s a mess — panting and flushed, as he leans back, head against the back of his  chair, too spent to even clean up. And then he finally does, cleaning himself up well, and collecting his things to leave the office. 

But he only treated the symptoms, not the problem itself. His hard-on is gone, but his mind is still filled with thoughts of you. How he’d kiss you sweetly after, how he’d clean you up, care for you gently, make you rest because you never seem to do enough of that, and he’d let you relax — finally relax, as you slept the night in his arms. 

As he heads to his car, he knows that he’s utterly fucked (without even being fucked) because he has feelings for you. And he didn’t know if they were going to go away as easily as he hoped. 

But he hoped they would. He owed it to you, your education, and your future career not to act on these feelings. 

And he sighs as he sits in his car, starting it, but why did it hurt not to? 

It was that time again. 

Your next paper had come around again, and you needed to prepare a topic before you went to speak to Professor Geto. You had put it off, something you had never done with his class, but you wanted to limit the amount of time you spent with him, if only for the sake of your heart. 

Watching him in lectures was bad enough, your thighs pressing together as you watched him speak, his impeccable looks and intelligence a deadly combination for your heart (and your body). You could barely focus, your eyes too fixed on the way he wrote on the board —  his fingers too lithe and too thick, his voice all too alluring when discussing Kant and Aristotle and you can’t help but think what he’d sound moaning your name. 

God. Fuck.  

Either way, you needed to listen to the lectures again since you weren’t able to pay attention. Maybe without watching the video would be better, you settle on your bed, notebook and pen in hand, as you place your headphones on. His voice filled your ears, and you’re scrawling notes. 

But your mind begins to wander. He’s lecturing on the deontological ethics, and all you can think about is how he could make you cum with just that voice of his.  

Shit, you shifted your thighs again, feeling that familiar ache again. What would he sound like when he moaned? How would it sound to have him touch you, run those long fingers down your thighs, and whisper filthy things in your ear? 

As you listened to the lecture, his voice became white noise as your fingers slipped past the waistband of your shorts, and you shut your eyes. 

“That’s it, sweetheart, spread your legs for me,” he’d murmur in your ear, his chest pressed to your back and he’s urge your thighs wider, and his fingers would press against the wet patch on your panties, and he’d hum, “so wet f’me and I haven’t touched you yet, Princess,” his lips would kiss your pulse, “you like my voice that much?” 

“Professor,” you gasp, as his fingers would tease you through your underwear, the fabric growing more soaked by the second, “please—“ and his thumb would ghost around your clit, teasing you, as his long fingers would piston in and out — they would reach so much fucking deeper “I need to—“ 

“Already begging? I knew you learned fast, but not this fast,” and his fingers would tug the crotch of your panties aside, his fingertips tracing around your outer lips, before a finger pushes past your sweet cunt, “fuck, my favorite student’s pussy is so fucking tight. These boys are not fucking you right,” and you whimper, his finger would be so much thicker than yours, as you glide another finger inside you, the two dragging against your walls, “listen to your pretty cunt,” he’d grin against your skin, “and the wet squelch of your pussy, “so pliant for me, takes my fingers so well,” he’d murmur with a chuckle, “practically swallowing me up,” 

And you’re bucking your hips against him, wanting, needing him deeper, because your fingers don’t reach as far as his does, moans leaving your lips. 

“I’m so—” you’re moving faster and faster, his lecture still filling your ears, your pre-cum soaking your shorts and onto the bed sheets, “I can’t—” 

“Come on, Princess, use those big words of yours, you have no problem usually,” his hot words would whisper in your ear, and you’d hear him rub his erection against your ass, trying to get himself off, and you’d grind against him, wanting any friction, “tell me,” 

“Let me cum, please,” and he would smile, running his fingers through your hair, before he bore his thumb down on your clit and sunk a third finger into your needy cunt, just as you did now. And it’s too much for you, your toes curl, your messy walls fluttering around your fingers, as you cum all over your shorts and sheets with a groan of his name. Your fingers were soaked, as you pant, trying to gather yourself, as you came down from your high. 

“Fuck,” you murmur, tugging off your headphones, so your cunt doesn’t have to twitch listening to his dulcet words again. And you’re pulling your fingers out, your cum dripped down your fingers, as you shifted, far too wet underneath you, as you tried to slip off your bed to take a shower and clean yourself up. 

And then you realized, you didn’t even hear any of the lecture. 

Double fuck. 

Why was this so difficult? 

You stood near his office, trying to work up the urge to approach his door for office hours? Since it’s almost the end of the semester, there had been an influx of students attending office hours, and with everything, you had found excuses in your head to avoid office hours. But you couldn’t avoid him anymore. 

For your final paper in the class, you had to have a meeting with him during office hours to discuss your topic, complete with bibliography and outline. And it was almost time for your meeting. 

But you didn’t know how to go in. 

The last few weeks in class have made things worse. You couldn’t help but watch the other students fawn over Professor Geto, his lips curled as he spoke to them. And you’d leave class without a word. You had to stick through the semester and your feelings would disappear with time. You wouldn’t have to see him, you wouldn’t have class anymore, and you couldn’t talk to him. 

Or wouldn’t. 

But now you had to. And you didn’t know how— otherwise than just to do it. 

You knock at his door, “Come in,” and you open the door to see an empty desk, blinking, “I’m over here,”

And your head snaps to your right, and Professor Geto is sitting on his couch, his legs crossed with a stack of papers in hand. His jacket is slung over the side of the couch, his deep maroon button up sleeves rolled up, glasses perched on the tip of his nose. 

“I thought you lived at your desk,” you raise an eyebrow, “decided to change it up for the end of the semester?” 

“Everyone needs a change of scenery,” he leans forward, placing the stack of papers on the table in front of him, “do you want to sit here or move to the desk?” 

You shift in place, before moving to the couch beside him, “This is fine,” he stares, “what?” 

“Just surprised, you always have something to say,” he leans on his elbow, “no smart remarks today?” 

“Fresh out, can I offer you my proposal for the final paper instead?” You say dryly, and he cracks a smile, holding out your proposal. He clicks his red pen, readying his sword. 

He takes it, his dark eyes darting back and forth as he reads, his brow furrowed in concentration — and you can’t help but want to reach out and smooth his brow for him, tease him that he’ll get wrinkles. But you can’t. Can’t because that would cross a line that neither of you should cross. 

“You’ve come a long way,” he says, as he flips it back the front, writing only a few notes here and there. 

“But?” You wait for it. 

His gaze flickers up, a tilt of his head, “That was the end of my sentence,” 

You pause a moment, “Really?” 

“Really,” he scribbles a few more notes, “I look forward to reading the paper, it will be excellent I’m sure, maybe you’ll even get higher than a B+,” 

“Oh, ha, ha,” sarcasm dripping from your tongue, but you can’t help but smile, “you’ll miss me and my endless need for academic validation,” but was it really academic validation you were after now — your eyes gazed at him sitting with the tip of his pen pressed to his lips — or was it his? 

And it’s his turn to pause, and his lips curl into a soft smile, “I will,” 

Your breath catches, “Really?” 

He chuckles, “Really,” he licks his lips, his eyes glancing downward at your proposal than at your face, “I’ve enjoyed our chats this semester,” 

“Have you? Even when I argued with you,” a half nervous half serious laugh dies on your lips when his gaze meets yours, far too serious for your heart to take. 

“Especially then,” his fingers run through his hair a moment, before he speaks again, “I can’t say you could say the same,” 

“And why couldn’t you?” his eyes flicker with an emotion you can’t grasp fast enough, before it slips away into the depths of his dark irises. 

“Because you stopped coming,” his voice is soft, his tone barely even, and this gives you a real pause, heat flushing your body, as if his words had set every nerve ending alight, your mouth growing dry along with it, and it gives him a reprieve he needs to brush it aside, “you don’t have to, of course, these office hours are not relevant to your—” 

“I didn’t stop coming because I didn’t enjoy it,” you cut him off, swallowing the lump in your throat, “I stopped coming because I did,” 

He stares, “What do you—” 

“I don’t want academic validation anymore, I don’t care about my GPA,” you consider it a moment, “ok I do,” and he snorts, “but I care more about validation from you,” 

“From me?” he says, and his gaze tries to meet yours and it can’t — but his fingers brush against your skin, making your breath catch, your eyes finding his, “and what kind of validation do you want?” 

And you can’t find the words, and you hesitation makes him shake his head, “I apologize, I shouldn’t have—” 

“Will you have a drink with me?” and he’s speechless for once, “after the semester is over, of course — I know it wouldn’t be ethical before,” 

And his eyes find yours again, “Some would say it would be unethical after too,” 

“I would say it depends,” 

“On what basis?” and you can’t help but smirk. 

“Am I being graded, Professor?” and you delight in a small crack in his smiling veneer as a light flush dusts the tops of his ears, “and if I’m good, will you call me a good girl again?” 

He swallows, “I don’t want to cost you your education or your—” 

“I understand the risks, but we aren’t contemplating shifting a trolley to hit one person or five, or murdering one healthy person to save five sick ones,” and he raises an eyebrow, “it’s a drink to celebrate the end of the semester,” 

“And if it's something more?” he nearly whispers, the softness of his voice reflected in his features, as his fingers that rested on the couch twitched beside yours. 

“Then we’ll cross that bridge then,” and then you add with a small smile, “Or hit the metaphorical person with the trolley,” and it pulls at the corners of his lips. 

“You make a fair point,” and you gasp in mock surprise.

“The first time all semester you agree with me,” and he chuckles, a noise you wished you could hear him make innumerable times more. 

“Not the first,” he replies, before leaning forward, pressing your outline back into your hands, his fingers brushing yours, “we both agree you’re a good girl, don’t we?” 

And your breath catches, his words warm your skin, turning your blood to lava, “Professor,” and he smiles again. 

“When we go for drinks, call me Suguru.” 

~~~~ 

The semester wears on and finally draws to an end, but finals induced hibernation begins for you. A mix of papers and exams, you finish everything — including your paper for Professor Geto’s class. As always, he has you submit a paper and electronic copy, the paper copy to be dropped off at his office mailbox. And you do just that, the mailboxes being only around the corner from his office, and your heart squeezes at the thought of him. After this, the class was over, it was done. You weren’t his student anymore. 

And you place the paper into the mailbox and sigh, chewing your lip as you pass by his office, but find the door closed (and locked, as you quickly turned the doorknob to test it). Where was he? This was the time he was usually in his office, but maybe he had left campus for the semester — had he forgotten about your drinks? 

Fuck. You hadn’t even discussed a time or place, you had left it vague — “after finals.” Your cheeks burned at the memory, you were far too flustered to elaborate. And you had spent far too many nights imagining him calling you a ‘good girl’ in many other situations. 

And then you heard a call of your name, your gaze snapping up, your heart leaping, but only to see the department head. 

“Hi Professor, how are you?” and the two of you make polite chit-chat, until he asks you. 

“Have you applied to be a T.A. for the department?” and you blink, “applications just opened and I think from what I’ve heard about you around the department, I think you would be an excellent candidate.” 

“I’d love to be — how does the application process work?” and he explains that it’s a double blind process where applications are viewed without personal information of the candidates, and then matched with a professor based only on resume and writing samples. 

You can barely listen to the department head, still far too distracted with thoughts of Professor Geto — so you agree to apply, if only to placate the department head, and make an excuse to leave. 

It had been a week or so, as you lay in bed in your apartment, staring at your ceiling — you hadn’t even bothered to get Professor Geto’s personal number. You couldn’t even reach out to him if you tried, as the only way you could was through his university email, which was out of the question — the university had rules against a professor and student dating, and if anyone found that email — you sighed — it wouldn’t be good. 

Maybe it was for the best. 

The only communication you had gotten from him was an email from Professor Geto’s mailing list to the class from a few days ago, stating that he was out of state in a conference, and he would return soon, but your grades would be emailed to you. But the paper copies would be available to pick up in his office from 3:00 PM to 6:00 PM on Tuesday. It was almost time to pick up your paper, and your nerves bit at you as you thought about the possibility of seeing him. Who knows if he would even be there to begin with. 

Would it be anything? Would it be nothing? Was there not any point to this at all? 

Oh, great, you were becoming existential. 

You sat up, the only thing you could do was go. So you do, taking your time to get dressed. If you were going to see him, you might as well look your best. 

Fuck. You couldn’t go in. It had taken you longer to get back to campus than you thought, and now there were only a few minutes of his office hours left.

And you’re about to knock when the door opens, and you find yourself face to face with the man who has consumed every thought of yours for the last few months — good and bad alike. 

“Late again?” and you can’t help but smile. 

“I prefer fashionably late,” and his eyes rake over your outfit, making your cheeks burn. 

“You certainly are,” and he steps aside to allow you into his office, and you glance between the couch and the desk, but he makes the choice and sits at his desk, “I have your paper right here,” and he’s rifling through his file of papers, “how did your finals go?” 

“If I have an A on this paper, perfectly,” and a smile tugs at his lips, and you raise an eyebrow, “what? Something funny?” 

“Not at all,” and he pulls your paper out, ha “I just recall you saying you wanted something more than, what was it? ‘My academic validation?’” 

And your cheeks flush, “I did, but I also didn’t hear from you,” and your fingers reach for the paper, and he holds onto it, “Professor,” 

“I couldn’t reach out to you because I was still your professor, but once you get this grade, I’m not anymore,” and his gaze is sharper without his glasses today, his dark blue Henley doing nothing to help the flush on your cheeks — memories of your dreams flooding your mind, “and once you get this grade back, I’m not anymore,” 

“And what does that mean?” you can’t pull your eyes away from his, but his fingers let go of your graded paper, “how about you look at the last page of your paper and see?” 

You pull the paper into your hands, flipping to the last page: 

99 — I was impressed by this paper not only by the content but by its comprehension and use of both ethics and philosophy. But I was also impressed by the person who wrote the paper. You’ve shown determination and growth throughout the semester — and you have reminded me what we owe to each other. And I think we owe each other a drink, and a chance for this. 

You feel his eyes watch you as you read, your eyes finally meeting his — his brow knit together, his lips pursed, concentrated gaze trying to decipher your reaction. 

“Why a 99?” And his eyebrows raise, as if to ask, “that’s your question?” 

“You had some spelling and grammar errors,” 

“Really? You couldn’t let it slide?” And he tilts his head, before he sees your lips curling into a grin. 

“So you think it’s funny to mess with your professor?” And his voice drops, a playful tone that makes you nearly shiver, as he leans forward, resting his chin against his elbow. 

“You’re not my professor anymore, are you, Suguru?” he likes that by the way his teeth bite his bottom lip briefly, his eyes flitting to your lips for a moment and back to your eyes, “so I guess we’re using that trolley after all,” 

“If you want to,” he says softly, “I wouldn’t blame you if you change your mind, it’s a risk,” 

It was. It was a risk to your reputations, your careers, your futures — especially to yours. But, your eyes met his again. 

“Contractualism is about avoiding risk,” and he nods, as his gaze falls away, “but some risk is necessary in life, and I think this is one that’s worth taking,” 

“We will have to be careful,” he murmurs, but already his fingers are twitching, far too eager to touch you, “we can’t make any mistakes. I don’t want to hurt you,” he adds softly. 

“I know, I don’t want to hurt you either,” and you rise before slowly rounding his desk, “but I want to know what it’s like,” 

And he can’t stop himself — he gets to his feet, his fingers finding your cheeks and he kisses you. You can taste the black coffee on his lips, his kiss is gentle at first, so chaste and fleeting that you’d swear he didn’t kiss you at all — and so it’s not a second before your lips find his again, in a deeper kiss that steals every ounce of breath from your lungs, and leaves only heat behind. This was dangerous. The very risk you were both trying to avoid, but as he’s pressing you into the edge of his desk, you can’t find the logic you misplaced when those goddamn fingers you’ve been dreaming about squeeze your hips. 

“Fuck,” he’s panting — god that word sounded more sinful on his lips than it should — as he presses sweet kisses to your neck, “we shouldn’t be doing this here,” 

“Not very ethical,” you chuckle breathlessly, as your fingers rake through his now disheveled bun, “but I can’t find the sense to care,” your noses brush, as you can’t help but smile, “what would Scanlon or Kant say about this?” 

And his arms lift you onto his desk, several papers crumpling underneath, “Who the fuck cares?” he’s hissing, his lips find yours in a searing kiss, as his thighs press yours apart, as he settles himself between your legs, his knee grazing your core, drawing a delightful gasp from your lips, “I know what I want,” and his eyes soften, his fingers tracing the length of your cheek, “do you?” 

Before you can answer, two pings catch your attention — your phone and his computer lighting up with a notification, and you both pause a moment, as your eyes glance at the banner notification on your phone, skimming over the words. The T.A. positions have been assigned. 

“Fuck,” you hear him mutter, and you gaze snaps up to his on his computer, the email now opened on his screen, “this can’t be right—” 

“What is it—” and the question dies on your lips as your eyes find where his rested — 

You — you were his T.A. for next semester — for the very class that you met in. 

Fuck, indeed. 

✧ read part 2 now

✧ a/n: lets all remember that student and teacher relationships are bad in real life. it's ok to live vicariously through reader but unfortunately no professor will be as hot as professor geto or gojo T_T. s/o to @/laneymusings and @bucky-of-the-opera for beta reading this for me and being just absolutely wonderful!!

✧ tag list: @sokkasmoon, @unoriginalideas, @waytootiredforthisss, @sinnerstardoll, @secret-pages-of-my-heart, @drthymby, @hanlay, @catsgomurp, @hatsunemitskislobotomy, @esuz, @difficultdomains, @poopyface222, @iwassentfromhell, @diogodxlot, @totallynotcc, @llovekami, @deadmarygolds, @teatreeoilll, @carcarcraziiv2, @forest-hashira, @aliyalala, @esuz, @that-goth-bisexual, @hehehehesthings, @imjustmememe, @j1jay, @iwassentfromhell,

[kooktrash]

SHAMELESS ⊹ jeon jeonkook

summary: unsatisfied with your current relationship, you find yourself swept into an affair with a regular at your gym. it turns out he’s not the sweet, charming man you fooled yourself into believe he was but for some reason, you keep going back to him.

⊹ genre/au: gym instructor!y/n x jungkook. infidelity au. obsessive [she/her. afab] yandere

⊹ 31.6k

warnings: yandere towards the end. smut. coercion. morally gray characters. established relationship. cheating. heated arguments. aggression. angst. mentions of bl00d. manhandling. slight mind break. victim blaming in a sense. beware jk is very condescending and mean at times. he’s a munch. kissing in the bathroom. implied stalking. slutshaming.a lot more probs. manipulation. fight or flight response

[ song inspo: the greatest — billie eillish. phantom bride — deftones. jigsaw falling into place — radiohead. red sex — vessel ]

The first time you ever got a good look at the stranger was just a couple weeks ago. It was hard to keep track of the new members all the time and rarely had the chance to get to know any of them. You weren’t one of the ones at the front desk checking people in, getting them signed up and greeting them for their every visit. It made sense why you’d never seen him before that time.

You ran into him by pure coincidence one late evening when you were heading downstairs after a session and practically crashed into him at the water fountain. You apologized countless times, making sure he was alright and went on your way without thinking about it too hard. The only reason he was still on your mind was because of the others here. They wouldn’t shut up about him.

“He’s got a nice build, I think he’s my favorite,” Eunbi began with her usual rant about the new regular. You stood at the front lobby reading over your schedule for the morning when your friend started.

“Did you figure his name out?” Hoseok asked, only half interested in the conversation if not to entertain himself.

“Jeon Jungkook,” Eunbi said with certainty, “He’s from another location but looks like he’s switched over to this one. Y/n, just look at him.”

“Who?” You asked with feigned curiosity, looking over to the gym floor and who on Earth your friend could be talking about.

“The new guy, kind of tall, buff, tattoos,” Eunbi tried to explain but you and Hoseok just laughed. That describes most of the guys here nowadays.

“He’s over at Upper-Body,” He nodded his head toward the training area and found the presumed, Jeon Jungkook, Eunbi was going on about. It didn’t take long for you to realize she was talking about the guy you bumped into.

Today he wore a dark gray compression shirt under a baggy hoodie he had pulled off to do pull-ups and an entire sleeve of tattoos caught your attention, “So you found your newest victim?”

“Hardly, I’ve tried being friendly when he checks in but he couldn’t care less, it’s gonna take more to butter him up,” Eunbi said with a sigh, “Maybe he has a girlfriend.”

“Maybe,” Hoseok shrugged, “But it won’t hurt to try.”

“Y/n, what do you think?” She asked playfully, contemplating it.

“I think you can do whatever you put your mind to,” You answered sarcastically, making her lightly shove you as you smiled. Without much thought to it, you looked back at Jungkook trying to see what Eunbi saw.

He was attractive but he looked similar to many of the other regulars here. There was definitely something in his aura that seemed different but was Eunbi attracted to that type? Somewhere between your zoned out staring, he caught your gaze.

“I met this girl last night, she’s hot, her friend’s hotter and she’s interested in you,” Taehyung told him as he let go of the bar and made room for his friend’s turn.

“Is she?” Jungkook asked, barely paying attention as his friend did a set. He was supposed to be making sure he was doing them correctly but he was more distracted by who he saw in the mirror.

He’s seen you a couple times now but everytime is more exciting than the last. He doesn’t know you, doesn’t know anything aside from the fact that you’re an instructor here, but he’s only been able to have one interaction [if he can call it that] with you.

“Yeah, I’m hanging out with them this weekend, you should join,” Taehyung huffed tiredly, pacing a little to catch his breath, already wanting to move on to something else.

“I’ll think about it,” Jungkook wiped sweat off his forehead with the end of his shirt, “Have you ever checked out the training here?”

“Not when I’ve got free training sessions with my best friend,” Taehyung said with a chuckle, patting Jungkook’s arm, “Come on, I can’t take any more of this torture.”

He let Taehyung lead the way to the locker room, trying his hardest not to start at the front desk where you had been at for the last ten minutes waiting on someone. He still remembers how you bumped into him and he had to put a hand out to stop you from stumbling against the corner of the wall.

“Why?”

“Huh?” Jungkook asked, opening his locker to grab his things.

“Why are you asking about personal training ? You trying to ditch me onto someone else?” Taehyung asked jokingly.

“No, nothing like that. You’ve been here longer, I just wanted to know if you’re close with any of them,” Jungkook said with a shrug.

“I know the guy at the desk, his names Hoseok,” Taehyung said after they grabbed their things, “And Eunbi.”

“Which one’s that?” He asked, beginning to walk out of the locker room.

“The one at the desk, she always says hi,” Taehyung said, trying to subtly point at her. Jungkook looked with some recollection of who she was but she wasn’t the one he was curious about. He’s seen you a couple times around but not as much as the others.

He just simply thinks you’re pretty.

“Have a goodnight,” Eunbi said with her usual polite smile as they walked past and he couldn’t help but look at you instead as he said it back. You weren’t looking but that didn’t bother him too much. For now he had to play it cool, he didn’t want to be the creep at the gym who flirts with people there.

“So this weekend?” Jungkook asked as he unlocked his car, trying to think about what Taehyung wanted to do.

“I’ll text you more about it later. I’m still trying to figure out what we’re doing,” Taehyung said, “Same time tomorrow?”

Jungkook nodded and waved goodbye, leaving the gym’s parking lot to call it a night.

When you left work that day you barely remembered anything special that happened. It was more so the usual with your private sessions, gossiping with coworkers and Eunbi going on about the latest gym rat she’s obsessed with. Your at-home routine didn’t far off from the ordinary either, you had a quiet dinner waiting for your boyfriend to text back and called it an early night.

The weeks flew by pretty mundane aside from the times he’d get a glimpse of you. He still thinks you’re pretty, he likes your smile and your body, even your hair. You’re not exactly his type but for some reason his mind is stuck on you everytime he comes to the gym—which is often. To be honest, he thinks he moved to this location because of you and not because Taehyung came to this one more. It’s nothing serious aside from a small crush and there’s nothing he planned to do about it.

It was just his luck to catch you at the front desk one early morning with no one else around.

“Good morning,” you said with a yawn, regretting telling Eunbi the night before that you’d cover part of her morning shift before your first session. Jungkook hesitated to scan his member QR code immediately like he usually did. The gym was empty aside from a few early morning goers like him and it was still a little dark out.

“Good morning,” he said quietly, exiting out of the app and thought quickly what to say, “The code doesn’t seem to be working right now.”

“That’s okay, I’ll check you in,” You moved toward the desk top, trying to navigate through the check-in system you rarely used and asked, “What’s your name?”

“Jeon Jungkook,” he cleared his throat, leaning against the counter a little. That seemed to wake you up a little more, you looked up curiously to find the guy Eunbi was ‘crushing on’ and who you bumped into a while back. He was definitely more attractive up close and it took you a little by surprise.

He didn’t think twice about meeting your gaze with equal curiosity and he used this time to get a good look at you.

Pretty.

Very pretty.

You looked away first, ensuring the picture in the system had matched the guy in front of you.

“Alright, go ahead—“

“You’re not the one usually here, right?” He asked, stalling just one more time.

“No, Eunbi’s the one who works the front desk, she has an appointment this morning so I’m helping her out,” You told him with more enthusiasm, wondering if he was interested in her. If he was, Eunbi would be thrilled. Maybe, she likes to jump around a lot, her “Gym Boy of the Month” might have changed. It’s a fun staring game that she has and you like to play along with it despite being in a relationship.

Jungkook just nodded in acknowledgment at what you said before heading to the locker room.

He lost track of you when Eunbi came back and he finished his workout. You were probably working with someone and doubted he’d see you again until he’s back later tonight.

“You’re late,” His friend joked as he got to the car shop he worked at. He threw his things down in the office and clocked in.

“Went to the gym this morning,” Jungkook answered with a shrug. He grabbed his navy blue jumpsuit and slipped it over his clothes, “At least we don’t have any early appointments.”

“If you keep going twice a day you’re going to get too bulky like you did when we were at camp,” Namjoon joked as he read over the planner, “And we’ve got a failed transmission to fix some tint to do in an hour.”

He tried concentrating on work but today he struggled which wasn’t usual for him. He was distracted and had an itch of curiosity he couldn’t scratch.

When lunch came around Jungkook found himself on his cellphone, looking over the training program the gym provided and scrolled through the instructors. It didn’t take him long to find yours and learn your name. You’d been at the gym for two years and were basically booked out.

“Who are you talking to?” Namjoon asked curiously.

“Nobody,” Jungkook said.

“How’d it go with those girls Taehyung was talking about?” His friend pressed him.

“They wanted to reschedule so we never met up,” Jungkook told him as he searched you up on other social media platforms, “What are some telltale signs that someone has a boyfriend?”

Namjoon scrunched his face in a scowl, “One of them has a boyfriend? Yikes, and Taehyung still wants to—“

“Not them, who gives a fuck. I mean in general, I’m looking at someone’s Instagram but she doesn’t even post so I can’t tell,” Jungkook said seriously and Namjoon chuckled. He took the phone from him and looked at your profile.

“Everyone’s taken nowadays and this girl definitely is,” Namjoon said with a shrug, “Look at her tagged photos.”

Jungkook cursed under his breath.

“Who is Y/n?” Namjoon asked.

“No one, just some girl from the gym. She works there and I think she’s cute,” Jungkook tried sounding indifferent.

Namjoon smirked, “Ah, so that’s why you went this morning—you're still planning on going later aren’t you? I mean, yeah she’s cute but too bad she’s taken.”

Jungkook didn’t say anything because in all honesty he stopped listening—conveniently around the time Namjoon tried reminding him you had a boyfriend. There was no way to really tell anyway. Sure he was staring at a picture you were tagged in looking close to some guy but it could’ve been anyone. Right?

Later that day when you returned home, checking your cell phone for any missed calls you washed up and began to prep dinner when your boyfriend arrived. He didn’t bother knocking, unlocked your door and let himself into your apartment with no hesitation, “Here.”

“I see that,” You looked over at him from the kitchen, “Where were you?”

“I was with the guys getting a couple beers,” Minu said, kicking his shoes off at your door like he usually did, “I thought you were working late.”

You hummed in acknowledgement, “I got home a while ago.”

“I see that now,” he cleared his throat, walking past you for a glass of water and he reeked of beer, “Oh, and I’m going out this weekend.”

“With who?” You asked, already knowing the answer.

“The guys,” you couldn’t help but mock him quietly. With a shrug of your shoulders you said, “That’s fine, Eunbi wanted to get some drinks this weekend too.”

“Eunbi? Who else is gonna go?”

“Just us two, maybe Hobi I don’t know,” You told him as he watched you finish up cooking.

Minu rolled his eyes, “Great.”

“What? You’re going out with your friends so I can go out with mine,” You told him with a raised brow trying to see what tone he was using.

“Nothing, just Hoseok’s a guy and Eunbi is… yknow,” He looked away, “Boy crazy?”

“So? All your friends are single and I don’t say anything when you go out for beers with them every other night,” You carried plates over to the dining table and Minu followed to sit down, not bothering to help you, “Plus Hobi has a girlfriend.”

“It’s different, the guys and I just hang out. You and your friends get drunk and do who the fuck knows,” Minu’s tone raised with irritation as you began to serve him, “What time will you be home?”

“What time will you be home?” You asked him harshly and watched as he scoffed.

“Let’s just eat, we’ll talk about it later.”

Choi Minu was your boyfriend of three years. Three years together and you get the same questions anytime you bring him up.

Why don’t you live together?

Why aren’t you engaged?

Do you plan on marrying?

Usually, the two of you did pretty well at avoiding them and finding something else to talk about but sometimes you find yourself asking those questions too. One would say you’re in a long term relationship and couples nowadays at least move in together after a few months, why didn’t you and Minu?

You were similar in many ways but it still felt like you didn’t know each other that well. He liked loud sports games and visiting dive bars every other night. He can be somewhat irrational and hypocritical but he wasn’t too bad of a guy. You loved him—of course you did—but you didn’t always like him.

He can surely say the same about you—he has. He’s called you a bitch before or screamed in your face for something stupid but you’ve done your fair share to annoy him. He’d say you’re stubborn and moody, confrontational instead of sweet. In reality, the question should be why you’re still together.

Clearly neither one of you cared to progress the relationship but at the same time neither of you wanted it to end. You’re comfortable with each other’s ugly parts and the idea of letting someone else get that close again grossed you out. So, you stuck around and you’re sure he felt the same.

Saturday came quicker than expected and you found yourself with your best friend getting dressed in your bedroom listening to whatever song was queued. With the weather as shitty as it’s been and packed schedules, you’ve barely had time to go out for a good night and you were determined to make tonight work. It probably had something to do with the fact that your boyfriend would be out doing his own thing and you didn’t want to spend the night wondering what that was.

“Is Hobi meeting us?” You asked, looking at your reflection in the mirror one last time. Despite it being cold, you felt the urge to wear something short tonight and to be honest, you think you looked good.

“Yeah, he’ll meet us somewhere on 11th street,” Eunbi applied a final layer of lip gloss, “Did you order the Uber.”

You rummaged through the grocery bag you bought earlier and pulled out two mini bottles of liquor for some early, well-needed liquid courage. You always got nervous whenever you went out with your friends—not because it wasn’t fun but because usually it ended with Min blowing up your phone while he’s drunk off his ass needing you to meet him somewhere.

“It’s five minutes away,” You handed her one of the bottles, making sure everything you needed was in your mini bag before you quickly cheered each other on and finished the drinks in one go.

Jungkook was thankful he chose to drive tonight. It worked as an excuse to not drink and he could make sure his friend wasn’t driving himself out. Finally, after a couple weeks those girls from before got back to Taehyung and asked him to go out.

Usually, Jungkook doesn’t entertain people a second time. He gives them one chance and if he’s not impressed he doesn’t try again, and when they rain checked his friend for the first time he had no intentions on going out tonight. The only reason he agreed is for Taehyung’s sake knowing he liked one of the girls.

“So you work with cars? You must know a lot,” one of them said to him over drinks. She had to practically tell it in his ear over the loud music and even then he can barely make out what she was saying.

“I guess,” He said with a shrug of his shoulders, “What's your name again?”

“Koo, we’ve been talking all night and you seriously forgot my name? That hurts my feelings,” she said with feigned hurt, putting her hand on his arm, “Hyejin.”

“Right,” Jungkook couldn’t bother to sound more interested.

He tried, he really did, and when Taehyung scolds him for not being more enthusiastic he’ll have to make him believe that. It’s not even that Hyejin wasn’t attractive, she was and probably his usual type but he wasn’t interested. She just seems like she tries too hard for approval from others. Does that sound bad? She was just boring and the girl Taehyung was with was so much hotter. Okay, now he probably sounds like an asshole.

“Want a smoke?” Jungkook asked Taehyung, hoping to get his friend away so he can convince him to let him go do his own thing with someone he would probably be more interested in.

“Sure,” Taehyung looked down at Mina, “We’ll be back.”

He didn’t bother asking them if they wanted to come along and left the nightclub with Jungkook for fresh air, “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” Jungkook pulled out his pack and handed it to Taehyung while feeling around his pockets for a lighter, “What about you? How’s it going with Mina.”

Taehyung lit the end, “I’m sleeping with her tonight. I just know it. I’m sure Hyejin would be down if you actually acted interested in her.”

Jungkook could’ve said something about the way Taehyung was talking but it seems like he didn’t care enough to, so he just said, “Well I’m not interested.”

“She’s hot.”

“Yeah, so?” Jungkook rolled his eyes, inhaling smoke and releasing it into the cold night air, “I’ve been listening to her go on and on about absolutely nothing for the past two hours.”

“Great wingman,” Taehyung shoved his arm playfully, “Thanks for taking one for the team.”

“Yeah whatever, I’m about to leave you guys and do something else,” Jungkook said, “Tell them something came up and I’ll be back.”

“Are you serious?” Taehyung groaned, “Don’t go.”

Jungkook wasn’t fully listening anymore as he looked across the street at the long line leading into another nightclub. He had to do a double take and make sure who he saw was who he was thinking of.

“Isn’t that the people from the gym,” Jungkook asked trying to get Taehyung to look over. He noticed you first [clearly], you wore something black with light pink accents that suited your complexion nicely and the Eunbi girl had on something green. One of the guys behind you with an arm around another girl was Hoseok from the gym and the other he didn’t know. The only thing he did know was that he didn’t look like the guy from the pictures on your profile.

“Oh shit, yeah, looks like one of them has a boyfriend,” Taehyung said, finishing his cigarette before Jungkook finished his and threw it on the floor. He stepped on it to put it out before picking it up and taking it to the trash bin, “Ready?”

“You go ahead,” Jungkook said, looking across the street curiously, “I’ll go right now.”

“You better not be lying man,” Taehyung said with a sigh, showing the bouncer his entrance bracelet and going back in. He watched your group reach the front of the line to go in and without question, he found himself crossing the street to follow.

“I swear Y/n if I see you look at your phone one more time I’m stuffing it down my pants,” Yoongi said.

“Is that a threat?” You teased playfully, clutching your phone tighter in your hands and trying to deflect, “Or an invitation?”

“A threat,” Hoseok chimed in, “Can we just say ‘Fuck Minu’ and get drunk?”

“What have we been doing for the last three hours?” You asked following them to the bar at the club you just entered.

“We’ve been drinking, you’ve been babysitting one cup at every bar we go to,” Ara, Hoseok’s girlfriend, told you, “You gotta catch up.”

“Minu’s out with the guys, you know how he gets when he—“ Hoseok covered your mouth drunkenly, pulling you into a back hug.

“Shush, enough about him I need a drink and it’s your round,” Hoseok said, playfully shoving you toward the counter. With a roll of your eyes you made your way to the front and ignored your drunk friends behind you. You didn’t pay much attention to who was around you until someone made room for themselves right next to you.

For a second you thought they might try and cut in line before you but he didn’t seem to do that. He was able to get the bartender’s attention better than you but once he had it he directed her to you.

Jungkook listened to your order and waited to see if you’d notice him. Would you even remember him? You see him practically every day now.

“You work at the gym on ___ street, right?” He decided to ask, unable to stop himself from grabbing your attention. You looked at him closely, finally getting who he was and nodded your head.

“Yeah, I saw the other one, Eunbi over there,” He cleared his throat, “I always forget your name though.”

Y/n.

“Y/n,” you said with a clear voice, “Yours?”

“Jungkook, sorry I'm not trying to be a creep or anything but I see you practically everyday,” He said with an apologetic shrug. He tried looking indifferent but in reality he was extremely happy with the way things have turned out. He never expected to see you on a night out. It was like a reminder that you weren’t some figment of his imagination for when he’s working out.

“Yeah, you go a lot,” as you said it you couldn’t help but check him out. He wore a black button-up shirt and baggy jeans with sneakers and he looked good. His shoulders were still broad and his tattoos still peaked from under the sleeve. His hair seemed slightly pushed back which made his face look prettier even under this poor lighting.

Of course you shouldn’t be looking at another guy’s physique when you have a boyfriend, it just happened. In your defense you were a little tipsy.

Jungkook smiled, “Nice of you to notice. What are you drinking?”

You looked back at the bartender who currently made the drinks for you, trying not to think of how you were just looking at him, “I actually don’t remember. One of my friends told me what to order.”

He nodded his head, getting the bartender’s attention, “Add them to my tab—“

“No, don’t do that,” You rushed to say but Jungkook just flashed her a smile and told her to do it.

He couldn’t help but stifle a laugh, “Why? It’s fine, it’s just a little ‘Hey I know you’ gift, nothing more.”

“But—“

You were hesitant to leave, not liking the feeling of him paying. If you were slightly more drunk and less aware you don’t think you’d care but you do. Jungkook shook his head, nudging your arm playfully, “It’s fine, go take them to your friends and if I find you again you owe me a conversation.”

A light scoff left your lips, not able to leave just yet as you caught on to his act. He was flirting, maybe? You can’t tell when someone’s flirting with you anymore [Minu doesn’t even bother] and maybe you’re overthinking it but that’s what it felt like. If that was the case then you shouldn’t entertain it. You know that.

“I thought it was nothing more than a gift,” You said, meeting his stare again. You weren’t nervous per se but this conversation felt strange. There was a slight teasing tone in your voice that urged Jungkook to keep going, hoping the conversation would go somewhere.

“You’re right, but I’d still like to talk to you just a little,” he couldn’t help but quickly look you over once more. Usually when he sees you you’re in some form of athleisure. He noticed your favorites were in soft colors like pink, matcha green, a nice cream and sometimes powder blue. Right now you’re in a black top with pink bows on the sides at the neckline near your chest. Your skirt was dark but he couldn’t quite tell the exact color but he’s sure he’ll figure it out. Simply put, you looked even prettier tonight than usual.

You considered stalling a little longer but you knew there was no reason to. All your friends were drunk and your phone buzzed with a notification from your boyfriend but Jungkook said it was nothing… he just wanted to talk. Surely it was nothing more…

With a small sigh, you pushed away from the bar counter and said, “Thank you for the drinks but my friends are waiting.”

And you have a boyfriend, you thought.

Jungkook looked back at the group with little interest but nodded his head anyway. It’s not like can force you to stay even if he really wanted to. You told him a quiet goodbye and he watched you walk away from him. What was he supposed to do now? Return to his friend and those women who could barely remember? Stay here and entertain whatever bimbo approaches him just so he can keep an eye on you?

He was more sure than ever that he was interested in getting to know you.

The way things would go was all mapped out in his head. Not once did he stop to consider your so-called boyfriend because he never saw him. You didn’t bring him up and in reality, Jungkook had no reason to think you were in a relationship. As far as anyone knew he was just someone you kind of knew.

After the night drinking he began to make himself more known when he saw you. He’d say hi at the door or give you a smile when you’d walk past him. Occasionally when he was lucky enough, he’d try and spark conversation—and not once did you mention a boyfriend. You talked about other things, your friends, your hobbies, but never once a partner. Even if you had a boyfriend it must not have been serious, he thinks.

“I can’t anymore Kook, my legs are going to fall off,” Taehyung groaned one afternoon as he nearly collapsed on the ground. Jungkook looked at him, slightly unimpressed and said, “You want to quit already?”

“Oh I’d love to,” Taehyung said sarcastically, “I’m done. I want to go home and take a nice hot shower.”

“Alright, well I think I’m gonna stick around a little lo—“ Jungkook began to say when Taehyung cut him off with a laugh.

“Just grow a pair and ask Y/n for dinner or something. That’s why we’re here this late, right? You’ve got a little crush,” Taehyung said looking around for you, “Personally I think Eunbi is more my taste but I think she’s got a thing for you.”

It was hard to ignore the constant attention Eunbi put on Jungkook whenever the two checked in. Jungkook didn’t say anything about what his friend said and let him leave without much care. After a while he finished his last set and headed toward the locker room to freshen up.

The sun had set by the time your last session ended. You were running behind schedule and hurried downstairs to the locker room to change. Your phone lay in a heap of clothes and you grabbed it to see the time.

You were supposed to meet up with Minu for dinner after work and you’re cutting it real close on time. He hasn’t texted you or tried to call so that worried you a little. Either he was running late too or something came up like usual. You sat on the bench for a moment, trying to ring his line but he didn’t answer right away. You nearly ended the call when he picked up.

“What’s up?” Minu asked casually.

“Are we still on for tonight? I just need to wash up—“

“Oh shit, yeah I forgot, um,” he looked around his apartment nervously, “I got off work and joined a tournament with the guys. Do you want to just pick up a pizza and come over? I got some drinks in the fr—Shit!—yeah, just come over. My team’s winning.”

“Are you fucking serious?” You slumped back, hoping the locker room was empty, “We’ve been talking about dinner for over a week now.”

“I know, I know but I might win money—fuck, I gotta hang up just walk in when you’re here,” Minu hung up on you.

He had the nerve to hang up on you.

You couldn’t help but scoff, annoyed with your boyfriend and unable to do anything about it. You could text him a long paragraph about what a stupid piece of shit he was but maybe that was too much? Was he even worth the energy?

Once you had all your things you walked to clock out at the desk and Eunbi was there talking with no other than the man of the hour. Her mon amour, Jungkook.

She looked at you with hearts in her eyes, “You’re off already? Where are you going now?”

“Home,” You said almost bitterly, glancing toward Jungkook. He flashed you a little smile but you didn’t return it. You were annoyed with Minu and it ruined your entire mood now.

Eunbi’s brows scrunched together, “I thought you and M—“

“Not tonight,” you cut her off quickly, heading around to the front of the desk and began walking toward the front doors, “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Jungkook didn’t want to act too sudden when the opportunity presented itself. He didn’t want to raise suspicion from Eunbi who he was currently buttering up. He wasn’t attracted to her but if she liked having him around it could bring him closer to you. Clearly it was working, he caught a hint of your conversation and it didn’t take much for him to understand what was going on.

You were upset, going home and with no plans tonight. The mere mention of you and someone else that Eunbi attempted to bring up was quickly shut down on your end and it was all Jungkook needed to hear. You left a couple paces before him but after a minute or so, he came up with his farewell to Eunbi.

The parking lot was dark aside from a few lamp posts here and there but he was able to find you pretty easily. He wasn’t trying to be creepy or anything but he had to make a move. You were walking toward a white, polished car.

“Are your days usually this long? I feel like I see you all the time,” Jungkook said, keeping a safe distance away to not startle you but he managed to, only a little.

You smiled in relief once you noticed it was someone familiar and began to unlock your car, “Sometimes. I take longer breaks between clients so it's not too bad.”

“You still owe me a talk,” Jungkook said with a playful tone.

“We talk all the time now,” You said back.

“We haven’t over dinner and drinks,” He said, “On me, I know a place near here.”

This was it. This was your chance to just outright tell him you’re in a relationship. He’s clearly not hoping to just be friendly like you’ve been telling yourself lately. He’s asking you to dinner, that’s gotta be something. You need to just tell him you’re taken. You’re in a relationship with someone that drives you insane and you can’t go out with him because he’s so clearly trying to pursue you.

“I don’t know,” you bit your lip, standing at the door of your car but not getting in just yet.

“It beats heading home for a boring night,” Jungkook said with a shrug, acting like it made no difference but he just wanted you to take him up on his offer already.

What he said hit closer to home than it needed to and it kind of irritated you. You were supposed to be heading to a nice dinner with your boyfriend but like usual he finds something more important to waste his time on. Tonight he chose video games over you, how considerate. The thought alone was enough to make you want to scream but now you’re being reminded of it and felt the need to do anything but spend a night alone.

“Where are you thinking?”

He smiled as you gave in and told you the address.

It was a small ramen place that you’d never been to but it was nice. The food was good and there weren’t many people around which made you feel less guilty. If you told yourself Jungkook was nothing but a friend then it’d be less weird to be having dinner with him alone behind Minu’s back.

“So, you’re always at the gym, what kind of work do you do? I’ve been wondering about that,” You played with your silverware as you waited for your meal, unable to think of what better to say.

He smiled a little at the thought of you being curious about him too and he sat straighter as he said, “I’m a mechanic, I just finished my military service a couple months ago and that’s the only kind of work I knew. It pays the bills.”

You saw the car he drove, it was a large truck that marketed around 80k dollars at the least. Even if he didn’t want to brag, clearly his job did more than just pay the bills. It was a black truck with silver detail and it somewhat suited his mysterious persona. You weren’t into cars but you knew a thing or two about popular models. Plus, although it’s mandatory, knowing he was in the military recently made you look at him differently. Did he bulk up while he was away or has he always been into fitness? What about his tattoos?

When the server came around with your bowl of soup Jungkook helped clear the table for you and watched how you thanked them, “Have you been here before?”

“No, I’ve walked past it before but I’ve never been inside, it’s nice,” You told him honestly, “Do you come here often?”

“Sometimes, with Taehyung or my coworkers,” Jungkook said.

“You live around here then?”

“About ten minutes away, you?” He asked curiously in between bites.

“Yeah, I live about the same distance? Crazy I’ve never run into you anywhere else,” You said, making him nod his head.

“Well we ran into each other that one night,” Jungkook told you, “I was surprised when I saw you. I don’t know how honest I should be but you looked very pretty.”

Okay, he’s flirting, you think. Tell him now, stop walking around it and just tell him that you’re in a relationship and shouldn’t be here.

You looked at him, finding his eyes already trained on you and every thought to tell him left your head. Jungkook was attractive and surprisingly soft spoken. He was attentive and made an effort to get to know you so you found it very hard to end this by telling him about Minu. Could he possibly be interested in a friendship instead of anything more?

“You looked good too. I thought you were one of those guys that lives in gym clothes all day and everyday but you clean up pretty well,” You said in a teasing tone, “I was impressed.”

He quirked a brow in amusement, “Good. Do you go out often?”

“Sometimes if I’m in the mood for it but lately it’s been too cold to be walking around from bar to bar,” You told him. Guys don’t usually like girls that go out and have fun so you fully expected him to get the ick but he just nodded.

“So tell me something else about yourself,” He said. In all honesty he had been waiting for you to bring up your boyfriend. You had many chances to but you hadn’t yet and now he couldn’t be any more clear. You can tell him how you’ve been seeing someone for a couple years now but will you? Will it make a difference to him anyway? He’s already decided that he likes you. Would he run off right away? No.

He’s never struggled in the dating scene but lately he’s found a lot of the women who approached him boring. Hyejin tried too hard to appeal and even Eunbi came off too desperate. He’s gladly never gone for someone in a relationship but he’s finding out that he doesn’t really care. Something about you has captured his attention and he doesn’t think he cares about who you’re seeing. Once his mind is set on you, he doubts it’ll change.

“I want to open a gym and teach reformer Pilates, that’s my goal,” You finally said to him, “I like working at the gym but that’s just something to help me save up for what I really want. Does that seem like too big of a goal?”

Minu always tells you it is. He said there’s other things you can use the money on but that’s what you want.

Jungkook smacked his lips in disappointment and looked away from you. You worried he’d tell you something similar about how it’s not likely to happen but instead he said, “I don’t think I’m flexible enough for Pilates but I’ll be your first client when it happens. Will I get one on one sessions where it’s just you and I alone somewhere?”

Inappropriate, that was inappropriate to say to someone in a relationship but in his defense he didn’t know. You’re supposed to tell him but you haven’t yet.

“I’ll see what I can do,” You said with a smile that matched his. The two of you finished eating, talking about anything and everything in between and to be honest you had a good time. It was getting late and you should be home by now but nothing was really urging you to go. Your boyfriend never called back asking why you didn’t go to his place and it only made you want to be with Jungkook more.

After a small disagreement over whether to split the bill or not, you let Jungkook cover it and followed him out. Jungkook held the door open, “I’ll walk you to your car.”

You didn’t decline his offer and walked down the street to where you had parked and looked back at him. It was late and time for you to go home.

“This is it,” You leaned against the driver’s side of your car, looking up at him as he looked around it. The space between you grew smaller with every step he took toward you but you didn’t do anything to change that. His arm rested on top of the car, practically trapping you between his body and the vehicle but once again, you didn’t do anything to push him away.

“When can I see you again?” He asked just above a whisper, leaning toward you more than before. His forehead nearly touched yours yet you still wouldn’t just… push him away.

“You’ll see me at the gym,” You said in a poor effort to distance yourself from him. He didn’t take the bait, only chuckled at your words and brought his arm closer, slipping down the car and so close to where your back pressed against the door. It would be so easy for him to pull you into him.

“Not enough,” Jungkook said simply, closing the space just a little more. He licked his lips, looking down at yours and not caring that you were in public or not. There was no one around and it was dark so really, who was worried about two people looking a little too close on the side of the street? “Just push me off if you don’t want this.”

You blinked, unsure what to make of what he was saying as you began to ask, “Wha—“

His hand touched the softness of your face, tilting your chin upward until you were at the right angle for his liking. His lips brushed against yours teasingly, trying to catch a taste if you wanted this or not and you haven’t pushed him away. It urged him on, closing the distance until his lips pressed firmly into yours, feeling the way you gasped in surprise and welcomed his advances.

Your hand fell on his chest, not to push him away but to grasp at his shirt and pull him into you with more force. Jungkook was tender at first, basking in the feel of your soft lips molding against his and how your face fit perfectly in his hand. As slow as the kiss was, it felt oddly intense and wanting like he couldn’t get enough. Once you opened yourself up to his advances, he didn’t hesitate to keep going.

His tongue slipped past his lips, swiping against yours softly and your lips parted more to let him in. With a low groan, he pressed into you harder, arm circling your waist as he kept you caged in his hold so he could kiss you however he liked. Your arms wrapped around his neck, dragging him down and kissing back with eagerness, tongues tangled together and without a care of what you were doing in public.

When you felt his fingers sneak under the head of your top, you seemed to snap back into reality. You shoved at his chest, nipping his lip with your teeth on accident but it didn’t seem to waver him. He stepped back, licking over the sudden swelling on his bottom lip and looked down at you, “Was that too much?”

“I—“ your mouth felt dry, combing your hair out of your face and looking around feeling embarrassed. Did you just kiss someone who wasn’t your boyfriend for anyone to see?

Realization hit you hard and you swallowed the lump in your throat. You shouldn’t be doing this, you were an idiot and a… cheater, what were you thinking?

“Y/n,” He reached down for your hand, lacing your fingers together, “Everything alright?”

Tell him. Tell Jungkook you’re in a relationship. Tell him you’re nothing but a cheating liar and made a mistake meeting him tonight. Tell him you can’t do this and that you don’t think you should see him outside of work but you found yourself staying quiet. Jungkook was waiting for the truth too but it never came.

Maybe if you told him, he might’ve hesitated to kiss you a second time…

This time around it felt more needy. Jungkook could feel the desire laced with every touch of your lips and he wanted more. He struggled to speak between kisses, “Let’s go somewhere more private. Where do you live?”

“No, no, we can’t,” you sighed breathlessly, eyes closed trying to reel yourself back into reality. You looked up at him with lust blown eyes and bit your lip in thought.

“Back to mine?” He asked instead, taking your keys out of your hands when you didn’t protest, “My truck’s fine parked here overnight…”

You didn’t argue when he led you toward the passenger’s side, drunk off his affection when he kissed you one last time before getting in the driver’s seat. His hand stayed firm on your thigh the entire ride, inching upward and back down in a soothing manner like he knew the earthquake that was happening in your head.

The drive back to his place passed you in a blur and you don’t remember how you found yourself tugging at his clothes the second you entered his apartment. Al thought his hands were rough and stained with grease from his job, they were oddly tender against your skin, sliding your top up so he could feel your bare waist.

You kissed heavily, following his lead to wherever he took you and felt yourself fall into black bed sheets beneath you. His hair wasn’t long but the front pieces fell against your forehead and brushed against your neck when he trailed his lips toward your jawline, nipping at your skin teasingly and making you gasp at the feel. With your lips parted to catch a breath, he kissed you again, tongue kissing yours in a nasty, wet mess of saliva. Usually when Minu got a little too handsy or did something you weren’t used to, you’d push him away but right now you’re welcoming this somewhat aggressive approach Jungkook took toward you.

You pushed at his chest gently, surprised when he began to lift himself off you without wanting to break the kiss and you followed him up until you were sitting. You worked quickly to unzip the front of your light pink defined jacket and he didn’t hesitate to help you slip it down your shoulders. His suddenly rough hands held onto your sides, pressing you firmly against him, not able to get enough of your mouth on his.

Jungkook released a breathless grunt when he felt your fingers slip into his hair and he pulled away to stare at you. Your breath hitched in your throat, when his hand cupped your jawline, fingers disappearing in your hair as he held you to look at him firmly. Without any meaning behind it, your fingers wrapped around his wrist as if he was holding you too strongly but that wasn’t the case at all. You liked the way his hand felt on you and he made sure you were looking in his eyes. You were even on your knees, sitting between his legs on the bed and in just your leggings and bra now.

He took the second to look you over, staring straight down at the black material of your bra. The hand around your jaw pulled you further, nearly making you stumble into him while his other hand traced along your spine, feeling around for the clasp of your bra and undid it easily. You didn’t care to act surprised about the indecency you found yourself in. His fingers brushed against your shoulder blades as he helped you out of the straps and his lips kissed every inch of skin he passed.

You couldn’t help but sigh, feeling the way he kissed your collarbone, trailing toward your breasts and teasingly touching you just just under them without acting touching your chest at all. It made you arch your back so your front would be pressed into his face more and he had you lying back down on the bed in no time.

“You gonna let me have a little taste?” Jungkook asked, hand finally cupping your left breast, thumbing your hardened nipple and running the pad of his skin over it to feel how your breath hitched. Goosebumps formed on your body when he kissed down your stomach with his experienced fingers gripping the waist of your leggings so he can pull them off. You went limp as you let him finish undressing you and his eyes didn't shy away from checking out your naked form.

His head fell, looking straight toward where your legs parted around him and lifted a curious brow before looking back up at you.

You shrugged, holding your head upright with your elbows digging into the bed, “Sometimes I don’t like wearing anything underneath when I work out.”

“Mm,” He hummed, taking in your words and running his hands up and down your bare thighs, wanting to crouch over to get a better look at your naked pussy, “Good to know.”

Just before he went all in, face first into your spread legs, you spoke up, “I need you to take something off too, you’re being a little unfair.”

He could hear the teasing tone in your voice and he couldn’t help biting back a smirk as he sat back on his haunches and did as told. You watched him stand up and pull his t-shirt off first, eyes scanning down to his sweats and watching him pull them down too. He wore white Calvin Kkein’s that showed the bulge of his erection clearly. You’ve seen most of this at the gym before but goddamn was his body amazing. Feeling impatient, he got back on the bed, hiding his body from you as he laid between your legs and threw them over his shoulders.

You squealed in surprise when he pulled you closer to his face. With his arms around your thighs, you felt his hands now pushing down on your hips, likely to stop you from squirming away as he pressed a soft, butterfly kiss on your hooded clit. It was just a teasing touch but your body reacted immediately and he smiled knowingly. Even if you had a boyfriend—clearly he wasn’t taking care of you.

Jungkook can show you just how well you need to be taken care of. You were beyond soaked and it made Jungkook want to ruin you with his mouth. He sunk his head down and licked flatly along your cunt. Your slick pooled on his tongue and he dragged it up, wetting your labia until it was to his liking and covered your hardened clit with your own arousal. Your thighs threatened to shut but his bruising hold on your legs kept you suffocating him. Even if you did, he doesn’t think he’d mind.

To be honest, Jungkook loves putting his mouth on someone and hearing them come undone by his actions. It made his cock hard and he couldn’t help but rut against the bed for some friction.

He had your lips parting with breathless moans at the way he worked his tongue inside you, his nose bumping your cloth beautifully and his tongue lapping at your pussy like it was his last meal on earth.

Your hands clawed at the silk sheets, body wanting to shudder with pleasure, unsure how to take everything he was giving to you, “Fuck, I can’t.”

You said it as your nails traced along his hair, grabbing a good chunk of it and pressing his face more into your pussy, moaning at the way he kissed your clit while his fingers pulled your folds apart.

“Just a little more, baby, you’re soaked,” Jungkook said with a glistening chin, looking down at your greedy cunt hungry for another taste. His middle finger played at your entrance, wanting to get inside of you but the longer he tempted the ring of nerves, all he could think about is how good it’d be to feel the first stretch of your cunt around his cock instead.

A low groan left his lips as he sat up suddenly, shaking his head of hair in disappointment when you whined cutely, “Condom, we need a condom.”

“Just pull out,” You said in a sultry voice that made his heart beat faster but he was thinking with his dick too much. He needed to think with his brain, “I’m not gonna pull out so I need a condom unless you want my babies tonight.”

Though the offer was half tempting, you very clearly didn’t want that all and let him search for protection. When he got back to you, his dick was covered and pointing at you and your legs spread shamelessly for Jungkook to lay between them. Instead, he grabbed your left leg and threw it over your right so your hips were on their side and your ass was toward him nicely. He still had a view of your pretty tits but now he got a view of your ass too and the way your torso turned in this position.

“Pretty pussy, fucking hell,” He mumbled to himself, placing one hand on your hips to tilt your ass up and his other hand was pointing the tip of his dick to your puffy folds, red with abuse of his tongue and sloppy wet.

“Fuck me already,” you said with a wiggle of your hips and a gasp leaving your lips the second the words fell from your mouth. Jungkook didn’t hesitate to push his cock in, focusing solely on the tip as he watched you take that breath. He kept pushing in, taking your expression as a sign that you didn’t mind the sudden intrusion and pushed in to the hilt, skin touching skin with his cock fully sheathed inside you.

“I wanted to go easy on you,” He clicked his tongue in disappointment, hand rubbing your ass cheek possessively, “But if you’re going to be impatient then I will too.”

You weren’t thinking clearly at all. He felt too good. You felt too good. You can’t remember the last time you had a good fuck, usually Minu only cares about himself and to be honest he can’t last for shit. You're a little surprised with yourself and how the last thing you wanted was for Jungkook to go easy on you. He was the release you needed.

Jungkook’s presence loomed behind you and sweat trickled down his taut abs that had you letting out a moan when you watched the way the veins on his v-line led straight to his cock. He didn’t catch the way you looked at him, too focused on the way your dripping pussy sucked him in and refused to let him pull out. You’re tight, more than he expected frankly.

It’s such a shame that your boyfriend has someone like you and he doesn’t please you? A real shame, he thought as he licked his dry lips and pulled out, only letting his tip stretch your entrance and once he caught a good breath, he began to set a pace.

His thrusts were slow at first, hard and well making you let out the prettiest of noises. His nails dug into your thigh, anchoring himself as he fucked you with intent to make a mess of you. Right now you hugged a pillow to your face, trying to blur out your noises and he didn’t like that at all. Don’t be ashamed to feel good with him. That’s what he’s made for.

He bent forward, cock buried in you as he reached for the back of your neck, squeezing slightly until you got the hint and tried to hold your head up. You pushed your hands into the mattress, unable to fully got on your knees with the position Jungkook had your legs in but your back was flexible. You fucked back into him while turning to look at him and being met with a wet kiss that had you whining. Your arm came around his neck from behind and he moved back, dragging you with him until his hands were pushing your hips back to sit on his lap, making you grind your ass on him.

“So close baby,” he warned, fucking you open on his thick member.

You couldn’t find words, only moans that tumbled out of your mouth, fucking him with eagerness you hadn’t felt in a long time until you were at your breaking point.

Jungkook didn’t give much warning after that, his hand fell toward your clit and rubbed your wet pussy while he bounced you on his dick and brought you to the edge. You couldn’t process the sudden pleasure and how you screamed his name before almost collapsing on the bed if it wasn’t for his hold. Like he said, he didn’t pull out when he came. He pushed you down his entire length until his orgasm hit and thick cum was spilling into the condom.

“Oh my god,” you sighed, trying to catch your breath as he let you go, inevitably falling face first into his bed. Jungkook was puffing out of breath, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead as he ripped the condom off and stared down at you. Without thinking, his hand came down on you ass, shimmying down once more and trying to get you on your knees so he could get back to work.

“No, I need a second,” You said with a small moan when he angled your ass up and his face a mere inch away from your used cunt.

“I’m just gonna clean you up from the inside,” he licked his lips hungrily, “Relax.”

And you did. He had you asleep in his arms before he knew it and all he could think about is how long it had been since he had sex that good, wondering what was on your mind and if it was him or not.

When it felt as though your body had finally relaxed to fall asleep, your actions sank into your bones jolting you awake. It was the witching hour when you checked the time on your phone, the blinds were closing out the moon and there was a heavy arm draped across your body that didn’t feel right.

Jungkook stirred in his sleep, nuzzling his hair into your side when you tried to sit up, “What are you doing?”

“I have to go,” You told him, not able to whisper as you looked down at him in disbelief. Did you really sleep with him? A stranger. Yes, you knew Jungkook to an extent but at the end of the day he was not your boyfriend, he was not your friend, he was still a stranger to you. You’ll jeopardize your relationship for him?

This wasn’t like you at all. You weren’t the type to cheat, never in your life did that ever cross your mind yet in a blink of an eye that’s what you’ve done. You can’t make any sort of excuse at all. It wasn’t a text or some light flirting. You slept with him, slept with someone who you were not in a relationship with. It was making you sick.

When Jungkook processed what you said, he was snapping himself awake, sitting up and reaching for you, “What are you talking about? Look at the time.”

“I know but I should go, I have to uh…” You struggled to think of a better reason without exposing you for the truth and began to grab your thrown clothes off the ground. It was a humiliating reminder of your actions. With a hitched breath you tried again, “I shouldn’t be here.”

“Y/n,” Jungkook said your name so calmly, “Relax, it’s fine. Just get back in be—“

You practically ran out the room. You couldn’t think to look back when he called your name out the front door and went straight to your car. The cold had seeped inside and the windshield was lightly frosted over making it hard to leave as quickly as you wanted to escape. You got the courage to check your cellphone and check your notifications. There were a few texts, DMs, and shares from your friend but only one text from your boyfriend.

minu: ig u didn’t want to come over?

minu: goodnight

It was sent an hour ago when you and Jungkook were… yeah.

You cheated. You cheated on a man you’ve been with for three years with someone you barely knew. There was no way to sugarcoat it [not that you could] and it made you sick to your stomach. You couldn’t beg for understanding because how? What reason did you have? That Jungkook was attractive? That he was nice to you and actually wanted to be around you? You don’t know him! You don’t know what kind of guy he is and clearly you don’t even care because if you did you wouldn’t have risked your relationship with him.

What the fuck was wrong with you? You needed to tell Minu right now.

The ring of the call echoed through the silent car as you pressed the phone to your ear, gnawing on your bottom lip. There was a big chance Minu was asleep but you had to say it now. You wouldn’t be able to face him any other time.

“Hello?”

“You’re still awake?” You asked with a small sniffle, sitting up in the driver's seat where Jungkook had once been taking you to his place.

“Yeah, we finished the tournament. Now I’m playing Minecraft,” Minu said, too focused on his game to catch the tone in your voice and how it quivered.

You didn’t say anything as the words caught in your throat. You had to tell him, you know that but he didn’t sound at all worried about what you could’ve possibly been doing. For all he knew you were at home still pissed off he canceled dinner and he would still be playing games.

You felt like crying.

Jungkook had to stop Bam from barking loudly when you stormed out and took even longer to find his own things. He ran after you in shoes with no socks and a zip-up sweater with no shirt underneath. His hair was a mess and he was half asleep but he wanted to go find you. It was cold, late and dangerous out for you. Why on Earth would you leave at this hour?

“I’m probably gonna go to sleep soon though,” Minu finally said.

“Yeah, me too,” You said back, slumping in the seat and closing your eyes. He didn’t care to know what you were doing and though that didn’t excuse why you didn’t tell him, it made you feel better. As twisted as that sounded. Minu was not the type to reach out to you first. He hadn’t been at all worried about where you were or who you were with.

It felt like forever before you were able to move again and the first thing you did was look back at Jungkook’s apartment. You nearly jumped as you watched him standing just outside your car looking dazed and confused. You gathered enough strength to roll the window down and looked at him.

“I just wanted to make sure you got to your car,” He said, not mentioning anything about how he clearly saw you on the phone with someone. He didn’t say anything about the way you suddenly jolted out of bed or the reason why.

He knew why.

“I’ve got to be up early,” Was all you could think to say and he chuckled. He couldn’t believe how you still avoided the mention of your boyfriend but he didn’t mind it.

“Okay,” Jungkook said with a small nod, “I’ll call you?”

No, you needed to tell him no and drive off but instead you just nodded in response. He watched you leave for the night and returned home feeling good compared to you.

In all honesty, after you had finished and were just laying in his arms he had a second of weakness where he let his guilty conscience set in. He thought about the guy you were seeing and how fucked up it was to have you in his bed but it was a short lived feeling. He realized he liked how you felt with him and how he could treat you better and all sympathy left when you fell asleep.

He didn’t care you were with some other guy, he’ll fix that.

Cloud 9.

He felt as though he’d been on cloud 9 the other night. That was the only way he can explain it and it’s all he was able to think over the weekend. Even when you ran off on him it didn’t stop him from feeling this way. He understood it would take time for you to come to terms with your new feelings and the last thing he wanted to do was pressure you any further.

On Saturday he went to the gym with Taehyung but you were nowhere to be seen.

On Sunday was his ‘off’ day and he spent it at home hating himself for never actually getting your phone number. How was he supposed to call you if he never got it? What an idiot.

Monday came and he had been brought down from his cloud of bliss when he didn’t see you first thing in the morning. He expected you to be around like you usually were but you weren’t and though part of him wanted to ask your friends why he decided not to overthink it. He went to work and hoped he’d see you later when he returned.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” Namjoon said at one point. Jungkook had been smiling all day, being obnoxious to his hyung and doing everything in his power to remain feeling good. He kept telling himself that he’d run into you later and get everything sorted out.

“I’m in love,” Jungkook said dramatically, only half-joking, “I mean like… maybe too soon to tell but real close? I don’t know.”

Namjoon chuckled, “So it did work out with that girl? Taehyung was complaining to me for days about how rude you were. What happened? Did you guys go out again?”

“No, with the girl from the gym, Y/n,” Jungkook smiled as he leaned against the Ford Focus that Namjoon was tuning up, “We had dinner last week and it went really well.”

“I thought she had a boyfriend,” Namjoon looked up from under the hood.

Jungkook waved his hand as if shaking the thought away, making Namjoon sigh, “Don’t be that kind of guy.”

“Sh, just trust me okay?” Jungkook said as he pushed off the car, “I’m seeing her later.”

You practically crouched behind the front desk at work as you read over your schedule. You had one last client today and then you were free to bedrot like you’ve done for the last couple days. Thankfully your boyfriend didn’t care to reach out to you —he was too busy with his friends to notice something was off—and you were allowed to be alone with your thoughts.

Your guilty conscience was eating you from the inside but more so because you’ve realized what a terrible person you are. For some reason what happened with Jungkook had felt like the end of the world. Minu would somehow know immediately that another man touched you and do something about it. You weren’t sure what was worse.

Your boyfriend finding out about your infidelity immediately or going on with his usual act of ignoring you too much to notice you did something wrong.

The angel on your shoulder has been begging you to confess to someone but the devil whispered not to. If he hasn’t caught on… he never would. You can continue on like normal and just avoid Jungkook, focus on your boyfriend and become a good doting partner.

“Hey Tae, Jungkook,” Eunbi said in her usual chirpy manner and you felt like disappearing into the floor.

“Hey,” both guys said as they checked in and you could feel Jungkook’s eyes on you. You forced yourself to look at your planner and not up at him but he made it too hard.

“Y/n,” He said, sliding down the front desk till he was directly in front of you, “How are you?”

His question was harmless, he was just a regular who knew you by name. That’s how it appeared anyway but the look he gave you was different.

You gave him one of your best customer service smiles and stood up, “Great, Jungkook. You?”

You didn’t give him time to respond as you turned to Eunbi, “I’m going to go check on the saunas, tell me when my client is here.”

Taehyung looked between the two of you as Jungkook went to follow you. Eunbi barely had time to process what was going on when someone else came to check in and she had to shift her attention. The two went to the locker room where Taehyung finally asked, “What was that? You finally getting the courage?”

“Something like that,” Jungkook said with a shrug, shoving his bag in his locker as he switched shoes and put on a waist belt to work out in. Taehyung couldn’t help but smirk, “I’m still a little pissed you blew me off with those girls the other night but if it was to get lucky with Ms. Trainer, I’ll let it go. Did you? So she doesn’t have a man?”

“I’ll meet you for warm-ups, alright?” He left before Taehyung could respond and headed upstairs.

The sauna rooms were small and mostly empty so it wasn’t hard for him to find you cleaning one up for your next client. He knocked on the door lightly, waiting for you to turn and look at him, “So, I said I was going to call you and like an idiot, I never actually got your number.”

“Jungkook,” You stood straight, looking at him with unnecessary embarrassment, “Um, about the other night… it was a mistake.”

“Really?” He asked, taking a step closer to you, “I thought we really hit it off. I’ve been thinking about you and you don’t know how mad I was at myself that I couldn’t call you or see you until no—“

“I have a boyfriend.”

He stopped walking, standing just a couple inches away from you and it made you realize just how much bigger he was than you. It’s probably why he was able to manhandle you so easily in bed—snap out of it, Y/n.

You expected him to scoff and storm off annoyed or call you some mean names figuring you weren’t worth his time then but instead he laughed. He walked closer, “Is he gonna beat my ass now?”

“What?” Your throat went dry, stepping back when he reached out to touch you.

“I figured a girl like you wouldn’t be single so where is he?” Jungkook looked around for entertainment.

“You knew?”

“I had a feeling,” Jungkook said calmly and for some reason it made you want to relax too but you forced yourself to remain tense with him. He released a sigh, “Well? Where is he? Or have you not told him?”

You opened your mouth to speak but nothing came to mind. Was he being serious? Why did it seem like he didn’t care? Maybe he really didn’t. Maybe you were just a one time thing and he couldn’t care less? If that was the case why was he even bothering with you right now?

“I haven’t told him,” You admitted, “I’m sorry, I can’t do this. I already fucked up and I can’t talk to you anymore.”

“Come on Y/n,” He reached for your hand and you dumbly let him take it, “I’m not dumb. I knew the second you ran out on me something was up but be honest right now. You wanted to spend the night with me, don’t call it a mistake.”

You shook your head in disbelief, “No, I know, but… Jungkook, let’s just forget about it. I’m sure it was nothing serious for you anyway, I’m the one that fucked up.”

“So go tell your boyfriend right now,” Jungkook pointed to the door of the sauna, “Because if you really felt guilty you wouldn’t be bothering to tell me how wrong it was. You’d be telling him.”

Fuck, he was right.

You tried not to pay attention to the way his thumb caressed your knuckles, pulling you into him as he said, “You can say how wrong it was all you want but you wanted to do it. You had all night to tell me you were in a relationship but you didn’t. I have feelings for you and you can’t say you don’t feel anything for me.”

“I don’t, I shouldn’t,” you ran your fingers through your hair anxiously, “This is fucked up.”

“But it happened already, it’s been days and you haven’t told him so why bother now?” Jungkook was speaking to you in his usual calm tone but his hold on your hand was firm, making sure you can’t let go until you were in his open arms. There was a single tear in your eye that he couldn’t help but kiss away and though you flinched at his touch, you didn’t pull back. He smiled softly and hugged you, “We’ll figure this out.”

The two of you didn’t have anything to figure out. You had things to figure out. What you needed to do was push Jungkook away—not give him your phone number so he can be there for you like he claimed.

He texted you that night and the night that followed too. It was hard to avoid him at the gym but he understood enough to not bother you there. That didn’t mean you couldn’t feel his eyes on you anytime you were near but you tried not to focus on it. You had to tell Minu if you wanted things to work out with him.

You’ll tell him tonight. You decided already.

Hoseok had made a comment today about how you’ve been off lately and if he noticed you’re sure Minu caught on too. That’s why after work, you went to visit him.

“Min?” You called him for him as you let yourself into his unlocked apartment holding bags of takeout to have dinner together.

You can hear his shouting from the living room followed by more and walked in to see him and his friends already eating.

“Babe,” Minu said with a mouthful of pizza, “Sit down, you're blocking the TV.”

“What’d you bring?” One of the guys asked, trying to open one of the bags you brought as all motivation to tell him tonight quickly left your body and was replaced with what felt like unrightful annoyance.

You called him earlier to ask if you can come over for dinner and he said yes. You’d told him you wanted to talk about something and he said he’d hear you out. Now you’re here and so are four other guys he calls his friends all trying to eat the food you brought and pretend you weren’t here.

“I'm getting another drink,” Minu said as he got up while the game paused and you followed, “Sorry, I forgot that I planned guys night at my place. What’d you want to tell me?”

“Well I wanted us to be alone,” You said over their loud banter from the living room, “You couldn’t cancel one night with them for your girlfriend?”

How were you supposed to tell him now?

Minu laughed softly, working around you to open the fridge and grab a soda can, “Besides what’s so important they can’t be here? Don’t tell me you’re pregnant.”

You scoffed, “No I’m not fucking pregnant, Minu. Jeez.”

“Then what is it?”

“Minu! Man hurry up!” One of them called out.

“I’m going!” Minu shouted back, “Come on.”

“I’m going home.”

“Suit yourself.”

You stormed out of the apartment angrily. Stupid, you were so fucking stupid and Minu was the worst. You made a mistake and wanted to tell him because it actually is a big deal and he blows you off, like he always does [!]. It made you want to scream. You cheated on him and he didn’t even care to know.

Once again you found silent comfort in your car as you sat alone deep in thought. You tried owning up to your mistakes but you couldn’t. It wasn’t the time. It made you feel so much worse to think about what Jungkook said.

Why bother telling him now?

Clearly Minu doesn’t care what you do, or at least that’s what you told yourself. You can break up with him and he probably won’t care. It would be for the better if you did but then who would you have? Jungkook? What if he really was just stringing you along as some sort of karma? Maybe the universe thought you were in the wrong being with a guy you didn’t love for three years and was trying to fuck your life up.

It would be the only explanation for why Jungkook knew when to call.

You looked down at your cellphone, his unsaved number on display as he called and despite telling yourself not to, you answered, “Hello?”

“I haven’t heard from you, I’ve even done my part and given you space when I see you, Y/n, it’s getting hard,” Jungkook said as he stood in his bedroom while Namjoon and Taehyun drank in the living room, petting Bam, “I want to see you again.”

“We can’t,” you tried to hide the sniffling you let out, “I have a boyfriend.”

You couldn’t see the way he rolled his eyes and sat straighter, “But you answered my call and I can tell in your voice something’s wrong. Are you home?”

“I’m about to be,” you lied, starting your car to get your attention off of him.

“Have you eaten?” He asked, standing up abruptly. You thought about the food you left at Minu’s and sighed. He picked up on it and couldn’t help but smile, “How about I come over and make you something? I told you I’d be here for you.”

But he can’t be. You can’t let him comfort you. You cheated on Minu with him for fucks sake.

As if your heart was speaking before your head could think it over, you were telling Jungkook that your text him your address and hung up.

Jungkook couldn’t contain the smile on his face as he went to the living room, “You guys can hang out here for as long as you want but I’ve got plans so I gotta go.”

“Where to?” Namjoon asked with furrowed brows but Taehyung answered instead, “We know where.”

“Make sure Bam is in his kennel before you guys go, alright?” Jungkook hurried to change, ignoring Namjoon’s look of judgement.

When he arrived you didn’t say anything as he looked around curiously. It was a small one bedroom apartment but it seemed to hold his interest well. He focused on everything he could from your kitchenware to the dying plants at the window or the bowl of pomegranates on your dining table and the yoga mats rolled up in the corner of your living room.

“Lucky for you, I’m a good cook,” Jungkook said as he went to your kitchen with the bag of groceries he picked up before stopping here. You watched him find his way around your apartment, not bothered at all by your circumstances tonight. He didn’t care at all if you were in a relationship or not.

“What are we doing?” You dumbly asked,’wondering if he’d tell you something about why he dealt with you.

Jungkook looked up with a quirked brow, “About to have dinner?“

He smiled when you rolled your eyes and waited for you to really ask what you wanted to know, “I mean you and I. I know I said you can come over but we both know that it’s wrong.”

His shoulders rose in a shrug, bringing out your cutting board and a kitchen knife, “It doesn’t feel wrong.”

You let out a huff, frustrated with yourself more than anything. Of course he wouldn’t think it’s wrong he’s not the one in a relationship. Still, shouldn’t he feel a little guilty?

“I don’t like how you try and act guilty and like it was all a mistake,” He told you honestly, making you look up, feeling taken back by his statement, “If you really felt as guilty as you’re acting you wouldn’t have let me in. You wouldn’t have answered my calls or been with me that night. Is it hard for you to get that you like me?”

You didn’t want what he said to be so brutal and honest but you needed to hear that. You were trying to sound so pitiful like you’re the sole victim here when you’re not. Sure, Minu treats you like shit but why don’t you just leave him? Why do you sneak around with Jungkook and then acting like you don’t want him around?

He finished making dinner and brought over two plates, sitting next to you silently eating and waiting for you to say something. He felt bad for putting you in a situation like this but if you didn’t want him… you would’ve never fallen for his advances. He clearly treats you so much better than your current boyfriend so why are you acting like it’s a burden to have him around?

“Where did you go earlier?” More specifically, where did you go after work?

“I was with Minu,” You answered, watching how his eyes stared you down for a second before he nodded his head, taking in what you said. Maybe Jungkook was only pretending to not care as much as he did. What kind of person wants someone that someone else already has and how do they not feel an ounce of betrayal or jealousy or possessiveness? You weren’t trying to instigate anything, you just wanted him to be more honest with himself too.

You’ve risked your relationship with a guy you barely know and you’re not even 100% sure about how he feels for you. Was Jungkook using you for entertainment or did he have feelings for you?

“Nice,” Jungkook had lost his appetite and sat back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest but his attempt to seem casual failed, “What’d you guys do?”

“I shouldn’t tell you,” You leaned against the table when he drew back and it made him eye you suspiciously.

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he said, “So how’d you end up with me instead?”

“He has a tendency to prioritize his friends over me and tonight was no different.”

“So you haven’t told him?” He asked, “How long have you two been together?”

He gave you no time between questions, wanting to get to the point of it and it made your feelings of guilt return.

“Three years.”

“Well, if you loved him you’d leave him,” Jungkook said with a shrug that was so indifferent and unbothered that your mouth parted in surprise.

“I was going to tell him tonight, I had it all planned and then at the last minute he invited all his friends and how would I tell him then?” You said and he couldn’t help but smile. You explained yourself but you didn’t really care for what he was saying. He had half pointed out how you can’t possibly love your boyfriend while also telling you to dump him already. You didn’t reject either.

“So I’m your dirty secret then?” He asked in a playful tone, leaning forward again and mirroring the way you rested your chin in your palm and observed him. Even if you wanted to act like he didn’t get to you, he knows he did. You like him and he’s not backing down until he has you all to himself, “If that’s the case, will you let me spend the night?”

“Desperate,” you pointed at him and sighed, getting up to gather the fished and wash up, “Shameless and…”

“Can treat you better? I know, say what you want but I’m very self aware,” Jungkook ended your sentence and followed after you, “Just one movie then and I’ll leave, how about that?”

You granted him at least that and let him lay with you in your living room trying to find something to watch. Neither of you were interested in watching a movie but it was something you wouldn’t admit. You wanted Jungkook around even if you knew you shouldn’t.

“How’d you meet?” Jungkook asked, pulling your legs on his lap. A part of you wondered if he was going to ask you all kinds of questions tonight since it’s the first you’ve seen each other and been around long enough for the topic to be brought up. You’ve done a lot of avoiding and now there’s no way around it—which is good, right?

“Through a mutual friend. We were friends for a while before he asked me out,” You opened up to him so easily it drove you wild. Why were you so willing to be after telling yourself you wouldn’t be able to get too close to anyone aside from Minu?

“And you guys still don’t live together? It’s been three years,” he said, trying to read your expression when he ran a soothing hand along your leg, itching to reach for your waist and pull you onto his lap. He missed being this close.

“It’s complicated, clearly,” You said with a scoff, hiding your face behind your hands as you scooted to lay down.

“Clearly,” Jungkook couldn’t help but smile, “Come here.”

“Jungkook…” You looked at him but he was reaching for your arms to make you sit up. You let him drag you onto him.

“What?” He asked feigning naivety and doing such a poor job at it when his hands found your hips and positioned you to straddle his lap, “Don’t tell me it’s wrong.”

You won’t. It was obvious it was wrong and admitting that over again wouldn’t make you suddenly push him away and that made it all worse.

“Are you usually this persistent?”

“When there’s something I really want,” Jungkook said in a whisper now, lips brushing against your neck.

“This is such a bad idea,” You whispered back, tilting your head to the side, exposing more of your neck to him anyway. He placed a soft kiss, “Shh, just stop thinking about it and kiss me, yeah?”

“That’s not good,” You whined, hand cupping his chin and making him look up to kiss you, “Fuck.”

He kissed you with a need you haven’t felt from anyone else in a while. His hands circled around your waist, taking their time traveling across your hips and settling comfortably on your butt. With a firm hold, he pressed your body into his more and you kissed him harder.

“I’m hungry,” He said between kisses, tongue peeking out lazy and he watched how your lips covered it in nasty kisses that had him guiding you right over where he needed you the most. His body reacted instantly to the thought of you and as embarrassing as it was to admit, he’s been turned on since you decided to wear those little black shorts you like to wear when you work out.

You smiled, pulling back with a tug at his bottom lip with your teeth, “We just ate.”

“Mm,” Jungkook hummed, head dropping with disappointment and you ran your fingers through his hair, unsure what he was thinking. His big hand began to roam along your butt, fingers hooking around where your hips met your thighs and felt the crease from your sitting position with tenderness. You looked down when he caressed your thighs, sliding his hands up to tease your pelvis while managing to avoid your heat. It would be a lie if you said you weren’t beginning to feel aroused. You knew what he was implying and though it excited you, you wanted something else.

You slid off his lap with your hands on his thighs, “How about I treat you to something this time?”

His face lit up instantly, smiling giddily, “I can work with that.”

You were in the wrong and you knew that but after a while it didn’t seem to bother you as much. Jungkook made you feel wanted and it made you weak to him. The obvious thing to do would be to dump Minu so you don’t keep betraying him but every time you thought about it you couldn’t bring yourself to actually do it.

You became one of those girls who cheats on their boyfriend and Jungkook was so readily available. It felt like you were using him too but he didn’t even care—or well it felt like he didn’t.

When you’d see him at work he’d keep things brief in front of everyone but you’d feel his eyes on you anytime he was around. He tried not to bother you all the time but would happily accept your calls everytime you rang for him. He was enabling your terrible behavior with a smile on his face and it was the damndest thing.

“You’re distracting me,” He said a few nights later when he passed you on the staircase. You hesitated a second, looking up at him as you headed down and your eyebrows raised, “How? I was with a client.”

If anything now that you’ve seen him, you’re the one left distracted. Sweat marked his hairline and his cheeks were rosy from whatever warmup he’s just done and he was breathing heavily, chest rising and lowering with each breath.

“Yeah and there’s mirrors all over,” Jungkook smirked when he had your attention, “I can get a good view of you wherever I’m at.”

You couldn’t help but scoff, annoyed but stupidly charmed and began to walk back down, “Don’t be a creep.”

“Can I see you tonight?” He asked in a lower voice, looking down both ends of the stairs to see if anyone was around.

“Maybe,” You told him playfully, “If I’m not busy.”

Before he left, he pushed his bottom lip out giving you a sad and dramatic pout and nodded his head. You rolled your eyes with a smile and headed to the front desk to clock out.

It’s not that you didn’t want to see him too but you had to be smart here. You can’t just spend all your time with Jungkook because that would raise questions. Besides, Ara and Eunbi were coming over to watch the latest episode of Single’s Inferno.

You had really thought Jungkook would be okay with not seeing you tonight but it appears that wasn’t really the case.

jungkook: not even for a little bit? :(

you: I have ppl over

jungkook: mmmmmmmmmm

jungkook: after?

You typed back ‘maybe’ and set your phone down, trying to ignore it so you could spend time with the girls. You wanted to enjoy some time by yourself and act happy and normal like everything should be.

When your friends left and you debated calling him or not, you received a call from your boyfriend.

“Y/n?” Someone said on the other end that had you furrowing your brows, “It’s Rowoon, I’m with Minu and we were having some drinks after work an—“

“Is that Y/n?” You could hear Minu ask before some rustling was heard and he was talking now, “Babe, what are you doing? Can you come pick me up?”

“No way you’re drunk, it’s a Tuesday,” You said with a sigh, happy you were alone when you got his call, “Where are you?”

So it was a good thing you never told Jungkook to come over. It just sucked that you spent the night getting scolded for telling your boyfriend not to drink so much and for not sleeping with him lately. It was a night wasted in arguments when you could’ve been with someone who wanted to be around you.

“Remember Hyejin?” Taehyung asked him randomly a couple nights later, “She started seeing someone, probably got tired waiting for your attention.”

Jungkook shrugged, “Good for her.”

“What are you doing tonight?” He asked him.

“I’m gonna see Y/n,” Jungkook told Taehyunf honestly as he packed his things into his sports bag, “We’re making dinner and watching a movie.”

It’s been just a few days since he last had seen you but to him it felt too long. Time goes by extremely slow when you’re not around and as much as he likes to act unaffected with your current situation [that’s how he’s started to view your relationship], its starting to get to him. He just needs things to speed up already.

“Look at you, someone’s handsome late-night call,” Taehyung teased, not caring much about his friend’s choices. He knew Jungkook was wrong for seeing someone in a relationship but that didn’t change his friendship with him. Jungkook isn’t the one in the relationship and Taehyung isn’t the one being lied to so what does it have to do with him?

“I prefer the term, ‘Evening call’ instead,” Jungkook said in a joking manner. The oldest released a scoff as he swung his backpack onto his shoulder and began walking out the locker room first, “No shame.”

Jungkook just smiled and shrugged his shoulders, following his friend out. He knew your schedule had been free for the evening and left home a while ago so he didn’t bother saying goodbye to anyone else at the front desk.

“I really am shameless, aren’t I?” He asked once the two were outside, “Does that make me a terrible person?”

“It makes you a stupid one, what are you gonna do when she gets caught? You’re just here to ruin her relationship for fun?” Taehyung asked curiously.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Jungkook told him, “Have you ever seen something that you knew you just had to have? Anything, anyone?“

“Aish, you’re crazy,” Taehyung said with a laugh, “Just be careful what you get yourself into.”

“Yes, hyung, I promise,” Jungkook said, smiling as he got into his black truck, “I’ve got a date to get ready for.”

Jungkook knew what he was doing was morally wrong and it was probably a shame to know he was that kind of guy but he really did not care. From the moment he’d seen you he knew he had to have you. It wasn’t just the way you looked, it was about your almost shy glances that would catch his attention. The way you’d carry yourself when talking to others and how you walked with a little sway in your hips. Knowing you had a boyfriend had simply been a bump in the road and nothing more to him.

He had begun plotting on you since he realized he’d get to see you so often and he was not a patient man. He wasn’t going to wait for you to suddenly be single so he can have his chance, he planned on taking it and that’s what he did.

On days where he’s actually lucky, he wakes up with you at his side. He skips his morning workout when you stay in with him and he can imagine what it’d be like to see you all the time. Just that alone made his morals slip away so easily—that’s how he likes to think of it. It makes answering his friend’s judgments easier than acting bothered by the way things actually were.

Of course he’d prefer to have you all the time instead of just when you’re available but that wasn’t an option at the moment. He’s waited for you to get past the guilt and hoped you’d come to your senses and get the courage to leave your piece of shit boyfriend. Yes, Jungkook is greedy, makes bad decisions when it comes to who he chooses to involve himself with but who can blame him?

Those late night conversations where you listen to whatever he tells you about himself and he does the same for you made him a lot more… mushy than he cared to admit. Past girlfriends were fun while they lasted but he can’t remember feeling this… fluttery for them. It just didn’t compare and that’s why it’s such a pity he had to share your attention.

“What about this weekend?” He asked with a hand in your hair, massaging your temples nearly bringing you to sleep.

“Can’t,” you answered in a sluggish tone, snuggling into his naked chest, “I’m going to something with Eunbi. She met a guy.”

“Mm,” Jungkook didn’t care but asked for your sake, “Really? Do you know him?“

“No, I guess he’s a little bit older,” You told him, “She told me his name but I forgot.”

“And that’s on Saturday? What about Sunday?” He tried again.

“You know Sunday’s are when I see Minu,” You released a sigh, sliding off his arm a little and feeling him pull you back again.

“But all you guys will do is stay in and eat leftover pizza or something,” Jungkook said with a hint of annoyance.

“I like pizza,” You smiled, sensing his light jealous tone that amused you more than it should. It was like willingly playing with fire. Dangling a match over dry leaves and waiting for it to catch. As far as you’ve known, Jungkook is a very tame guy but there’s this spark in his eyes that shows a mischievous side—like the kind that joked about your boyfriend fighting him.

“I can get us pizza,” Jungkook said with a roll of his eyes trying to get you to relax against him more, “Baby, if that’s all you’re with him for then goddamn, why are you still with him?”

“Jungkook,” You said with a whine, hand on his chest as you pushed off him, “Don’t ask me such difficult questions.”

“Don’t think too hard, I’m just saying, I’d be a much better time on a lazy Sunday,” Jungkook forced a smile, pulling himself up on the pillows a little more when you sat up facing him.

You placed a manicured finger on his toned stomach, “You’re bad for me.”

“Oh, am I?” He chuckled, arm behind his head against the headboard, “I should be saying that about you. You want me but you’re with him, how shameless.”

You covered your ears instantly, eyes squeezed shut as you tried to tune him out but he just smiled and sat up, “It’s true, no need for theatrics.”

“Shh,” You groaned, unable to help the smile, “You’ll make me realize I’m a terrible person and put a stop to this right now.”

“You think I’ll let you?” He reached for you, arms around your waist until you were leaning against his front, “It’s going to take a lot to get rid of me now. You’ve already made the mistake of getting in bed with me tonight, I might just keep you here until the weekend starts and ends. Then he’ll really wonder who you’re with all the time. Or maybe I’ll tell him myself.”

You couldn’t help but laugh when he turned you over so your back hit the sheets and he hovered over you, throwing your bare legs around his waist, “Are you threatening me? Trying to use blackmail?”

“You think it’ll work?” He pressed his body into yours, feeling the way your figure fit against his so well. It was no wonder there was chemistry.

“What a terrible, awful guy to seduce someone in a relationship.”

“Mm,” Jungkook looked down at the curve of your lips and the softness in your cheeks with admiration. He nodded his head in agreement and felt your arms circle his neck anyway, “Try not to be so easily swooned.”

He waited to hear your annoyed scoff, laughing softly into your neck when he hugged you, pulling the sheets over both of your bodies, “Now go wash up because if I go with you we’re not leaving my apartment at all.”

He let you go with a displeased groan, hand touching down your back and watched you practically run to his bathroom and take some clothes off the dresser with you.

“Who is she seeing again?”

You looked at Minu with an irritated smile, trying to be happy about the fact he was joining you tonight. Despite how much Eunbi and Minu despise each other, she invited him too in hopes that he wouldn’t pick a fight with you about tonight.

Usually, when you and your boyfriend decide to go out with your friends you have a tendency to drift away from each other. He’d go with his friends and you’d go with yours. Very rarely did you two stick together but it seemed like tonight that was your only option.

“Jin,” You told him for the fourth time since you got to the packed bar, “He’s somewhere over there.”

He followed the lazy wave of your hand in the direction of Eunbi and stared off. Minu wasn’t usually shy or antisocial but of course he’s forced himself to tag along where he knows no one but you and now is pissed off about it.

“Let’s get one more drink and go home,” Minu said, making you glare up at him.

“I’m not leaving, we just got here,” You told him, “If you want to leave go ahead.”

“You don’t even know anyone here,” he said with a roll of his eyes, “You just want to get drunk. We can drink in my apartment, let’s go.”

A sigh escaped your lips as you tried to weigh out your options. If you leave, Eunbi might pop myget a little upset but she’ll get over it easily. She’s with her new man and is surely more worried about that. If you choose to stay, there’s a high chance you won’t hear the end of it. Minu won’t stop bitching until you leave and you’ll probably argue over something stupid. Ashamed to be defeated, you decided to compromise with him. “Fifteen more minutes and then we can leave.”

As surprising as it might seem, Jungkook had plans to spend his Saturday night with Bam couch rotting just at the thought that you’d be out having fun without him. Lately he’s realized he only has fun when he’s with you and when you’re not around he feels it more intensely.

He had no plans of stepping out of his apartment but when he got a call from one of his good friend’s asking what he was up to tonight, he just had to tag along. Seokjin wasn’t the type to go out anymore so it was a surprise to them all, especially announcing he was kind of seeing someone and when Jungkook asked for the name… well, it wasn’t hard for him to connect the dots.

You couldn’t remember the name of the guy Eunbi was seeing and it all worked out so easily. It’s times like this that Jungkook seriously thinks the universe wants something stronger to happen between you. If it didn’t, there’s no way you’d be connected this way too.

Admittedly, he arrived late because he went to pick up Namjoon but it didn’t seem like he’d missed anything more than a few rounds of drinks. He wasn’t here to drink anyway.

“So you know each other? I don’t know why I didn’t think to ask,” Jin asked him and Eunbi when she finally spotted them. Jungkook nodded with a polite smile, not sure what else he could do. He’s already losing hope when he couldn’t immediately see you right there next to her. Didn’t you come along just for her? Where were you?

“Y/n is here too! You know the trainer?” Eunbi had said to which he pretended to be surprised by the news and looked around, “She’s somewhere with her boyfriend. I’m sure she’ll come back around.”

Boyfriend? You brought your boyfriend and dint care to tell him? Maybe he’s being unreasonable considering he’s just the one you’re having an affair with but doesn’t he deserve at least a little knowledge? You’re usually more honest with him than the man you’ve been with for three years a so what’s your deal? Won’t you see Minu tomorrow? Why does he get to see you both Saturday and Sunday’s now?

“In the meantime, let’s drink,” Jin said to his group of friends, leading them toward the bar and Jungkook followed behind with Namjoon. He felt his eyes fall on him but he didn’t do anything, too stuck on why your boyfriend was here and what would happen when you see each other.

“So Y/n’s here too, just a coincidence, right?” Namjoon asked with a scowl, “I was wondering why you suddenly changed your mind about going out tonight.”

“Jin called and asked what I was doing, possibly seeing Y/n would just be a nice surprise,” Jungkook’s tone was as mischievous as the smile he forced on his face, “Come on hyung, I said I’d pay for the first round.”

“You’re a lost cause,” Namjoon said with a sigh, unable to hide the amusement of seeing how persistent Jungkook was. How… caught up he was with you. It was beginning to be entertaining despite if it was wrong or not.

Jungkook tried paying attention to his own friends but it didn’t take him long to find you on the other end of the bar. You stood next to a somewhat tall guy with a familiar face and his arm around your waist. You were too far for him to hear what the two of you were talking about to the group of guys you were now with but he could easily read your expression.

Even with a smile on your face it was obvious you didn’t care much about what any of them were talking about. Your boyfriend was the one doing most of the talking, happy and acting sweet with you which was the complete opposite of how you described him. There was a chance you were exaggerating how awful he was to Jungkook but he didn’t think that was likely. He can tell that whatever display of affection you were showing each other wasn’t real. There was no need for it to upset him but it did. When you’re with Jungkook he knows it's because you want to be. He never has to force you to smile or open up to him, you just do. Right now everything you do seems like an act and he’s not just saying that because he’s jealous.

“We might head to another bar soon, I don’t know I guess it depends how everyone is feeling. There’s a lot of us,” Jin said, looking around at the group that gathered. On one hand he had his own friends, Jungkook and Namjoon, Eunbi and her friends. It would be hard to have everyone talk so he had to bounce around. Right now he would like to take a break and talk with just Jungkook and Namjoon, “So what’s up with you guys?”

“Me, nothing much just working at the shop, how about you, Jungkook? Does Jin know you’re seeing someone?” Namjoon said with a smug expression that had Jungkook glaring at him. He just smirked, a laugh threatening to slip as he watched Jungkook think of a response.

“You’re dating someone? You dog, once you got back from the army you kept going on about not jumping into a relationship and look at you now. A few months out and you’ve already gotten a girl,” Jin teased, “Why didn’t you bring her out tonight?”

“I’m sure she’s somewhere,” Namjoon said with a clear throat making Jungkook nudge his arm. Jin looked at the two of them and rolled his eyes, “Whatever, I need a shot.”

“I’m gonna go with him, are you coming or … ?” Namjoon asked him, question dying on his tongue when he followed Jungkook’s line of sight. His tongue poked against his cheek trying not to tense his jaw but it was obvious he saw something he didn’t like.

You still haven't noticed Jungkook watching as you let Minu press a kiss to your lips. It didn’t even matter to him that you slightly pulled back, he was annoyed enough just by watching it happen. It must have been some parting kiss because you tugged Minu’s arm off your waist and began walking away. Jungkook didn’t think twice about going after you.

“Eunbi,” You had to shout over the loud music once you found your friend, “I’m going to the restroom.”

“Okay!” She shouted back, smiling giddily and drunk so you began to walk away when she tugged you back, “Oh! We might go somewhere else, I think Jin is asking his friends. Did you know Jungkook is here?!”

“Jungkook?” Your brows furrowed looking at her with a confused expression. Play it cool, you thought.

“Yeah, gym Jungkook. Apparently he’s friends with Jin,” Eunbi said looking around before she said, “Anyways, I’ll text you if we do go.”

“Okay… Minu might want to uh—“ You blinked in thought, looking around anxiously, “Tae-oh came and one of his other friends so he might want to stay.”

You need to make sure you don’t run into Jungkook. “I’ll be back.”

You weren’t too familiar with the club you were at tonight but that didn’t stop you going off on your own. Minu was busy with his friends and Eunbi was with Jin. Plus, you needed a moment to yourself so you can wrap your mind around what your friend just said.

Jungkook lost you for a second but found you again when you turned a corner. The hall light was a deep green that casted unnatural shadows where people should be. The music was muffled and there was security at the front of the hall but they didn’t seem to be paying attention too much. He gave them one last look to make sure they weren’t giving him to much focus and before he knew it, he was pushing the door for the restroom open.

You leaned against the stall door, biting your nail anxiously as you debated texting Jungkook or not. You wanted to know if he was really here.

“Y/n.”

Your heart sank down your chest, when he said, “It’s me.”

Something was telling you not to open the door. Thankfully this restroom was a maze to get to so it didn’t have much traffic because there’s no way he would’ve been able to just walk in. You shut your eyes in thought, hand reaching for the handle to unlock it and the second you did, he came in.

“What are you doing here?” You rushed to ask when he pushed you back into a stall, hands cupping your face as he didn’t think twice to press his lips to yours in a heated, well-awaited kiss. You ignored the moral conscience telling you to push him away—it wasn’t the right time or place to be doing anything like this but you couldn’t help it. Your arms circled around his neck, making him dip his head lower and angle to the side to deepen the kiss. Your back hit the stall wall making you squeal in surprise but the sound was muffled with his tongue.

“Wait,” You sighed, putting your hand on his chest to try and put space between you, “Koo-“

”Just a little more,” He whispered, lips trailing down toward your jaw, threatening to suck on the skin and create a love bite but this time you pushed him back with more force.

“How’d you know I was here?” You asked, wiping the smeared lip gloss off your lips while Jungkook just locked it off his own. His shoulders rose in a shrug, “Apparently we know the same people.”

He pretended like he hadn’t figured that out earlier and you didn’t tell him how Eunbi just let you know too. Still, you didn’t think he’d actually come looking for you. You don’t know if he’s seen Minu but you’d prefer if they don’t run into each other at all. Thankfully, Minu doesn’t know anything about Jungkook [why would he?], but you can't remember if Jungkook knows how to spot Minu.

“I’m here with—“ “I know,” Jungkook cut you off almost bitterly, looking down at you with a dark gaze that had you awfully aware of how small the stall was when there were two people in it. The music from outside was nearly turned out completely ad it felt like everyone else was on a different planet than you but you knew Minu would wonder where you were soon. If not him, his friends would ask him where you were. Just before you could tell him, you needed to go back out, there was a knock on the restroom door. It was a public place and if someone was looking to use it, they wouldn’t have knocked���

You bit your lip nervously, waiting to see if they’d knock again but this time they spoke, “Y/n?”

You looked at each other with mixed expressions as the truth hit you. Minu was the one trying to get you to come out. You pushed past Jungkook to get the door open but he wouldn’t budge, ‘Jungkook,” you huffed, getting him to move aside so you can leave but he was right behind you.

Your boyfriend knocked again, this time sounding more impatient and you turned to Jungkook, “Can I just text you once I’m gone?”

His brows furrowed, “What? Ju tell him righ—“ “Please,” You begged and with a sigh, he nodded his head. You gave yourself a quick look to make sure you didn’t look bad and immediately sighed when you spotted the red bruise Jungkook put on your neck, using your hair to cover it, you opened the door wide enough for you to slip out.

”What took you so long?” Minu asked, standing right at the door and trying to stare in but you tried blocking it.

“I was fixing my makeup,” You lied, trying to get him to walk away, “What’s up?”

”I heard you talking to someone,” He pointed at the closed door and you prayed Jungkook wouldn’t decide to come out now. “I was fixing my makeup,” You said once more but it was obvious Minu didn’t believe you. Usually he’s clueless about anything that has to deal with you so it was strange how adamant he was to stick around.

‘It still looks like shit,” He muttered under his breath, half tempted to swing the door open and see for himself. He wasn’t as dumb as you thought he was. You’ve been gone for a while and he swears he heard a guy’s voice just now. Plus, you were acting strangely, “Where’s your bag?”

Shit…

Jungkook stood with his ear pressed to the door and looked into the stall you once were. Thinking quickly he grabbed the mini bag just as Minu said, “Go get it.”

You squeezed your eyes shut with worry, bracing yourself to go back in while still making sure Jungkook wasn’t seen but your efforts were useless. Minu looked in far enough to watch a tattooed hand pass you your bag. Someone was hiding there.

Your breath caught in your throat when you went back out, noticing how close Minu was to you now and it told you everything you needed to know. He was onto you and the last thing you needed was him to storm in and confront Jungkook while all your friends are out there waiting. How stupid could you be? You should’ve never answered Jungkook when he stood outside.

“Let’s go,” His tone was sharp and unusual/ it was obvious he was mad but he was also too calm for your liking and that almost scared you more. Usually he doesn’t bite back from telling you how he feels. Yes, at times he can be too dismissive but when it comes to how he feels, he never holds back. That’s why it’s strange for him to not say anything.

“Min—“ You tried to call for him but he was already a few steps ahead of you, wa;Kim out of the hall and back to the crowded bar. He barely gave you time to react when he took your hand in his and forced a smile on his face as he told his friends the two of you were calling it a night. He made some excuse about you drinking too much and when you tried looking for Eunbi, he didn’t let you go and dragged you to the car.

He refused to speak to you for the first couple minutes in the car, your leg bounced with anxiety and you bit your nails nervously waiting for him to speak up.

“I can’t believe you’d fucking embarrass me like that,” Was the first thing he said after five agonizing minutes in dead silence. “In front of my friends? In front of your friends? What were you thinking?”

So does he know? You can't exactly tell since he’s not yelling at you over it yet.

“I’m out here looking like an idiot trying to find you and you’re being a slut with another guy. Are you stupid? How am I gonna face my friends? I just don’t get why you’d do this to me. I treat you so well, I love you so much and you were willing to risk what we have for some random guy?” It took you a second to understand what he was mad about. Was it just that he caught you with someone? Was it that you did it somewhere where his friends were also? Did he feel like you weren't grateful for whatever imaginary things he’s done for you? He has a right to be upset but what reason was he going to use and why were his friends brought up into everything?

It was time for you to just be honest, or as much as he’d let you be anyway, “He’s not just some… I’m sorry, okay? I’m stupid and shameless and I know there’s not anything I can say right now to fix what I fucked up.”

All Minu could do in response is scoff and shake his head. He went back to not speaking to you and you decided it’d be better to just wait until he was ready. He’s being too calm but you rather have him like that than yelling in your face in a moving car. You were sur[rised when he still chose to take you back to his place like originally planned but you understood why. He probably wanted you to speak up now, “Minu…”

“No, Y/n, I can’t even look at you right now. Why would you do that to me? After three years, you just… you try and throw it all away, why? I don’t even care who that guy is, all I want to know is why you’d do that,” Minu said, finally being more open to talking but you can tell he was barely holding his anger at bay.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, following him toward his bedroom as he began to rip off his jacket.

“Yes you do so can you just be honest with me for once and say it,” Minusaid and that’s when you started to feel a little confused. You were always honest with him, if anything this was the first time you’ve ever lied to him but it’s obvious why. You wanted to see other people behind his back but still have him around. You even tried telling him immediately the first night but couldn't bring yourself to tell him after how he acted that night. When you asked to have dinner so you can try again, he brushed you off, so what did he mean ‘be honest for once’?

“I don’t know,” You said again, “I just… he’s not like you. I don’t have to beg him for attention or fight with him about every little thing.”

You knew it was the wrong thing to say after you said but it was too late to take it back. He heard you clearly and whipped back to look at you, “So it’s my fault then?”

Shaking your head no, you tried to deny it, “That’s not what I’m saying—“

He stood near his desk, arm swinging across the top until a sack of old books fell to the floor along with a picture of you he had on his laptop. You didn’t bother to jump as you get a sense of familiarity. This is the guy you knew, this was your boyfriend—the one who gets mad and starts throwing things. It’s been a while since you’ve last seen him like this but hats because you’ve been avoiding him. He shook his head in disbelief and said, “Well I’m sorry we fight Y/n, all couples do. I didn’t realize that wasn’t fucking normal. I’m sorry that I’m busy and can’t pay every second of attention that you deserve. You want a guy like that? He’s what you want? I can’t give you what you want so you go to the next person that does? I could’ve slept with someone else since you won’t have sex with me anymore. You should’ve let me know and then we both could’ve been assholes.”

You sat on his bed, ;eating him keep going because you couldn’t think of anything else to say. You didn’t want to fight for forgiveness or beg him to take you back because clearly.

Once he stopped pacing back and forth, you tried again to speak, “I’m not saying what I did was right but I think it’s crazy that suddenly you’re this perfect boyfriend that didn’t deserve anything bad but what you’re saying is not true. You seriously think things were good between us?”

Minu had the decency and awareness to shake his head, “No but I was trying. I’ve been trying, that’s why I came with you tonigh—“

You stood up, feeling your patience run thin as you looked at your boyfriend, “I don’t want to do this anymore. I can’t sit here and talk in circles with you like we always do about who treats who worse and who puts in more effort than the other. Neither one of us have been good to each other but I’m taking full blame for betraying you, if you want to break—“

“Are you stupid? I don’t want to break up!” He yelled, “I want you to sound like you mean it when you apologize. What are you even thinking? You think that guy gives a fuck about you? You want to end it with me so you can go be with him?” Minu asked, standing directly in front of you now, pushing on your shoulder, “You seriously think he’s what you want? After everything we’ve been through? You’re so ungrateful.”

“Hello? You can’t hear me or something? I said, you’re ungrateful,” he pushed you one last time, “Now that you found something better you want to leave me behind? No.”

“No?” You looked at him with disbelief. He didn’t want to break up. Not to mention he thinks you’re ungrateful. He thinks he does so much for you and it’s actually insane. “I’m ungrateful? I literally do everything for you and have you ever even noticed?”

“Don’t start Y/n,” he shook his head, “Stop trying to turn this o—“

“I’m not!” You told him angrily, “I said I was sorry, I don’t know what else you want me to do! It happened, I fucked yo and you still want to be together. Why? Just so you can hold it against me and keep being the way you are?”

“The way I am? I’m so sick and tired of your bullshit. You think you’re so much better than me at everything. You hate my friends, you hate that I don’t make as much as you do. You hate me.”

You sighed, “I d-don’t hate you. I just… I can’t anymore, do you know how hard it is to be with someone you don’t… I don't know… you don’t feel the same for? A—and I did it all wrong, if I knew I felt this way I should’ve just ended it sooner—“

“With who? With me? Why? Why can’t we just work through it? Do you really want to start over with someone else?” He looked at you with hatred in his eyes and it pissed him off. This is not how it’s supposed to be between you two. You both knew early on you were together because it felt… well, no, it didn’t feel right… but it felt comfortable? You didn’t ask much of each other and never did anything to move forward but he thought it was alright. Sure, he might’ve gotten lazy at times but what did he do that was so wrong you’d try and find comfort in someone else?

“I don’t,” You admitted with a sigh, “But I don’t want to be with you anymore. Call me selfish, clearly I am but I don’t want to be with you and have you constantly remind me how I messed up. I don’t want to keep putting up with the same routine because to be honest… I’m tired too. I’m tired of feeling less important than everything else in your life, Min. Hell, on days I really wanted you around you were too busy playing Minecraft. How do you think that made me feel? Like I said, I’m not making excuses I just… I don’t want to keep pretending to be happy with you.”

Minu didn’t say anything and you wondered how much he actually bothered to listen to. You just wanted him to understand there was no going back to before. He wouldn’t be happy. “You walked in on me with someone else and you couldn’t think of anything worse than embarrassing yourself in front of your friends.”

He scoffed, not denying what you said but not agreeing. It wasn’t like that exactly; he doesn’t think. His friends knew you well, they knew your relationship well and sure they also knew you fought but Minu doesn’t pretend for them… he’s not insecure like that… It’s just, well, he wants them to think he’s in a happy relationship because it makes it look like he has his shit together. You were always perfect for making him look good so of course he didn’t want them to see him out of character. It took him a second to realize there were a few tears in your eyes and it disgusted him—something he could finally admit, “Stop crying. You fucked everything up.”

Fine. You’ll take it. If he wants to yell at you more and just let it all out you’ll let him as long as it all just stops. If there be a point where it stops and you can be done. Your silence annoyed him more than your crying did and he couldn’t look at you anymore. You wanted to be done with him, fine, he doesn’t care, “Get out then.”

Your best option would’ve been to call a cab and wait at the front of the building but the thought of being anywhere near him had you walking into the night with tears down your face.

Jungkook prepared for this, alright? He wasn’t just some crazy guy who thinks everything would work out just fine. He knew you being in a relationship made things hard but maybe he didn’t plan ahead enough. He was too impatient to wait and he got with you as fast as he could. It was that easy, so why is it now… now that your boyfriend knows about him… why haven’t you called him back?

It’s been days and you haven’t responded to his texts or calls. He just wants to make sure you’re fine so why won’t you talk to him? It was beginning to bother him a little.

“Namjoon told me about what happened the other night,” Taehyung said as they found a spot to park for the gym. A mischievous smile appeared on his face, “Was he better looking than you?”

Jungkook scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief at his friend’s question. The guy was no competition at all so why are you bothering to ignore him instead? He can’t understand. Taehyung raised a curious brow as he watched his best friend just leave the truck without him. Sensitive topic, he wondered, following him into the gym.

“Is Y/n here?” Jungkook asked immediately. Hoseok was alone at the front for once and he didn’t care to get to know him at all. It’s been a few days since what happened over the weekend and hasn’t been able to see you. He has seen you at the gym but you’re out close enough or ever alone for him to approach you. It felt like you were avoiding him but why would you? What has he done wrong?

”I think she finished early today,” Hoseok said with a shrug. He’s been alone for a few hours now since Eunbi left with you and he’s got no clue what’s going on with you and Minu. Hosek’s gotten some of the story but not all of it. All he knows at the moment is that the two of you aren’t dating. Eunbi’s been trying to fish more out of you but he doesn’t know if she’s succeeded. It was a little strange that one of the regulars was asking for you. Jungkook doesn’t like one of your usual clients so why was he asking for you? Before Hoseok could even think to ask why, Jungkook as turning to his friend with a tense expression and stormed back out. Taehyung stood there confused, knowing exactly where Jungkook would go but kind of wishing he wouldn’t. He could’ve done more to keep him from leaving but was it worth it?

All the years he’s known Jungkook, he’s never kept himself from going after what he wants and he’s been more stuck on you more than anything at the moment. He doesn’t remember the last time he found him caught up on someone like this, or has gone as far as to ruin someone’s relationship but he’s done nothing aside from standing back and watching it all unfold.

You walked around the shop mindlessly, not looking at anything specific and barely listening to whatever comforting words Eunbi was trying to tell you. It didn’t work but you didn’t have the heart to tell her that.

“I mean, I feel like you both knew you were barely keeping the relationship going,” She tried saying. It didn’t help that you haven’t been fully honest with her either but at this point you don’t care. Yes, its being selfish but you didn’t end another person reminding you how shirt you are for messing with Jungkook. It didn’t help that he’s been trying to reach out to you and the smart idea would be to block him but you just can’t.its even worse toad it you miss him more than your now ex boyfriend.

“Are you going to try that on?” You asked, hoping to change the subject. She wanted you to come shopping with her so you wouldn’t lock yourself at home but right now you would prefer doing that instead. She looked down at the small pile of clothes in her hands and nodded, telling you she was going to the fitting room and left you alone to keep going through the racks. From your back pocket, you felt your phone vibrate and curiously you checked. When Jungkook’s name appeared on screen, you put your phone back away and tried to think about him. That was after the first ring, the second and third were harder to avoid.

“Hello?”

”Hey,” Jungkook let out a breath of fresh air once heard your voice on the other end, “I've been trying to call you…”

”I know, its been a weird lately few days,” You bit your lip in thought, looking toward the fitting room to see if Eunbi would be out soon, “Can I come over late? I think we should talk.”

Part of him wondered why your tone sounded off but he tried to remind himself what happened. Clearly you’re not with your boyfriend anymore and you need someone to talk to. Maybe you’ve realized he’s the only person you can open up to. A small smile adorned his features as he thought about seeing you. It hasn’t even been an entire week before he last saw you and it feels like its been forever. When he got home that evening, he didn’t bother telling Taehyung why he never went back and his friend never questioned it either. He waited around for you, cleaned his place, got dressed up for you and everything but when you knocked on his door, he nearly pulled you into his arms.

”I’ve got something in the oven, you haven’t eaten right?” He asked, letting you follow him inside trying to sound as relaxed as possible even when his heart was racing. You didn’t say anything, letting Bam run up to you to get a pet and you fed into it.

“I ate with Eunbi,” You told him honestly, “And I don’t think i'll stay long, to be honest.”

”Why?” He asked with a raised brow, “I thought you wanted to talk.”

you stood in his living room, still wearing your coat and holding your bag as if you were ready to leave any second and he didn’t like that. Were you planning on leaving already? You just got here, he’s barely had a chance to see you. You looked at him once he came back from the kitchen, turning off the oven since his dinner plans were cancelled and feeling annoyed by it. “What happened the other night..”

He let out a sigh, feeling a sense of deja vu to the time he found you in the saunas, “It’s fine.”

”It’s not, I’m serious this time,” You said, trying to sound firm but you knew Jungkook wouldn’t care. He’d find a way to disarm your hostility and get you in his arms again. Jungkook couldn’t help but scoff, “You haven’t ended it with him?”

“I did,” You said, “But obviously that doesn’t make everything alright. I still did something wrong and i hurt him—“

”And? You didn’t care when you and I were in bed together or when you would leave him to go see me,” Jungkook asked, stepping closer to you, “If he didn’t catch us when would you have told him? if you’re done with him i don’t get why you’re still playing hard to get.”

“You think I’m playing hard to get?” You asked, taken by surprise, “That’s crazy.”

“Well how else can you explain why you’re trying to push me away now?” He asked, getting closer and this time you backed away. With a small roll of your eyes, you crossed your arms over your chest and too him, “Why do you think?”

“Because its not fun for you anymore? Did it finally hit you how wrong it was because we’ve been doing this for how long now? Stop acting surprised that shit didn’t end well, you were sleeping with a whole other man knowing you had a boyfriend. Plus he treated you like shit,” Jungkook felt the need to remind you and it was getting hard to ignore his condescending tone. You didn’t expect him to baby you or tell you you’ve done nothing wrong but it wasn’t entirely your fault. He’s the one who kept going after you even when he knew you were in a relationship.

When you didn’t respond, he looked down at you closely, “Are you guys going to try and get back together?”

“No.”

”But you want to?” He asked, pushing for a response you didn’t want to give him. At this point you didn’t think he deserved to know either. The only reason why you’re trying to end things with him is because its too hard to ignore how wrong it was for you to involve yourself with him in the first place.

“No, but i also don’t think that means I should be with you,” You finally confessed. He didn’t say anything for a minute, staring down at you with an expression you couldn’t read. Usually, when Minu got quiet in the middle of a disagreement that meant he was going to get more aggressive. It usually involves throwing something or hitting furniture but Jungkook wasn’t doing any of that. Maybe he realized you weren't worth the fight and it kind of hurt you but he would be right. You weren't worth fussing over anymore, you think.

Plus, how likely would a relationship with Jungkook work? The way it started was built on disloyalty, what did he expect? Sure, he probably felt used but what else can you do? Nothing you say could change if he felt that way.

“I should go,” You tried to say, ignoring the scoff he let out. It’s obvious he was mad which was strange considering you’ve never been in a situation where Jungkook has to be mad at you but that’s whats happening right now.

His jaw tense with irritation, watching as you looked toward the door, getting ready to leave. That was it for you apparently. You said what you had to say and now you’re done with him. You’re trying to throw him away and clean your hands of all wrongdoings. This entire time he kept telling himself that he was different, that you really would realize he’s better and not think twice about choosing him but that isn’t the case at all. You want to rid yourself of both of them and it didn’t sit right with him.

His body moved before he could think about it clearly and grabbed you by your wrist, making you jerk back to him. His nails sunk into the skin making you wince, trying to pull yourself free and it took him a moment to realize he was actually hurting you. He let go of you quickly, shaking his head as if trying to clear his head and put some space between you. You looked at him with shock, trying to soothe the pain, “I’ll call you?”

It was probably not the best thing to say but you dumbly said it. He did seem to relax when you said but you weren't sure if he fully believed you or not. Maybe he was just happy you weren't mad about the way he just grabbed you suddenly.

He felt frozen in place, even after you left. It was a new feeling for him, this sense of being thrown away.

To be honest, this is not how he expected things to turn out. Yes, he knew he was getting into a big mess if he went for you knowing you had a boyfriend but at the moment he didn’t care—he still didn’t. He just thought that once he’d have you, you’d see that you don’t need another guy to waste your time. He tried waiting patiently for you to break up with that guy and after a while maybe he couldn’t take it anymore.

It was seeing you at the bar with your so-called boyfriend pretending to be happy that pushed him over the edge. Why did he have to see you being kissed by someone else? He’s the one you run to at night so was he second to you? He knows your ex did you wrong many times but what about you? How good of a girlfriend were you when you were fucking Jungkook behind his back?

Since you’ve lost your boyfriend you want to pretend nothing ever happened with Jungkook and that really does annoy him. Did you push away so you can hopefully get Minu back? Is that what this is? He refuses to believe you’re done with him just cause. There has to be a reason and he doesn’t want to hear that it was a mistake. If it was a mistake it wouldn’t have gone on for so long.

Fuck, right now he sort of hates you. Is that bad? He swears he wants you, he loves you and wants you to only think about him but you’re so stupidly selfish. You knew how he felt about you and you used that against him in some way. He was your dirty secret and in the moment it was fine but now that he’s alone it pisses him off.

The smart thing to do would be to move on. If he just puts what happened with you aside then he can move on. Maybe he’ll find someone he feels for him the way he does for them. Maybe he’ll take some time to himself. Who knows, all he has to do is stop thinking about you but it was so damn hard.

All Jungkook wanted to do was talk to you but he wasn’t allowing himself to. It’s been a couple days since you showed up on his doorstep and it’s taking everything in him to not reach out to you. You said your piece the other night and he should just respect it. That’s what he keeps saying in his head every time he catches a glimpse of you at the gym or when his finger hovers over your contact in his phone.

At that point his friends caught on to the fact that this bothered him more than he could admit. Namjoon would catch him anxiously checking his phone at work or getting irritated much easier. Taehyung couldn’t hold a conversation anymore without Jungkook sounding bored. He wasn’t interested in anything and he looked tired all the time.

���Just one drink Kook,” Taehyung said as the two packed their things in the locker room.

“No thanks,” Jungkook slammed his locker shut, slinging his bag over his shoulder and walking out. Today you were at the front desk looking over something on one of the computers and it hurt him to know you wouldn’t look up at him once.

He didn’t bother acknowledging Eunbi when she said goodbye and Taehyung felt lowered after you without a word. As Jungkook’s friend, he feels the need to be on his side. Clearly he knew all along that Jungkook was messing around with you and that it was wrong but it’s not all Jungkook’s fault. It’s mainly yours, he thinks, and if anything he’s annoyed you have his friend worked up. He doesn’t care talking to you until Jungkook is over his shitty mood and this could all blow over.

“Is it just me or do they just not talk anymore?” Eunbi asked absentmindedly, leaning back against the counter as she stared after the two, “It’s weird, Jin said he’s good friends with them so you think they’d be nicer to me in case we run into each other, right?”

“Mhm,” you hummed quietly, looking out the large windows of the gym front and watching them leave. You felt your chest tighten when you locked eyes with Jungkook, turning to look back at you and catching you staring. Eunbi narrowed her eyes as you shifted your head to look down, pretending to be focused on your schedule book. When she looked at Jungkook he was getting into his truck.

“So you still haven’t talked with Minu?” Eunbi asked curiously, “I mean good, I didn’t think the two of you would ever actually break up but clearly it needed to happen. You know what we need, a girls night out where you can just let loose and not worry about him getting mad at you.”

“I don’t think so,” You said with a smile. She frowned, glancing away in thought, “Honestly, I thought you’d be more relieved to be single but lately you’ve been so quiet about it. You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“I know,” You let out a sigh, “There’s not really anything to say. We’re not together anymore.”

“Hm,” Eunbi sounded dissatisfied but it’s all you could think of. The last thing you wanted was for your friends to be more involved in your clusterfuck of a life.

When you got home that night you had an odd sense of being watched. It wasn’t strong but uncomfortable at least. You couldn’t even explain it properly but it made you feel uneasy. It sort of opened your eyes to how vulnerable you’ve become. You got so used to Minu’s cold demeanor with you that nights alone weren’t a problem. Then Jungkook came along and every time he’d be at your side. Did you love him? Was it more than just you trying to find comfort in someone else? It was crazy to think you missed Jungkook more than the guy you dated for three years.

He thought about trying to talk to you but couldn’t bring himself to knock on your door. Instead he found himself calling Taehyung and taking him up on his offer earlier.

All he could think about though is how he could get you back. He worried you were still talking to your ex and that’s why you pushed him away. He wondered if you’d ever look at him again or if you’ll wait till his back is turned. You were still the only thing on his mind when he drank the feelings away.

“Alright, I gotta get going or I’m gonna be late.”

The shop was nearly empty when Namjoon decided to leave Jungkook to work alone tonight. He had plans and all Jungkook had for the night was crawling into bed and going to sleep. He cancelled his evening gym session with Taehyung in favor of working longer and avoiding you. He doesn’t want to but it’s for the best. You’re making it hard for him not to go find you. He wants to be patient and bide his time but how much longer will it take?

All he could think about as he worked alone past the sun setting was what you were doing. Who were you with? Who were you talking to or thinking about? Was he on your mind at all? You can't seriously avoid him for that much longer, right?

Some song played loudly through the speaker set aside, he nearly missed the sound of the doorbell chiming. Since business is extremely slow at this time of night, he usually just cleans up and tries to figure out what he has to do the next day. He didn’t at all expect anyone to make their way into the shop at this hour. The irony, however, of how things really worked. It took him a second to really notice who was standing in front of him with an impatient smile. “You’re open, right?”

“What can I do for you?” Jungkook stood at the desk in the lobby, looking at the guy with a blank expression. The guy got distracted by something on his phone so when he spoke next, he didn’t look up to talk. It gave Jungkook an opportunity to get a good look at him. It was the same face, same height he’s seen in pictures. His voice sounded the same from the phone calls and the other night. Was this really who thinks it is? No, there’s just no way this is a coincidence.

“An oil change,” He said plainly, pressing the phone to his ear and looking back at Jungkook.

“Alright,” his jaw tended created a small bulge in his cheek as he tried to ignore the guy’s tone, “Model and year?”

“Hey, you called? Sorry, I had to run errand after work,” The guy suddenly said on the phone and this time he couldn’t resist rolling his eyes.

Between whatever he said on the phone, he filled in Jungkook’s questions so that the paperwork could be filed.

“Sign your name and date and I’ll get started,” Jungkook told him, sliding the clipboard across the counter and watching him do as told.

“How long will it take?” He asked, Jungkook read the name he put and felt his breath hitch. Choi Minu.

“Half hour?” Jungkook looked up, gave him a polite smile and made his way out of the lobby so he can go to the garage and see what car was parked outside its door.

This piece of shit car lines up with the kind of guy who drives it. Muttered curse words slipped from his lips as he got to work. Would it be terrible of him to admit how much he hates the guy? Technically speaking, he never did anything to Jungkook. He is the one who put himself in a situation where he had to deal with Mimi’s type. The stuck up, shitty, insecure man who takes out his problems on his girlfriend—or at least that’s how Jungkook sees him. He was rude as fuck at the counter and he was rude that night he caught you. It sounds unreasonable to an extent sure, but Jungkook thinks he got what he deserved with you.

If he treated you better then Jungkook wouldn’t have had to step up.

He hated this guy. Hated him.

All these thoughts ran through his head as he laid under the car with a flashlight to his side trying to get the oil emptied out. His eyes wandered over other familiar mechanics and grimaced at the dust collected around everything. His wrench made a sound every time they touched metal and he wondered how often you were driven around in this car. You complained once about how Minu always asked to borrow your car so clearly you didn’t get in it as much. Plus, Jungkook’s truck was so spacious and you loved it when he drove you around, even said it yourself so he can’t imagine you being comfortable with Minu and the shit he had to offer you.

Curiously he looked to the wheels on either side of his head, an idea in his head that was half tempted to try if he was a little less… aware of what could happen. He’s never been the kind of guy to pull off such risks. Without meaning to, he tapped against the master cylinder and shook the thought away, trying to focus on the oil change.

“We’ve been having problems for a while but it’s not like us to not be together, yknow?” Minu said with a strained voice as he spoke on the phone still. Jungkook walked in, unnoticed, and pretended to ignore the conversation. In reality his heart was racing, wondering if he was hearing something about you.

“You know how Y/n gets, Rowoon, when she’s in her mood she doesn’t want anything talking to her. I promise we’re fine,” Minu walked toward the front desk, clueless to his surroundings, “How much?”

When he finally spoke to Jungkook, he was pulling his wallet out to pay. He told him the price and managed to say, “Cash only,” before he tried handing him a credit card.

Minu rolled his eyes and flipped the other of his wallet to grab cash, all while still on the phone, “Alright, imma let you go. Are we still on for Saturday? Yeah, see you then.”

With a sigh, Minu was relieved to see he had enough on him. Usually paying with a card isn’t a problem so it was strange that they only accepted cash but he didn’t question it. He just wants to go home and get on a game.

He extended his hand out with the money, looking at the mechanic finally before looking down at his hand when he took the cash. His body stiffened, “Nice tattoos. Where do you go?”

“A shop somewhere around here,” Jungkook with a shrug, rolling the sleeve of his shirt up, a small smirk stretching his lips as he watched Minu’s gaze harden.

Where could he have seen this exact pattern of tattoos? Surely they weren’t so common but they seemed so oddly familiar. Minu nodded his head, getting a better look at Jungkook. He’s never met him before but he swears he’s seen those tattoos somewhere before.

“You’re all set to go,” Jungkook said, clutching the clipboard with Minu’s forms to his abdomen, “Drive safe.”

Minu nodded, taking his keys and turning his back on him. As he passed by the communications board on the wall, he found a few business flyers and he couldn’t help but concentrate on a familiar business card. It was for a gym somewhat far from here and Minu knew then something was up. The gym you worked at wasn’t popular enough to be here and how it would get promo over here? He looked back at the mechanic who had the audacity to wave him goodbye, a real smile on his face as he watched him leave.

Once he was alone in the shop, his hands trembled with discomfort, hearing the engine come to life and Minu drove off without a care. Never in his life has he had to restrain himself from putting his hands on another. It was from how arrogant Minu was as and how confident he was that everything was going to be alright. That’s how he is, just think of how he pretended the two of you were wildly in love in front of his friends. How he refused to confront Jungkook the night it all happened. Jungkook had been just a door away yet Minu was a coward and took you home instead. The guy was a joke.

He grabbed his cellphone and went into his boss’s private office looking for a wired telephone. He pulled up your contact and dialed the number.

“Hello?”

“Y/n, it’s me—before you hang up, I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” Jungkook rushed, “I know I only made things worse in your relationship and never really cared to know how you really felt. I have feelings for you and I don’t think they’ll go away that fast but if you never want to talk to me again I get it. I just had to hear you one last time.”

His words were rushed and almost incoherent but you were able to get the gist of what he was saying. Was this his goodbye though? He just apologized and told you he had feelings for you all while also making it seem like you’ll never speak to each other again. That’s what you wanted though, right? You wanted space from him, so why did it bother you that he was making it sound like he was done with you too?

“What are you doing right now?” You asked him curiously, trying not to think about everything he just said. You needed to hear him say this in person.

He looked around the empty shop, “At work but I’ll be off soon.”

“Can you come over?”

Just like that, his miserable mood after seeing your ex boyfriend at his work. He had been anxious to talk to you after Minu left and it brought a smile to his face knowing you wanted to see him. It’s stupid how weak he was for you. You push him away and he waits for you to pull him back in. You keep him a secret but crave his attention at the same time.

“Jungkook?” He heard your voice call his name from the front or the apartment. He took his shoes off and put them at the door, hanging his jacket where he usually does and headed down the familiar hallway.

“Sorry it took me a while, I had to close by myself tonight,” Jungkook cleared his throat, finding you in your bedroom, seemingly changed into casual clothes, “Did my call bother you?”

“Sort of,” you crossed your arms over your chest, closing yourself off from him when he got closer. Seeing you do that made him stop; looking down at you with a confused expression.

“I don’t get you,” You admitted, feeling his hands on your forearm, trying to get yourself to open up to him, “At first I thought you just wanted to mess around and that you didn’t actually care about me, yknow? Then when I told you I had a boyfriend you talked to me so… bluntly and tried to write it off like some sort of joke but then we spent more time together and I wanted it to work between us.”

He wanted to tell you that it was working between you but he had your arms open and was able to move closer. “I know I’m being unfair because I was the one in the wrong to begin with but I don’t like how you sounded on the phone—like you were done with me or something.”

His lips turned downward in a small pout, “I thought that’s what you wanted to hear. You were avoiding me and ignoring my calls, it hurt.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so dumb,” you tried to turn away from him but he held you closely, “I’m so fucked up, Jungkook and I don’t have anyone to talk to right now because all my friends think Minu and I broke up because he was the problem and not me and I’m not bold enough to tell them I cheated an—“

“Shh,” he tucked hair behind your ears, “Didn’t I say I would be here for you? You’re not dumb, we made a mistake.”

It was strange yet comforting to hear him say that after telling you over and over again how it was never a mistake. You let him hug you and even brought your arms around him too, relaxing into his hold.

“I’m sorry,” You said again, this time with your voice shaking and closing your eyes to stop you from crying. It’s your own fault you’re so close to spiraling out of control and you refuse to let anyone else know. Eunbi would look at you differently, Ara wouldn’t want you around anymore and Hoseok… well, who knows. You messed around with someone at your workplace and ruined your relationship all in one go. It’s a lot to face and Jungkook shouldn’t be comforting you because you’ve been very tense with him too but he seems to be the only one who ever makes you feel better.

“It’s the weekend, right? How about we just spend it together and we’ll do whatever you want baby,” Jungkook pulled away, “Yeah?”

Your brows furrowed, wondering why he wasn’t more upset with you after everything but you nodded your head. You’ve never spent a full weekend with him before and right now it’s all you want to do, “I want to see Bam.”

He smiled warmly, “Do you want to come to my place instead?”

Something about the way the light of the moon peeked through the blinds and how the arm around your waist held you possessively made waking up feel like deja vu. Of course at this point you’ve spent the night in Jungkook’s bed many times but it reminded you specifically of the first. How confused and shocked you were to see him asleep beside you. Once again, you've found yourself with him between dusk and dawn trying to figure out what you were doing.

You looked at the nightstand to your side and reached for your cell phone. The sleeping body next to yours seemed to move closer, trying to pull you back down and you tried to be quiet as you took your phone and looked at it.

“Baby, do you know what time it is?” Jungkook groaned in his sleep. It didn’t take him any time to adjust to being with you again and it was truly mind boggling to know that. It’s like he really was just waiting around for you to want him back.

“I know but I have to go to the bathroom,” You told him, shaking his arm off and getting out of bed. He didn’t question it when you locked yourself in the bathroom and finally paid attention to everything on your phone.

Six missed calls.

This many missed calls from an unknown number was alarming and you felt the need to figure out what was going on. It wasn barely three in the morning, what could have happened from now and the moment you got in bed with Jungkook?

“Y/n, it’s me Rowoon,” A guy said through the phone the second the call went through, “I’ve been trying to contact you all night.”

Your brows furrowed, why would Minu’s best friend be calling you?

“Look, I know you guys aren’t together right now but he needs you right now.”

“What are you talking about?” You asked, whispering so Jungkook wouldn’t hear.

“I’m at the hospital, Mimi’s been in an accident,” Rowoon told you and you froze. What was he trying to say? Was Minu involved? “Minu’s in critical condition a nd I’ve been with his parents since we found out. I guess someone found him somewhere off the interstate when they saw his car was completely demolished. Everyone’s still trying to figure out what happened and it’s been hours, I’ve been trying to reach you—“

A light knock made you jump in surprise, remembering Jungkook was out waiting for you.

“Okay, give me a second, I’ll uh… which hospital?” You looked at your reflection in the mirror trying to take your hair.

“Y/n,” Jungkook knocked again, trying to get the door open, “It’s so late.”

“I have to go,” You swung the door open, surprised by how close he was and walked around him to start getting your things. Yes, this definitely felt similar to your first night with him.

“At this hour? No, come on I thought we were spending the day together,” Jungkook said, following after you in just a pair of sweats and not caring about it at all, “Where are you going?”

Do you tell him the truth? How would he react? Just last night you were talking things over with him and trying to see if this could work and now you’re leaving him for Minu. Of course there's a reason behind it but does Jungkook need to know? He watched you get dressed in yesterday’s clothes and scratched the back of his neck, confused.

“Can I tell you when I come back?” You asked, heading out of his bedroom with your things.

“You left your car at your place so don’t you have to tell me if I’m taking you somewhere?” He asked, tone even and calm.

Shit.

“I’ll get an Uber or something, let me figure out what’s going on before I bring you into this,” You told him, knowing what you said would only urge Jungkook to keep pressing you. He’s not the type to just let things go you’ve learned.

“Is this about Minu?” Jungkook asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously, “You’re done with him.”

A sigh left your lips, shaking your head, “It’s not like that, I am done with him bu—“

“Then why are you trying to bail on me for him right now?” Somehow and you’re not sure how it happened, but he was standing in front of the door keeping you from leaving. It didn’t feel intimidating but he was making it hard for you to just leave like you normally do, “He’s going to be fine.”

He said it somewhat bitterly, looking away from you for a second and you nearly missed the way his jaw clenched. His words comforted you for a short moment before you began to think it over.

Minu probably will be fine, he’s strong and has people supporting him. Even if you cheated that doesn’t mean you lost all feelings for the guy. He’ll always be part of you in some way, a reminder or a memory. He’s going to be fine, possibly, but what does Jungkook know? Did everyone around you hear the news before you could?

“How can you be so sure?” You asked, wanting to see how much he knew about the accident.

Jungkook smiled, relaxing his face as he ran his fingers through his hair, “I mean… you know… he’s a grown man and the two of you are over. What do you need to go see him for? He’ll be fine.”

“Jungkook, he was in an accident,” You finally said, hoping he’d just drop it and let you go.

He released a huff, irritated and barely holding it together as he pinched between his forehead, “And he’s still alive so why are you rushing out at this hour?”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m just saying, clearly the car accident wasn’t that bad if he’s still breathing,” His annoyed tone only became more noticeable when he got closer, hands suddenly holding your face, brushing hair back and trying to smile, “So relax and just stay with me like you promised, okay?”

You blinked in realization, trying to take a tentative step back but he kept you out where you were, “Car accident?”

“I heard a little of your phone call,” Jungkook said with a shrug but you were pushing him off. “I’m going to the hospital.”

“Y/n—“ The door slammed shut as you snuck away from his hands and he was grasping at air. With another sigh, he went to Bam’s bed, asking if he wanted to go on the balcony for air and acting like nothing happened.

You barely made it downstairs when your phone began buzzing to life with another phone call. You answered without question, “I’m on my way now, is there anything I should bring?”

“No, I just wanted to tell you what authorities are saying,” Rowoon said standing outside his best friend’s hospital room, “At first they thought he might’ve been drinking because it was late but tests came back negative. They had a mechanic check out the car just now and I guess something was wrong with his brakes.”

Minu’s brakes? He’s had problems with them before but you remember paying nearly a thousand dollars to fix it for him so what was wrong with them this time?

“Do you know where he went after work?”

“I remember calling him and he said he had some errands to run, he’d been talking about getting an oil change and going to pick up some parcels from the lockers but I don’t know if he did that last night,” Rowoon told you through the phone, “The lockers he usually goes to are south but I guess he was coming from the north side of the interstate when he wrecked. It was probably close to 10pm when it happened.”

You live north but Minu always lived further from you. What was he doing on the north side, getting an oil change? Wouldn’t whoever was working on the oil change notice his brake lines?

“Okay, uh, I’ll be there as soon as I can, I'm not home so I need to get some things, I’ll call you,” You cleared your throat, looking at Jungkook’s large truck and the familiar decal of the auto shop he worked at.

Before you knew it, you found yourself turning right back around and going back to Jungkook. You didn’t bother knocking as you let yourself in and found him relaxed in his living room, “What time did you get off work last night?”

“I thought you wanted to go see your piece of shit ex,” he couldn’t hide his annoyance even if he tried. The short minutes you were gone he’d managed to upset himself with the thought of you going to see Minu and how he possibly made it worse for himself. You’re worried about Minu, which is not what he wanted at all. He needs to stop acting so impulsively because it bites him in the ass. For all he knows, he could be pushing you back with your ex. Although annoyed, he couldn’t help but answer your question anyway, “You know what time I got off, I came over right after.”

When he called it was about 9:40pm, the shop is usually open until 10 since it’s one of the only places running so late some nights they’re busy and some nights they’re slow. There’s no way Minu would’ve found himself there, right?

Sure, he works late at the office sometimes and he waits till last minute to do things and if he’s in dire need of an oil change and can’t wait for the next day; there’s a chance he’ll go to whatever shop is open late but there’s no way.

When you talked on the phone with Jungkook he wasn’t doing anything, saying he was ready to close but the shop isn’t too far from the interstate going south and if Minu were to be going home from the shop, that’s about a forty minute drive. You had to be overthinking things.

A smile stretched across his face as he looked at you, “Change your mind and want me to drive?”

“Why’d you call me last night?” You asked suddenly and he felt the urge to laugh. Since you had left just moments ago he knew he wasn’t going to be able to sleep again and now you’re questioning him about the dumbest of things.

“Because I wanted to talk to you,” Jungkook answered without missing a beat, “You look freaked out, come here.”

“Jungkook, just tell me right now, did you run into Minu last night?” You asked. You weren’t trying to sound so accusative but you just had to know so you can have peace of mind. There’s just no way the man you had an affair with would do something to your former partner.

It’s so cliche, so vindictive, bizarre, shameless.

But then again Jungkook is nothing but — and he’s proven that to you since the moment he found out you were taken. You’ve been shameless with him but that doesn’t mean he’d go as far as to hurt someone? Sure, there’s been times you think he’s too intense or too caught up on you but he’s also such a playful flirt that it throws you off. Was there a side to Jungkook you didn’t know about? A side that hurts others and has no remorse? He’s always blunt which you know, but he’s been so abrasive about Minu. He practically told you to get over it because Minu’s alive but why’d he say it the way he did? Now that you’re thinking it over… he was sort of… apathetic. You’d think he’d have some sort of empathy.

This entire time Jungkook can see the wheels turning in your head. He hated keeping things from you but he can’t tell you everything. There’s things someone does for the person they care for that they just can’t say. He did this for you so you wouldn’t have to worry about Minu tryin to get in the middle of you two again so why are you looking at and questioning him so hard? The best thing he can do right now is keep his cool.

“I can’t remember,” He said, eyes locked with yours as if daring you to ask something else. Will you?

“They said there was a problem with his brakes which is kind of weird because I footed the bill a few months ago to have them fixed,” You told him, walking closer.

He just shrugged, “Whoever fixed them did a shitty job then I guess. Sorry you wasted your money on him.”

“You really didn’t see him? Apparently he was on this side of town an—“

“I don’t remember, fuck I thought you were done. Can we stop talking about him?” He stood up abruptly, arms on your waist and pulling you into him harshly, “I love you, you know that? I’ve never actually said that before but it feels right telling you.”

He waited to hear you say it back but you didn’t.

“You did something, didn’t you?” You gripped his forearms, feeling them tighten so you could pry him off you, “You’re acting weird and it’s weirding me out so just tell me it’s not a coincidence.”

“If I were to do anything it’s because I don’t want you to worry about anyone else anymore,” Jungkook said, locking his arms in place so you couldn’t move. He felt your struggle trying to get his arms off but he gets what’s going on. You’re acting strange and accusing him [of things he clearly did] but it doesn’t look like you’re interested in hearing him out. He doesn’t want to confine you and dim your spark like Minu did, but he wants you to relax and trust that he’ll fix things for you.

“Let me go,” You said, breathing hitching when he began to walk you back toward the living room, “I have to go.”

“No, I don’t think you do. You said that earlier and you still came back so why don’t you just stay?” He let you down into his couch, “Minu’s not going anywhere I’m sure so just stay with me. It’s kind of bothering me that you’re still giving him any attention.”

“It was you, you did something to him,” You tried getting back to but with no effort needed, he had you sitting again, this time with his hands on the back of the couch trapping you. Your hand pushed at his chest trying to find room around him to get yourself out but he gripped your hand roughly and yanked it over your head, “Look, I did you a favor. I was just thinking about you and what would be easier for us.”

Jungkook hovered over you, keeping you from moving and dug his knee in the space between your legs while his hands held yours over your head. His hair fell over his face now but it didn’t obscure his vision of you. You tried kicking your legs up but it did nothing and you felt like screaming with frustration.

“You could’ve gotten him killed,” You spat back feeling the urge to laugh bitterly, “And for what?”

“For you,” Jungkook leaned down so he was more eye level with you, “I remember the first time I’d seen you, you barely looked at me, y'know. I tried getting over it because, really, it wasn’t anything serious at all but then I started going to the gym more often and every time I’d see you I’d just… well, I thought you were pretty.”

“I knew you had a boyfriend before you even said anything,” He admitted watching your expression change to realization, “And I was a little nervous about pursuing you still but you made it so damn easy, Y/n.”

You looked away from him, disgusted with yourself and shook your head as if it’d change things, “You didn’t know anything about me.”

“So? I knew that I liked you and that you were with someone you didn’t care abo—“

“That’s not true!” You tried to argue, stiffening when he cupped your face with his hand. His touch suddenly felt cold and uncomfortable against your skin. You attempted to shake him off, “I actually loved Minu, I s-still do and I’m going to go see him and he’s going to take me back, I know he will because he’s said it and I’m never going to see you again because you’re a crazy stalker freak.”

A laugh sounded through the room and the fingers cupping your chin tightened around your jaw making you wince, “You can’t love someone you don’t even fucking like. Give me a break, Y/n I’ve had to listen to you for weeks tell me how you don’t like him, you can be mad at me all you want but that doesn’t change the fact that you don’t care about him. He’s in some hospital room fighting for his life, probably asking where the girl he’s loved for years is and you had a chance to go. I gave you a chance to walk out my door but what did you do? You came back, love.”

“Shut up,” you fought against his hold, feeling him get closer and closer to you and it was freaking you out. Just hours ago you welcomed his warmth and how he felt against you but right now it was making you sick to your stomach. He’s acting differently and he’s being strangely aggressive and telling you things you don’t want to hear and admitting things that are wrong. He’s done something to hurt someone you once held a lot of love for and he doesn’t care.

“Why? You don’t like the truth,” his forehead pressing into yours to keep you from looking away from him and he could practically feel the tear slip from your eye and into his skin, “You wasted three years with him just to not be by his side when he needs you the most.”

“You’re not letting me—“ A strangled whine left your lips as he forced his mouth into yours. You fought against his hold on your wrists, pushing back into the couch to get further away from him. Your refusal to kiss him back hurt him more than your fight against his grip did, “I told you I’d be there for you and figure it out so why are you being so mean to me right now? You weren’t supposed to care about what happens to him now. You hate him, I know you do so please stop pushing away from me.”

You blinked nervously, looking around him and searching his face for what he was thinking. His grip on your wrists was tight by the way his fingers trembled everytime he took a breath. He had you fully caged underneath him and there was no way for you to get him to ease up. You had to think. Of course you’ve never been in a situation like this and despite the many times Minu got aggressive he never did anything more than shove you away. He never made you feel restricted like this with nowhere to move. Part of you wanted to freeze up but then the other part of you wanted to run. Jungkook has always been sweet [right?], so why is he acting crazy?

He was becoming unpredictable and an unpredictable man is a scary one.

Jungkook felt your wrists go limp and you released a sigh, trying to keep yourself calm and it gave him an ounce of hope. Sure, he could’ve gone a better way about things to keep you from leaving but he had to be sure you didn’t leave. There was no point in continuing to pretend he didn’t know Minu or how he got hurt. He went too far, he knows, but it’s a little too late to regret that, right? If he lets you go you’ll leave him and who knows, probably tell authorities. It’s be hard to prove it was him unless you spoke up. It’ll be written off as an accident and Minu will be fine so there’s no need for you to go anywhere. It’s not like he put his hands on the guy… so what? You’ll come to realize it was so bad, right?

When you looked up at him he couldn’t find the disgust in your eyes from earlier and that made him happy. He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, feeling the salt of your tears and checking to see how you’d react to him this time. You didn’t flinch away and he took it as a good sign. Unable to stop himself, he tried kissing you again. Your breath hitched, giving him a delayed response as you tried to kiss him back. Something was wrong with him deep inside and it made you want to be as far from him as you could. You didn’t want to kiss him but it’s been a lie you’ve told yourself since you met him. The truth is you like kissing Jungkook and being around him but he makes things too complicated for you.

His lips were soft, as usual, and the hand he had cupping your face was sliding toward your neck, disappearing into your hair and trying to get you to lean your head back so he can deepen the kiss. Just as he began to relax and melt against your touch, you bit.

Your teeth dug into his bottom lip, hooking onto the lip ring and pulling hard enough for him to jump back. The second he stumbled off you, you finished giving him a shove and sprinted toward the front door.

“Aish,” he held his hand to his lip, feeling liquid trickle onto his fingers. You nearly tore his lip off using his piercing and with an annoyed grunt, he spit out, looking down the open front door. You’re starting to piss him off.

You sprinted down the hall, feeling around the pockets in your gym shorts for your phone but felt nothing. Did it slip out when you were fighting for him? You refused to look back and see if he was coming after you or not so you ran down the stairs.

The sun wasn’t even out yet and most places around weren’t open yet. You needed to get ahold of someone, anyone. You were in little clothes with no identification on you and no way to pay for a cab fee. Did you seriously drop your phone? If you’re lucky, there’s some street vendor getting ready to start their morning or maybe someone walking their pet. It’s not completely dead.

“Excuse me,” You shouted from across the street, trying to get the attention of some old person walking toward the bus stop. You ran across the empty street and got her attention, “I’m sorry, c-can I borrow your phone? I lost mine and I need to make a call.”

She handed you an old model and stared at you confused as you tried to dial someone. The police would be the best thing but maybe you were more stupid than you thought. Something was stopping you from doing it. What if you were overreacting? What if this was all in your imagination or maybe you escalated the situation without knowing it?

“Did you cut your lip?” The woman asked, pointing at the blood trickling down your chin, “Have you been in an accident?”

You wiped off Jungkook’s blood and looked back to his building. What if you’re the one who gets in trouble? What if they say you attacked him? You can tell them that whatever happened to Minu was because of Jungkook but that’s only happened a few hours ago and they’re still trying to get him help. Jungkook was with you, it would take a while for them to believe it.

No, not the police. You should call Eunbi or Hobi, yes, that’s better. Your fingers froze over the buttons, shifting nervously as you tried to remember their numbers. Fuck, why can’t you think right now? You pushed the phone back into her hands, “I’m sorry.”

The woman called for you but you were walking away, shaking your head anxiously. It was cold and your brain was hurting. You’re trying to understand what is going on but it feels like you’re blanking. What did Jungkook do? What did you do?

Jungkook ran downstairs, he wore a black hoodie and ball cap and with a wound closure bandage on his lip. He fished his keys out of his pocket and checked the time, 4am.

It took him a while to clean up so there’s a chance you’re long gone but he’s going to find you. You just need to talk it out.

Across the street he found someone sitting at the bus stop and though his truck was just a few yards back, he headed in her direction. “Excuse me, ma’am, I was um… I was wondering if you’ve seen a woman around here?”

She looked at him strangely, eyes catching on his busted lip and he touched it insecurely, “You see, my girlfriend and I just got into a little bit of a disagreement and I’ll admit it’s my fault. I’ve upset her and she left really mad at me. I want to give her space but I at least want to make sure she’s alright. I mean look at the sky, the sun’s not even out yet.”

“You don’t have to tell me where she went but can you at least tell me if you saw someone get in a car or not? She was in shorts and a pink shirt, pretty face and she’s about this tall?” He proceeded to describe you.

“She didn’t get in a car,” Was all the woman said to him. For all she knew it could’ve very been a lover’s quarrel. Jungkook took what little information she gave him and ran back to his truck.

What hospital did Rowoon say again? How far was it? What street were you on? Why can’t you remember? Are you shutting down right now because you can’t. You can’t just let yourself forget everything. You stood at the end of a street trying to read the street sign, jumping when a car passed.

You weren’t crazy enough to ask a stranger for a ride at this point but would Jungkook just let you go? You had a heated argument just now and he’s already proven to be more unhinged than you thought. Maybe it’s best to stay off the main streets. You know this neighborhood well enough, surely you’ll pass by a street you recognize.

You know your bag sat on the couch most likely with your phone and you hated how stupid you were. Not only did you let him drive you to his place last night but you also left all your things when you fled.

Jungkook knew you couldn’t have gotten far without your things, especially if you were on foot so he drove down the streets slowly, looking around every shadow and alleyway. He hated that you were scared and out there. You should’ve just stayed with him. Why are you complicating things? Maybe he should ditch the truck and go on foot like you.

You did a 360 of the street you were on, okay, you can kind of tell where you’re at. What time was it? There was a sliver of orange in the sky, the sun wasn’t out yet but soon it would be. You turned down the corner, stopping abruptly as you stared ahead. You covered your eyes with your hands as the bright led headlights of a familiar black car stood before you.

“Are you lost?” Jungkook asked, stepping toward you cautiously, “You left all your things when you left in such a hurry, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

You blinked, “What time is it?”

“A little past five in the morning, come here,” Jungkook called for you but you didn’t move, “Babe, if you want me to take you to go see him I will but please just come with me. You’re acting out of line, I mean look at me. You bit me.”

He pointed at his swollen, bandaged lip and took another step toward you, “Bam is scared and you’ve woken up all the neighbors I’m sure. I know you’re upset because someone you once cared for is hurt but you’re acting paranoid.”

“W-where are my things?” You asked, feeling his hand touch your side.

“At my place, come here, it’s cold,” He pulled you into him and winced at the feel of your trembling body against his. He tightened his arms around you, petting the back of your head and trying to lead you to his running truck.

“I need my things,” you mumbled, letting him help you into his truck And buckle you in. He smiled, kissing your hand gently, “I know, we’ll get them, okay? I told you I’m here for you so relax.”

You nodded your head but he could tell you weren’t fully listening. He locked your door as a precaution and quickly made it to his side. He knocked the hat and hood off his head and shook his hair free. His truck was tinted and hard to see through and the street was dark so he felt more at ease now that you weren’t out on it wandering around.

Honestly, he’s not ashamed to admit how surprisingly easy it was to get you back in his arms. He just needed to find a way to keep you here with him like hes been wanting this whole time.

E N D

::.

NO PART TWO

I got tired mid editing sorry

okok ik yall are probably mad at the ending but listen 😭im tired of damn fic 😔like I feel like realistically shit really would hit the fan so fast and that’s why I rushed the ending

I haven’t posted in five months and I had so much of this complete but the end I’m like ahhhhh

anyway I kno there’s going to be mega y/n haters but remember jk is crazy too 🤓

what do we think tho 🫣ngl I thought he was kinda hot but like such an asshole but also so sweet but also a manipulator

inbox is open for questions about the fic so ask about the characters it’s probs confusing

permanent taglist: @notmyfaultbutours @rerefundslocals @fandems @sugaluvmyg @guvgguk @kimyishin @libra04 @saweetspoiled @babycandy111 @tearyjjeon @joons-uparupa @jeonninja @skzthinker @unnatae @aurorthi @beautywine @95ene @taekookstata @lilliankoo @shescharlie @annenakamura @lesoleile @burnahtsw @babybella337 @kooloveys @ku-ku @chaelvrx @minnie-mouser22 @Imeneghd @whoa-jo @evajeonsworld @Sunnikthv @kochycooky @heyhowyoudoin3 @acielelyseen @giselleswifeee @jeonjk25 @ilikeitlikethatt @bangmechanpls @lvr2seok @badbyeyoongi @jaerisdiction @Watermelonjuice15 @xyahrinx @angeleen777 @jooniesxbby @brillantdarling

@maryy1300 @annabtsangels @hyunjinswifeee @Bangtans-momma @butterymin @kaiparkerwifes @junggukjeonfreakinwife @tridha345 @ily4jknity @ivygguk @ryuzakiswife @futuristicenemychaos @honeybunnykoo @lesoleile @Eunhee-jk @Aindrila @cherrymoonlightt @parkinglot-nights @llallaaa @crooked-haven @Butterflykpop @sakuragongju @ackward-maknae @investedreader @junggukjeonfreakinwife

[also it’s not that I don’t want yall in my taglist I just quite literally have no room]

[milla-frenchy]

The date

5k0 | Joel Miller x fem reader ; Frankie Morales x fem reader | ao3 | Masterlist

Summary: you’re in an established relationship with Frankie and both of you want to spice things up. You meet a man via a dating app, Joel

Warnings: 18+ mdni. cuckolding, cucking chair, fingering, public fingering, masturbation (m), dirty talk, praise kink, size kink, oral (m/f), ball sucking, piv, rimming, anal play, creampie No age specified

a/n: @aurorawritestoescape thank you so, so much as always, for beta-ing and everything, baby 💕😘 dividers @saradika-graphics 🙏

The meeting was set for 6pm at a bar in Austin.

Frankie and you had been a couple for several years, and you wanted to spice things up. The idea of watching you ​being fucked by another man was turning him on since he playfully brought up the idea while you were fucking, his cock brushing your g spot. 

Taunting you that you would probably like to take a cock other than his and how beautiful you would look, spread by another shaft. How proud of you he would be if he could watch you, knowing that even in that moment, you would still be his, maybe more than ever. The way you had come instantly on his cock had made him spill his cum deep inside you in the second that followed. 

Since then, he whispered it to you regularly, in the hollow of your ear, or with his eyes fixed on yours. Just to feel you clench on his shaft. He also said it while caressing your tear-soaked cheek, his fat cock reaching the back of your throat. 

Until he really suggested to share you with another man. You carefully looked at him, to detect the slightest trace of a joke that did not exist. He suggested it timidly, but the idea of fucking another man in front of him, the fact that he wanted to watch it, was really turning you on. You loved that your man, who could sometimes be reserved, was so sure of himself, of your relationship. He wasn’t afraid to lose you, he knew what he meant to you and that no one could take you away from him.

So you discussed it thoroughly, until finally signing up on a dating app.

You were now waiting at the bar for the man you matched with (“cuckolding, man in his 40s, dirty talk appreciated, dom vibes”).

“Good evening,” you heard while you were kissing, sitting at the table. You looked up, and there he was. Joel Miller.

You had been breathless when you looked at his pictures on the app, just as you were now, meeting  him. His gaze was deep. His brown eyes, his face were beautiful. His beard was slightly covered with gray hair. His green flannel shirt accentuated his broad shoulders. His voice was warm, drawling. Hot.

Joel shaked Frankie's hand, then he nodded and smiled at you. A smile you returned shyly. Frankie invited him to sit at your table, and the conversation flowed immediately. Joel was no stranger to that type of gathering, while it was your first time. He was single, worked in construction, and he lived in Austin too.

The purpose of the meeting in that bar was to see if there was a connection between you. If you were attracted to him, if Frankie trusted him, and if Joel wanted to go further. You sometimes looked at his neck, his forearms, his prominent veins, his hands. His thick fingers. His attitude exuded quiet strength, and self-confidence.

You had agreed online that he could touch you at the bar, if the attraction between you was there. After the three of you drank your first shot, he brushed your back with his large hand, before resting it on your lower back. His caress was light but firm, and you felt shivers run down your spine. 

His eyes landed on Frankie, to check if he was still okay with it. He nodded. Seeing you being seduced by that man was already turning him on and he was getting hard.

Joel placed his hand on your bare knee, your skirt hiked up your thighs, just after Frankie said something funny that made you laugh.

“I love that little laugh, it’s really cute. It’s one of the things that is gonna get you fucked tonight. That and these hips that are just begging to be grabbed, sweetheart.”

You held your breath when you heard him. Your panties were soaked even though he had barely touched you.

His hand slipped between your thighs, and glided to your panties which he delicately pushed aside. His middle finger ran over your wet folds and you couldn’t stop a moan from escaping your lips.

“Quiet. Don’t want a sound here, keep your moans for the bedroom,” he said firmly as his middle finger found its way between your walls. Your pussy clenched on his finger as you squirmed on your stool, and he smirked.

“Curling your toes already? Oh, sweetheart… you’re never gonna forget this night.”

He brushed your folds one last time and removed his finger, leaving you panting. You looked at Frankie, surprised by the effect the man already had on you. Frankie was just as astonished as you, but you could see how much he enjoyed it. His eyes were sparkling and he adjusted himself.

Joel didn’t touch you anymore for the rest of the time you spent at the bar. Frankie and him talked like old friends, and all you could hear was your pussy squealing with excitement. 

When Joel was looking at you, you felt yourself losing your composure. If he saw it, he didn't show it, until a little smirk proved to you that he just didn't want to make you uncomfortable, which you appreciated.

You couldn’t wait for the three of you to leave, but you didn’t want to seem too greedy - as if you hadn’t already spread your legs and moaned for him.

An hour later, you finally left the bar. Frankie and you in your car, Joel following in his. You had decided that it would happen in your house. You didn't want to be in a cold, unfamiliar place.

As soon as you entered, Joel wasted no time.

“Let’s check on the rules. Frankie, if you tell me to stop, I’ll stop, no questions asked.” Then he turned to you “what’s your safe word, sweetheart?”

“I’ll use “red” if I want you to stop. “Orange”, if I want you to slow down.”

“Okay. If you use either of those words, depending on the color I’ll stop, or slow down, no questions asked. I want you to know that you have to use them if you don’t feel comfortable. Are we clear?”

“Yes, all clear.” His expression was serious and solemn, and it reassured you, even though Frankie was going to be there the whole time.

“If you don't use them, I'll consider that you're ok with what I'm doing. Do you agree?”

You nodded. 

“I need to hear it out loud.”

“Yes, I agree.”

He turned to Frankie.

“Yeah, ok with that.”

Joel looked at you again, and added “and if your mouth's full, tap on my thigh twice.”

You felt heat on your cheeks hearing the implication of his words, and said “Ok, I'll tap on your thigh twice. What… What do I call you?”

“Well, my name’s Joel, and I’m fine with that,” he answered with a cute smile.

You took a deep breath and then added “Ok, follow me to the bedroom then, Joel.”

An armchair was set up near the bed, and Frankie sat down in it, as planned. You had also agreed that he would barely intervene, so as not to influence what would happen.

Joel rolled up his shirt sleeves. His charm and aura were devastating.

You felt intimidated, being in your room with the two men. With your boyfriend, sitting in that chair, facing the man who was going to fuck you soon.

“Are you ready, sweetheart?” Joel asked in a calm voice.

“Yeah…yes, I’m ready.”

He moved closer to you and grabbed your waist. His mustache ran along the warm skin of your ear, your cheek, your neck. Then he placed his lips on yours, kissing you lightly. Testing the way you would respond. Your lips pressed against his, and he held you closer to him, one arm around your waist. His tongue caressed your lips softly, gently and you parted them, freeing your tongue to meet his and creating a sensual dance. His lips were warm and your mind was lost for a few moments, as you kissed a man other than Frankie for the first time in several years. His hands roamed your body, one brushing your back covered with your top, the other squeezing your waist against him, against his cock that you felt hardening. You moaned, feeling the moisture flow between your walls, your lips still against his, your tongue in his mouth, until you pulled away slightly to catch your breath, your bodies remaining pressed against each other.

“Show me how wet you are, feeling my cock against you.”

Your eyes widened slightly, before you caught yourself. That’s what you were here for. To have sex with someone else, a stranger, who would probably act differently than Frankie. You wanted someone confident. And that’s exactly the type of man you were facing. He wasn't aggressive, he knew how to make you feel confident. He was perfect so far.

You pulled away from him a little more, just to slide your hand under the hem of your skirt and panties. You slid your fingers along your folds and then pushed two of them into your pussy, to coat them with your wetness. You pulled your trembling hand out, holding it up near your face. Your digits were shiny. Joel gripped your wrist softly and brought it close to his mouth, and took your fingers between his lips. He licked your wetness, his eyes fixed on you. It was so hot and sensual that another flow soaked your panties. 

He released your wrist, once your skin no longer bore the trace of your arousal, and he unbuttoned his shirt before placing it on the dresser in your room. He then removed his t-shirt, taking his time. Aware of your gaze fixed on him, and of each new inch of skin he was offering you.

“You're dripping since the time I fingered you at the bar in front of your man, aren't you?”

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

“Now… You wanna be a good girl for me?”

“Yes, Joel.”

“On your knees, then.”

You didn't wait any longer, you couldn't wait to see his cock, to take him in your mouth, to taste him. You kneeled in front of him, then looked at Frankie. Joel lifted your chin while he unzipped, wanting your eyes on him only.

“I wanna see how pretty you look with your lips around my cock, baby”, he said, brushing your chin with his thumb. He released it to grab his cock resting in his jeans. 

You knew he was big, thanks to the pictures he sent you at your request. But you didn’t expect him to be that big. So thick and long. You had never seen a cock as big as Frankie’s. Joel’s seemed slightly shorter, but a little thicker. Your thoughts drifted, wondering how it would feel if they both fucked you at the same time. Joel’s voice interrupted your train of thought.

“Focus on me, and open up. Wide, or it ain't gonna fit, baby.”

You opened your mouth, parting your lips. He wanted to be in charge and you willingly let him lead. He pressed his tip to your lips then said “tongue.”

You darted it out, and he rested his cock on it. His thickness felt heavy. Then he placed his hand on the back of your head, keeping his shaft in the other one, before sliding it between your lips. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Frankie grab his bulge, then unzip his jeans, and finally pull his cock out.

“Eyes on me when I fuck your mouth, baby. Your man’s gonna jerk off soon, and you’ll hear his wrist fuck his shaft. You can listen to it, but your eyes stay on me, clear?”

You nodded as he thrust deeper between your lips, and you moaned.

“I know baby, I know. You're gonna be a good girl, and you’re gonna let me fuck that hole. And then, I’ll fuck the next one.”

You heard Frankie mumble “fuck,” and Joel thrust his length into your mouth. He used your mouth like he promised you, like a fuck hole. He wasn't aggressive, just in charge, self-confident. He knew how to deal with you, and it was turning you on.

“Feels good, doesn’t it? Sucking this big cock? I can see that your man has a thick dick too. You like sucking his dick as much as you enjoy sucking mine, sweetheart?”

He didn’t give you a chance to answer. He didn’t want, or didn’t need to. Instead, he squeezed your throat in his large palm, feeling his shaft slide into it.

“You take it so good, baby. I can’t wait to see how your pussy takes me.”

He held your head with both hands as his cock was buried deep in your throat, and told you “don’t move. Stay like that. Just take it.”

You tried to pull back but he held you down, saying in a calm voice “breathe through your nose, sweetheart. You can do it.” He loosened his grip slightly, long enough to feel your throat adjust to his cock, then added, “yeah, just like that. You’re doing great.”

He released you, letting you take control for a few seconds. The accumulated saliva flowed down to your chin. 

Then he fucked your mouth, alternating rhythms. Taking advantage of the warmth of your mouth for a long time, all the way to your throat, then fucking your mouth quickly. Sometimes making his length weigh on your tongue. Your jaw was sore, but you didn't want it to stop, intoxicated by the taste of his precum, by the width of his cock. Never ceasing to imagine how he was going to fuck you.

Sometimes, when you weren’t completely focused on Joel, you could hear Frankie jerking off, and mumbling “fuck” or “you’re so hot, baby” a few times. 

Your pussy was clenching regularly, eager to be filled. But Joel was taking his time.

“Lick my balls now. Let’s see if you’re as good at that as you’re at sucking my cock.”

He was so good at praising you that you felt like you would agree to anything he would ask you.

He held his shaft in his hand, and brushed his balls soaked with your saliva with the other. They were weighty, thick and fell heavily when he released them. Looking up at him, you licked one ball then the other, before taking each one of them in your mouth. Sucking, licking their thin, delicate skin. Releasing them with a “pop”. He growled, enjoying your tongue and lips on his balls full of cum.

“Ok, that’s it, sweetheart. Take off your clothes, now. Lemme see how pretty you are.” 

He removed his jeans and boxers, while you took off your blouse and skirt, standing shyly in front of him. “You’re beautiful, baby. Frankie's a lucky guy.” 

He approached you, unhooking your bra, his chest pressed against yours, his nose brushing your hair and breathing in their scent. Then he knelt down, sliding your panties down your legs. His eyes fell on your pussy as he removed that last piece of clothing from your feet. “Oh damn, they’re soaked… poor baby. You need it bad, huh?” Once again, he didn’t wait for your answer and asked Frankie: “wanna jerk in it? Bet it’d turn you on even more”, he added before throwing them at your boyfriend.

Frankie smelled your panties and wrapped them around his shaft. You knew how much he loved your taste, sliding his tongue into your pussy and eating it longly, but his gesture made you moan.

Joel told you to lie down on the bed, and said to Frankie as if you weren’t even there, “she’s a fucking natural. I love when they're a little shy. Knowing that they’ll lose control at some point. Being half ashamed, half cock dumb.”

You heard Frankie take a deep breath hearing him, echoing your own. Joel was a menace, in the best way. He was a combination of confidence, charm, and undeniable charisma. He had a natural dominance and he knew it, was playing with it. You realized that you were still lost in your thoughts, despite lying in front of him, offered. You met his amused gaze, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking.

“I wonder when you'll lose control, baby. ‘cause you can be sure of it. Sooner or later, you’ll lose it.”

He knelt between your legs, grabbing his cock with one hand and spreading your folds with the other.

“Damn, look at that… Could you be any wetter?” He brushed your clit with his thumb for a few seconds. He seemed to be thinking about something, as you felt your pleasure rise again.

“I should eat ya. To make it easier for you. But I’d really love to feel you squeeze my cock right now. You’re okay with that?”

You looked at him and swallowed before nodding. Yeah, you wanted to feel him spread your walls.

“Wait,” you said as he nestled in your entrance. “I don't wanna use the safe word, just… show me. Show me your cock one last time, before you thrust in me.”

He took it in his hand. He was proud of his cock, you could feel it, and he was right. You looked at his red, oozing tip. Covered in precum and your saliva. Its thickness made your heart rate increase and salivate at the same time.

“Ok… fuck me, Joel.”

Still kneeling, he smiled and grabbed your hip with one hand, and lightly pushed his tip in your pussy. Then he paused and looked at your body. Your hard nipples, your heaving stomach, waiting for more. Your chest, rising quickly. Your fists clenching the sheets.

You looked at Frankie, who was leaning forward on the chair. He had let go of his cock, hard as steel. You saw his tip glistening with precum. Your panties balled up in his clenched fist.

Then you looked at Joel again. From his curls, to his broad chest, his lower abdomen. You couldn’t see any lower anymore. He pushed in, feeling your walls painfully spread for him.

“Fuck… fuck! you're big…”

“I know, sweetheart. But you can take it,” he added, continuing to push gently. “Fuck baby, that’s it. Let me in your small, tight cunt.”

You had never felt so open before, the sensation was suffocating. A mixture of pleasure flirting with a little pain.

“I know baby, I know. You're gonna feel so good, soon. Just a little bit more…fuck!”

He was breathing harder too, as if he was holding himself back from coming, already. He spat on your clit, before letting go of one of your hips to brush your most sensitive place, trying to make this easier for you. Your moans were the only sound in the room, as Joel continued to thrust slowly, and Frankie was now sitting on the edge of his chair, leaning forward. Finally, Joel’s balls rubbed against your skin, and he stopped, buried all the way into your core.

“You’re fucking gorgeous like that, all spread out for me.” He was still breathing heavily, trying to control his cum that only wanted to spur against your walls.

You looked at him, panting too. You couldn't take your eyes off him, while he was still kneeling between your thighs, totally offered to him. He was magnificent and his gaze couldn't detach itself from you either.

He held your legs wide open, his hands placed on your hips, as he slowly pulled back from your channel, keeping only the tip inside you, before pushing back in. His breathing wasn’t calming down.

“Fuck… you’re so fuckin’ tight. I gotta… gotta eat ya. Don’t wanna shoot my load yet.”

He pulled out totally and lay down, leaving you empty, a plaintive moan escaping your lips. His arms wrapped around each of your thighs, gripping them with his hands before diving shoulders forward. He didn’t pause, didn’t seek to kiss your lower stomach. His tongue snaked out, tracing a line up and down, just above your ass to your clit and you let out a whimper.

“I’d wanted you to come, crying my name, since I fingered you at the bar.”

“Fuck,” you murmured. 

He started licking you again, never taking his eyes off you. His piercing gaze fixed on you just above your sweaty, throbbing stomach. His tongue delved between your folds, deeply, seeking to drink all your flowing desire. He licked, sucked, patiently, your wetness that flowed continuously. You looked at Frankie quickly. He had moved back to the back of the seat, hands placed on the armrests, gripping them tightly. You assumed he didn't want to come right away either. He nodded when your eyes met, a silent way of telling you to enjoy the moment. Repeating, without any words needed, that he was ok with all of it. Yet he couldn't help but intervene, and a part of you was afraid he wanted to stop all of it, but he quickly reassured you.

“Fuck, baby… you know how much I love to eat you. And watching you, while another man is eating your beautiful little pussy... it turns me on so much, you have no idea.”

You moaned when you heard him. You loved him so much. 

He started to jerk off again.

“You gonna come in his mouth, baby? You gonna come in another man’s mouth?”

He jerked off harder, and you nodded slowly.

At the same time Joel's tongue left your core to lick your folds, flat, slowly, repeating the motion several times, brushing your clit. The touch was driving you crazy, and you tried to lift your hips to feel him more where you desperately needed it, but he held you firmly against the bed.

“Not yet, sweetheart,” he smirked. So you stopped lifting your hips as long as you were able to, until your movement resumed unconsciously. And finally, his tongue focused on your clit, swirling over it. It was tense, out of its skin, just waiting to explode under his tongue.

“I need to stretch you more.. Cunt’s too tight, don’t wanna come too soon.”

He pushed one, then two fingers into your pussy, your walls squeezing them instantly.

“Mmmm… you like that, uh? Want you to come for me. I need to stick my dick in your cunt again.”

"Come, baby," Frankie said in a low voice. “Fill his mouth. Give it to him.”

Their praise was the last thing you needed to come, chanting “Joel, Joel…” your back arching violently as your clit pulsed under Joel’s tongue and your pussy on his fingers.

You heard Frankie moan louder, then saying “oh… oh. Fuck, fuck, baby!” just before coming, white pearls coating his thighs and fist.

Joel’s tongue stayed pressed against your clit until your shaking stopped, and you released your grip on his head.

“Damn, sweetheart… I love the way you moan for me. Your man loves it too,” Joel added as he straightened up, wiping your wetness from his mouth and chin with the back of his hand.

“That was so fuckin’ hot, baby,” Frankie said, making you smile, while your eyes were still closed and your breathing was slowing down.

Joel crawled up and lay between your thighs, his knees spreading them apart. He nestled his tip at your entrance and pushed himself in slowly, all the way in, in one thrust. More easily this time. His tongue sought yours as one of his large hands cupped your cheek. “Takin’ me so good,” he breathed between your lips before kissing you again.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, and the feeling felt so familiar and yet so new. You loved feeling another cock inside you, you loved kissing someone else. You loved having your man watching you. And oddly enough, even though you wanted Joel to fuck you for as long as possible, you couldn't wait to feel Frankie's cock again.

Joel rubbed his lower stomach against you, exactly where you needed it. You wanted to come again, as he wanted it too. Brushing your clit with each thrust, his lips left your mouth to kiss your neck and then nibble on your earlobe.

“Joel…” you whined, accompanying his movement by pressing you more against him.

“Yeah. You're gonna come again for me, sweetheart? Gonna come on my cock?”

“Yeah, I… fuck, it's coming. Don't stop. Don't stop please…”

“I won't, want you to squeeze my shaft. It’s so hot to feel you rub against me to get off.”

“I… Joel… I'm gonna… I'm gonna come.”

His lower stomach brushed against you again and the orgasm took hold of you, your nails digging into his shoulders as your eyes rolled into the back of your head. Your body was shaking even harder than the first time, and you clung desperately to him.

“Fuck, Frankie.... She’s coming so fucking hard around my cock.”

“Damn, baby…”

Your shivering didn't stop, and your pussy was contracting continuously.

“It's ok sweetheart, I got you. Keep comin’ for me.”

Your head leaned back on your pillow, as your fluttering stomach and limbs were still trembling slightly.

“Shit… You're fucking beautiful baby. Can't control anything, right? I got ya… I got ya.”

He held you tight against him, still thrusting, brushing against you with the same slow rhythm until he felt your muscles relax beneath him. He placed a hand on your cheek, his piercing gaze trying to catch yours. Until the ceiling stopped swaying, the room stopped spinning, and your eyes finally met his. You felt the heat reach your cheeks, realizing that the orgasm you just felt was one of the strongest you had ever experienced.

“That's it, I’m so proud of you. You're doing so good, sweetheart.”

He kissed your forehead, softly, tenderly, then he added “Now… I wanna hear how wet that pussy is. All fours, baby.”

You settled onto your knees and hands, still a little shaky, and as his hands settled on your hips, you didn't expect to feel his tongue run along your ass and linger on your ring, making you moan and stick your ass out.

He knelt and grabbed your hips, then said “fuck, you like it? I won’t fuck your ass tonight, I need you to dry my balls or I’m gonna explode. But another time, maybe.”

He didn’t wait for your answer and thrusted in one go, gripping your hips, leaving you breathless.

“Told ya your hips were just begging to be grabbed,” he said, before pulling back suddenly, leaving just his tip in your pussy and thrusting again roughly.

You bit your lip as you heard him, your body rocking back and forth as it could only follow the movement of his hips as they slapped against your ass. You could vaguely hear Frankie jerking off.

“Tell your man who’s fucking you. Whose cock’s in your cunt?”

“I… you… fuck… can’t…”

“Mmm sorry, what was that? I can barely hear you over all your moans, sweetheart…” he said, teasing you, but slowing down his pace so you could answer.

“Yours, Joel, fuck… Your cock is in my cunt. You're the one fucking me.”

“You’re doing so good. Keep taking it, just like that.” You didn't really have a choice, except to use your safe word and that was out of the question even if you were practically breathless. He was fucking you too good, filling you up perfectly.

His hands still tight on your hips, he was thrusting deep and hard, making you bend your elbows and bite the pillow. His thumb brushed your ring then he pushed in lightly.

“Gonna come… Gonna fill you up. Deep in your cunt.”

He thrust in, two, three more times, then his fingers squeezed the flesh of your hips as he pushed in as far as he could, his balls against your ass and you felt his cock twitch, just before his cum spurt out, covering your walls. His grunts made you smile, it was the only energy you still had.

He pulled out laying down next to you, and Frankie immediately took his turn between your thighs, spreading them wide, your bodies right next to Joel who was watching you, lying on his side.

Frankie buried himself in your dripping, sore cunt, hands on your waist, already thrusting all his length in, licking, sucking one of your nipples. He couldn't even talk, overwhelmed by the night, by your vision that couldn't leave his mind. He knew he would love to share you, but didn't know it would move him, turn him on, that much. He wanted to fill you now, not in a possessive way, but he needed to feel you around him, needed to feel your cunt filled by another man's seed. If he hadn't been in such a need to fuck you, he would have licked your sore pussy, cleaning it of someone else's cum. He told himself that maybe there would be a next time, and maybe another opportunity to do it. The thought made him even harder.

Your arms around him, you were kissing his cheek, his neck, his lips, holding him tight between your thighs. Proving him you were his, always, and it was making his head spin.

He asked Joel to kiss you, and he loved to hear you moan as you two were making out just below him. He knew he wouldn't last, he didn't want to. He knew you were spent, too. So he just thrust in, thinking about you blowing Joel. 

About Joel's head between your thighs. Frankie's favorite place in the world. About Joel's dick pushing your walls, slipping in your tight cunt.

He was surrounded by his love for you, by how good you felt around his cock. He shot spurs of cum quickly, adding it to Joel’s, and the thought made him moan one last time. 

He sighed contentedly when your pussy stopped milking his cock. He seemed as exhausted as you and Joel were, and you fell asleep without even realizing it.

When you woke up the next morning, Joel had left a note on the nightstand. “Any time.”

Frankie masterlist

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[daryltwdixon]

Part 1 | Part 2 | masterlist

“Oh, we’re gonna have so much fun, aren’t we, bunny?” Summary: You should have been afraid. You should have been begging for your life, not begging for more. But the more he took, the more he pushed, the more he forced you to see what you really were, the more you broke for him. Because when you finally shattered, when your body gave in one last time, you understood—you hadn’t just loved the fear. You had craved it all along. || DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT 🕊️ horror, smut, MDNI 18+, Dark!Daryl Dixon, blood and implied violence, no walkers, motel room encounters, morally gray reader, predator/prey vibes, dubious situations and dubious consent (the reader whole heartedly consents they're just trying to reason with themselves that this is a terrible idea), serialkiller!Daryl, unprotected pinv, fingering, some f!recieving oral, itty bitty knife play, fear kink, Reader has issues™ a/n: once again a massive thank you to my friend @dixonsdarkelf for beta reading & making me feel not so insane for writing this ! Inspired by these gifsets x x

Your senses were on fire. Set ablaze like flint striking steel, sparking, catching, burning. Everything was heightened—every touch, every sound, every breath—yet anything beyond teeth, tongues, lips, and warmth faded into a distant, fevered haze. Even the scent of blood, thick and metallic in the air, blurred into the background, nothing more than a ghost of a thought as he took you against the door.

This unnamed man, the one who had seemed to know you the second he laid eyes on you, kissed you with so much veracity that you shook—no longer with fear, but with an overwhelming need to be closer. You pushed into him, the tension in your body unraveling as the warmth of his mouth settled into something unbearable, something dizzying, something that made every inch of your skin feel too hot, too sensitive, too much.

His fingers remained tangled in your hair, holding you there, keeping you pressed between him and the door as his lips moved slow but deep, tasting, teasing, his teeth scraping against your bottom lip before his tongue licked into your mouth, swallowing the soft sound you didn’t mean to let out.

Your grip tightened in his robe, fisting the soft pink fabric as you pressed closer.

Then with a sudden, violent strength, he pushed you into the door hard enough that you expelled the air in your lungs with a grunt. The hinges whined against the broken frame, the solid weight of him pressing in, keeping you right where he wanted you. His hands shifted—one sliding from your hair to wrap around your throat, pressing just enough to make you gasp as he tilted your head back. The other grabbed at your shirt, yanking it down with no hesitation, dragging the fabric past your chest until your breasts spilled free.

A wicked smile played across his lips as his gaze dropped, hunger flashing in those sharp, dangerous blue eyes. He didn’t give you a moment to adjust, didn’t offer any pretense of gentleness before his mouth was on you, his lips wrapping around one of your hardened nipples.

Instead of the soft caress a lover might have given, he bit down.

Sharp, sudden, teeth sinking into your oversensitive flesh, making you cry out. Your hands flew up, fingers wrapping tight around his forearm where he held you back, your nails digging into his skin, but he only hummed against you, amused by the way you squirmed.

“Oh, we’re gonna have so much fun, aren’t we, bunny?”

His voice was thick with something rough and indulgent, his breath hot against your flushed skin as he chuckled, the sound vibrating around the aching peak of your breast. His tongue flicked out, laving over the bite, soothing the sting with something warm and teasing before he moved to the other, lips closing around it, sucking slow and deep before biting again.

The sharp pleasure-pain shot straight to your core, your head pressing harder against the door, breath shuddering as he worked you over, taking his time, drawing out every reaction.

Savoring every reaction, every gasp of breath he let you have as his hand tightened around your neck. 

His free hand dragged down your side, light, teasing, the contrast almost unbearable as his mouth continued licking, suckling, and nipping at your tender breasts. His fingers traced the soft curve of your body before slipping lower, playing at the waistband of your pants, hovering, waiting.

A shiver ran through you, your thighs pressing together on instinct, but he was watching you now. You could feel it even as you squeezed your eyes shut.

Then, he laughed. Low, warm, mocking.

“I can feel how bad you want it,” he murmured against your skin, voice dipping into something taunting, something mean. His fingers pushed just a little lower, teasing. “That why you’re squeezin’ your legs together, bunny? Tryin’ to pretend you don’t wanna spread ‘em for me?”

Your breath hitched, mortified, but before you could answer, his teeth moved up, scraping your collarbone, his voice lowering to a growl.

“I’m gonna need some kinda answer here, bunny.”

He groaned into your skin, grinding against you, his movements slow, deliberate, meant to make you feel every inch of him. There was no mystery to it—he was big, the thick outline of him pressing firm and heavy against your stomach through the thin fabric of his robe. The softness of it was stark against the hardness beneath, the heat of him pulsing through the fabric, aching, demanding. Each slow roll of his hips dragged him against you, the pressure teasing, measured, like he was making a point. 

“C’mon, sweet thing. Tell me you want it. Tell me how bad you want me.”

Your brain was screaming at you.

Stop. Think. There’s a dead body in the room.

You don’t know his name. He’s covered in blood. He’s dangerous.

And yet—his lips were still on your throat, his hands still exploring, teasing, and your body was still melting into him like none of that mattered. Like all that mattered was the heat rolling off him, the weight of his body pressing you harder against the door, the way every slow drag of his mouth set you on fire.

Your fingers curled into the soft fabric of his robe, but this time, you weren’t pulling him closer. You were pushing at him, weakly, without force, your hands betraying your own hesitation. It was instinct. Some last-ditch, pathetic attempt at self-preservation. But you could feel the way his grip tightened, fingers flexing around your throat, keeping you still.

“No—” The word barely left you, breathless, shaky, uncertain.

He didn’t stop. He didn’t even hesitate.

The warmth of his breath ghosted over your skin as he let out a low chuckle, lips curving against your throat like the sound itself amused him. He hummed, slow and thoughtful, like he was turning something over in his mind before finally speaking, his voice dipping lower, rough and thick with amusement.

“So you’re tryna tell me if I put my hand down your panties right now, you wouldn’t be soaked for me?”

The way he said it—so certain, so fucking smug, like he already knew the answer—made something inside you clench. Heat licked through your stomach, twisting tight, and before you could even attempt to deny it, before you could convince yourself to shove him away, his hand was already moving.

His touch was light, too light, barely there, but it sent a violent shiver racing down your spine. He wasn’t rushing or forcing anything. He was taunting, playing with you like a cat with a mouse in its claws.

He gave you plenty of time to stop him.

But you didn’t.

A slow, wolfish grin stretched across his face, like this was exactly what he expected, like he already knew your body was betraying you, and then he moved.

His fingers at your waistband slid lower, dipping beneath the fabric, slipping between your legs without hesitation, and the second he felt it—the moment his fingers met the dripping, messy pool of slick between your thighs—his grin faltered.

His breath hitched, chest rising against yours, and for the first time, that unwavering confidence wavered.

“Fuck,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, voice suddenly rougher, thick with arousal. His fingers slid through the obscene wetness with no resistance, parting you easily, gliding over the swollen flesh he found there, coating his fingers with you. He pressed into you deeper, the heat of his skin against yours almost unbearable, fingers teasing at your entrance, feeling the way your body welcomed him, wanted him, clung to him like you were already desperate for more.

Your stomach twisted, face burning, a fresh wave of humiliation crawling up your throat. He groaned, deep and slow, like he was savoring the discovery, like the realization of just how wet you were for him was something he wanted to commit to memory. His free hand at your throat flexed, a slow, indulgent squeeze, like he was grounding himself in the feel of you, the sound of your breath, the way your thighs instinctively pressed together even as you arched closer to him.

“Christ, bunny,” he exhaled, his voice heavier now, thick and oozing with satisfaction. His fingers dragged through the mess of slick again, slow and lazy, not giving you what you needed, just feeling you, learning the way your body reacted. “And you really tried tellin’ me you didn’t want this.”

The noise that left you wasn’t a whimper, but it was close enough to one to make him chuckle again, but this time, it wasn’t just amusement. This was something darker, something hungry, something filled with pride.

And then, too soon, too fucking soon, he pulled his fingers away.

Your breath shuddered, the loss of contact sending an unbearable ache twisting through your stomach, but before you could even process it, before you could decide if you wanted to stop him or chase him, you watched as he lifted his hand to his mouth.

You should have looked away.

But you watched as he sucked his fingers clean, slow and deliberate, his tongue dragging over every inch, savoring the taste of you like it was something rich and decadent.

It should have been disgusting. The remnants of dried blood still clung to the back of his hand, streaked up his wrist, smearing deeper into his skin as his lips closed around his fingers.

But instead of revulsion, all you felt was the sharp, aching pulse between your legs like a hunger that only grew.

The slick coated them, thick and glistening, and he licked it off slowly, dragging his tongue over the taste of you, sucking his fingers into his mouth as his half-lidded eyes never left yours. His tongue flicked out, licking up every last drop, taking his time, savoring you, enjoying every bit of what you had just given him without a fight.

Then, before you could react, he reached to you, dragging the wetness across your lips.

His touch was rough, unrelenting, marking you, smearing it against your mouth, your chin, watching as you shuddered under the weight of it.

“Taste yourself, bunny,” he murmured, voice thick, dripping with cruel satisfaction. “Since you’re so sure you don’t want this.”

Your chest heaved, your lips parted slightly, and for a split second, you almost did.

But then something inside you snapped.

Your head jerked away, your lips pressing together in refusal, the last bit of fight in you breaking through the haze.

His eyes darkened. The amusement didn’t disappear, but something shifted beneath it.

And then, before you could react, before you could take another breath, his hand on your throat was ripped away for an instant before it was back, but this time, the cold press of steel kissed your throat.

Your body locked up, your breath freezing in your chest.

The knife had appeared so fast you had barely seen him move, drawn from the pocket of his robe like it had been there all along, waiting, ready. He held it lightly, casually, the blade barely pressing against your skin.

Your pulse pounded against it.

His lips brushed against your ear, his voice slow, teasing, almost gentle.

“Maybe you just need a little encouragement,” he mused, his tone almost sweet, almost harmless, like he wasn’t holding a blade to your throat. His free hand slid back down between your legs, fingers cupping you over the denim of your pants, making you jump.

“Since you love bein’ so scared, little bunny.”

Then, with excruciating slowness, his fingers found the button of your jeans, popping it open before dragging the zipper down, the sound loud in the thick silence between you. He didn’t rush. Didn’t force. Just took his time, savoring the anticipation before moving his hand between your thighs, pressing against the heat of you through the thin fabric beneath.

The knife stayed at your throat.

His lips pressed against your jaw, warm, deliberate, teasing. He wasn’t rushing. He didn’t have to. His breath was warm when he muttered, “Now, let’s see if you can keep pretending you don’t like this.”

The words sank into you, curling around the last fragile thread of resistance you had left.

He pushed your panties aside with deft fingers and dragged through your slick, swirling slowly over your swollen clit, and it was too much, too sudden, too good. Your knees nearly buckled, your eyes rolling back before you could stop them, your hands scrambling against his robe, searching for something to hold onto, something to ground yourself.

You weren’t fighting anymore.

Your body had given up the charade before your mind had.

“Gonna need to hear it,” he growled, his voice rough, hungry, like he was done waiting for you to stop lying to yourself.

The words were out before you even thought about them.

“Yes, yes, yes—fuck, I want it. Please, I want you.”

The sound of your own voice startled you. Desperate, wrecked, raw. It felt foreign. Like it was coming from someone else, someone shameless, someone who wasn’t supposed to exist inside you.

But she did.

She had been there all along.

And she was the one moaning when he dragged his fingers lower, pushing two thick digits into your clenching, desperate pussy.

The stretch had you gasping, head pressing back against the door, body arching, hips tilting forward to take more, more, more.

The noises spilling from your lips didn’t feel like yours anymore. This wasn’t you.

But maybe it was.

Maybe this was the version of you that had been buried for years—the version of you that craved fear, submission, control, that had spent her entire life running straight toward danger just to see if she would survive it.

Maybe you had always wanted this.

Maybe you had just been waiting for someone like him to find you.

His thick fingers pumped into you, slow but deep, dragging slick from your core with every deliberate stroke. His thumb moved in a lazy circle over your clit, the touch surprisingly gentle, almost soothing—a cruel contrast to the way he had you pinned against the door, to the cold bite of steel resting at your throat.

The knife felt sharper now, pressing just enough to remind you it was there, the cool metal stark against the fevered heat of your skin. The whole room felt too hot, too small, too full of him, with his breath ghosting over your jaw, his chest solid against yours, and his voice thick and indulgent as he dragged you deeper, deeper, deeper into this.

A broken moan tore from your lips as he curled his fingers, pressing against that spot, the one deep inside you that made your stomach tighten, your back arch, your legs threaten to give out.

“Oh, fuck—” you whimpered, your hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging into whatever you could hold onto, fighting to stay upright as your body clenched around him.

His mouth curled against your cheek, amused. Pleased.

“There she is,” he murmured, his voice rough with something dark and satisfied. “Knew you’d give in, bunny. Just had to get you to admit it.”

His fingers pumped harder, slick and messy, shoving you closer to the edge with every stroke. The pressure of the knife didn’t waver. It stayed exactly where he wanted it, pressed against the delicate skin of your throat, making every breath feel shallow, dangerous, intoxicating.

"You gonna come for me?" he mused, his voice a lazy drawl, thick with arrogance. "Or you still gonna pretend this ain't what you wanted all along?"

You couldn't answer—not with the way he was fucking you with his fingers, not with the way your whole body was unraveling, breaking apart, coming undone.

And he knew it.

He fucking knew it.

“I’m gonna–oh god–” you moaned, your back arching at an almost inhuman angle as he kept you pinned, as the knife at your throat kept you grounded, your body caught in that sharp balance between pleasure and fear. “Can I please—please?”

His lips curled against your skin, pleased, smug.

“Love when you beg so pretty,” he murmured, voice rough, thick with indulgence. His teeth grazed the sensitive flesh of your pulse point, dragging slow over the frantic beat beneath your skin, teasing, threatening. His fingers didn’t slow, didn’t ease up, didn’t fucking stop, working you harder, dragging you right to the edge.

His grip never wavered, the blade steady, firm, resting against your pulse like a silent threat. Like a promise.

"Come. Now." The command was rough, guttural, fingers driving into you harder, sharper. "Don’t hold back. Don’t fucking fight it. Wanna feel you squeeze me. Give it up, bunny."

Your mouth dropped open, eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure hit you all at once, your whole body tightening, legs threatening to give out, the pleasure tearing through you so violently it almost hurt.

And just as you shattered apart in his hands—

He bit down. Hard.

Teeth sinking into your neck, marking you, branding you, his mouth hot and unrelenting, drinking down every sound, every desperate cry as you came around his fingers, as you broke completely.

Your body was still trembling, the aftershocks rolling through you in uneven waves as his teeth finally eased from your neck, lips dragging over the fresh mark he’d left behind. You barely had the chance to catch your breath before his fingers slid from inside you, leaving you empty, aching, still twitching from the force of your release.

You gasped as he pulled back, his grip steady as he guided you upright, keeping you from collapsing entirely. The knife was gone now, slipped away just as quickly as it had appeared, but the ghost of its cold steel still lingered against your throat, the reminder settling deep in your bones.

Still catching your breath, your limbs felt weightless, unsteady, the lingering tremors in your legs making it nearly impossible to hold yourself upright. You weren’t sure if you would have moved at all if it weren’t for the sudden warmth of his hand wrapping around yours.

Your fingers twitched in his grip, a brief hesitation, but he didn’t let go. His touch was firm, grounding, leading you away from the door with a slow, deliberate pull. 

Your legs wobbled, still weak, but he didn’t seem concerned. If anything, the smirk tugging at his lips made it clear he liked seeing you like this—wrecked, breathless, too unsteady to even move without his help.

"Not done with you yet, bunny," he muttered, his voice thick with satisfaction as he led you across the room.

You barely registered the direction he was taking you, still floating somewhere between the high of release and the lingering haze of adrenaline. It wasn’t until your hips hit the edge of something solid that your mind caught up.

The counter.

The mirror in front of you was wide, stretching across the wall above the surface, the reflection hazy in the dim motel lighting. You could see yourself—disheveled, undone, lips swollen, the fresh mark on your throat already bruising. And behind you, he stood close, his body radiating heat, his grip still wrapped around your wrist. He pulled your hand to rest with his at your lower back, only one hand to support yourself up on the cold countertop as he bent you in half.

“Right here, bunny,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, lower, almost soothing. His other hand smoothing over your waist, fingers tracing over your hips as he guided you into place.

Your gaze flickered to the mirror, following the line of his arms, the shape of his body hidden under the pink robe caging you.

And just beyond it, in the reflection—

The bed.

The body.

It’s head was turned in your direction, almost like it was watching.

A fresh chill crawled down your spine, sinking its teeth into the heat still simmering in your veins. You swallowed, pulse flickering unevenly, but before your mind could catch up, his lips brushed your shoulder, warm and slow.

“Eyes up,” he murmured, voice deep and edged with something almost… gentle. “I want you to watch.”

His grip on your wrist loosened, fingers brushing over your knuckles for a fleeting second before he let go. For half a second, you thought maybe he was easing up.

Then his hands were back on you—rough, unrelenting, impatient.

You barely had time to brace yourself before he ripped your jeans down, yanking them past your hips with one sharp tug, the force of it knocking you further against the counter. The denim scraped down your thighs, dragging over your knees before he picked up each of your feet to take them off completely, discarding them across the room.

The second they hit the floor, he was already hooking his fingers into your panties, wasting no time before peeling them off too, this time slower, like he was teasing himself until you were completely bare for him.

Your breath hitched, a sharp little gasp breaking free—but before you could even react, before you could catch up to reality, his mouth was on you.

“Oh—!” The sound tore from your throat, breathless, shocked, your legs nearly giving out as heat exploded under your skin. Instead of pulling away, instead of standing back up, he dragged you closer, one hand gripping your thigh as his tongue flattened against your folds, licking deep, messy, hungry.

The wet sounds of his mouth on you filled the room, obscene, echoing off the cheap motel walls. You could feel him groan into you, feel the vibration of it, like he was savoring the taste of you, drinking down the remnants of your last orgasm like he needed it, like he couldn’t help himself.

One last slow, filthy swipe of his tongue, and then he pulled away, standing to his full height, his breath warm against your back, the heat of him pressing into you from behind.

"Just needed a taste," he muttered, his voice rough, low, still thick with hunger.

His hand found your hip, fingers digging in, keeping you still as he leaned over you. You could feel him grin, feel the heat of it against your shoulder.

Your gaze snapped to the mirror as you felt him shift behind you.

In his hand that he brought up, was holding your panties. They dangled from his fingers like a trophy, like a fucking prize.

The fabric looked so obscene in his grip, white lace contrasting starkly against the dark red of dried blood still smeared up his wrists, staining the soft material, ruining it.

A slow smirk curled at his lips, eyes locked on yours in the reflection.

“Keepsake,” he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction, before tucking them into the pocket of his robe like they belonged to him all along.

Then, he moved to stand straight, the absence of him making you shiver. Something in your stomach clenched, but then you heard the soft rustle of fabric hitting the floor.

Your breath hitched, your gaze drinking him in through the mirror.

He was bare now, the absurd pink robe crumpled at his feet, nothing left between you but heat, want, and the lingering scent of blood still clinging to his skin.

He was all hard muscle and soft belly, broad shoulders tapering into a strong chest, lean but striking, the cut of his hips dipping into the thick, aching proof of his arousal. His arms were strong and gorgeously toned. But it was the blood—streaked across his throat, dried against his knuckles, smeared over the ridges of muscle on his torso—that made your pulse stutter, made you squeeze your thighs together despite yourself.

A slow smirk curled on his lips as he watched you take him in, his hands finding your hips again, pressing against them, fingers digging in just enough to remind you who was in control.

His hand trailed up your spine, slow, deliberate, fingertips ghosting over the sensitive ridges of your back before pressing firm between your shoulder blades. A silent command. A demand. He pushed you down, bending you further over the counter, your chest meeting the cold surface.

A sharp shock of contrast coursed through you—the chill of the countertop biting at your bare skin while your body burned, throbbed, pulsed everywhere he had touched. Your nipples stiffened against the cool surface, the ache mingling with the unbearable heat twisting through your veins. 

“Now,” he rasped, his voice darker now, lower, aching with need. “Let’s see how good you look takin’ it.”

Behind you, he exhaled slowly, dragging his cock through your leaking arousal, teasing, coating himself in you.

“Fuckin’ soaked for me,” he muttered, almost in awe, almost reverent. “Drippin’ down your thighs, bunny. Ain’t even touched you properly yet.”

Your breath shuddered, your legs trembling as he pressed in, just the head pushing inside, stretching you open.

The burn was immediate, a sharp, toe-curling ache that had you whimpering, your hands scrambling against the counter, nails dragging against the surface. He was thick, too thick, too big, and he knew it, moving slow, forcing you to take every inch.

"Shhh," he hushed, voice syrup-thick with amusement, smoothing a hand over your lower back as he pushed in deeper. "You can take it, bunny. Bein’ so good for me."

Your walls clenched around him, the sheer stretch of him forcing your body to adjust, forcing your breath to come in ragged gasps as your head swam.

"That’s it," he murmured, voice almost soothing, his thumb stroking lazy circles over your hip, a small, almost mocking comfort as he split you open on his cock. "Givin’ me everythin’, huh? Knew you’d be so good."

He bottomed out with a deep, guttural groan, his fingers tightening on your hips as he held himself there, letting you feel just how deep he was.

Your forehead pressed against the counter, eyes squeezed shut, breath coming in sharp, uneven pants. The stretch was overwhelming, unbearable, too much.

And then he moved.

Not slow. Not gentle.

He pulled back halfway before slamming forward, the force of it shoving you up against the counter, a strangled cry escaping your lips as he set a brutal pace, hips slapping against your ass with every deep, unforgiving thrust.

"Fuck—look at you," he rasped, his grip tightening, dragging you back onto him every time you jolted forward. "Takin’ this cock so good, bunny. Soundin’ so pretty."

The praise made your stomach tighten, heat curling deep in your gut, your mind swimming in the overwhelming sensation of him fucking you open, taking you apart.

Every thrust was hard, precise, brutal, every inch of him forcing you to take more, to feel more, to drown in it.

His body leaned over you, fingers moving between your legs, finding your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles over the swollen flesh. You squirmed, body shaking as the pleasure ripped through you too fast, too hard, pushing you to the edge so quickly it was almost humiliating.

"There it is, bunny. Wanna feel this sweet, tight cunt come on my cock now," he muttered, his breath hot, ragged, teeth grazing your shoulder. "C’mon now. Give it to me."

Your body obeyed before your mind could catch up.

Your orgasm slammed into you like a fucking wrecking ball, pleasure crashing through you in violent, uncontrollable waves as your walls clenched around him, pulling him deeper, holding him inside you.

His groan was wrecked, almost desperate, his thrusts turning sloppy, frenzied, chasing his own high. But just when you thought you might drown in it, when you thought he might finish just like this, his hands moved again.

His fingers tangled in your hair, gripping tight at the base of your skull before he yanked you upright, pulling you flush against his chest.

Your breath hitched, your hands flying to the counter for balance.

The mirror loomed in front of you, your reflection raw and ruined, lips parted, sweat-damp hair clinging to your forehead, bruises blooming on your throat.

And behind you—he looked like something primal.

Eyes dark, predatory, hair falling into his face, his skin slick with sweat and streaked with blood. He kept you up against him with his arm snaking around you, the crook of his elbow at your throat, arm smattered with dry blood across your neck.

The sight of him—fucking you, wrecking you, devouring you whole— made your stomach convulse, a fresh wave of arousal pooling low.

His smirk curled against your jaw, his lips dragging against the shell of your ear as he fucked you harder, deeper, forcing you to watch.

"Eyes on the mirror, bunny," he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction, with possession.

Your pulse thundered, the haze of pleasure still thick, still overwhelming–

But then, his gaze flicked lower.

To the bed. To the body.

His thrusts slowed, just barely, just enough to make you feel the shift.

"Now, tell me somethin'," he muttered, his arm moving back enough to grab your chin with his hand, tilting your head just slightly.

Your eyes followed. The body lay still. Exactly where it had been.

But as you really got a look at the face turned towards you…

Your breath caught.

Your whole body locked up.

He watched you in the mirror, his smirk widening as your expression shifted, as the horror finally settled into your features.

"That’s right," he murmured, mock sympathy laced through his voice. "You know him, don’t you, bunny?"

The realization crashed down like ice water, freezing the lingering heat in your veins, making your stomach twist so violently you thought you might be sick.

A choked sound escaped you, something weak, something small.

Because you did.

The man lying motionless on the bed—

It was the man you had seen earlier.

The one who had been watching you.

The image slammed into you all at once.

That feeling. That thick, crawling awareness. The quiet, animal instinct that had made the hair on the back of your neck stand up, that had tightened your stomach before you even knew why.

You had seen him. Standing under that broken streetlight, just watching you.

Not moving, not speaking, not pretending to be anything other than what he was.

A predator.

And now he was dead.

“Oh my god,” you heard yourself say, somewhere in the distant haze of it all.

The room tilted, spun, a wave of cold terror slamming through you so hard it nearly sent you forward.

But before you could collapse under the weight of it, before you could fall completely into the abyss of fear choking you from the inside out,  the man slammed his cock into you again with a force so hard you cried out, the force of it shoving you forward, his arm back at your throat, keeping you against his chest, forcing you to take him deeper, to feel every brutal, punishing inch of him.

"Oh, that get you goin’, bunny?" His voice was low, mocking, thick with amusement as his grip tightened around your neck, forcing you to look. Your reflection stared back at you, ruined, wrecked, your eyes wide with fear, your body still trembling, still taking every brutal thrust he gave you.

"That why you’re squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight? You like that? Liked knowin’ what I did for you?"

He slammed into you again, harder, deeper, forcing you to take it, forcing you to feel it.

"The thing is, bunny," he grunted, his breath ragged, his pace unrelenting, "I saw the way he was watchin’ you. Saw the way he was followin’ you from the second your car pulled in."

His fingers dug into your shoulder as his arm held you tight against him, his grip bruising, possessive as his mouth was hot in your ear.

"I saw the way he looked at you. That sick fuck was plannin’ somethin’. Could see it all over his face. I wanted to rip him apart the moment I saw him."

His thrusts grew rougher, sharper, more desperate, like the memory of it alone was sending something wild through him.

"So I did."

He exhaled against your cheek, his voice dropping so low it barely rose above the sound of skin slapping against skin.

"And then…" His pace never faltered, never softened, rolling his hips slow but deep, letting you feel every inch of him, letting you think about what you’d done. "I didn’t even have to come lookin’ for you."

His arm tightened on your throat, just enough to feel your pulse race beneath his bloodied skin.

"You found me, didn’t you, bunny?”

A soft chuckle, dark and pleased.

"Coulda kept walkin’. Coulda gone right back to your room, pretended you didn’t see a damn thing." His free hand continued the slow, taunting circles over your clit, too much and not enough all at once. It wasn’t just teasing—it was methodical, cruel, meant to keep you exactly where he wanted you, stuck between the horror twisting in your gut and the unbearable pressure building lower. "But you just had to see, didn’t you? Had to come find the monster all by yourself."

The words hit something deep again, because he was right.

You had been running from something all night, but it wasn’t just your family, wasn’t just the life waiting for you back home. You had been searching for something, something dangerous, something that made you feel, something that made your blood rush hot in your veins and your stomach twist in knots.

And when you had heard the body hit the floor, when you saw the blood on the doorstep—when your pulse had spiked, not from terror, but from something else entirely—you had known.

You could have ignored it. Should have locked yourself away in your room. Should have closed your eyes and forced yourself to sleep, but you hadn’t.

You had walked straight to him.

You had found him.

And now, he had you.

Your whole body tensed, your fingers curling against the countertop, your lungs locking up like they couldn’t decide whether to gasp for air or hold it in forever. The horror, the pleasure, the realization—it all crashed into you at once, an unbearable, unstoppable wave that swallowed you whole.

It was too much. The fear, the shame, the pleasure—all tangled together until there was no telling where one ended and the other began. The pressure in your stomach wound so tight it ached, so tight it burned, so tight it felt like it might rip you in two.

He kissed the corner of your jaw, slow and taunting, lips curling against your sweat-damp skin.

"You’re all mine now, little bunny." 

The pleasure hit like a shockwave, ripping through you, forcing a cry from your lips so raw you barely recognized it as your own. Your walls clenched down around his fingers, pulsing, spasming, locking onto him like they never wanted to let go.

Your body convulsed, trembling violently in his hold, wrung out so hard it almost hurt. Your head spun, your vision blurred, your pulse pounded between your legs as wave after wave dragged you under, over and over, pulling you deeper until there was nothing left but the aftermath—wreckage and ruin and the undeniable truth settling heavy in your chest.

"And you’re always gonna remember who got to you first."

The words should have felt like a brand, like a claim.

Maybe they did.

Maybe that’s why, when your vision finally cleared, when your gaze lifted to meet his black eyes in the mirror…

Your lips curled into a grin.

[whorediaries-09]

Girliee I have a request for kinkotober hehehhe

Sirius x reader with body worshipping and ‘please let me fuck my babies into you’

omg he’s just so perfect I can’t. Thank you!

yeah he's way too perfect 🫡

you're screwed up and brilliant;

pairing- artist!sirius black x reader warning(s)- 18+ content. a/n- to be sirius' muse 😮‍💨

prompt- body worshipping + 'please let me fuck my babies into you.'

the diner. kinkotober masterlist. kinkotober rules.

sirius has never been the one to break his own morals. through all the years he's worked on his art, with various models sitting on the stool while they posed for him, he's gained enough experience to control his emotions and not let his art persuade him. he'd taught himself to believe that his art was nothing but strokes on his canvas, and he wasn't in love with any of his models.

but sirius didn't know what he was putting himself through when he decided to hire you as his model. from being just strokes of paint on canvas, from you being just a model to be his muse. he didn't know how it began, or when it began. maybe it was after you'd admitted that you were more interested in his art rather than the cheques he wrote for you. maybe it was after you'd remembered the order of his favorite tea which he'd revealed once in flowing conversation. maybe it was after you'd lingered around him, looking at the different paintings on his walls. maybe it was after he'd realized your efforts of trying to get him know better.

you always lingered around his chamber, making conversations with him. today however, feels different. it almost feels as if you linger around for a purpose. he doesn't know if it's because of the request-or rather his wish he'd accidently spoken about to you, or if it's something different.

'do you think i can't be a nude model for you, sirius?' you ask. he doesn't reply. he stares at you, trying to study your body language.

well you certainly hadn't forgotten about his words, even though he'd told you to.

'no, no, it's just th-' he stops as you walk closer, leaning towards his form where he's sitting. his eyes travel up and down, taking your form in, the one he'd only dreamed up so close. your finger is on his lips, quieting him.

you see his pupils dilate, the artery on his neck vibrate faster. his crotch tightens against the fabric of the slacks he's wearing. his breathing grows ragged, and behind his pupils his gray eyes darken into a storm of growing desire. you smirk, running your tongue over the top row of your teeth.

'you're so precious, sirius,' you say. he unconsciously spreads his legs, and you straddle him. 'you know that?' you ask. you take his hands into yours, placing his cold touch on your hips. he grips the delicate fiber of your sundress, pulling you closer. his lips sooth over the burning skin of your neck, as he breathes you in.

it's slow, delicate and intimate as he eyes you up and down. he's pushes his hand between your skin and the fabric of your dress, his touch electrifying. he feels your wet arousal seeping through your underwear onto his groin. he groans, bucking his hips at the feeling.

'you're so beautiful,' he whispers, as if breathless. his hot breathe tenses over your warm skin and you moan, as his fingers feel the stretch marks on your hips. he digs his nails into them, his lips loitering over your skin, as he tries to feel every uncovered part of you.

'you drive me fucking crazy,' he says, tightening your legs around his waist and picking you up. he places your bottom on his desk, throwing away the tubes of paint, the mug of dirty paint water and his brushes. right now, he could care less about those.

right now, you were his art.

'i know that,' you tease. he chuckles, voice low, throat raw. right now, he could practically feel his heart beating against his ribcage, as if trying to be free from the strong confines. he'd finally gotten you just like he'd wanted, in his dirty dreams of sins. the nights he'd woken up, soaked in cold sweat, his cock erect and leaking against his sweatpants. he had stroked himself at the thought of your distinct scent and the moan that had once left your lips when you'd dropped a vase on your toe.

'no you don't,' he said, slowly untying the ribbons of your dress. he took his time, eyes and hands exploring your body, counting the moles on your skin, watching as the sleeves of the dress slip from your shoulders, revealing your chest to his hungry eyes. he takes a deep breath, his fingers digging tantalizing over the skin of your inner thighs, so close to where you need him, yet so far away. you practically feel your vulva swell with need as he kisses the nape of your neck, soft and sinful, trailing your jaw but never reaching your mouth. there's nothing he wants to do but, ruin you. ruin you for everyone else but him.

he presses his finger against your clit, watching as you bend your back, and spread your legs wider for him. his touch is cold, a contrast against your heated core.

'you don't know how many nights i've spent, withering on my bed, at the thought of you, at the lack of you,' he says, on his knees. he bunches the fabric of your dress at your hips, kissing his way towards your core. 'you don't know how much i've tried to control myself. you don't know how many times i've wanted to bend you over his desk, and fuck you till the only thing you remember is my name. you don't know how many times i've touched myself at the mere thought of you,'

you clasp his head between your thighs, his mouth at your core. you knead your fingers into his hair, pulling him closer to your sopping core.

'show me then,' you say, voice fumbling at the feeling of his tongue against your slit. 'show me how much i don't know. show me how much you've been restraining yourself,'

as soon as your words register into his brain, he knows he won't stop. he can't stop. he plunges his mouth into your cunt, licking and kissing away like a starved man, while simultaneously thrusting his fingers into you. it's like he's known your body for your entire life, and he knows exactly how to bring you to the edge of your pleasure. he knows exactly where to touch, lick, kiss and press to have your walls pulsating around him in a mere moment of minutes.

and just like that, your core tightens, and your thighs do too, as you feel your orgasm plunging at it's climax. you bite your lip, trying to restrain the moan which hangs at your lips.

'cum for me,' he says, the vibrations of his voice harsh against the sensitive bundle of your nerves. your thighs shake as you release yourself onto his tongue, and he laps up every bit of it like a quenched man.

'fuck,' he says, standing up on his feet, kissing, licking and biting your body as he does so. he's gentle as he lays your back on his desk, sliding down the dress across your body. he throws it on the floor, unzipping his trousers, and pulling down his boxers, revealing his cock in all it's glory.

he catches you staring at his cock, and smirks, as he lines it up against your slit. he holds you close by his waist, against his chest. he's slow, taking his time to feel you as he enters you. he feels your wet, pulsating walls around him, the sounds leaving your lips a sweet melody to his ears.

'oh fuck, sirius,' you groan, with his first thrust.

'that's right darling, say my name,' he encourages you, his lips on your hairline.

he starts pulling his cock out, and pushing it back in, first slow, letting you adjust to his size and girth. you feel the nerves on his cock against the walls of your cunt. his tip touches your sweet spot, and you almost lose your mind.

'god, sirius you're so-so-good,' you whimper, almost pathetic. your toes curl as your core tightens. he hides his nose in the nape of your neck, taking in your scent. it feels like the nights he'd fucked his fist, at the thought of your intoxicating scent.

except it's not, and he's actually inside you, feeling you in all your glory. he's doomed, it was destined to be doomed.

his thrusts grow erratic, and you tighten around him, with your toes curling and mind blackening. you see stars with each of his unrhythmic thrusts, the coil of orgasm boiling in your stomach, before your breathes falter and you release yourself around him, painting his torso with your orgasm.

'fuck,' he groans, running his fingers through his sweaty inky locks. you feel him throbbing inside of you, his libido wearing off.

'god, you're driving me so fucking insane, m'love. please let me fuck my babies into you,' he says, holding your chin, his eyes gazing into yours.

'please,' you whisper, cunt sensitive, with his thrusts. he whimpers, before releasing hot ropes of his cum into you, filling you up to the brim.

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©whorediaries-09, 2024.

[tavs-adventures]

Raphael Liking You Includes . . .

The son of Archdevil Mephistopheles in love? Absolutely Impossible. After all Fiends, Devils, and Cambions don't have souls. They don't feel. And yet...

You're one of Raphaels favorite Patrons. He couldn't tell you how it happened, he's not sure he really wants to know. All he understands is one day you went from being someone under a contract to actually being someone he cares about and is careful with.

In truth he knows when it happened. He knows exactly how and why but for now he can pretend because that's easier. That's easier than admitting his real feelings and facing rejection. He's the Prince of Hell he doesn't feel emotions like Love. Only Lust.

Raphael enjoys your Magic Lessons together. Your spareing sessions. Apart of your Contract was a piece of his power for a family artifact you had that he wanted for his collection. As a Warlock, your power in part comes from him. But unlike most of his pacts you knew what you were doing. The artifact you had was the real deal and it was worth something to Raphael which means you were worth something to him. So you didn't sell your soul and you carefully worded your contract to work in your favor. Your cunning, your occasional cruelty, and your creativity are what drew him to you. You were not like the others and Raphael did love a good chase.

He doesn't remember the details on your original contract. It's changed so many times now with him adding things that don't benefit him but do benefit you. Raphael whether he wants to admit it or not is now at your beck and call. Not that you ever over use your abilities to summon him or ask to be summoned despite having that power. And even if you did he likley wouldn't complain. He likes the pull he has on you, the influence you hold over him. He finds it exhilarating.

You spend a lot of time in the House of Hope in-between the Jobs Raphael gives you and the Adventures you go on in your free time. Infernal has long been a second tongue you're comfortable speaking. And bartering with the Prince is just your version of flirting, a Cambions love languae really.

As a Mortal and Morally Gray but not Outright Evil person, some of the practices you've observed in Raphaels' home do bother you. You've definitely felt sick in some of the rooms, but after a year or so, you now know which hallways to avoid and what spaces you like to occupy when Raph is busy or gone. (If anything truly made your skin crawl or your stomach upset Raphael would erase your memory of it and hide that part of his House from you. He doesn't like when you flinch from him or when you seem to focus on his more Infernal Nature)

Raphael inspires too instill fear in all his pacts. But with you, he finds it far more amusing to see your passion, taste your fire, and feel your fury. Your relationship is unconventional but also unconditional despite stemming from a contract. You have far more privileges than any of his other pacts. He hasn't said it outloud yet but it's obvious he likes having you around.

The Prince of Hell is a Walking Furnace. Cambions run warm in general, but he is especially hot. His touch does not burn unless he wants it to and in your contract it clearly states he can't burn you. Whenever your cold (when hell freezes over appretally isn't just an expression) he takes your hands in his and carefully warms them. The act is surprisingly intimate and you have to fight a blush every time he does it.

He likes touching you. Something about your presense, your touch soothes him. Hes never felt this way before and he doesn't want to admit it so he finds casual ways to touch you outside of Sex. Adjusting your stance during sparring. Grabbing your arms during magic lessons. Holding your hands in the Hallway. Kissing your face, your neck, any exposed skin. Biting. His more gentle acts of affection and wanting your attention somehow always make you end up in the Bedroom.

Haarlep is your only friend in the House of Hope. While Raphael has many servants he trusts none of them around you. When his Master is away the Incubus is a rather funny Infernal being and does his best to keep you entertained. He keeps you from the more unsavory pieces of his Masters House wanting to shield you from them (He was Ordered too by Raphael but the Incubus doesn't find your suffering enjoyable as he does with others). The Incubus follows you around the House of Hope, keeping you company as he tells stories about his Master to make you laugh. The sound is a soothing balm to those in the Home as when you're in a Good Mood Master is as well.

You enjoy gossiping with the Incubus. Hearing his stories of the Hells and how he came in service of Raphael. Spending hours pillow talking and giggling as he holds you waiting for his Master to come back and join. You help Haarlep with his shape shifting, picking and chosing appearences and creating characters for him to seduce others with. He likes using his Incubus magic around you, loving how your eyes widen in awe when he changes shape. Or how you learn to copy some of his magic to change clothes and makeup at your command. He's more than happy to teach you spells and even a few surprises for Raphael.

Haarlep gives you tips about things Raphael likes in bed and when you need something from the Cambion you have more than a few tricks up your sleeve because of your helpful Incubus. Raphael knows you playfully plot against him with his favorite Servant but he finds the antics amusing if a bit ambushing at times. You're a very convincing minx

With Haarlep often taking his Masters form Raphael has ordered that the Incubus is not allowed to touch you in a Romantic way unless Raphael is there. Sometimes the two of you will follow The Princes wishes for something new and exciting in bed but you have a mostly platonic friendship with playful teasing and occasional light flirting. Haarlep genuinely enjoys your presence and finds your visits both amusing and entertaining. He asks you about your Adventures and is much more interested in your personality than your body.

Everyone in the House of Hope is aware of you, even if you aren't aware of them. From the newest members of his service to his eldest you are a talked about point in the House of Hope.

Raphaels favorite is something often whispered in the Haunted Halls of the House of Hope. At first you were just another pact. But then the Master began touching you outside the Bedroom. He began giving you things outside your contract. With you dressed in Rich Fabrics, showered in Expensive Jewelry, Freely given powerful Relics and weapons, and Dined and Wined with only the most luxurious of Foods. It's easy to see why you'd be called that.

There is jealously and resentment, it is Hell. But Raphael has it written in all his contracts you are not to be harmed and every Debtor in his collection knows better than to do or say anything remotley insulting in your presence. You are unaware of this, Raphael never mentions it and his Staff is to afraid to ask. If it ever is brought up he simply says you are his to torture. Though he only ever brings you bliss.

With free Reign of the House of Hope you often wander in and out of the Rooms you know are safe. Raphaels domain is practically your second home. You walk through the Ballrooms which always seem to have Music, Explore his endless libraries to gain forbiden knowledge, Paint in his Art Room, Play instruments in his Music Room, Spar in his Training Room, Peak into his private offices to see what he's working on, and Slip in and out of his Entertainment rooms. You tend to stray from his bedroom unless you're in the mood as once you pass that threshold it becomes a long night of passion. The guest room you claim in his Home always mysteriously disappears whenever Raphael wants to be intimate with you.

As a Cambion he enjoys scratching and marking what is his. Leaving his presence on your skin through various means. Your neck is often covered in hickies and love bites showing his ownership of you. At the beginning of the relationship he never wanted your mark on him but as time went on he began to like being marked as well. Haarlep often teases him about this.

Raphael enjoys whispering Infernal poetry in your ears. He lusts after you, but he is also a Romantic. A passionate lover he calls it. Dramatic you tease back. The Hellish language burns hot like flames licking your skin and always leaves your chest warm. Speaking it back feels like magma rolling off your tongue but when he shivers you know its worth it. When he kisses you he often whispers words of affection between each kiss, his lips pressing to your skin with a sort of reverence a Cambion shouldn't possess.

He enjoys Dancing far more than he should. And serenading you. Taking your hand and spinning you around the marbel floor of one of his Ballrooms while singing of your passion and unconventional union. You tease him about being a Bard in another life. He teases you about being a Devil with the way you tempt him so.

Every kiss no matter how soft and tender feels like he's trying to steal your breath away. The longer the relationship lasts the more heartfelt and meaningful every kiss feels like. The less possessive and more protective he becomes.

He's protective of his Relic Collection as it's something he often admires and shows off. Raphael realizes how in love he truly is when you break something on accident and his first thought is, are you okay and not is the Relic alright?

It scares him one night while your in his arms, his true form holding you when he realizes how deeply he's fallen for you. He thinks of his precious Relics and how he would give every single one of them up for you. The Prince of Hell can't deny it any longer. As his wings wrap around you and his lips kiss your temple he realizes how in love he is and how you hold his heart.

Raphael begins carrying a ring in his pocket the next Day with your favorite gems.

When you get hurt it's not an exaggeration to say all Hell breaks loose. He can handle a papercut or something similar but anything close to a battle wound? He stopped sending you on Missions ages ago for that reason. If it happened on the surface your never leaving Hell again. He's dragging you to the House of Hope to heal you and he's changing your contract and having you sign it. He's hoping you don't look at the new clause about Marriage but if you do the Cambions always been one for contracts and dramatics anyways.

[giuliettagaltieri]

Chase for Prestige

Pairing: Presidential Candidate!Coriolanus Snow x Strategist!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: The Performer

Warning: elitism, morally gray reader, greed, mentions of drugging, self induced injury, violence, death

Word Count: 3738

3 of 6

After graduating from the University, you and Coriolanus set your plan in motion.  With your minds working together, and Dr. Gaul and the Plinths behind him, it was not that difficult to do.

Coriolanus was a perfect man to become a President.

He has the intellect for it, the support, the charisma, and the right name.

It was not a wonder how in just a couple of years, young Coriolanus Snow was able to climb high in politics.  A fresh graduate, already contending with veterans.

With the media on his side, he showed them that what Panem needs is something fresh.  Someone new to govern them.

President Ravenstil is an old man, he has suffered too much.  And it seems he was only waiting for the young Snow to fully come to age and take the seat that was rightfully his.

When Coriolanus announced that he is filing candidacy for President, you were with him.

Thanatos Swansworth’s daughter.

The Districts felt an old fear creeping up their bones, similar to what they felt over two decades ago.

But Coriolanus Snow was not the only candidate.

There was also Hilarius Heavensbee.

Not the greatest politician but he did have the money and influence.

“Heavensbee visited the grave of Felix Ravenstill.”  You say from the couch in Coriolanus’ office.  “Claimed to avenge his good friend when he becomes President.”

Coriolanus puts his pen down as he listens to you read from the newspaper.

This is not good.  This will garner the attention of the Capitol.  And with President Ravenstill stepping down, it seems only fitting to have someone who will avenge Felix as a replacement.

“I regret telling you that.”  You sigh as you make your way to the refreshments table to pour yourself a cup of tea.  “Focus on your speech for tonight.”  

He bristles.  “How could I when my enemy has the upperhand.  He offers kindness and empathy.  What do I have to offer?  The name of my father and games?”  Coriolanus snaps at you.

But you don’t respond to him as you check the teapot for remaining hot tea.

“What are you doing?”  He grumbles, eyeing you with frowned brows.  To his surprise, you plunge your hand inside.  “Y/N!”

Your hiss as Coriolanus yanks your arm away, making the teapot drop and shatter on the hardwood floor.  “What has gotten into you!”  You have never heard him so angry.  Not even when they stripped him off his name and status and sent him to District 12.

He rushes you to the powder room and places your hand under the faucet.  His teeth were grinding against each other as he observed your skin for any permanent damage.

“What were you thinking?”  His voice is low and barely contained.  He was behind you, trapping you between him and the lavatory.  Every rumble of his chest sends a shiver to your spine.

You smile as you gently move your fingers.  No serious damage.  Your skin still stings though.

“Giving you a chance to be kind and empathic.”  You laugh, one cut short by how he squeezes at your hip warningly.  “You’ll have to cut my steak for me later, Mr. President.”  The frown in his brows deepen as he hears the smile in your voice.  “I will make you do everything for me, Coriolanus Snow.” 

He did not like what you did.

Not when you grimace at the slightest touch to your hand.

The Plinths held the dinner party for Coriolanus, a celebration before his District Tour.

Many influential people are present in the party and for those who could not come, the party is being televised, all throughout Panem.

You are by his side the entire time, your good hand holding on to his arm, whispering information to his ears for every person that comes to shake his hand.

It was fascinating to watch how easy it was to inflate their ego.  They genuinely thought that Coriolanus Snow had the time to know their name and worry how their orchids were thriving this year.  No, it was all you.

You with your sweet smile and alluring voice.

Many expressed their worry for your injured hand but you always manage to turn it back to Coriolanus.  Telling them you had a little accident with your tea this morning, that it could have been worse had it not been for Coriolanus Snow.

They were so touched by his concern for you.  They start to see him in a new light.  He was not only good to Sejanus Plinth, but he was also doting on you.

Coriolanus Snow is a firm politician but he is also capable of warmth.

Many of them sneakily tried to ask about your relationship, but you were smart enough to deflect their questions.  Not confirming them but also not denying, just enough to keep their attention on you.

And it was finally time for the speech.

Coriolanus made people shed tears that night, fueled the narcissism of the Capitol citizens, but also gave a smidge of hope to the people of the Districts, it is not much but they do learn to start trusting this young Snow.

You are at your table, sharp eyes glinting at Coriolanus, sipping your champagne as you watch your handiwork.  You were careful enough to wear a gentle smile, for the cameras, lest the public mistake you for plotting something malevolent.

For the grand finale, he walks over to your table, his eyes on you the entire time as roars of applause ring heavily in the air.  He gently holds your elbow, careful not to hurt your hand and places a featherlight kiss on your wrist and closes his eyes, making the public believe that you are his anchor, grounding him.

Your lips part at his display of affection.  It almost seemed real.  You place your good hand on your chest as you smile up at him, your eyes turning glassy from all the emotions you are supposed to be feeling.

The ruse does not end there.

Just as you asked, he cut your steak for you, excusing himself from the conversation with the president to focus on the task.

You kick him under the table, it was sweet but this is the president he is talking to, and to put it to a pause just for your meal-

“What a sweet boy you are.”  The President’s wife coos and the President nods in agreement.

“It is hard to come by a good woman, especially for men like us.”  The President tells Coriolanus who chuckles.

“Indeed, sir.  That is why I have no intention of letting this one go.”  Coriolanus nods at you, making everyone around the table laugh.

“Don’t worry, I don’t plan on leaving anytime soon.”  You place a hand on his forearm.  “You are stuck with me.”

The President laughs harder at that.

It seems like Coriolanus knows what he is doing.  It made him look committed.

The Capitol is sad to see you off in your District Tour.

Hilarius Heavensbee, calls it foolishness in an interview once.  So many can go wrong on the tour.  You can be ambushed in the middle of speeches, poisoned in the homes you stay in, and even road accidents are a possibility.

You indulge a reporter as you are about to depart with Coriolanus, you smile at the camera as you hold on to his arm.  “Hilarius Heavensbee is right to be afraid, but a coward to hide in the walls of the Capitol.”

The ratings for Coriolanus rose dramatically after your comment, and the man cannot be more proud of you.

Or so he thought.

District 4 was fairly a peaceful place.  The land was beautiful due to it being situated on a large body of water, one that you do not see much from the Capitol.  The stench was something else but with the position of being President on the line, Coriolanus managed to tolerate it.

The mayor was wary for some reason.

He was sweating intensely.  His eyes darted all around, jumping at the slightest of sounds.  It did not sit well with either of you but you smiled for the cameras still.

He was nearly rushing you and Coriolanus to a fairly sized yacht.  

The ship you saw your father buy on an impulse once could collide with this one and your father’s ship will not even feel the slightest tremor.  It was exceptionally gigantic, especially to a four-year-old girl.  Your father bought it for your family should the Capitol fall in the war.  You never got to see that ship again when he got his head blown up with a sniper.

When you manage to get to a considerable distance from the port, the mayor was able to breathe more calmly.

“Is something the matter?”  Coriolanus smiled kindly, but you hear the sharpness in his voice.

The man stills his movement, his breath coming to a stop too as he looks at you like a deer caught in headlights.  He opens his mouth and closes them quickly.  He looks like he is about to burst into tears.

“You-you see, Mister Snow, sir…”  He stammers.

“Yes?”  Coriolanus raises a brow.

The mayor heaves a rather large sigh. 

“We m-might have received word that a…a group of people might have been uhm, they might cause…a smidge of trouble.”  He scratches at his head, trying to make it sound light and funny but he is obviously failing, soaked with sweat now.  “But there is nothing you should worry about.  We are taking care of it.”

You wanted to punch the man.

“And you thought it might be wise to bring us here in the middle of the ocean when someone declared a threat against us?”  You ask coldly.

“We thought, this way…w-we can select who could be around you, Miss Swansworth.”  He grimaces at your tone.

Coriolanus looks around the deck.  The reporters are stationed on one side, waiting to cover the party that will be thrown at dusk.  Peacekeepers are also deployed in the area.

You pull Coriolanus close by his tie, the mayor looking away with his cheeks flushing.  It seemed too intimate for him to see.

“We cannot have rebel attacks in the news.  It would prove everything Heavensbee said to be true.  Everybody would laugh at us!”  You say through gritted teeth.

Coriolanus clicks his tongue, hating how true your words are.  He places a warm hand on your back and leans down until his lips brushes against your ear, tickling you.  

The reporters are going haywire at the romantic gesture being offered to them.

“We will proceed as planned.”  He whispers lowly.  “For now, let’s retreat to someplace more private.”  Coriolanus straightens up and looks at the mayor testingly.  “Mister mayor, could you provide us a quieter deck?  Miss Swansworth would love to rest before the party begins.”

The smile you gave the mayor did not reach your eyes.

“Of course!  Right this way, please.”  He guides you inside the yacht and Coriolanus had his hand on the small of your back, keeping you close.  Peacekeepers stationed themselves inside and outside the doors.  A silencer now attached at the tips of their guns.  The mayor opens the door leading to a smaller deck, an empty one, one you’d love to explore.

“You can rest here, Miss Swansworth.”  He smiles nervously at you, his feet sweating at how you look at the place with indifference.  “Mister Snow, I would send refreshments for you and the Miss.”  He walks over to the door.  “Excuse me.”  He almost runs away from you.

“How rude.”  You say plainly.  “Acting as if I will bite his head off if he breathed wrong.”

Coriolanus leaves your side to rest on a plush sofa.  “You wouldn’t?”  He busies himself with a pile of magazines that featured successful men of the Capitol.  He is somewhere in there too.

You scoff, walking over to the empty deck.

“Stay where I can see you.”  He reminds in a manner that is intended for children.

Rolling your eyes, you venture further into the deck, the sun is setting beautifully, it would be a shame to stay indoors.

You close your eyes at the soft breeze, listening to the gentle lap of the waves and the seagulls flying above.

“My my, what a stubborn girl.”  Coriolanus sighs as he comes to stand next to you.

“You are not my father.”  You quip, brow raising at him. 

He only smiles darkly at you.  “No, but I expect the same obedience from you.”

Coriolanus chuckles when you huff, your lips forming a delicate pout.

In the calmness of the descending twilight, you both share a comfortable silence. 

Behind the beauties that publicity offered you during the tour, one thing that you appreciated is the places you got to visit.

Coriolanus was not the best company but he is slowly becoming more and more tolerable.  At times you even begin to have trouble trying to guess if his actions are part of your ruse or not.

A mistake.

You inhale sharply, turning away from the tangerine glare, your back to him.

Coriolanus Snow watches you as you walk away from him.

“Problem?”

He leans on the rails, his arms crossing.

You sigh as you grip your wrist behind your back and rocked on your feet, still not looking at him.  You appear rather insecure and it bothered him greatly.  Y/N Swansworth can be a shy girl but never insecure.  Not even once.

“Yes.”

Coriolanus strides over but you take another step back.  He narrows his eyes at you warningly.  “Tell me.”

You purse your lips, doe eyes glancing at him before looking away.  “I should not.”

Patiently, he waited for you to continue talking.

You started walking further and further until you were farthest from him.

“Are you asking for a chase, sweetheart?”  He says playfully.  Coriolanus found it comical to watch your eyes widen.

“No.”  You are quick to rid your face of vulnerability.   “I would like a moment alone.”  You spoke distantly.

Coriolanus knew better than to force you to do something that you quite obviously do not want to do.

He straightens up and gives you a charming smile, similar to the ones he gave to the cameras, you hated it.

“I will leave you to yourself then.”

You bite your tongue as you watch him head to the direction of the door.  You wanted to stop him.  To get him to stay…with you.  But your longing eyes, hidden by the dimming nightfall, can only look at him.

A soft thud from behind you steals both of your attention.  Coriolanus pauses his steps by the door.

“Y/N?”  He calls.  “Come here.”

With the lack of light, you struggle to see clearly what is happening, but with the mercy of whatever gods are looking down at you, you manage to see a silhouette of a person on top of the rails.

He was startled to see you, his movements freezing.  But that moment of shock did not last long as he seethed at you, his hand fished something from his pocket and you did not wait around to see what it was as you ran to Coriolanus as fast as you could.

But the man was not having any of that.

You yelp as a heavy mass slams against your back, knocking you to the ground.  It takes everything in you not to scream when your foot lands badly, now twisted in a weird angle.  Tears spring in your eyes as a burning pain rips from your head as your hair is being held in harsh fingers.  A cold sting against your neck had you squeezing your eyes but a muted bang stills every movement.

You look up to see Coriolanus still pointing a gun not very far above you, his eyes wide and afraid.  The fillet knife clatters on the deck and you groan as the man collapses on top of you.

Loud footsteps echo around the deck and you are yanked by your arms but as your feet make contact with the floor, you cry out in pain.  

You sniffle as you collapse on your bum, pretty dress splayed around you as you try to be brave, swallowing your sobs as you shiver from the fright.  Rough hands grab at your tear stained cheeks, turning you from side to side.

“It’s alright, I got you.”  He murmurs as the peacekeepers fill the area, the body being dragged away and taken care of.  You clutch at Coriolanus’ arms as you sobbed openly at his chest.  “You’re safe.”  It was the only promise he made that you found yourself believing.

The mayor was hysterical.  The doors and blinds shut, separating you from the people in the main deck.  He is kneeling in front of you and Coriolanus, sobbing like a newborn child deprived of his mother.

“We cannot let the people know about this.”  You spoke sternly, the ice on your foot had a biting cold, not making you feel any better.  “This never happened.”

Coriolanus’ leg is bouncing without a pause, his eyes livid as he refuses to let you get as far away as a meter from him.

The peacekeepers offered a drink to the Mayor before he leaves, which you think might have been tampered with as he was unnervingly happy afterwards, perhaps a bit loopy.  He joins the party with a glass of wine that a peacekeeper thrusted to his hand.

“You’d have to follow him.”  You spoke gently, trying not to wake his anger again.

“How many times would you have me tell you?”  He asks, agitated.  “I will not be leaving your side-”

“You have come this far, Corio.”  You spoke quietly, eyes looking anywhere but him.  “Surely you don’t intend to make a mistake now.”

This gets him to reconsider.  You turn to him with your most convincing smile. 

“Nobody is foolish enough to attempt another attack after that.”  You do not know that of course but you will say anything just to get him out there.  “We are doing so well, Coriolanus.  Do not ruin this for us.”  You plead.

Coriolanus looks away from you, contemplating.

“We were supposed to do this together.”  He sighs, eyes downcast.  It is a look you have seen often in his youth.  “And I let you get hurt.  On my watch.”

You smile, a real one this time.

In that moment, the peacekeepers and the people outside seemed to have disappeared as you were certain that it was just you and Coriolanus existing at that moment.

“I will never forget what you did for me.”  You caress his face.  He killed a man for you. 

“You still got hurt.”  He frowns, jerking away from your touch. 

Coriolanus Snow is sulking.

Laughing softly, you place a kiss on his jaw as you give him a knowing look.  He keeps his face straight but he looks at you from the edge of his skeptical eyes.

“Don’t play games with me.”  He warns you but you only giggle.

“I will be seeing you in a while.”  You say as you fix the ice better on your swollen foot.

Coriolanus wanted nothing else but to pull you back to him but he decides against it and he gets on his feet.  He gives you one last look before heading to the party.

Peacekeepers were quietly deployed around the yacht to prevent the public from noticing anything unusual.  The party was already packed with them by the time Coriolanus joined in.

You watch a live feed of the party from a channel that broadcasts all over Panem.

They are all expressing their disappointment in your failure to attend the party.

Coriolanus charmed them by saying that you had fallen asleep while the two of you watched the sunset, he told them you were too precious to be awakened from your slumber.

The people of the Capitol will believe you of course, but your enemies will plant seeds of doubt from this error.

You cannot let that happen.

The mayor was laughing at something Coriolanus said, others present at the table laughing along with him.  They did not know that the Capitol politician knew how to jest.

Coriolanus laughed along with them, though his eyes often wander to the closed doors that separated you from him.

“Missing Miss Swansworth?”  The mayor wriggles his eyebrows at him.  Perhaps the peacekeepers added a little too much on the drink.  He is starting to get too friendly than Coriolanus would have tolerated.

He chuckles lightly.  “I am.”

Everybody in the table looks at him dreamily, their hands in their chests.

“I have the perfect distraction.”  The mayor exclaims.  “You must try this, Mister Snow.”  The mayor pushes a plate of Lobster Thermidor to him.  Coriolanus knew better than to try anything that is not approved by the food taster you hired. 

He smiles and pats his toned abdomen.  “Oh, no.  Thank you, but I have satiated my appetite.”

The mayor frowns at him.  “But these are the best lobsters in District 4!”

Coriolanus nods at him.  “And they are exquisite, Mister Mayor!”

With such flattery, the mayor blushes, smiling bashfully at the others who praised him.

As the night progressed, Coriolanus kept glancing at his watch, dreading the speed of time.  Time was moving so slowly, he wondered if this was a form of punishment.

“I cannot believe you started the party without me.”

Coriolanus never looked up as swiftly.

There you stood, in a long evening dress he had not seen before, smiling brighter than any stars overhead.  You are standing on your feet, posture perfect, with no trace of injury.

He was in disbelief and he wanted nothing more than to tell you to get back inside.  His brows pinch when you glide with perfect steps, face as angelic as ever.

Coriolanus was quick to get to his feet and pull the chair next to him for you to sit on.

“Thank you.”  You smile at him.

The media was quick to cover your arrival.

“You’re not supposed to be on your feet.”  He seethes.  His smile barely kept together and you can see his teeth gritting.

In a closer look, he can see how your eyes are a bit glassy, lips quivering, and your temple moist with sweat.  You lean closer to him and beam.

“The show must go on.”

Hunt for Glory

[dumbgoondog]

Choso Kamo Thoughts SFW/NSFW + D-Eval

MDNI NSFW +18

SFW and NSFW Headcanons collection for Choso Kamo. Along with his D-Evaluation

Cw/Tw — cannibalism, Mahito, pregnancy talk, stalking

Choso an empathetic person who takes his failures very personally. Like when he lost Eso and Kechizu. He is secretly a VERY emotional person, he just expresses it differently.

Choso forgets humans can see him. He often just does shit cuz o that. Picking up something from a food stall and jus walkin, jus goin in a theater. You get it.

He’s eaten people. He hates how human passing he is, look at his brothers! To try and separate himself from that humanity tho, he eats humans. He’s very picky tho, only certain cuts, gotta be cooked, and he claims people taste different depending on health issues. It’s not common he eats humans tho, it’s more of a treat.

Choso cooks for the disaster curses! He cooks for game night, and for celebrations but the Otha’s normally don eat. Eso and Kechizu used to help in the kitchen, and he loved it. He also has cooked with Uraume and has learned tricks from them.

Choso friends with Mahito cuz Mahito loves observing this “family unit” and learning Choso’s definitions of family. Choso likes talking about family with Mahito and about what a future for curses might look like, where hybrids would fit, could a curse like Mahito make more curses? They got fertility tests done together with the help of Kenjaku

Choso friends wit Jogo cuz Choso and old soul and that an old man. They like talking traditions and history, culture too, how that will fit in the age of curses. They drink tea and meditate togetha.

Choso acts like he’s dead. Slow, shambling, grunts more than he talks, stares, slow to respond cuz he thinkin. Watches people not cuz he judgin but cuz he can. He often lost in his own head too. Choso is Zombie and vampire coded

Choso is morbidly fascinated by the thought that Mahito could get someone pregnant and if that would make a hybrid or not. It also gets him wonderin, if there’s enough hybrids and they all start gettin it on and have kids are they hybrids or a subspecies of their own now? Choso also wonders about if Mahito got another curse pregnant what would happen?

Choso thinks about a lot of things he should NOT say out loud. Like the last point, he shouldn’t be sayin that to anyone. He might have intrusive thoughts I dunno, but he thinkin about a lot of morbid and morally gray shi

Avid reader. LOVES books. So much so he’s trying to learn other languages to read more. He’s on AO3 reading shi too. He loves seeking out indie works and small works people are makin.

He’s a stalker. Not like Mahito, he’s not a freak about it. He’s genuinely trying to just watch you, like a show or movie. He’s not stealing your stuff, or breakin in anywhere, he’s not bothering you on the clock he just watches from a distance. This has lead him to protect you from other curses and even humans a few times, he doesn’t think you owe him anything for it.

He probably takes Itadori as his last name after finding out Yuji is his bro. He WILL want you to take Itadori too. He wants to start the Itadori clan! A clan for hybrids, his brothers, the family!

He thinks the really small flyheads, are cute! He keeps one like a pet. It’s not sentient after all.

Classical music. Goth Music. And when I say classical I mean traditional Japanese music not Motzart, tho he does want to start branching out to other countries classical music!

Choso Kamo D-Evaluation

GIRTH HELL. 5.7in girth. For ref a toilet paper tube(middle bit) is 6in circumference/girth. Shit gonna stretch ya TIGHT. Length tho 6in. Above average length, pretty good, that girth takes it up high tho. Tight trim, hair kinda messy still tho, well washed. He’s got no visible veins and leans to the left where he tucks it. Thick, hot, loads. Porn animation style. Pretty white color, tastes honestly pretty ok for a dead dude. Kinda bitter tho. He’s got smallish balls which makes you wonder where all that cum from. Surprisingly fertile, but lower fertility. He cums at least twice a session, after the first one his face might start leaking a bit and he pull you on top of him.

[octuscle]

“Sin, Love, and Gains – What Really Matters?”

The Claudia Newbury Show was a staple of early afternoon television—famous for its unpredictable turns and jaw-dropping moments. Claudia Newbury herself was the epitome of a tough yet charismatic talk show host who always kept the discussion flowing.

Today’s episode? A hot-button debate titled: “Sin, Love, and Gains – What Really Matters?”

Guests:

Dr. Richard “Rick” Halford (50, conservative politician) – staunch defender of "traditional values," believes homosexuality is a "sin."

Pastor Elijah Summers (28, progressive Protestant pastor) – preaches love and acceptance for all.

Lucas “Lukey” Brennan (22, bisexual college bro) – motto: “Dude, who cares? As long as it feels good.”

As expected, the discussion starts off heated. Dr. Halford, face stern with righteous fury, rants about "the decline of moral values," pounding the table as he speaks.

Pastor Summers listens patiently before countering in his calm, measured tone: “God gave us the ability to love. Why would we put restrictions on that?”

Lukey, meanwhile, leans back, idly shaking his protein drink, smirking.

“Bro, why do you care so much?” he drawls. “Like, deadass, never thought about what it’d be like if a dude sucked your dick?”

Halford’s face turns crimson. “How dare you! I am a man of principle!”

But as he speaks, something… changes. His voice softens slightly. The deep, authoritarian edge weakens.

“…Is it hot in here?”

His suit feels loose. He shifts uncomfortably in his chair. The gray in his hair fades. His wrinkles smooth out.

Pastor Summers lifts an eyebrow. “Are you feeling… okay?”

Halford blinks rapidly, his breathing uneven. “Dude… what’s happening?” His voice cracks—higher now, lighter.

Lukey grins and slides his protein shake across the table. “Here, bro. Try this. High-protein, no bullshit.”

Halford hesitates, then takes a sip. His pupils dilate.

“Yo… this actually slaps.”

With a sudden impulse, he unbuttons his collar. Then another button. His shoulders broaden under the fabric, his posture relaxing. His sharp, judgmental gaze fades into something… hazier. He fixes his eyes on Lukey—on his face, but also… lower.

“…All those arguments I made…” He rubs the back of his neck, voice dazed. “Why did I care so much? I mean… can you even control desire? Like, if I’m turned on, I’m turned on.”

His gaze flickers between Summers and Lukey, assessing them both.

And then—his suit slips off like shedding old skin.

In his place now sits a 19-year-old gym bro—lean, toned, with a slight pump. His shirt has somehow morphed into a tight tank top, hugging his sculpted torso. He casually slips a hand into his pocket, shifting himself with zero shame.

“Dude… I feel so light.”

With his free hand, he lifts his tank top, caressing his abs. His eyes lock onto Lukey with something dangerously close to hunger.

“Yo, Lukey… how much you bench?”

Lukey, who also has a hand suspiciously close to his groin, smirks. “245, bro. You?”

Halford—no, Rickie now—grins, breath heavy. He’s practically panting.

“Let’s find out. Why are we even still sitting here?”

Pastor Summers leans back with a knowing smirk. “I think our work here is done.”

Claudia straightens her papers and sighs. “Yeah, let’s cut to commercial. Can’t guarantee this is staying PG.”

Epilogue

The talk segment ends. The studio empties. But one person remains.

Rickie sits on his chair, relaxed, legs spread. His phone is propped up, camera rolling.

Streaming live to his OnlyFans.

And judging by the way his hand moves beneath his shorts… he’s just getting started.

Fade to black.

[skythealmighty]

Alexander the Terrible - a 1987 TMNT Separated AU

I've come to throw my hat into the ring! Hello, hello hel-lo out there! (And a special hi to @getindumdums, who I know was very interested in this.) I made this AU because I'm pretty fond of '87 TMNT, and I haven't seen a Separated AU for them yet. So, here we are!

I'm kinda gonna explain some parts of this AU in detail on their own, so hold your horses, it's gonna be a hot minute here.

Design

There's not much changed in terms of design for- mostly everyone, but I did want to explain a few design choices with our brand 'new' turtle! First and foremost, I designed him like everyone else was designed- for an action figure. He takes a lot of inspiration from Shred-head, mostly with the arm guards and facemask, but my main goal was to cover most of him in dark colors to indicate 'villain'. I know that's not always the case, but you do have to admit you would assume that at first glance.

Dynamic

Heroes

Raphael, Leonardo and Michelangelo stand alone against the forces of evil! They're a great team, even if they do butt heads sometimes... mostly Raphael and Leonardo. Leonardo is the leader, Michelangelo is the humor and heart, and Raphael is... the street smarts!

Stepping up in place of the missing Donatello as the logical one, the whole team is slightly more morally gray. Without a turtle van of their own, sometimes the next best option is to hotwire one for a little bit, or just get there on foot. Leonardo tries to stop this from happening, most of the time, but he concedes to Raphael when he points out that it's a necessary evil. They're even more careful to stay out of the public eye because of that, since while they are heroes, public opinion of them is extremely mixed.

That being said, Raphael is still kind of alone on his distrust for humans. Even if he is listened to, he's bitter when they have to help some people- and he's generally a little more snappish with more responsibility on his shoulders.

Leonardo is also a bit more cautious as a result of Raphael's mild paranoia leading their logic, and Michelangelo is a little less likely to take things at face value. He's still a massive optimist, as is Leonardo, but the general wariness of the team makes for a massively different dynamic.

The show's tone is generally a tad bit heavier because of this, opting to actually have teaching moments and morals in the form of common sense lessons. It's both a tiny bit more edu-tainment and also aimed towards a slightly older audience- that doesn't stop it from being a hit with the kids, though!

Villains

So... what's up with Donatello, then? He's clearly with Shredder, and on the side of evil. His vindictive streak is given a chance to shine, and he often takes things to the max, almost comedically, but he's still sharp as a tack and almost more formidable than his sensei.

Just one thing- Shredder's the one to pick him up since the very beginning. He was the one who spilled the ooze on them, true- and in this timeline, he aimed to take one of those creatures for himself. That being said, Shredder wouldn't name a turtle after a renaissance artist- he's more of a war history buff, as seen with the Punk Frogs.

He instead names the turtle Alexander, after the great warlord in Rome.

(Alexander as a name was chosen because it uses all sharp-sounding vowels, rather than Donatello's round vowels- this sounds obscenely stupid on paper, but say the names out loud and you'll understand.)

Alexander is first and foremost Shredder's student, but he quickly picks up on Shredder's nature and learns to snipe back when disrespected. He's the favorite student, too- his literal creation, smart and savvy, and with a mean streak to match. Being the favorite, he's allowed to get away with a lot more, and though it wasn't the case at first, Shredder begrudgingly views him as something akin to an equal.

He has a lab, as well- Shredder, the traditionalist, doesn't take any upgrades to his precious armor (other than maybe a communication line in his helmet), but he lets Alexander make other sets of armor for fun, and sometimes wears them. Alexander also keeps eye on scientific progress- this time, Stockman isn't brought in to be the sole inventor Shredder relies on, but rather Alexander's lab assistant. Their relationship is strictly professional- Alexander is a bit disappointed that someone with so ingenious inventions is a massive pushover, and Stockman is more than a little terrified of Alexander, but starts to learn to admire him over his time there.

Even after the accident that turns Stockman into a fly, he still has a kind dismissal to Alexander while he hates Shredder. Alexander, blunt as he was, was never unnecessarily cruel, so he's mostly exempt from Stockman's schemes. Hooray?

As for their dynamic with the heroes, Shredder still despises them and is salty they didn't choose his side, Alexander mostly dislikes them because they trash his inventions, and Raphael gets on his nerves easily. He's fine with Michelangelo, tolerates Leonardo, and has a rivalry with Raphael. He's also aware of their relation, while the Turtles are not. (Raphael has a hunch, though.)

Plot

What, plot? The '87 show doesn't have that much plot! I know, but as with any Separated AU, there's got to be some way they meet up again other than the daily Saturday cartoon fights- no, not just meet up, reconcile. So, here's sort of how it goes:

It's a slowburn! ...NO NOT IN ROMANCE. EW. Let me explain:

Alexander and Raphael start out hating each other. Know Bratty and Catty? Remember their Deltarune versions, specifically? Yeah, kind of like that. They're extremely similar and that's why they get on each other's nerves! It's an easy pattern- every episode Alexander is in, you can count on him having some witty snipes shared with Raphael. Except...

Eventually, the insults turn to banter without them realizing, and they're closer than ever. Alexander lets loose that he thinks they're all related on an off-hand joke, and that gets Raphael thinking. Was he supposed to be with them from the start?

Obviously, this doesn't change what ended up happening, but he knows Michelangelo and Leonardo would be upset if he didn't at least try to win Alexander over to their side. Thus begins the "Convincing Arc".

[Allan please add details]

The Convincing Arc ends with Splinter's help, really. He's the one who takes the time to sit beside Alexander and talk, and while Alexander cares for Shredder, he starts wondering if Shredder really cared for him beyond their plans and lessons.

He begins to poke at that relationship, prod for answers, and he eventually finds out that while Shredder did 'care' for him, it never was anything but shallow. He didn't want to lose Alexander, true, but it was never because the government could take him away, or because he was worried he'd get hurt. Worried at all, really. It was because he would be seethingly jealous of whoever else had him.

Had him. Like some sort of tool.

Alexander left the next day, walked into the Turtles's sewers, and declared himself a home there. He would not help them fight Shredder. He would just be going stir-crazy without any companionship, and this was the first thing he thought of- allegedly.

(He doesn't miss Michelangelo's genuine happiness at him being there, Leonardo's immediate acceptance, or Raphael's relief. He also doesn't miss that it takes Shredder three days to realize he was gone.)

As for what comes next? A rocky relationship, a healing dynamic, and a lot of interpersonal conflict and fluff.

I don't have anything planned ahead of this, but if I were to start answering asks in character, it'd be in the middle of the Convincing Arc, so you guys could see that in action! Feel free to send asks about that, by the way. I'd love to answer (eventually).

Fun facts:

Alexander still loves purple. He just tends to like darker shades

He's also a massive astronomy nerd and wants to explore space

Raphael has not killed a man on screen. However, off-screen is... up to viewer interpretation

Alexander has killed off-screen too- mostly lab intruders. He's jumpy

The Punk Frogs get along surprisingly well with Alexander

Since Shredder is a war history buff, Alexander is also a little bit of a history nerd, but mostly with inventions and the arts. Ironically enough, his favorite historical artist is Donatello

Michelangelo loves to force everyone into movie nights. When Alexander is added into the mix, he clings to him

Having not grown up with the other turtles, poor Alexander is a little thrown off by their pizza tastes

Irma starts showing up a lot more when Alexander joins the good side

Baxter Stockman is eventually convinced to leave everyone alone!

oops this got way longer than i thought

[just-here-for-the-moment]

She Comes First (Part I)

This was started as part of @wannab-urs DMAMC fic challenge, but I just did not finish the fic on time (sad trombone)... so here's Part I (the buildup) and I'll post Part II (the payoff) as soon as it's finished.

Please go check out the rest of the DMAMC tags for more delicious fics!! This has been a really fun fic challenge, and I'm still happy with everything I've written so far.

Word count: 10,299 (nobody look at me!) Rating: Explicit, for 18+ only legally (but really ages 35+ only for the vibes, this is adult shit) Outline: alternating dual POV; Frankie “Catfish” Morales x domme!fem!Reader insert (Reader insert is 40+, able-bodied, has boobs and a pussy, wears corporate/business clothes to work, and wears pumps/heels) but otherwise is a total blank slate (no physical description, not white-coded, no blushing, no descriptions of hair or skin) Warnings: Femdom; Frankie is brand new to SSC (safe/sane/consensual) BDSM; characters drink alcohol; curse words and vulgar language (all the good stuff you expect from one of my smutfics); eventual smut; lots and lots and lots of talking about BDSM limits (but I tried to make it hot). 

You settle yourself at the bar, resting your feet on the brass crossbar of the leatherette stool, sinking against the low backrest with a sigh as you wave down the bartender. 

What a week… Fuck the clients and their demands, and your boss’s caving every time they snap their fingers. A drink to start, and then some well-deserved Friday night play. 

Hopefully there will be at least one interesting man tonight, someone you can invite to a hotel room and use as the finest form of stress release. Someone who can be a good boy, who can obey your orders and give you pleasure that you’ll return tenfold when he earns it. 

You look up, using the large mirror above the bar to scan the room behind you, taking advantage of the fact that it’s tilted at an angle, giving you a view not only of people walking behind you, but also the booths and their occupants. You can stare for as long as you like—no one really ever notices anyway, engrossed in their own good time. 

Of course, there’s always one guy who wants to catch your eye, come over and sit next to you and seduce you (ick) but you can see that type coming from a mile away, and they’re not who you’re interested in. Finance or tech bros, ties loose and eyes too shiny with whatever top-shelf shit they’ve imbibed too much of before you even walked in. 

As the bartender places your drink in front of you, you catch the reflection of a booth full of men behind you and a few feet to your left. A young one, very blond and muscled and wearing a white sleeveless T-shirt seated next to another, darker blond man in a sedate navy blue polo, a short, trimmed beard giving him a corporate look. The two seats opposite them are occupied by a shorter man in a black shirt, his dark curls shot through with gray, and the fourth man is different, a little taller and a lot broader than the others, wearing a mesh baseball cap.

He’s wide through the shoulders, arms straining beneath a soft chambray denim shirt, even softer-looking curls escaping from beneath the brim of his hat. He’s smiling and even laughing at moments, but he’s much quieter than the other three, especially the rowdy one you’ve nicknamed Muscles and the smirking dark-haired man seated next to the wall. You see all four of them raise their beer glasses to toast to something, but their laughter is gone, replaced by somber expressions. The shortest one, the smirky one, mouths an “Amen” but you can’t hear it over the din of the bar. 

You consider the group, carefully scanning each of them for tells, little hints that any of them might be of interest, might be a good time for the evening. 

The youngest one—he’s too ebullient, too boisterous for what you want to give. He wouldn’t pay attention, wouldn’t follow instructions and be a good boy. And definitely not the smirker in the black shirt; he’s handsome and he knows it. He’d be a brat, try to wrest control from you, make it a challenge that he’s leading. The other blond, the quieter one; he’s handsome enough, but something about the set of his jaw and the way he carries himself when he strides up to the bar to order another round—that power, that inner peace—this is not his thing, you can tell. And that leaves…

Baseball cap. Soft, kind eyes and a strong nose, plush lips just beneath a patchy little mustache. A little sad, much quieter than the others and much larger. He’s a big boy, all broad shoulders and work-strong arms under that soft blue shirt, his sleeves rolled up his forearms for comfort, but giving a show of how strong he must be. A physique crafted by hard work and daily routines, entirely different from the sweat-slick muscles of the younger blond. That one must be a gym rat or a boxer or something, self-focused when he flexes his bicep at the short, dark one in the black shirt and gets a smirk and a “Fuck you” in return, a playful slap that glances off his elbow as he cackles and lowers his arm.

Baseball cap laughs and shakes his head, eyes flicking to his heavy glass stein, two-thirds full of golden, bubbling liquid, still working on his first drink when Polo Shirt returns with a tray of three beers for himself and the others. He’s savoring, sipping where the others quaff, holding a palm out and shaking his head with an emphatic “No,” that you can read on his lips in the mirror after the younger blonde raises his arms and shouts, “Shots!” loud enough for you to hear it over the crowd. 

Baseball cap is enjoying himself, taking it slow, licking his lips after each sip of beer. It must be his reward for a Friday night, a work week well-done, a rare treat on a night out with the guys. You can tell he’s comfortable with them. It’s not the quiet nervousness of someone awkward, someone new who’s trying to fit in with a louder crowd. These are his friends, and they take him as he is, even when he’s got his eyes down, trailing a blunt fingernail over the graffiti marks on the solid wood table instead of joining in the jovial conversation. 

He lifts his eyes and suddenly they’re locked on yours in the mirror, dark and rich, eyes you could drown in if that was your thing. He flicks his gaze away for a moment and you blink—and there he is again, a little shy after another nanosecond of eye contact, flicking his eyes away and then looking down, taking a sip of his beer with the same focus he probably used for final exams in school. His eyes find yours in the mirror once more and this time you smile, gentle and soft, just a curve up at the corners of your mouth. Baseball cap’s dark eyes go wide for a moment before he swallows hard and looks back down at his beer.

Bingo. 

He’s the one. The shy ones, the gentle giants, the big guys with kind eyes—they’re your favorite. Much more relaxed in middle age than the college boys you sometimes play with, the eager ones who are so distracted by their nerves that they can hardly follow direction. You know that you fulfill some kind of mommy kink or older woman fantasy for them—and you don’t mind, because you know the rules on both sides of the game. But the eager young things get tiresome after a while, and it starts to feel like you’ve signed up to teach, rather than to enjoy yourself. 

You let them down gently but firmly, with a kiss and a reassuring pat—letting them know that they did good, but it’s just not going to turn into a long-term relationship, and maybe they should share those fantasies with a woman their own age. You tell them to look for someone serious, a girl who scares them a little, who they would never normally approach for a date. You know that there are plenty of young women at their university who would jump at the chance to boss them around in bed, and that there’s a girl for each one of those young, eager boys—a stressed-out hard sciences major who just wants to exercise a little control in her own life, and she’ll eagerly wield all manner of paddles and punishments if they ask her sweetly to dominate them. 

You’re tired, too, of the single men who have been in the scene long enough to know what they want—and what they want always seems to be a collar, a lifelong promise of devotion on both sides, and you just aren’t in the market for that. The usual circles of people in this town who are looking for some casual weekend play have gotten stale. They’re mostly couples in long-term relationships—and god, you know it’s selfish, but you don’t want to share. You want someone entirely focused on you, who won’t be thinking about what their own domme might do to them later, who will eagerly come when you call instead of having to ask permission from someone else to go on a playdate. 

And that leaves… fresh meat, new men. Men who you screen very carefully before you start a casual hookup. Men who look like they’ll be a good little pet in bed, if they can follow instructions, if they can shed any of the hang ups they have and go all-in with you for a night or a weekend. Men who have a deeply-buried desire to cede control, who have maybe never voiced it to a woman in their entire life, but who need it just as desperately as they need air. 

They’re just looking for someone to call it out of them, to give them the words they don’t have yet to describe what they’re longing for, what they ache for deep down when they’re fisting their cocks in the shower and replaying scenes from their favorite porn videos in their head. The whips, the restraints, the high heels and the stern voice of their favorite porn star dominatrix. The way she pulls the male actor’s hair when she tilts his head back and spits in his mouth, towering over him as he kneels before her, his hands behind his back and his cock as hard as iron and she hasn’t even looked at it yet, let alone touched it. Those are the men you need, the ones who have desired this for years, but have always been too shy or embarrassed or scared to ask for it. 

And if Baseball Cap fits that mold, you’ll gladly take him home for the night. You could do so much for him, let those desires out of the little box that he’s buried them in, tell him it’s okay to ask for what he wants, put his desires first for once, instead of always trailing behind his more extroverted friends. And, hey, if you shoot your shot and he’s not into that, there are plenty of other subby little fish in the sea. But he looks delicious, and you want to hook him with a lure he doesn’t even know exists right now. 

You decide to play a game, to see if you can get his attention and keep it. 

He’s so sweet, glancing up at you in the mirror when he thinks you’ve turned your gaze away, only to find that your eyes are still scanning him, gently assessing him, an appreciative little smile on your lips. Then he ducks his head and goes back to his beer.

His cheeks go pink after the second round of this game, his ears after the fourth or fifth, starting flushed and then blazing red. He’s a cutie, shy and growing more bashful by the second as his friends catch wind of what he’s looking at and start to rib him for it. 

Muscles cranes his neck over to look, his playful eyes wide as he sees you in the mirror. He turns back to Baseball Cap with a shit-eating grin and says something that makes Baseball Cap hide his face behind his hand. Polo shirt goes for casual, turning his gaze to the bartender as if he’s gauging how busy the line for drinks might be before he slides his eyes over you without a change in expression. 

Smirky gives you a big grin and a very flirty wink in the mirror and you drop your smile, raising one eyebrow with a shake of your head. Not you, Smirky.

You shift your gaze to look at the reflection of his friend, making sure that Smirky can see your eyes trailing from his work-worn boots to his hips, all the way up his arms to the top of his well-loved baseball cap. Smirky gets the message and elbows Baseball Cap, leaning down to murmur something in his ear that makes Baseball Cap sit up with a start, shaking his head and pulling on his earlobe in nervousness. 

Smirky elbows him again, hard, and you’re delighted when Baseball Cap turns back to look at you and catches your eyes in the mirror, bashful hope written all over his face, the shyness dropping away bit by bit as his interest grows. You smile again, tilting your head at the empty stool next to you at the bar and he turns back to his friends, eyebrows raised for help, seeking guidance. 

Good boy, you think… What a good boy, asking for help when you need it, opening up to the idea of coming over here, seeing what the pretty lady wants with you. 

He looks back at the mirror, sees you still looking, then takes a larger gulp of beer before rubbing his hands nervously on his denim-clad thighs. He braces his legs and then slides out of the booth, turning his back to you for a moment to look at his friends for a final bit of guidance. 

All three shout, “Go!” to him in unison, you can hear it over the din, and just as he turns to approach you… a slimeball slides into the seat next to you, wrapping one arm over the back of your barstool as if he has any right to your personal space or attention. 

Your heart falls when Baseball Cap takes in the scene, his hope fading to disappointment as he looks away and then strides off to the restroom, as if that was his plan all along. 

“Wha’s a pretty little thing like you doing here all alone, sweetheart?”

You take a sip of your drink and swivel toward him, knocking his arm off the back of your chair with a scowl. 

“Not interested. Please leave.”

Slimeball’s confused expression slides over his face slower than it should, a clue to how inebriated he already is. This was going to be irritating, the drunk ones always making more trouble than you want. Not that any man took rejection well… you could count on one hand the number of men who had taken your “No, thank you,” gracefully and apologized for bothering you before disappearing back to mind their own beeswax. 

“What d’ya mean? I’m just trying to make a little conversation, s’all.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Baseball Cap’s three friends start to slide out of the booth. Trouble-stoppers, good guys, you can tell. You’re grateful for their presence, even if you can handle this sort of thing entirely yourself… just in case it gets ugly. They stay standing near their table, watching carefully and taking their cues from you instead of rushing in to white knight the situation—and that’s even better than just being willing to step in. They seem like men who care about and respect women, green flags all around. 

“But you shouldn’t have to drink alone, pretty girl. M’just tryna save you from a boring night.”

You narrow your eyes at Slimeball and lower your chin, scowling at him like you’re an angry bull facing off a threat, and then… oh no, here comes Baseball Cap back from the restroom, stopping abruptly when he sees his friends focused on you, watching intently as Slimeball tries to put his hand on your thigh. If looks could kill, Slimeball would have a hole in the back of his head right now. 

In the corner of your vision Baseball Cap looks pissed off, but you sense it’s not uncontrolled anger. He’s quiet in the way he settles his body, one hand waving his friends back into their seats while the other hangs at his side, making a loose fist and releasing it, over and over. Not immediately springing into action, not itching to start something ugly in the crowded bar, but prepared just in case—the rest of his body still, taut, alert… ready. 

You slap Slimeball’s hand off your knee, then you raise your volume and lower your pitch, making your voice deep and loud, hoping the sound will carry to Baseball Cap and his friends, letting them know you’re okay and can handle it. 

“I said ‘no’ and I meant it. Leave. Now.” 

Fortunately Slimeball takes the hint, his face dropping into a disgruntled pout: he’s just a little boy who thinks the world owes him something, that women are vending machines that he can put kindness or attention or flirting tokens into and get guaranteed sex in return. A little boy whose Mommy didn’t say “no” enough, a boy who never learned that women are human beings, and that every man who is lucky enough to walk the Earth was born of a woman and he better damn well respect his origins.

“Fuck you, you fucking bitch.” The waft of his pathetic liquor breath hits you and you turn back to your own drink, making a show of being entirely unbothered. 

“Slut,” spits Slimeball as he moves to dismount the stool and almost slides to the floor. 

Ah, a classic, the final paradoxical rebuke from many a damaged man—you won’t put out for him, so you must be a slut, secretly fucking every other man in the bar and withholding your public favors only from him.

Slimeball turns and lurches toward the back hall, heading for the men’s room, or maybe the exit to the alley where he can vomit and regret his life choices—you don’t care which. You shake your head to yourself and look up in the mirror. 

Baseball Cap is sliding back into the booth, and when he looks at you again, there’s a small smile and a nod, acknowledgement that you’re capable of handling jerks and idiots by yourself. He tunes into the conversation his friends are having, and he looks like he’s lost interest in answering your call from before, no longer riding the wave of brimming courage he had built up just a few minutes ago. 

You sip the last of your drink and ponder your next move. Maybe it was time to be more bold, more direct, except… now Smirky is needling his friend, talking intently to Baseball Cap, but only succeeding in making him more and more defiant, his head shaking so hard it seems like his hat might come right off. Muscles joins the pile-on, while Polo Shirt puts one hand out across the table, entreating Baseball Cap in a gentler way. 

He shakes his head again, and Smirky shoves him, launching Baseball Cap halfway out of the booth, making him stumble a bit until he rights himself and stands up. He moves to sit down again, but Smirky slides across the seat and blocks him, staring up at him stubbornly with a stern, “Go,” that you can lip read in the mirror. 

Baseball Cap sighs and wipes his broad hand down his face, then reaches up and lifts the cap a few inches to sweep his hair back before he squares it on his head and takes a first, hesitant, step toward you. 

You watch in the mirror as he approaches, long legs clad in faded denim, moving slowly but smoothly toward you. Good boy.

Baseball Cap sidles up to you at the bar and you turn to him, smiling so that it reaches your eyes, so that he knows that he’s welcome to approach you, that you’re eager to talk with him. He’s much broader up close, and his eyes are so soft. A sudden image pops into your mind: your legs thrown over those shoulders, his face buried between your legs while you grip his hair, and you feel electricity begin to tingle in your core. 

He clears his throat and swallows, eyebrows knitted slightly, his plush lips parting with a quick flick of his tongue as he takes a deep breath.

Oh, he’s precious, so nervous and hopeful. Eager boy. This is going to be so much fun. 

“Hi, I’m—” his voice goes scratchy and he clears his throat to try again. “I’m Frankie.”

He puts his hand out and you grip it firmly. 

“Nice to meet you, Frankie. I was hoping you would come over and talk to me.”

He smiles, some of the tension leaving his shoulders, but not much. Still unsure of himself, uncertain of what this might be after getting a front-row seat to your swift handling of the other man’s unwelcome advances. His brown eyes go crinkly at the corners when he smiles, and you guess he’s probably forty, give or take a few years. 

Excellent. A man who has some years under his belt, who won’t be afraid to have an adult conversation with you, someone on your level for once. Fully grown, experienced, handsome. A man. 

“So, do you live around here, or-”

You put a hand up and cut him off. You don’t want Frankie to try to charm you, to make small talk because he thinks he has to. You smile as warmly as you can so that he doesn’t think you’re upset.

“Actually, Frankie, I’d like to skip the small talk and tell you that I want to have sex with you. Is it alright with you if we just talk about what I’m interested in doing? See if you’re open to it?”

Frankie’s jaw drops, his beautiful mouth opening an inch or so, and it makes you want to bite his dimpled lower lip, make him speechless again and again, reduce him to a quivering, happy puddle.

You hold his eyes, watching the gears turn quickly as he snaps his mouth shut and blushes furiously, trying to recover from the shock.

“I—um, yeah… I mean yes. Yes, please.” He smiles and ducks his head, then meets your eyes again as he relaxes totally, all nerves gone now. “I’d like that. Thank you for being so direct.”

Your heart sings. What a polite guy, respectful and eager and appreciative.

“You’re welcome. So you’re up for talking a little more?”

He nods, perfect white teeth showing in his soft smile. 

You hope he’ll be receptive to your next command, another little screening tool of yours. Small commands, reasonable things, before you pull the curtain back all the way and tell Frankie exactly what he can expect if he decides he wants to go further.

“In that case, go tell your friends they can take off without you.” 

You tilt your head in their direction, and Frankie grins, all happiness and dimples, now that he knows he doesn’t have to wade through the usual chit-chat and awkward “getting to know you” questions. He doesn’t have to try, he doesn’t have to calculate the odds of striking out, or figure out a way to rebuild his confidence if this falls apart.

You know that simple, direct commands can bring relief, remove the stress of having to make decisions and weigh consequences. It’s a gift to the right man when you flip the gender-norm tables and show your strength and your assertiveness, let him know that happiness and gratification are just on the other side of following directions.

And Frankie seems to be receptive to it.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You smile, watching in the mirror as Frankie lopes back to the booth, stands with his back to the bar and hooks a thumb over his shoulder to indicate to his friends that he’s ditching them. The butterflies between your legs flutter harder.

Muscles exclaims “Whoo!” like his favorite team just scored a touchdown, and you chuckle to yourself as you see Smirky pass a folded twenty-dollar bill across the table to Polo Shirt.

Frankie returns to sit in the empty stool next to you. You raise your hand, signaling to the bartender for a refill while Frankie peruses the menu to see what else they have on tap. Within thirty seconds his friends are standing up to leave, and since Frankie has his back to them he can’t see Smirky approaching with a mischievous look on his face. 

You look over Frankie’s shoulder at Smirky and shake your head once, firm, mouthing a stern, “No” at him. And thank god he’s not stupid, he just makes a little moue, a pout of disapointment but pairs it with a nod, understanding that his intrusion would not be welcome.

Smirky follows Muscles and Polo Shirt to the front door, and then they’re gone and you’re finally, blessedly alone with Frankie.

And now the real fun can begin.

Frankie can’t believe his good luck. His head is still spinning from your bold and direct manner, not to mention your sparkling eyes and winning smile. He can’t remember the last time a woman knocked him off-center this fast, and he welcomes it. 

Frankie trails his eyes over the bar menu, wondering why more women don’t just… say what they want. He could have saved so much time, skipped so many bad dates and hookups if he’d met a woman like you decades ago. He settles on a lager, and after he places his order with the bartender, you touch the back of his hand softly, just a graze, and he turns his eyes back to you.

You’re so… intense is what Frankie wants to think, but that word has negative connotations. And you’re definitely not a negative experience, you’re just so specific and present in the moment—direct—and the more Frankie thinks about it, the more he likes it.

“There’s a booth that just opened up in the corner,” you nod your head toward it. “I’m going to go sit down. Please bring the drinks over when they’re ready?”

Frankie nods, eager to please. “You got it.”

You smile, and Frankie feels like he’s just done something good, something that makes you happy. He’s surprised to find that he wants to do it again and again, and as you slide off the bar stool, he reaches his hand out to help you down, get you steady on your feet so that you don’t wobble in your office heels.

“What a gentleman,” you say. You shoot him another warm, soft smile, and Frankie swears his heart is going to explode with pride.

Fuck, you’re gorgeous. Frankie is so fucking thankful that he came over to talk to you. (He’ll never tell Santi it was his shove that finally did it—his ego is already big enough, the asshole.) But Frankie is already counting his lucky stars as he watches you walk away, hips swaying gently, mesmerizing him until he’s startled by the bartender plunking two glasses down in front of him.

Frankie opens a tab (hoping he’ll have much more time with you this evening), and carries the drinks over to you as carefully as he can. He sets them on the table and then pauses, a thought occurring to him.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” Frankie tries to keep his voice even, steady, but it seems to want to crack and go higher, his heart fluttering in his chest with the hope that he can do more for you.

He doesn’t know why. You’ve already told him what you want—to talk more about having sex with him—so it’s not like he needs to court you or gain favor. But something about you, about your assertiveness, makes Frankie want to please you. You’re clearly a very strong woman, you know what you want (and heaven knows Frankie is still wondering why you want him), and that strong personality of yours is calling to him like a siren song.

You shake your head. “No, but thank you. Sit down.”

That smile again, your sparkling and curious eyes… you’re intoxicating. Frankie tries to hide his disappointment, but he’s hoping that later there will be something else he can do for you, get for you, hell—make for you that will please you again.

“So…” you take a sip of your drink and meet Frankie’s gaze as your eyes sharpen. Not mean, just intelligent and direct. No bullshit.

It’s a breath of fresh fucking air as far as Frankie is concerned, and he feels just as floaty as he did back on that frozen mountain in Colombia, where the air was thin and ice cold. He smiles and waits, his instincts telling him that you’re about to blow his mind, and he won’t interrupt you while you’re in the middle of it.

“I wanted to talk with you more, Frankie, because what I’m looking for is very specific.”

Frankie swallows a sudden lump, worrying that he’s not what you’re looking for. It’s the result of damaged confidence born of too many conversations with girls whose wide eyes suddenly turn to Benny when he walks by. And far too many bored and disinterested women who get Frankie as their consolation prize when Santi hooks up with their best friend, and the happy couple (for the night) shoves their two wingmen together out of pity. Are you about to dismiss him?

But no, that couldn’t be right, because you had asked him to stay, invited him specifically to talk about sex. You’d already chosen him. And that thought cheers Frankie immensely. He thought he had read your signals correctly, he just wasn’t absolutely sure, so he talked himself out of coming over to you about nine different times. But now… now there is nothing to misread. You chose him, invited him, selected him. He’s wanted.

Frankie takes a deep breath, raising his eyebrows and nodding to you, holding your eyes with his own even though yours are almost too pretty to look directly into. But he wants you to know that he’s listening, taking you seriously.

You smile again, mysterious and secretive, and Frankie’s gaze flicks to your mouth as you open it to speak again. Whatever it is that you’re looking for, whatever specific thing you need, he’s determined to give it to you.

He wonders for a moment whether that’s crazy, whether he’s too far gone already for you when you’re still basically a stranger. And then he suddenly realizes he doesn’t even know your name! But Frankie knows, feels it with a conviction that he hasn’t felt in many years that he’ll be what you want, do what you need, twist himself into any shape that you’re seeking.

As long as you keep looking at him with those sharp eyes, that discerning smile. As long as you let Frankie stay in your orbit, he’ll be whatever kind of “specific” you demand.

You cock an eyebrow, “What do you know about dominant and submissive relationships?”

Frankie blushes, ducks his head and takes a sip of his beer, collecting himself. Your direct and plain language is doing things to him, and he wants to answer you just as frankly and matter-of-fact as you deserve.

“Ah, um… I know about them, a little bit about them, but I’ve never been in one. Does that answer your question?” Frankie hopes it does, and he feels a sweep of relief when you nod.

“It does.”

You smile again and Frankie can’t tear himself away from your eyes. He wants to make them sparkle like that every day. He smiles back at you and feels… happy, proud. He did it right, answered you correctly, and he wants to do it again.

You sip your drink, and Frankie watches you flick your tongue across your lower lip to catch an errant drop. He’s mesmerized, could watch you do that over and over again. 

You continue, “And from what you know, would you be interested in that dynamic? In taking part in a sexual relationship with one partner being dominant and the other partner taking a submissive role?”

Frankie feels his ears turn red. He’s never been one to be “mean” in bed, to do anything that might hurt his partner, and now he’s not sure if this is the right answer or not, but what the hell—

“I’ve never really thought about it. Everyone kinda knows about it from that book that came out, but I just— I honestly don’t think it would turn me on to tie a woman up…” Frankie trails off. Was that the right answer? Are you going to be upset?

He’s reassured by your chuckle and the way that you lean closer, grasping the back of his hand with your soft one, giving him a quick squeeze and a pat before you let go to take another sip of your drink.

“Good. Okay, that’s good for me to know.”

Frankie wonders where this is going, because if it turns out that he’s not what you’re looking for… he might just swear off dating altogether, become a monk and go live out the rest of his life somewhere remote, somewhere that would wipe the stain of utter disappointment from his psyche.

“I’m actually not looking for someone to tie me up,” you smile.

And Frankie is relieved again, happy to continue the conversation as long as you’ll keep smiling at him like that. He relaxes his shoulders, trying to drain the tension built up from the rollercoaster of unease and happiness that he’s been riding for the past thirty minutes. He wishes he was cooler, more like Pope, more outgoing like Benny, as self-assured as Will—then maybe he would stop psyching himself out and just be able to go with the flow.

“And I’m not necessarily looking for someone that I can tie up, but I do like being in charge.” You wink at him, and Frankie feels something warm behind his sternum. Interesting.

“Would you be open to that, Frankie? Would you like me to be in charge of you?”

His cock immediately stirs at that, and Frankie swallows hard. Images of you standing over him in a vinyl bustier and stiletto-heeled boots suddenly flash through his brain.

A blindfold. Handcuffs. Spankings.

Frankie feels lightheaded, all of his blood rushing south as he opens his suddenly-dry mouth and closes it again, blinking rapidly to try to come up with something that isn’t just heavy breathing and awkward noises.

He nods, having no clue about where this idea has been all his life. Of course you would be in charge, you’re so perfect for it.

A parade of ex-girlfriends marches through his mind, and now it’s like a spotlight is shining on his memories, showing everything in crystal clear detail. Frankie recognizes that his favorite women, the ones he had fallen madly in love with throughout his life—they were the strong ones, the bossy ones—all the way back to his first crush in elementary school.

A girl named Maria with long, straight black hair in a ponytail had chased him around the playground, taunting him with threats of a kiss. Frankie had been embarrassed when he tripped and fell, the other kids laughing at him, one boy shouting that he had brought the dreaded curse of ‘girl cooties’ upon himself. But when the girl kneeled over him, blocking out the sun, she was backlit perfectly and looked just like Frankie had imagined an angel would. She kissed his cheek with a loud smack, Frankie’s heart did a flip, and he wondered why her strawberry lip gloss suddenly smelled so good.

When she ran off to find another victim, disappointment flooded his chest. Frankie had felt the phantom kiss lingering on his skin for days, wondering if and when he could get her to chase him again. Whether he could earn another kiss, another brush with sweetness.

“Yeah—” Frankie’s voice cracks again, and he swallows hard.  “I—fuck, yes. Sorry for my language, I just… how did you know?”

Your mouth turns up and your eyes flash amusement, but he can tell you’re not laughing at him, you’re just pleased with his answer. And there goes that warm sensation flooding his guts again, his heart beating just a tad more rapidly at the images that are now somersaulting through his brain.

You, fully in charge, dressed for a day at the office. Frankie on his knees in front of you, naked and vulnerable. Your soft hand cradling his jaw. Your firm voice calling him a ‘good boy,’ telling him he’s done well, telling him you’re proud of him.

Frankie bites his lip, huffing out a breath to calm his racing thoughts.

“Well, I’ve been doing this for a while, and I’m not shy about asking for what I want,” you smile.

You shrug. “It’s not like I’m psychic. If you’d said ‘no’ there would be no hard feelings on my part. I’d simply pay for your beer and send you on your way.”

Frankie chuckles and shakes his head, full of wonderment at how perfect you are. How you seemed to read him so well and pull him in, make him want to do things for you, serve you, be whatever you need him to be. It doesn’t feel manipulative—it feels like it’s meant to be. Fated. Predestined. And Frankie wants to follow you wherever you’re about to lead him.

“So,” Frankie grins. “Where do we start?”

You chuckle at Frankie’s eagerness and squeeze his hand before walking him through the basics. Testing. Contraception. The ins and outs of the arrangement you’re looking for. You introduce him to a confidential online sexual preferences quiz, guiding him through how the website will take his answers, compare them to yours, and the list of results will only show things that you both agree on. You’ll build out your domme/sub agreement from that list, and you also make it very clear to Frankie that he’s in charge.

He quirks an eyebrow at that. “Me? I thought… I guess I don’t understand. Can you explain that?”

You smile at him, so proud of this man for speaking up already and telling you what he needs. He’s so good already, and while you came here tonight with the intention of picking up a casual fuck who might be interested in a scolding and a spanking, you’ve pivoted to introducing Frankie to the bigger picture, walking him deeper into the forest, showing him the possibilities of long-term involvement. 

You don’t want to move to the bedroom too quickly, Frankie’s going to need a deeper understanding before you start linking his sexual desire to the dynamics of this kind of relationship. Ground rules first, build that anticipation, then you can start connecting wires in his brain and making sparks.

“I get it, it can be confusing if you’re just learning.” You take a sip of your drink, catching how Frankie’s eyes drop to your mouth, and the throbbing between your legs gets a little louder. “But I’m proud of you for asking. It’s a good sign that you want to learn more before jumping in with both feet.” You wink at him, and his reaction is note-perfect. 

He sits up straighter in the booth, smiling like he just won a prize. You couldn’t have planned this better, and you thank your lucky stars that the Universe saw fit to send this man into your life tonight. 

You lean forward and rest both elbows on the table, crossing your forearms in front of you. “While the dominant partner is ‘in charge’ during a scene, the sub actually holds all of the power in the relationship. You decide when you’re ready, you decide when you’re done, and you ask for what you want. I get your consent for every single thing that we do, and you get to turn your brain off and enjoy it.”

Frankie flushes pink again, and you reach out and take both of his big, work-worn hands in yours. “You’re doing so well for me already, Frankie. I like how you ask for what you need, and that’s a really good quality in a submissive. It’s not just about taking orders; you have to speak up for what you want at every turn.”

He gulps hard, his eyes brightening as he opens his plush mouth. “I don’t—I don’t mean to sound rude, but what do you get out of it?”

“Me? I like taking care of my subs. I like making sure that you feel good, that you get exactly what you need, and I like seeing the effects that a good domme/sub relationship has on the rest of your life.”

“What do you mean?” Frankie knits his brows and tilts his head a fraction, and his great big brown eyes put you in mind of an eager little puppy. The electricity buzzing through your core increases, and you have to stuff it down before you break all your rules and drag him to the nearest hotel. 

Control, you remind yourself. Dommes like you stay in control, both of the scene and of themselves. Breaking rules only confuses a sub, and more than anything, submissives need consistency. You’ll (hopefully) get a chance to make him make those big puppy eyes again soon, as long as you stay in control.

“Well, a good, healthy dynamic between a dominant and their sub builds trust, and when you have trust—something you can rely on—it carries over into the rest of your life. For me, it provides a sense of control that I may not have in other areas of my life, and it makes me feel good to make you feel good. Those good feelings lift me up for days afterwards. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” Frankie nods, encouraging you to go on.

“And for a sub, a rock-solid relationship with a dom can increase your confidence, build good discipline, and give you an outlet for all the other stress in your life. And I think you would agree that self-esteem, good habits and routines, and stress relief are all really important in life. Subs just get theirs from a different place than most people.”

Frankie nods thoughtfully, then licks his lips and ventures a question, his eyes flicking down to the table, nervous. “And what—what if I, um… how do I know if I’m any good at it? What if I do it wrong?”

You squeeze his hands, make sure he’s looking at you while you smile reassuringly. “You can’t screw it up, Frankie. You’re in charge, remember? There’s no secret test, there’s no hidden ‘gotcha’ moment. It’s all about what you want and how much you want to try. There won’t be a pop quiz or a grade on this, trust me.”

Frankie swallows hard and looks skeptical for a moment, then nods again. “I trust you.” 

He smiles and squeezes your hand before leaning back.

After making sure that Frankie has digested all of the important information and that you’ve gotten his number, you tell him firmly to go home, sleep on it, and only fill out the online quiz tomorrow, if and when he’s ready. You shoot him a text so he has your number, and as he’s opening it, his mouth twitches and his eyes dance with amusement. A dimple appears in Frankie’s cheek, and you chuckle. 

“What’s going on in that head of yours, handsome?” 

Frankie flicks his gaze to yours and you nearly crumple at the sight of his crow’s feet, the adorable crinkles highlighting just how much his smile reaches his eyes. “Just—I mean, I realized I said yes to all of this without even knowing your name. So what do I call you? What name should I put in my contacts?”

“Missy.”

Frankie nods. “I like that. Is that short for anything?”

You grin, “It’s short for ‘Mistress’.”

Frankie blushes, hot and fast, and you see the shiver that runs through him, his broad shoulders quivering as he sits up a little straighter. He smiles softly and types rapidly, then slips his phone into his pocket. 

“And Frankie?” you add. “If you change your mind that’s entirely okay. You haven’t committed to anything tonight, and I really won’t have any hard feelings if you decide that this isn’t for you after all.”

“I’ll text you either way,” he says with a serious nod, and you know he means it. Then he stands up out of the booth, gives you a quick handshake, and heads for the door. You clock the new spring in his step, the way his shoulders are squared and steady, no more nerves or self-doubt weighing him down. 

He’s gorgeous, and you know that even if he does decline, that you’ve at least infused Frankie with some confidence that he can take with him the next time he goes out to a bar. 

But, god, you hope he says yes.

Frankie gulps, then looks around behind him as if he isn’t alone, as if there were anyone standing behind him who could see and judge what he’s doing. 

He shakes his head and huffs a laugh at himself. He’s a grown man on the far side of forty, and he’s hunched over his laptop in his own home trying to hide the half-chub he’s got going in his boxers like a teenager. He presses the flat of his palm down against his cotton-clad arousal, trying to stave off the throbbing long enough to finish this damn quiz. 

But it’s not his fault, everything he reads sends images of you pinballing around in his brain. Every. Single. Question makes him want to stop and rub one out, just to have the mental clarity to continue. But you had said ‘no touching,’ and damn if Frankie was going to fuck up and disobey the very first order that you gave him.

“Okay,” Frankie murmurs, “Question five: Give partner an erotic massage? Yes, fuck yes…” The mere thought of getting his slick, oily hands on you, feeling the warmth of your skin under his palms, being asked—no, being allowed to touch you and bring you pleasure makes him weak. Shit…

He takes a deep breath and swears he can still smell your perfume from the bar invading his senses. The urge to reach his hand down into his boxers and give himself a firm grip is overwhelming now, and he’s still got dozens of questions to go. His lower belly churns with desire, and he’s so horny it almost hurts.

He loves this. Then he hates how much he loves it. It’s sweet, exquisite torture, and Frankie is giddy, nearly nauseated at how excited it makes him.

His eyes had popped open at 5:30 in the morning, the way they always did after so many years of active duty. No alarm except the morning wood that was raging in his underwear, barely able to get it to go down enough to pee. He had woken to thoughts of you, memories of the bar last night, of the way you had taken control of the conversation and opened his eyes to something that he hadn’t even known was possible.

Frankie had done his best to distract himself, doing laundry and dishes, taking a quick jog and doing 200 push-ups and then showering, filling the hours until closer to 8:00, a decent time when he could text you. His thumb hovered over the ‘send’ arrow, still unsure of the text he was about to blast into the ether, two words he’d finally crafted after a dozen drafts, each sounding more pathetic than the last.

His heart palpitated as the words flew to your phone, and he breathed a huge sigh of relief when his sparse, direct, “I’m in,” was met with a simple, “Good boy,” and a few short instructions. 

Take the quiz. Answer honestly. Don’t touch yourself.

Frankie’s eyes had nearly bugged out of his head at the last one, and he briefly thought about pushing back, but he realized this was his first real opportunity to show you how good he could be, how well he could listen. There was no way he was going to disappoint you if he could help it.

He shot off his reply breathlessly, “Yes ma’am,” and bit his lip as he waited for a response. All he got was a “thumbs up” appended to his text, but he reasoned that any response was good, although he did feel a little foolish. What had he expected? A novel? Gushing praise?

Frankie shook his head, reminding himself to temper his expectations. 

He races through questions eight, nine… twelve… fifteen. All “no.” No, he does not want to tie you up, spank you, or use degrading language with you. He doesn’t want to do any of the dominant actions himself, he knows this. 

But question sixteen arrests him in place, and suddenly he can barely breathe. Have partner use restraints on you? makes his tongue swell in his mouth, and his cock twitches violently as it steals more blood from his brain. He can’t click the “yes” button fast enough. Questions seventeen through twenty-four are all “yes,” because they are the opposite of the previous questions. 

Yes, he wants you to spank him with your hand, yes he wants you to tell him what to do in the bedroom, and YES, he wants you to call him pet names. 

Have partner use a belt/flogger/paddle on you? and, Have partner call you degrading names? both get a “maybe” but they make him salivate all the same.

Frankie grips himself through the black cotton of his boxer-briefs, and he wonders if this is going against the “no touching yourself” rule… but he also can’t proceed with the rest of this questionnaire without doing something to try to tamp down his raging erection. Just a quick squeeze, strangle the fuck out of his goddamn traitorous cock for a few seconds, and maybe he won’t pass out.

Frankie tries to remember the last time he was this turned on, but nothing since puberty has even come close to this. The anticipation, the mental imagery, the sheer desire that you’ve ignited in him is practically cruel, and he thinks about asking if he can see you tonight. And if that’s pathetic… well, then he’ll embrace being pathetic, because he needs to see you again more than he needs his pride.

He steels himself against the throbbing in his groin and finishes the questions.

Your phone chimes with an incoming text, and you nearly throw your knife down on the cutting board in your haste to grab your phone from the dining room table. You expel a few curse words at your foolishness. No need to cause a kitchen accident just because you’re eager to see if it’s Frankie. 

“Down, girl,” you scold yourself, and you grimace at how unlike you this is. 

What the hell is wrong with you? You’re the domme, you’re in control of yourself, and you’re not ever this wound-up over a guy. Frankie is a very handsome, very broad guy, but a guy nonetheless. Guys are playthings, scene partners, subs. Guys are people, too, but at most you get sexual satisfaction from them and give them some, along with spectacular aftercare. There’s no feelings involved. Not since… not since you realized that you prefer being the dominant one, not since Nick—

You refuse to go there. Ancient history, old enough to buy itself a drink at a bar by now. Feelings aren’t part of the deal, not since forever ago, and you refuse to examine why there’s a little flutter in your tummy when you pick up your phone to see that Frankie has checked in, a quick, “Done!” accompanied by his unique code for the online sexual compatibility quiz.

You bite your lip and wonder if you should text back… but you wouldn’t even know what to say, so you give his text a thumbs-up, then watch as three little bubbles appear, then disappear, then appear again. What’s Frankie up to? Is he changing his mind? Your stomach sours at the mere thought of it.

The bubbles disappear again and don’t re-appear, so you sigh and force yourself to finish chopping the vegetables you were working on and shove them in the fridge to cook for dinner later. During cleanup, you realize you’ve had one ear out for the phone this whole time, and you shake your head at yourself. 

This isn’t a high school crush. He texted what he needed to and that’s it. Stop being silly.

You dry your hands on a kitchen towel and grab your phone, settling into the couch with your back against the arm rest and your feet propped up on a pillow. You catch an anticipatory grin spreading across your face at the thought that you’re about to see inside of Frankie’s head. 

You enter his unique user code, and you know that you’ve used this online quiz enough times that you’ll fly through the questions. At the end of your answers, the app will generate a list consisting of everything that you and Frankie matched on and email you both. A single “no” is a veto, and that item won’t appear, but everything that’s a “yes” for both of you, or a “yes” for one and a “maybe” for the other will land in your email inbox in just a few moments.

Your heart thuds as you refresh your email for the third time. Is the website taking longer, or does it just feel like it because you’re giddy with anticipation? Where is that stupid email? 

Just as you clench your teeth and growl, the email appears, and your heart suddenly clogs your throat. You wriggle to sit up straighter on the couch, and you’re almost afraid to open the message. Will he be into what you’re into? Will you only match on three things? What if this is a mistake, and Frankie’s just not ready for this kind of arrangement? 

You breathe, sucking in air as slowly as you can, and then out twice as slow. Your eyes water as you stare at the subject line, and you tap your phone screen before you can talk yourself out of it. 

And there it is… 

He’s perfect. You knew it, had felt it in your bones last night at the bar. You didn’t want to believe it, to place so much trust in something that might fall through, but here it is in front of you. Frankie is your perfect match. You couldn’t have designed a better sub if you tried. He’s into everything that you could want, and now you’re drooling at the possibilities.

You arch an eyebrow at a few of his answers. Frankie’s apparently an adventurous boy, and he’s checked off a few questions that surprise you, things that you wouldn’t have thought he’d be ready to try. But those can come later. 

Right now, you’ve got an aching throb building in your core, and you sigh and plop your phone down on your stomach, wondering if it’s too soon to text Frankie and ask him to meet you somewhere. And just as you’re trying to figure out how to phrase it without sounding too desperate, your phone pings.

You pick it up to see the notification, and a wide grin spreads across your face. It’s from Frankie, and you swipe hurriedly to open the text, your heart fluttering as you read it once, then again, and again. 

I don’t want to sound too eager, trying to stay cool here. But I would really love to see you again. Soon.

You sigh, bite your lip, and try to stop the butterflies that are exploding in your gut. You know this isn’t normal, and you can already tell that these feelings—this crush you have on the tall, broad, eager man—are nothing but a recipe for disaster. But you can’t bring yourself to deny it… 

You’ve got it bad for Frankie, and you’re typing out an equally eager response before you can stop yourself.

Frankie paces, trying to ignore both his erection and the nerves that are shredding his stomach. He refuses to stare at his phone and wait to see if you’ll respond to his desperate, pathetic message… so he just treads a path from the kitchen, to the living room, to his bedroom, and back. Frankie keeps his eyes pinned to the ceiling or the walls. Anywhere but down, to avoid the sight of his fucking ridiculous hard-on.

Don’t be a dumbass, Morales. She’ll text you when she texts you. You just gotta—

His head buzzes when he suddenly remembers the second half of the quiz process—the email showing what you matched him on—and he practically runs back to his laptop, stubbing his toe on the coffee table, landing awkwardly in his rolling chair and nearly tumbling out of it. His fingers shake, fumbling to open his email program, looking to see if the results are there, and oh, shit… there it is, top of the inbox. A detonator that could blow his whole world wide open.

Frankie’s heart races in his throat, and he’s suddenly scared of what he’ll see if he clicks to open the email. 

Does she…? Will she want…? What if…?

He gulps, and his pupils blow wide when he sees that you’ve matched him on nearly everything that he’s been fantasizing about for the past twelve hours since he left you at the bar. Fuck.

He leans back in his computer chair to give his cock some breathing room, and his eyes scan the list as his hand drifts across his stomach to his—no!

“Fuuuck,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Off-limits, Morales. Don’t fuck this up.”

Frankie shakes his head as if that will clear the tumbling swoops of desire that are still torturing him. He breathes deeply, counting to four on each inhale and exhale, until he feels clear enough to proceed with reading the list. But he knows it’s futile, knows he won’t feel anything close to calm until he sees you again, and he hopes against hope that you’ll agree to meet up with him soon. 

And, shit, was that message too much? What if that turns you off? But what if you say yes?

And just as he’s trying to talk himself out of his worries, Frankie’s phone pings in the other room. *** The hotel bar is dark, buzzing with chatter as Frankie navigates his way between tables and guests. He dodges a few servers and busboys who are tidying up after a jubilant group of what he assumes are work conference attendees, based on their lanyards with plastic badges dangling from the ends.

It’s a few minutes before 5:00, and Frankie is still nervous, but at least his hard-on has gone away. He’d spent the entire day distracting himself with the tiniest of errands, the flimsiest excuses to get out of the house, whatever it took so that he wouldn’t spend his afternoon drooling at the list of quiz results or grinning like an idiot at your response to his pathetic, overeager text. 

How about tonight? 5:00? And a map to the hotel bar linked just below it. 

He’d responded with a cool, collected, “See you then” and then ran to his room to fret over what to wear. Frankie’s wardrobe wasn’t extensive, so at least the torture had been brief, and he’d settled on a new-ish pair of black jeans and the tropical-print shirt that Santi had ragged him about for years. 

“You look like you’re modeling for a men’s cologne sold at a gas station, pendejo.” 

Frankie rolled his eyes at the memories of Pope’s playful insults, then spent the intervening hours cleaning his Jeep inside and out, returning library books, and shopping for groceries before heading home to start getting ready. 

But the nerves had stuck around, and somehow Frankie’s hand slipped while attempting to trim his scruff, resulting in a patch so uneven that he’d had to shave the whole thing off. He’d cursed at himself, but then reasoned that if a clean-shaven face and a too-wild shirt were enough to turn you off after everything so far, maybe he wasn’t the guy for you after all. He’d polished his least beat-up pair of work boots and then hit the road, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel the whole way, his stomach half eager butterflies and half churning knots. 

But when he catches your eye across the room, everything settles. You wave at Frankie from your perch on a high stool, tucked into a table in the corner, and when you smile his whole world stills. There’s nothing else in Frankie’s mind but you. No more clattering of glassware, no more tipsy strangers talking too loudly, no more bodies blocking his path to you. Frankie feels like he’s floating as he crosses the last few steps to your table, and his heart leaps as you slide off your chair to greet him with a hug.

He folds you into his embrace, and when he catches a whiff of your perfume, something in Frankie melts. He wants to propose marriage right then and there… or at least pledge himself to you like some kind of knight in a fairy tale. You’ve been the focus of nearly all his waking thoughts for almost 24 hours, and even a few of his sleeping ones. 

He’s not sure what’s coming next, but he’s all in, and he can’t even find it in himself to care if this goes bad or he ends up brokenhearted. Whatever you want to give him, Frankie will take with open arms, and he only hopes that he can give you back everything that you deserve.

[cherrychaiparadise]

the cold water of my heart (christ, it's boiling over)

Maybe you should’ve just left it at that, let the moment pass. But some part of you knew that it wouldn’t, that even if you had, another would rise in its place. The swirling water acting like a shield from the outside world, stranding you and this handsome man in some place out of time. Outside of reality, where normal didn’t apply. So, you let yourself loosen, let yourself voice the desire you’d been burying deep within your chest for the past hour or so, maybe longer.

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader (no physical description, except for hair below the shoulders and is wearing a bikini) summary: you and frankie get it on in the hot tub rating: 18+, minors dni tags: ski resort au, hot tub sex, soft dom frankie, exhibitionism, praise kink, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, nipple play, dirty talk, begging, frankie morales has a filthy mouth, frankie is tired, mentions of the tf boys word count: 7k

crossposted on ao3!

divider by @firefly-graphics

He leaned back, letting the gentle rumble of the water beat into his sore shoulders. The years of service had finally begun to take their toll on his body. Muscles tense and weary, joints cracking against each other, tendons pulled tight, strung together like a misshapen marionette. 

Shouldn’t have let the guys fuckin’ drag him into this, Frankie thought. Sinking further below the surface of the bubbling water, letting a jet pound into a particularly stubborn knot that had tied itself together in his upper back, just between his shoulder blades. But they’d insisted, Benny going as far to joke that this was the “Better, more legal, snow.” That’d earned him a hard elbow to the rib cage from Ironhead, no matter that the younger Miller was the fighter.

They’d been supportive, though. All of the guys agreed that it would be a much needed trip. Reminiscent of their youths, Will and Ben especially, who’d grown up in Colorado and had been sweltering in the Florida heat for years. Frankie had reluctantly come along, never having experienced much of the cold, but never one to sit on the sidelines while the rest of the crew did some stupid shit like blowing their hard earned money on a ski resort.

And Frankie thought that Pope was just looking forward to teaching clueless women to snowboard. Using the excuse to put his hands on their waists, whisper words of encouragement softly in their ears. Cheeky fucker was right, too. Frankie’d seen him with at least three different women today alone. Meanwhile the only woman Frankie had in mind was the masseuse at the resort spa, maybe he’d book an appointment tomorrow. Despite the hot jets and warm lights, the jacuzzi wasn’t enough. 

It was late, and his fingers had long since wrinkled into that weird, spongy texture. He considered getting out, heading to the queen sized bed that awaited him in his shared room with Santiago. Shared. Frankie grimaced, remembering the last woman Pope had been working up. Her too loud laughs at his dumbass lines, the way she’d shrugged off her puffer jacket, even though it was well below forty that afternoon. Maybe he’d wait out here a bit longer, maybe he still had more muscles that would loosen. 

The area was mostly empty, too cold for the majority of vacationers, despite the nearly scalding temperature of the hot tub. Sequestered into a hidden pocket behind the hotel section of the resort, tucked away in a small trail off the pool, which was also silent. Puddles sitting silently on the gray stones neatly worked around the circular tub, a mixture of condensation and melted snow. White, hardened snow more condensely packed along the iron railings surrounding the patio, fairy lights weaved beneath old snow. Creating an ethereal glow through the millions of frozen crystals, almost setting them aflame.

Music and laughter drifted faintly from the main lodge, where the resort was hosting its first Christmas party of the season. Where his friends were likely warm with wine or wandering hands along a woman’s arm. Likely both, for Santiago. Frankie chuckled to himself, glad to be alone. He loved the guys, loved that they were having fun, but he was just… fucking tired. 

The oldest member of the team, long since out of active combat unlike Pope. Or Benny, who was still young and quick on his feet, fucking fighting for sport. Even Will, who spoke for a living, had remained running endless drills or sparring with his brother. Leaving Frankie stiff and aching, his stomach softening into a plush curve. Not that he minded, he could care less about his physical appearance, really. He was just sick of being a step behind, sleep catching up to him an hour or so earlier. Feeling like he had to work twice as hard just to keep up.

A shrill, groaning creak broke him from his melancholy thoughts. Opening his eyes, Frankie straightened, lifting his sagged body out from under the water. His breath hitched at the cold air on his shoulders, the gust of icy wind brushing through his damp hair. He felt his eyes adjust, tracking the distant figure approach through the key-coded gate. Huddled together in a pale blue towel, shoes slapping against the wet floor. The warm lamplight curling around the soft silhouette to reveal a woman, her hair falling freely and limbs shivering profusely as she shuffled towards the steamy glow of the hot tub.

Frankie tried to keep his eyes down as she settled her things into the wooden chair, notably right next to his. Tried to focus on the colorful bubbles, the foam bubbling along the water’s surface, not wanting to make her uncomfortable, being alone in a hot tub with a stranger this late into the night. Part of him was surprised she was still getting in, to be honest.

“Mind if I join you?” she asked. Striking him with the soft timbre of her voice, slightly rough, as if she’d been out in the cold for too long.

He lifted his head to respond, voice nearly catching in his throat as he drank in the sight of her. Midnight blue bikini clinging to her curves. The bottoms cut high along her hips, revealing the slope of her ass. Top drooping low, arching along with the swell of her breasts. He had to avert his eyes at the outline of her nipples, clearly hardened in the cold winter air, poking through the thin fabric of her swimsuit. Fuck, and he’d been trying so hard to make her feel safe, and here he was fucking ogling her at his first glimpse. 

“Yeah, no problem.” He said, tongue heavy in his mouth. Hoping he hadn’t taken as long to respond as it’d felt. But he must’ve done something right, because she smiled brightly, a puff of her warm breath drifting past her lips as she thanked him. Floating up to mix with the steam rolling off of the hot water. 

The water rippled against his bare chest as she stepped in, her hand barely brushing against the metal railing, leaving fingerprints in the visible condensation. He tried his hardest to find the tile floor of the jacuzzi through the thick bubbles when she hummed at the warmth of the sauna as she lowered herself beneath the frother surface. 

Only then did Frankie feel safe enough to look up from the imaginary point on the floor, now that her too-soft looking body was hidden beneath the white fluff of the bubbles. Her eyes had fallen shut, lashes whispering against her cheeks. Lips slightly chapped from the harsh mountain winds, moisture already creeping its way along the smooth slope of her shoulders. Droplets of water spattered across her collarbone, carving a path down towards the crevice between her breasts. Head leaned back against the curved edge of the pool, smaller particles of water clinging to her hair.

Shit, he thought she was the most beautiful woman he’d seen. Like a siren washed up from the sea, enchanting unsuspecting men with her otherworldly allure, only to drag them back with her to the watery depths.

Maybe he should’ve gotten out earlier after all, escaped his fate, because he was completely and utterly fucked. 

~

The water felt heavenly wrapped around your nearly freeze-dried skin, you had to fight back a moan. The December sky was painted above you, bright splatters of white and yellow and blue painted across a black canvas, the moon hung full overhead. The slowly changing hues of the bubbles mirroring the heavens above. It was stunning, the space around you.

Not to mention, the man in front of you.

Broad chest dappled with a light sweeping of freckles. Brown hair mussed and curling upwards from the moisture in the air. Strong, curved nose and almost sorrowful brown eyes. He was beautiful, you thought, nearly rivaling the sky above and waters below. Suddenly aware of the lack of space between the two of you, no more than four or five feet apart. 

You glanced up at him, surprised to find him already looking at you. A soft shade of pink spread across his cheeks, already flushed from the heat. You pursed your lips, fighting back a grin at his response to being caught. “Avoiding the rest of the world too?” you asked, trying to build a bridge across the small space that separated you. 

The man’s eyes widened for a moment, before meeting your own as he spoke, and again you were struck by the roughened edge to his voice. A stark contrast to his otherwise soft demeanor. “Something like that,” the edge of his lip tugged upwards as he tilted his head to the side. “Mostly just my roommate… ‘ve got a feeling he’s got another, prettier roommate in mind, if you know what I mean.”

You bit your lip, feeling your smile spread across your cheeks at his joking answer. “I’m sure he appreciates it.”

He snorted, an abrupt, unexpected noise which he quickly reigned back in, as if its escape had been just as much of a surprise to him. “Nah,” he shook his head, curls bouncing with the movement, lip still curled up into a small smirk. “Doubt that fucker even notices I’m gone.” His words were harsh, but his features held nothing but fondness.

Smile still comfortably spread across your lips, you slightly shifted forward and gave the man your name. Who knows, you were at the same resort, maybe you’d run into him again. 

He swallowed, as if taking in the consonants and vowels, the way the sound of your name curved in the air, before returning it with his own. “Frankie,” he leaned forward, arm outstretched towards you. His hand was warm against your skin, grip firm as he politely shook your own. You couldn’t help but notice how much bigger his hand was, the way his fingers stretched all the way around the outside of your hand, nearly connecting with his thumb. Leaving your skin feeling cold as he pulled away. “You here alone? Or…”

You quirked a brow. Forward, wasn’t he.

“Shit,” he choked, face immediately flushing with color once again. Water splashing against his chest as his arm jerked out in panic. “That’s- that came out differently than I’d mean it to,” he laughed quietly, running a hand through his hair, damp curls pulling back before quickly coiling back into place. You smiled, finding his flustered state endearing. “I just meant if you were here with friends, too. I kinda was brought as a hostage by my buds…” he trailed off again, clearly struggling to properly formulate his thoughts. 

“Nah, not friends,” you met his eyes, trying to convey your reassurance. “I’m here with my family. Never too old to grow out of annual family vacations, apparently.” 

“Ah,” he nodded. “That’s sweet. That your family does that.” He’s right, it was. You almost asked about his family, but caught yourself, worrying that would be too invasive. “My mom’d take me to her parents for the holidays every year. Don’t know how she did it, ‘know I must’ve been a little shit in a car for seven hours.” He chuckled to himself, eyes softly glazing over as he relived the memory. 

You didn’t know how much time passed after that. Alternating between amicable banter and comfortable silence. The two of you sharing stories and watching the lights change color. Humming along to familiar holiday tunes drifting from the lodge and listening as the occasional owl hooted from the snow-covered pines overhead. Laughter echoing between you, bouncing off the water, fizzling into the air along with the pop of the bubbles. You’re not sure how, or when it had happened, but somehow the two of you had drawn together, closing the small distance once between you. 

Steam curled around you, hazy ribbons floating in the air, and you briefly wondered if they were what drew you together. Wrapped themselves around your relaxed forms, around your wrists and ankles and tugged and pulled until the two of you sat side by side, bare feet occasionally bumping into each other with the gentle push and pull of the jets. 

Feeling the delicate skin of his ankle graze against your toes, droplets of water splashing into your lap as he gesticulated while speaking. Finding yourself enraptured in his movements, the plush curve of his lips when he spoke, the way his biceps pulled taught and chest flushed when he laughed. 

How his brown eyes fell to your lips when you smiled. Dropped even lower when you’d lean forward or turn a certain way. He seemed to track your motions the same way, going as far to push a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Stealing your breath as warm fingertips brushed featherlight against the wet skin of your cheekbone. Lingering as he pulled back, fingers softly curling along the counters of your face. His thumb barely kissing the edge of your lips as he finally let his hand fall back to his side.

Maybe you should’ve just left it at that, let the moment pass. But some part of you knew that it wouldn’t, that even if you had, another would rise in its place. The swirling water acting like a shield from the outside world, stranding you and this handsome man in some place out of time. Outside of reality, where normal didn’t apply. So, you let yourself loosen, let yourself voice the desire you’d been burying deep within your chest for the past hour or so, maybe longer.

“Warm,” you murmured, eyes fluttering shut at the loss of his heated skin. 

“Hm?” his brows furrowed slightly, even though you knew he understood the meaning behind your statement. Just as affected by the headiness of the thick steam and lulling rhythm of the bubbles and the closeness held between your bodies. You opened your eyes to find his head tilted, and under any other circumstances, you would’ve taken it as confusion. But not here, not now. Not with him. His eyes unabashedly on your lips, wet and glistening and waiting.

You leaned closer, the tip of his aquiline nose just brushing against yours. “Frankie,” you breathed against his mouth. Your eyes flittering up to his, finding them dark and hooded and wanting. Nearly begging, begging you to let him, to confirm that you wanted this, too. Normally one to wait, to follow the lead, you hesitated for a fraction of a second before pushing the past aside. You didn’t want to wait, you already knew the answer. He was asking for both of you with those big brown eyes, shining in a way that looked like he was in physical pain from waiting himself. 

“Please.” It was more of a warning than a request, giving him a moment to deny you, to tell you you’d been misinterpreting this entire situation. He responded with a soft exhale and a sharp raise of his brows. As if he was begging you as much as you were him. Letting yourself give in, give the both of you what you desired, you took in a breath of the warm winter air and pressed your lips to Frankie’s.

~

Frankie’s mind seemed to spark and fizzle like a faulty wire before finally clicking back into place. Commanding his heavy arms to rise, wrapping around the silky skin of your waist, tugging you flush against him. He smiled internally at the quiet gasp he’d drawn from your lips, fresh confidence driving him to deepen the kiss. Running his tongue along the outer edge of your lips, faintly tasting sweet chocolate and the tang of the chlorine. His hand lifted up to cup the back of your head. Fingers tangling with the damp hair at the base of your neck. Shifting positions so that his touch traced along the curve of your spine, causing you to shiver beneath his touch.

Only seconds had passed, yet he found that you were an instrument he wanted to play till the sun’s golden rays overflowed from the mountaintops. To master the pull of your strings and dips of your intricate curves. Draw sweet melodies from you all night until his hands could no longer work. Until your body had completely melted into the silky water of the jacuzzi and the firm pressure of his touch. 

He bit back a groan as you pulled back, leaving wet handprints on his chest that quickly evaporated into the humid air. Already, your lips were swollen, hair clearly messed where his hand had been tangled with your locks. Your chest heaved as you inhaled, his eyes brazenly dropping to your tits. Nipples hardened in the winter breeze, practically begging to be pulled between his fingers and twisted till he draws sweet cries from your lips. Eyes brightly reflecting the warm glow of the lights, darkened with a shadow of something else. Like a siren, he thought once more. Yet he found himself more than willing to fall, to dive headfirst if it meant more of this. More of you.

Your lips parted as if you were going to say something, but no noise came out. Instead you leaned back into him, threading your small fingers into his hair. A rough noise escaping him as you tugged, pulling him back into your wanting mouth. Your tongue dipping past his lips. Again that warm sweetness and cinnamon filled his senses as he let you take your fill. Loving the heady blend of sensations. Little blossoms of pain at his scalp laved over by the wet caress of your mouth on his and the satiny strokes of the hot water. 

He would happily let himself drown in your mouth, he knew. But he wanted to taste more.

Tilting your neck back, Frankie ruefully separated his lips from yours, noting the needy whine linger in the back of your throat. “Shhh, sweetheart, trust me,” he watched you give him a rushed nod, taking the opportunity to bring his mouth to the smooth column of your neck. Shining with the glimmering sheen of water, he began licking up the droplets. Tasting the blend of tangy chlorine and the warm musk of your skin. Feeling your pulse fluttering beneath his tongue, Frankie closed his mouth around the cord of muscle and sucked into your skin. 

Your moan rumbled up in your throat, reverberating into his wanting mouth. Fuck, he wanted to draw more and more of those pretty noises from you long into the night. With his mouth, hands, cock, whatever. Anything to keep that sweet song pouring from your lips.

The water swished around him as he repositioned himself, pulling away for a moment so that he was standing between your spread legs. Your knees hugging his outer thighs as he curled over you, moving his mouth back to your skin. Letting his lips wander down your neck, no more than a whisper along the sparse hairs that coated your skin. Bringing his lips to the spot where your neck connected with the tip of your collarbone. Getting a feel for the soft, squishy skin there before using his teeth, gently biting into your inviting flesh. 

As another quiet moan fell from your lips, Frankie used the moment to bring a hand to the soft roundness of your breast, finally getting his fill. Shamelessly stroking you in the place he’d been denying himself all night. Head spinning as the weight settled in his palm, warm and smooth and not quite enough through the fabric of your swimsuit.

A whimper tumbled out of you as he grazed a thumb over the peaked bud of your nipple. And fuck him if that didn’t send another jolt of heat straight to his already full cock. Drawing his thumb back, Frankie slowly traced a circle along the outer edge of your areola, not quite where you needed him. Eyes drinking in the deep rise and fall of your chest, the water swaying in rhythm with you. Bringing his thumb closer, just to the base of the hardened skin, before retreating and continuing to rub teasing circles “Frankie, please,” you breathed, voice choked and airy.

“Please what? This not enough for you?” He hummed, a slight pout drawn into the melody. 

Your pretty face scrunched up at his mocking tone, and Frankie almost felt bad. Almost. But he wanted to hear more of your pretty noises, hear you ask nicely for what you wanted. “Touch me, ‘s not enough.” 

His mouth curled into a sinful smirk, something inside of him drawing tight upon realizing how easy it was to get you to beg. Part of him wanted to wait, to deny you just to see how far you’d go to get what you wanted. Later, he decided. There was plenty more to make you beg for. 

Finally letting his fingers return to your aching nipple, he brushed a finger back across the peak, giving your tit a sharp squeeze before pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Needing to be a bit rougher than normal to keep it from slipping away beneath the fabric barrier. The whimper formed, stronger, in your throat and he knew he couldn’t stop. Twisting you between his fingers, almost enough to hurt, but not quite yet. Your hips bucked below the surface, back arching against the tiled wall, bubbles crackling just below your ribcage. “Not-” you whined, brows pinching together, clearly frustrated. “Still not enough, not-,”

You writhed beneath him, body tightly coiled as he continued to work your nipple, having brought the other hand to cup your other breast, wanting to give it a similar attention. Watching the way you’d brought your hands to the sides of your swimsuit, seemingly unconsciously pulling at the skintight fabric, nails digging into the synthetic material as you dragged your hands down your torso. 

Gripping the bare skin at your waist, he pushed your body back against the wall of the hot tub, your body nearly weightless in the water, he lifted you slightly to get a better angle before pressing his mouth to your tits, replacing his finger that had been tightly twisting and twirling. Laving his tongue over the chlorine-soaked fabric, feeling the hardness of your nipple beneath. Using a flash of teeth to nip at you through your swimsuit. 

Still, you tugged at your bikini straps, not quite pulling them down but playing with them, drawing his darkened eyes to the thin fabric at your shoulders. He pulled back, watching your breasts sway with your heavy breaths, one of the straps falling from your shoulder, exposing a faint glimpse of the rounded flesh at the side of your breast. Thoughtlessly raising a hand to trace along the bare curve, entranced at the give of skin beneath his calloused fingers. “Something you need, beautiful?” His gaze didn’t leave the patch of your partially exposed tits, begging to be freed.

Your eyes were wild as they met his. Dark with need and alight with some proprietary sense of hesitation, of knowing that you were still in a public area. That anyone could come through the iron gates, could see you like this. Flushed and needy and heaving with desire. “I-, I just want more.” Your voice was tight, like he could break you with no more than a touch. 

Fuck him. He shuffled forward, letting his aching cock press against your core, only separated by the thin layers of fabric. Clenching his eyes tight at the sudden contact, the way it burned a trail up his spine. Grunting when he saw the same expression mirrored across your own features.

“I need you to tell me, sweetheart,” He leaned down, placing a chaste kiss to your uncovered chest, the fabric peeling down to reveal a peek of the silky skin where the colors shifted. Giving way from tougher skin to the sensitive softness of your nipple. “You want this off? Hmm? Want me to give your pretty tits the attention they deserve? Bet they’re fucking beautiful,” he murmured into the curve of your skin, fingers dancing up your ribcage to land below the swell of your chest. Holding you there as he leaned back, meeting your eyes. Waiting for your permission. 

He wanted this. Wanted it here, now, didn’t give a fuck who saw. But he needed you to want it too. “Need to hear you say it, please.” He lifted his head, pressing a warm kiss to your lips, holding you like a treasure he desperately desired to keep close. 

You opened your mouth soundlessly, and for a second he was sure you were going to say no. Push him away and tell him to fuck off, that he was a pervert and a creep and everything that wasn’t enough for. But instead, you tugged down the remaining strap, the fine strands of fabric dangling from your shoulders. Remaining material above your chest already drooping low without the support of the straps. 

Instinct drew him forward, but his mind kept his hands in place. “Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me this is ok.” 

Your eyes were nearly black with lust as you spoke, voice firm. “It’s ok, Frankie. Don’t stop.”

~

He moved like a predator, was your first and only thought, before the straining cups of your bikini top were torn down, breasts spilling out over the wet fabric into the night air. You’d expected the shock of the cold to pierce you, but were instead caught in the heat of Frankie’s gaze on your bare tits, his hands returning to them, almost reverently now that you’d fully revealed your upper half. 

“I was right,” he whispered, more to your chest than you, you realized with a sprinkle of amusement. Pupils blown wide as he soaked in your appearance, feeling his hand clench at your side before returning to your exposed chest. “Fucking perfect,” he pinched the hardened bud between deft fingers, and you gasped at the feeling of his skin on yours. Just enough pressure as you silently begged him still for more. Needing his mouth back on your skin. 

Accepting your unspoken plea, Frankie closed his mouth around your tight nipple, and you let out a frighteningly loud cry as the wet heat enveloped you. “Fuck, Frankie…” you whined as he give it a suck before laving over the peak with his tongue. Swirling it in his mouth, bringing it between his teeth with a slight pinch and a gentle tug. Eyes flitting up to yours to gauge your reaction. Knowing your face was nothing more than a canvas for the pleasure he painted across you in long, flowing strokes. All the while continuing to work your other breast with his large hand, keeping you suspended between two constant pools of bliss.

Your body wound tight, warm energy swirling beneath your skin. Buzzing across your nerves, so hot it fucking hurt. The backs of your arms ached, the cool concrete digging into your skin, but you couldn’t be bothered to care. Not when Frankie had you arching into him, hips beginning to grind against his. Feeling him hot and hard and digging into the swell of your inner thigh, so close to where you needed him but nowhere close enough. Constantly assaulted by his tongue and hand relentlessly working your sore tits, bordering on the edge of pain and something else. 

Briefly you wondered if you could come just from this. If you dropped a hand between your legs, pressed down on your swollen clit that had been throbbing for what felt like hours. If that would be enough. If that would send you over the edge, send you reeling into the ecstasy your body was chasing. “Frankie, shit, I-” it took you a second to collect your words, scattered along with the nerves that lit up your body. 

He switched tits while he waited for you to continue, big brown eyes looking up at you patiently, mouth latching onto your other nipple while he lifted his hand to your spit-slathered breast. Nipple glinting in the warm light, slick and shiny with his saliva.

“Need you to touch me- your thigh.” Your eyes locked onto the thick muscle of his leg, watching the tendons clench as he shifted his weight, immediately catching onto your meaning. 

Pulling back from your chest with a wet, lewd pop, he braced his arm on the stone beside you, the cords of his bicep flexing with the movement, close enough that you could see the droplets of water beading on his tanned skin. “You’re learning,” he smiled, tilting your chin up with the bottom of his finger. “Asking for what you want like a good girl.” 

You nodded eagerly, mind overcome with a deep-set hunger, greedy for the pleasure you knew he could give you. Tongue heavy in your mouth, feeling like you were capable of doing nothing more than sinking deeper into the water, letting its hypnotic pull overcome you while Frankie played with your body like he’d studied it for years.

“You think you could come like this?” he pinched your nipple harder than before, enough for you to cry out in pain, though it quickly melted into simmering pleasure which Frankie immediately caught on to. “Bet you could, bet you want to.” He dropped his mouth to your ear, voice lowering an octave. His words were hot on your skin as he spoke. “Let me give you what you need, please.”

His eyes met yours once again, warm and rich and filled with desire. You’d never felt like this before. So wanted. Like Frankie had made it his mission to give you as much as he could. Not just for you, but for him. Because he enjoyed it, enjoyed bringing you to the edge of pleasure and holding you there, leaving you teetering near the precipice before letting you fall deep, deep into the waves of ecstasy. 

“Please,” you repeated back to him, the hiss of your plea being the last thing you heard before he jerked your nipple with a harsh twist and slotted his knee between your waiting thighs. The pressure kissing firmly against your swollen clit and breaking the dam inside of you. Cunt clenching around nothing, spasming as you can feel yourself gush into the billowing water. 

Churning waves roaring in your ears as your body tensed and released, shaking with the effort, feeling as if all the building pleasure was pouring out of you, leaving you helpless to stop it. Feeling your vision go fuzzy, like you’d sunk below the surface and everything was glazed over with flashes of light and sprays of water. 

You heard Frankie murmur your name against your ear, his hand now gently caressing the flushed skin of your cheek. Hard concrete pressing against the back of your head, you lifted yourself up, slowly opened your eyes to find his own looking back at you. Dark and heavy and wanting. Yet he maintained the gentle brush of his thumb against your skin, slowly drawing you back to the present, even though you knew his mind was just as lost as yours. 

“Shit, Frankie,” you smiled up at him, feeling a little silly. “That was- fuck,” you laughed and he pressed a kiss to your lips. Initially soft and quieting, it quickly changed, his own desire fueling him on. You could feel the energy building beneath his skin, his hands dropping lower to the cute little bows that held the strings of your bikini bottoms together. Fisting with the plump curve of your ass, thumb slipping beneath the drawstring, but leaving your remaining clothing in place. Ever the gentleman.

The gentleman who then continued to spin you around, lifting you as he settled into the bench seat, back leaning against the wall, before settling you into his lap. His cock jutting up against your soaked pussy, putting pressure back on your swollen clit and fuck, even with your previous orgasm it still wasn’t enough. Circling your hips, you put a hand on his chest, savoring the feel of his bare skin warm beneath your fingertips. “Frankie,” you ground into him, realizing how fucking empty you felt. “Need you, want you inside me.”

His grip on your hips tightened, hard enough that you knew there’d be finger-sized bruises tattooed into your skin tomorrow. “Fuck, sweetheart, can I?”

You knew that this was risky, fucking crazy, actually. Fucking a man you’d just met in open air, where anyone could still walk in and see,  at a resort your fucking family was attending. But you didn’t care, couldn’t even bother to worry. All you could focus on was the burning between your legs, the way your body was screaming at you to be filled. And with the way Frankie was straining beneath you, you knew you’d have to stretch to take him. But god, you could already imagine how it’d feel to be full of his cock, have him deep inside you, murmuring filthy things in your ears while he’d gently rut up into you. And yeah, you didn’t give a shit.

“I’m on the pill, and clean.”

Frankie nodded. “Me too. You sure?”

So fucking sweet, this man. “Please, Frankie. I want you to fuck me.”

~

Frankie had to bite his tongue to stop himself from cumming right then and there. The determination in your eyes, the deadset desperation for him. He couldn’t wait any longer, needed to be inside you. “Fuck, yeah, ok,” he babbled, fumbling for a moment to pull the drawstrings, moaning when he felt the fabric come free and float away, leaving you bare in his lap and all for him.  

“Shit, baby- fuck,” Words temporarily evaded him as he soaked in your appearance. Naked and glimmering with beads of clear water reflecting the light off your skin. Leaving you glowing like a fucking angel and fuck, everything he wanted to do was far from holy, but at the same time he wanted to worship you until the sun rose and set and the silvery moonlight coated the snow once again. 

It took him a moment to collect himself, feeling you hot and waiting above his painfully hard cock. The little swirls and arches of your hips causing him to meet your thrusts, jutting up into you even within the confines of his swim shorts. “Hang on a sec, just-” he trailed off, burying his head in your shoulder, your wet hair tickling his nose. Clenching his hands around the delicious swell of your ass, willing himself to focus, needing to last longer than a fucking teenager.

Finally having collected himself, Frankie pulled back, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Only to find you beaming down at him, extending a soft hand to run through his tousled curls and he could help but lean into your touch. Turning towards you to plant a soft kiss to your palm, trying to convey his gratefulness for your patience. Wanting nothing more than to make this good for you, loving the way you’d come apart under him before. Needing to break you apart on his cock.

Freeing his length from the shorts, Frankie took a moment to drag his head along your folds, easily parting for him with the slick that had gathered there. “Fuck, sweetheart, so fucking wet for me,” he murmured as he continued teasing the outer edges of your pussy, collecting the wetness before it was washed away with the water. 

You moaned sweetly, breath warm against his neck where you’d settled yourself. Arms thrown tightly around his shoulders as he held you, one hand at your hip, one still firmly planted on your ass. 

“You sure this is ok? Out here where anyone can see?” He double-checked out of caution, and something else too. Some sick thrill shot down his spine at the thought of getting caught. Of being seen fucking into you, your tits bouncing as you cried out in pleasure. Letting everyone know how good he’d made you feel. 

You nodded against his skin, and he felt something build within him. Reaching between your legs, he slowly parted your folds, notching the tip into your tight, waiting pussy. Savoring the gasp that it tore from your parted lips, hot and moist on his neck. “You sure? Not scared, are ya?” He continued working himself inside of you, the added friction from the water halting his rhythm, but not his determination.

A whimper sounded against him, and he felt you clutching him tighter, nails digging into the smooth skin of his back. Taking the moment, he canted his hips, sheathing another several inches within you so that he was almost halfway in. And fuck, he needed to take another deep breath. The tight heat of your pussy gripping him was almost too much. Combined with the dull pain of your nails piercing his back, he had to be careful. Still, he continued.

“Not worried someone’ll see you like this? Getting fucked in a hot tub? Pretty tits out for anyone to see?” He gave your breast an emphatic squeeze, never tiring of the way the soft skin felt spilling between his fingers. Drawing another whine from your lips, face still buried into his skin. “Nah-ah, sweetheart, no need to be shy,” he gripped your jaw, gentle pressure but still enough to control your movements. 

Your eyes were glazed over, a trail of drool spilling from your mouth. Looking perfectly fucked-out for him, and he hadn’t even started. “There we go, baby, make sure they can see that pretty face too, see how much you’re enjoying this.” You moaned something that vaguely resembled his name, but he couldn’t be sure. 

“Let them, you know why?” He didn’t give you time to answer before thrusting the rest of his length into your cunt, feeling you grip him as the air fled from your lungs. Brows drawn tight as you accommodated to the stretch. “Because this pussy is just for me. Taking me so well, aren’t you?” You nodded, hips slowly shifting above him as you adjusted to the intrusion. Frankie was well aware of his size, and knew that it often took people a moment or two to get used to him.

“Yeah, there you go, knew you could do it,” he praised, placing a kiss to the soft spot of your neck, feeling your body loosen into him, your walls relaxing around him, giving him room to test out a slow thrust. “So good for me, baby.” 

Beginning with a slow pace, Frankie dragged his cock back, feeling your cunt grip him, like you were trying to keep him inside. Grip on your ass tightening, he leaned back in, slowly pushing his length back inside of you, the wet drag heavenly against his cock. Your hips tilted against his as you began meeting his thrusts. Riding him in rhythm as he fucked up into you.

The hot pull of your pussy combined with the pressure of the jets against his lower back was heavenly. Pressing at his muscles while you drained the pleasure from him, milking it from his body, which happily gave you his all. Loving the way your cunt fluttered around him, alternating between deep, stroking clenches and quick little pulses. So fucking responsive.

His eyes transfixed on the bounce of your tits, wanting to suck them back into his mouth, roll your nipples with his tongue more. Taste your skin in his mouth, the sweet combination of winter air and chlorine and the faint trace of your body’s natural musk. Sweeter than anything he’d tasted before. Mind wandering to how your pussy would taste, how you’d leak for him. Let him lap up your juices, fuck them back into you with his tongue until you were nothing but a writhing mess for him to savor.

“Shit,” Frankie felt his pace faltering, clearly spurred on by the thought of getting his mouth between your legs. Maybe later… “I’m sorry sweetheart, fuck- I’m close.” He tried to focus on something else, tried to slow down, anything to slow his quickly impending orgasm. But his body seemed to move on its own, hips hammering into your heat, your tight cunt sucking him in, wet and tight and perfect and fuck- it was too much.

“Want you inside- cum inside me, please, Frankie-” your voice broke off, and he’d been so busy trying to slow himself down he hadn’t even noticed the tears that had formed at the corners of your eyes. The way your breathing had picked up and head had thrown itself back, lips chapped from where you’d been digging your teeth into the plump flesh. Looking just as fucked as he felt.

And whether it was seeing you or hearing your words or the idea of tasting you ingrained into his mind or some combination of the three, Frankie felt that rope inside of him snap. Head falling forward as his hips jerked once, twice, and fuck, he was cumming. Heat flooding his stomach and shooting through his throbbing cock, feeling the warm spurts shudder through him as he poured himself into your soaked cunt.

Panting heavily into your sweat-slicked shoulder, Frankie planted a kiss against your wet skin, feeling your body stir against his. Just breathing you in, listening to the soft bubble of the jets, feeling your pulse flutter against him. 

Pulling out, he felt the rush of water around his spent cock. Reaching a hand between your thighs to find himself spilling out of you, cum already being washed away by the rushing water. 

He leaned back to find a lazy smile spread across your face, hair plastered to your forehead. Brushing it out of the way, he pressed a matching kiss just above your brow before pulling you into his chest. Loving the way you let it happen, your body melting into his. He let his cheek rest on the top of your head, your hair tickling his flushed skin.

And as he held you, he realized that the music from inside had finally died down. Leaving him alone with the rhythm of your breaths and the melody of the wind.

[atommadly]

𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 | EoWells x Reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 | smut, explicit sex scene, power dynamics, bondage, fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasms.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘌𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘨𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳. 𝘛𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘰𝘪𝘭𝘴 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳—𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨.

Masterlist

The storm raged over Central City. The sky was torn apart by lightning, slicing through the darkness of the night and the heavy clouds. Rain poured relentlessly, drenching everything in sight, but that didn’t stop you. You pushed forward, running as fast as you could, your power cranked to its maximum. Time seemed to slow as you moved, allowing you to watch the lightning fork across the sky in mesmerizing detail. You were a speedster, just like The Flash—but a hero? Not even close.

You didn’t answer to anyone but yourself. Your moral compass was entirely your own, and let’s just say it didn’t point strictly toward good or evil. You operated in shades of gray—doing good when it suited you and crossing lines into darker territory only when absolutely necessary.

You’d crossed paths with The Flash more times than you could count. Sometimes he tried to stop you, his steadfast belief in justice driving him to clash with your more flexible approach. Other times, the two of you found yourselves fighting side by side, bound by a shared goal, if only temporarily. Deep down, though, your status as an anti-hero left him conflicted. He couldn’t fully condone your actions, but he also couldn’t see you as a true villain. Perhaps, in some way, he even understood you.

On the other hand, you couldn’t say the same about Reverse Flash. Just thinking of his name made a sly, almost wicked smile tug at your lips.

To Eobard Thawne, you were a rival in every sense of the word. You’d outsmarted him more than once, cutting him off at the finish line on some of his most carefully laid plans. Sometimes, you’d reluctantly teamed up to take down Flash, finding a strange, unspoken rhythm in your temporary alliance. Other times, you chased each other through the streets like two predators locked in a deadly game. Yet despite the chaos and destruction that marked each encounter, it wasn’t hatred that fueled the fire between you. Not even close.

Eobard was smooth, calculated, and maddeningly brilliant—a genius who loved to challenge your every move. He teased you, tested you, and always seemed to push just hard enough to get under your skin. But you weren’t one to back down. You gave as good as you got, meeting his taunts with sharp wit and daring moves that only fueled the tension between you. And oh, how you relished it.

You irritated him as much as you intrigued him. He frustrated you as much as he fascinated you. That electric push-and-pull had become your favorite game, one that blurred the line between animosity and attraction. He was a man who could pin you to a wall in a fit of rage and kiss you senseless in the very next breath. He wanted to break you, to dominate you—but at the same time, you knew you drove him absolutely insane. You loved it.

That same dangerous energy crackled between you tonight as you sped through the city streets, his crimson lightning hot on your heels. You’d stolen something he wanted—again—and he wasn’t going to let it go. Furious, he hunted you relentlessly, each step faster, each move sharper. You could almost feel his rage, his focus, his hunger to catch you.

But you weren’t running from him out of fear. No, this was part of the game. The thrill of knowing he was just behind you, that he could catch you at any second, set your heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with the chase itself. You weren’t just evading him; you were taunting him, daring him to come closer. 

You knew this chase couldn’t last forever—and to be honest, you didn’t want it to. You slowed to a stop inside an abandoned hangar on the outskirts of the city, rain pouring down through gaps in the roof. It only took a second for Eobard to catch up, his crimson lightning announcing his arrival as he appeared before you.

He was soaked to the bone, his suit clinging to him, water dripping from every inch. For a moment, a flash of lightning lit up the room, casting his masked face in stark relief. God, he was unfairly sexy—it really should’ve been illegal.

You smirked, taking your time as you reached up to remove your own mask. There was no need for secrets between the two of you anymore. You’d known each other’s identities for ages now, yet despite all your clashes, neither of you had ever used that knowledge to truly harm the other. It was an unspoken rule in your endless game.

As you lowered your mask, Eobard did the same. The moment his unruly, rain-soaked hair came into view, you couldn’t help but bite your lower lip. He looked disheveled and furious—a combination that only made your heart race faster.

“Y/N…” he growled, his deep voice reverberating through the empty hangar. “Aren’t you tired of this endless cycle?” he asked, his tone sharp with frustration, but there was something else lurking underneath—something darker, more magnetic.

You shrugged nonchalantly, your amusement plain as day. “Not really,” you replied, your smirk widening.

His jaw tightened as he took a step closer, his piercing gaze locked on you. “You know you can’t outrun me,” he said firmly, his voice a mix of anger and something more primal. “Give me what you stole. Now.”

The tension between you was suffocating, thick enough to choke on, the air practically vibrating with unspoken words and forbidden energy.

“Oh, this?” you said playfully, holding up the USB drive between your fingers, twirling it slightly just to provoke him further. “Mmm… no. I think I’ll keep it.”

The way his eyes narrowed sent a thrill down your spine. You could see the struggle in him, the tightrope he was walking between anger and something far more dangerous. You were making him furious, driving him absolutely mad with your defiance—and you loved every second of it.

Anticipation and excitement buzzed through your veins, filling your chest like an electric current. You could feel it, the storm not just outside but in the very space between you. He was on the edge of losing control, and you were the one who had pushed him there. The question wasn’t if he’d snap, but how—and you couldn’t wait to find out.

The tension between you was palpable, like the air before a lightning strike. Eobard’s crimson eyes seemed to burn brighter as he took a slow step closer, his body practically vibrating with restrained energy. You mirrored his movement, circling him, each step deliberate, calculated—like two predators sizing each other up.

“You’ve really outdone yourself this time,” he sneered, his voice dripping with both irritation and something far more enticing. “Stealing from me again? What’s next, Y/N? Planning to run my entire operation into the ground?”

You tilted your head, a smirk tugging at your lips as you twirled the USB drive between your fingers. “Maybe. Or maybe I just enjoy watching you lose your cool. It’s becoming a bit of a hobby, actually.”

Eobard chuckled darkly, his gaze never leaving yours. “Careful,” he warned, his voice low and laced with danger. “You’re playing with fire.”

“Fire?” you teased, stopping in your tracks to face him fully. “No, Eobard. I’m playing with you.” Your voice was soft but sharp, every word a challenge, every syllable dripping with confidence.

He groaned, running a hand through his disheveled hair, his restraint unraveling with every second. “You make it impossible to hate you, you know that?” he muttered, his frustration evident. “You’re nothing but a pain in my ass, and yet…” His words trailed off as he took another step closer, closing the distance between you.

“And yet?” you prodded, leaning slightly closer, daring him to continue.

His jaw clenched, his breathing uneven as he held your gaze. “And yet, I can’t get you out of my head. Your stupid smirk, your smart mouth, the way you drive me absolutely insane.” He took another step, his voice dropping to a growl. “Don’t look at me like that,” he groaned, his eyes flicking down to your lips before snapping back to meet your gaze. “Unless you’re ready to finish what you started.”

“Oh, I intend to,” you purred, your voice sultry and dripping with challenge.

That was all it took. In a blur of red lightning, Eobard closed the gap, slamming you against the nearest wall with enough force to steal your breath. His hand gripped your wrist, pinning it above your head, the USB forgotten as it clattered to the ground. His other hand rested on your hip, his fingers digging into your skin just enough to make your pulse quicken.

The storm outside was nothing compared to the storm between you. His body pressed against yours, his breath hot against your cheek as he leaned in, so close you could feel the heat radiating from him.

“You think this is a game?” he growled, his voice a mix of anger and desire.

“It is a game,” you shot back, your tone defiant despite the racing of your heart. “And you love playing it.”

His lips curled into a predatory smirk. “You’re right,” he admitted, his voice low and dangerous. “But this time, I’m winning.”

Before you could reply, his lips crashed into yours, capturing them in a searing kiss that stole your breath and obliterated any remaining semblance of control. His grip tightened, his body pressing you further into the wall as if he couldn’t get close enough.

And in that moment, the game you both loved so much ceased to exist—replaced by something far more raw, far more consuming.

You melted into the kiss, the weight of months of tension crashing down on you like the storm outside. This was no ordinary kiss—this was a release, a surrender, a chaotic collision of emotions you could no longer suppress. Your free hand tangled in his damp hair, your nails dragging against his scalp, earning a deep, guttural groan from him that sent shivers down your spine.

It wasn’t just a kiss—it was everything. Messy, desperate, and consuming. His lips moved against yours with a frantic hunger, as though he needed this as much as air. Your tongues tangled in an unrelenting rhythm, tasting, exploring, devouring each other like you’d been starving for this moment. Saliva dripped from the corner of your mouths, but neither of you cared. This was raw, unrestrained, born out of months of pent-up tension and an unspoken longing that you could no longer deny.

Your nails scraped harder against his scalp as you pulled him impossibly closer, eliciting another growl that reverberated deep in his chest. His hands roamed your body, rough and possessive, as though staking his claim, and you welcomed it. The wall behind you felt cool against your back, a sharp contrast to the heat raging between you.

For so long, you’d told yourself this was just a game—a dangerous dance of wit and desire. But now, pressed against him, feeling the raw power of his presence and the undeniable passion in his touch, you couldn’t lie to yourself anymore. You loved him. You wanted him. Not as an enemy, not as a rival, but as yours. Completely, utterly yours.

Your lips broke apart for the briefest second, just enough to suck in a shaky breath before diving back in, your teeth catching his bottom lip and tugging. His growl deepened, his grip on your wrist tightening, and you felt his restraint teetering on the edge of oblivion.

“Eobard,” you gasped against his lips, your voice trembling with a mix of desperation and surrender.

“Say it,” he demanded, his voice hoarse, his forehead pressed against yours. His breath came in ragged pants, his eyes blazing as they locked onto yours. “Say what you’ve been dying to tell me.”

Your heart hammered in your chest as you stared into his eyes, the storm raging both inside and out. “I want you,” you admitted, your voice soft but firm. “All of you. No more games, no more lies. I want you, Eobard.”

His lips crushed against yours again, harder, deeper, as though sealing your confession with his own. 

Eobard’s grip shifted as his free hand darted up to seize your other wrist, pinning both of them above your head with ease. His fingers wrapped tightly around your wrists, holding them together in one powerful hand, his dominance making your pulse race. You were completely at his mercy, and the thrill of it sent a jolt of heat through your body.

His lips left yours, moving hungrily to your jaw and trailing down your neck. His kisses were rough, desperate, interspersed with nips of his teeth that made you gasp. Each press of his lips, each scrape of his teeth against your sensitive skin, was a reminder of the power he held over you—and how much you loved it.

His free hand moved with deliberate intent, sliding down your side, feeling the curves of your body through your suit. His fingers traced the line of your waist, down to your hip, before gliding back up to cup your breast. The pressure of his hand was firm but teasing, his thumb brushing over the fabric, just enough to make your breath hitch.

You squirmed beneath him, testing his grip on your wrists, but it only made him tighten his hold, pinning you more securely to the wall. His breath was hot against your neck as he kissed the spot just below your ear, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there before he murmured, “Stay still, or I’ll make sure you do.”

The warning sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine, and you bit your lip, torn between wanting to defy him and wanting to obey. His hand continued its exploration, his touch firm and confident, as though he’d spent months imagining this moment and now couldn’t get enough of you.

“Eobard…” you breathed, your voice trembling with a mixture of need and defiance.

His lips curved into a wicked grin against your neck as his hand squeezed your breast, his thumb flicking over the fabric teasingly. “Say my name again,” he growled, his voice low and full of barely contained hunger.

You tilted your head back against the wall, giving him better access to your neck, and whispered his name again, softer this time, but with just as much desperation. His grip on you tightened, his lips claiming your skin as his own. You were completely at his mercy, and you never wanted it to end.

Eobard pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his blue eyes alight with smug satisfaction. His hand still explored your body, teasing, tantalizing, as his lips brushed against your ear. “I like seeing you like this,” he murmured, his voice a velvet growl. “Helpless. At my mercy. Tell me, Y/N, how does it feel to know you’re completely mine right now?”

Your heart raced, heat pooling in your core at his words, but you weren’t about to let him have the upper hand so easily. Despite the way his touch made you melt, you forced a smirk to your lips, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “Enjoy it while you can, Eobard,” you shot back, your tone laced with defiance. “It’s only a matter of time before the tables turn.”

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “Is that so?” he asked, his voice dripping with mockery. “Always so confident, even when you’re nothing but a puddle in my hands.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could say another word, he was gone. A blur of red lightning shot across the room, and in the blink of an eye, he was back, holding a length of rope in his hand.

“Let’s see about that confidence,” he said with a wicked grin. Before you could react, he moved faster than you could process. One moment, your wrists were pinned against the wall, and the next, they were tied together, the rope snug around them. You barely had time to register the shift before the world blurred again, his speed carrying you both to another part of the hangar.

When he finally stopped, you found yourself suspended by your bound wrists, dangling from a hook on the ceiling. The position left your body stretched out, vulnerable, and utterly at his mercy.

“I’ll need both my hands,” he explained with a smug shrug, his smirk practically oozing arrogance. His eyes roamed over you, taking in the sight of you hanging there, helpless and completely his.

A shiver ran through your body, not from fear, but from the delicious anticipation coursing through your veins. You could feel the power of his gaze, the weight of his desire, and it made your breath hitch.

You knew, of course, that you could phase out of the ropes at any moment. The power to free yourself was there, lingering just beneath the surface. But you didn’t want to. The thrill of surrender, of letting him have control, was intoxicating.

“You look perfect like this,” he murmured, stepping closer, his hands trailing over your sides as he drank in the sight of you. “Now, where were we?”

His fingers found the edge of your leather vest, and with a slow, teasing motion, he began to undo it, one snap at a time. The sound echoed in the empty hangar, each click heightening your anticipation.

When the vest fell open, revealing the thin tank top beneath, his smirk deepened. “So little beneath all that armor,” he remarked, his tone dripping with mockery and desire. His fingers brushed over the fabric, his touch feather-light as he explored the contours of your body. “What are you hiding under here, hmm?”

Without warning, he grabbed the neckline of your tank top and, with a sharp tug, tore it apart as though it was nothing more than paper. The sudden exposure sent a gasp tumbling from your lips as the cool, damp air hit your bare skin. Your nipples hardened instantly, both from the cold and the heady mixture of anticipation and desire flooding your veins.

Eobard’s eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you, his gaze so intense it felt like it burned. “Beautiful,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. His hands moved to your breasts, caressing them with a maddening gentleness that had you straining against the ropes. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

When you arched your back in response, he chuckled darkly. “Sensitive, aren’t we?” he teased, pinching one nipple just hard enough to make you gasp, the sharp edge of pain mixing deliciously with the pleasure.

Before you could respond, his lips replaced his hands, his hot mouth closing over your nipple. The warmth of his tongue against your cold, sensitive skin made you cry out, your body arching toward him instinctively. He licked and sucked, alternating between gentle flicks of his tongue and rougher nips of his teeth that had your breath catching in your throat.

His hands weren’t idle, either. While his mouth worshipped one breast, his fingers toyed with the other, pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers until you were trembling in his grasp. The combination of his lips, tongue, and hands was overwhelming, and you felt like you were unraveling under his touch.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with amusement and desire. “Is it the cold? Or is it me?”

“Shut up,” you managed to whisper, though your voice was breathless and shaky, betraying just how much power he had over you in that moment.

He chuckled again, the sound sending vibrations through your skin as he kissed and licked his way to your other breast. “Oh, I think we both know the answer to that,” he said, his voice low and smug as he began his merciless assault all over again.

Eobard’s mouth trailed down from your breast, his lips hot and deliberate as he worked his way lower, leaving a blazing path on your skin. His fingers slid down your sides, slow and teasing, making you squirm against the ropes that held your wrists above your head. He looked up at you, his eyes gleaming with unrestrained desire, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“You’re awfully quiet now,” he murmured, his voice thick and taunting. “Where’s that sharp tongue of yours, hmm? Or have I finally rendered you speechless?”

Your eyes met his, and despite the heat pooling in your core, you managed a smirk. “You wish,” you shot back, though your voice was breathless, trembling with the weight of what he was doing to you.

“Oh, I do,” he admitted with a dark chuckle, his hands resting on your hips, his thumbs brushing the sensitive skin just above the waistband of your suit pants. “But we both know you’re too stubborn to give me the satisfaction.”

Eobard’s smirk deepened as his hands slid lower, fingers curling around the waistband of your leather pants. He moved with agonizing slowness, his eyes locked on yours, drinking in every twitch of your expression as he began to ease the material down your hips. The cool air brushed against your skin as he revealed more of you, and you felt a flush rise to your cheeks, but you refused to look away.

“Still so defiant,” he mused, his tone mocking as he tugged your pants further down, past your thighs, his fingers lingering a little too long against your bare skin. “But you can’t hide it, Y/N,” he continued, his voice dropping lower, more dangerous. “Not from me.”

Finally, he pulled your pants free, followed by your boots, leaving you suspended in nothing but your panties. His gaze drifted downward, and when he saw the damp spot between your legs, his lips curled into a wicked grin. “Look at you,” he taunted, his fingers brushing lightly over the fabric, making you gasp. “Soaked. You try to act like you’re in control, but your body tells the truth.”

You bit your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a verbal response. Instead, you tilted your head, meeting his gaze with a smirk of your own. “And you’re any better?” you teased, your voice sultry and filled with challenge. Lifting your leg slightly, you pressed your foot against the unmistakable bulge straining against his pants.

Eobard groaned, the sound low and guttural, his head tipping back for the briefest moment before his eyes snapped back to yours, burning with unrestrained hunger. “You’ll pay for that,” he growled, his tone laced with both frustration and amusement.

Without another word, he grabbed your leg and wrapped it around his waist, his other hand slipping to your hip to hold you steady. He pressed himself against you, grinding his erection against your core, the friction making you gasp as heat pooled in your belly. The ropes above you creaked slightly with the force of his movements, a reminder that you had no way to stop him even if you wanted to.

“You can’t move. You can’t fight me. You’re completely at my mercy,” he murmured against your neck, his lips brushing your skin as he spoke. His hand trailed down your thigh, gripping firmly as he ground against you again, making you whimper despite yourself.

“And yet,” you managed to whisper, your voice trembling but still holding a note of defiance, “you’re the one losing control.”

Eobard chuckled darkly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. “Oh, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice dangerously soft as he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. “If I’m losing control, it’s because you make me crave you in ways I didn’t think possible.”

His hips pressed against you harder, the heat and pressure making you arch into him instinctively. Suspended as you were, you could do nothing but feel, and oh, how he made you feel. The friction, the dominance in his every move, the sheer hunger in his gaze—it was intoxicating, overwhelming, and utterly irresistible.

Eobard’s smirk grew darker, more predatory, as his hand slid between your bodies, his fingers finding the spot just above your clit through the damp fabric of your panties. The contact sent a jolt through you, and you gasped, your body instinctively arching toward him, seeking more of the pressure you desperately craved.

“You’re so responsive,” he murmured, his tone thick with satisfaction as his fingers began to move, teasing you with maddening slowness. “You try so hard to fight me, to pretend you’re unaffected, but here you are, trembling at just a touch.”

Before you could muster a retort, he shifted gears—quite literally. His hand began to vibrate with his speed, the sensation unlike anything you’d ever felt before. The vibrations pulsed through your core, sending waves of pleasure radiating through your body. You gasped loudly, the sound echoing in the vast, empty hangar, your head tipping back as the intensity overwhelmed you.

“Eobard!” you cried, your voice breaking into a moan as his hand worked you over with unrelenting precision. The friction against your clit, even through the thin barrier of your panties, was almost too much to bear. Your body arched helplessly against the ropes, your wrists straining against your bonds as you writhed beneath his touch.

He chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your neck as he leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. “That’s it,” he purred, his voice dark and full of triumph. “Say my name. Scream it for me. Let the whole world hear how I make you fall apart.”

“Damn you,” you managed to curse, though the words were drowned out by the moan that followed as he pressed harder, the vibrations sending you spiraling into a haze of pleasure. Your breathing became ragged, your moans growing louder, your voice reverberating through the cavernous space. Outside, the storm raged on, thunder rumbling and lightning illuminating the room in fleeting bursts, as if the chaos of the weather mirrored the tempest between the two of you.

“Eobard,” you moaned again, his name falling from your lips like a prayer and a curse all at once. Each sound only seemed to spur him on, his smirk growing as he reveled in your unraveling.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his tone dripping with both approval and possessiveness. “Let go for me. Let me see you completely lose yourself.”

And as his hand continued its relentless assault, you felt yourself teetering on the edge, every nerve in your body alight with the raw, electrifying pleasure he pulled from you.

His smirk never wavered as he slowly untangled your legs from his waist, guiding them back to the floor. Your feet touched the cold, wet concrete, but the chill was nothing compared to the heat coursing through your body. You barely had time to steady yourself, still trembling from the intensity of his touch, before his hands slid down to the waistband of your soaked panties.

Without hesitation, he hooked his fingers into the fabric and tugged them down, letting them fall to the floor around your ankles. His eyes gleamed as he took in the sight of you, completely bare before him, still suspended and unable to resist him even if you wanted to.

“You’re stunning,” he murmured, his voice low and reverent, though the wicked edge in his tone remained. “And so ready for me.”

Before you could even catch your breath, his fingers found their way between your legs, one plunging deep into your heat without warning. You cried out at the sudden intrusion, your body arching against the ropes as he curled his finger inside you, finding that sensitive spot with maddening precision.

“Fuck, Eobard,” you gasped, your voice echoing through the hangar as your head fell back.

“Not so defiant now, are you?” he taunted, his smirk growing as he began to move his finger, slow and deliberate at first, letting you feel every inch of him. Then, just as your breathing began to steady, he used his speed once more, making his hand vibrate as he worked you over.

The sensation was electric, unlike anything you’d ever felt. The vibrations coursed through your core, setting every nerve alight. You let out a sharp moan, your voice rising above the sound of the storm raging outside, lightning flashing through the windows and illuminating the primal hunger in his gaze.

“Eobard,” you moaned, your body trembling as his hand continued its relentless assault. The vibrations, the pressure, the way he moved inside you—it was all too much, and yet you craved more. Your wrists strained against the ropes as you writhed under his touch, completely at his mercy.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction as he leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re completely undone, and I’ve barely even started.”

You tried to muster a reply, a retort, anything to salvage the tiniest shred of control, but all that escaped your lips was a shaky moan as he added another finger, stretching you just enough to make your knees buckle. His free hand gripped your hip, steadying you, holding you in place as he continued to drive you closer and closer to the edge.

“Say my name,” he demanded, his tone commanding, as his fingers moved faster, the vibrations intensifying. “Let me hear you fall apart for me.”

And you couldn’t resist. His name tumbled from your lips in a broken cry, your body surrendering completely to the overwhelming pleasure he gave you.

Eobard’s fingers continued their relentless pace, plunging into you deeply, the vibrations of his speed sending shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body. His thumb found your clit, circling it in slow, deliberate motions that had you gasping and arching against your bonds. The intensity was overwhelming, a perfect combination of pressure, friction, and raw electricity that left you trembling.

His free hand roamed upward, his touch warm and possessive as he cupped your breast, his fingers kneading the soft flesh before his thumb teased your sensitive nipple. You moaned, your head falling back, every nerve in your body lighting up under his skilled touch.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice a sultry mix of adoration and mockery as he leaned closer, his lips brushing against your throat. “Completely at my mercy. You’re beautiful like this.”

His mouth found the sensitive skin of your neck, kissing and nibbling as his teeth grazed just enough to make you whimper. The combination of his fingers, his lips, and the vibrations coursing through your core was maddening. Your body trembled as he worked you over, his movements precise and unrelenting, bringing you closer and closer to the edge with every second.

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” he whispered against your ear, his tone soft but laced with smugness. “I can feel it—the way you tighten around my fingers, the way your breath catches.” His thumb pressed harder against your clit, his movements quickening as he matched the rhythm of his fingers. “Don’t hold back, Y/N. Let go for me.”

The sound of his voice—low, commanding, and dripping with desire—was enough to make your resolve crumble. He pressed another kiss to your throat, his teeth sinking lightly into your skin as he added, “Cum for me. Let me see you fall apart.”

His words sent you over the edge. Pleasure crashed through you like a tidal wave, your body arching against your bonds as you cried out his name, your voice reverberating through the hangar. Your legs shook, your toes curling as he kept his pace, prolonging your release, drawing every last bit of ecstasy from you.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice softening into something almost tender as he slowed his movements, letting you ride the waves of your orgasm. “So perfect. So beautiful.”

You sagged against the ropes, your body spent and trembling, your breathing ragged as the storm inside you began to calm. Eobard pressed a soft kiss to your temple, his smirk still in place as he pulled back to admire the aftermath of what he had done to you.

“You’re mine, Y/N,” he said, his tone firm but laced with a possessive pride. “Never forget that.”

Your body trembled uncontrollably, the aftershocks of your orgasm still coursing through you, leaving you breathless and lightheaded. It had been too good—so intense that your legs barely held you up, even with the ropes keeping you suspended. But through the haze of pleasure, your eyes found Eobard, and your heart skipped a beat.

He stood there, his chest heaving, his eyes watching you with a mix of triumph and raw desire. He was powerful, commanding, and impossibly sexy. Everything about him screamed danger and dominance, and yet the way he looked at you made you feel like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. Your gaze softened, pure love and adoration mixing with the unrelenting hunger that still burned inside you. He had undone you completely, but somehow, you wanted more. You wanted all of him.

And yet, you couldn’t resist taunting him. A smirk tugged at the corners of your lips, and you tilted your head, your voice breathless but laced with defiance. “That’s all you’ve got?”

Eobard laughed, a deep, rich sound that filled the empty hangar. He loved this about you—how you never backed down, how you always challenged him, even when he’d left you shaking and undone. “You’re insatiable,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement and pride. “And I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

With slow, deliberate movements, he stepped back, his hands going to the zipper of his yellow suit. His eyes stayed locked on yours as he peeled the suit away, revealing the simple black shirt and dark pants underneath. He slid the suit off completely, tossing it aside.

His hands moved to the waistband of his pants, his smirk never faltering as he popped the button and slowly dragged down the zipper. His erection sprang free, hard and ready, the sight sending another wave of heat through you. He made no move to undress further, his black shirt still perfectly in place, the slight dishevelment only adding to his commanding allure.

When your eyes dropped to his arousal, you couldn’t help but bite your lip. “God,” you murmured, your voice trembling with unrestrained want. “You’re going to destroy me, aren’t you?”

Eobard chuckled darkly, stepping closer. His hands found your hips, gripping them firmly as he pressed himself against you. The hard length of him brushed against your sensitive core, and you shuddered at the contact. “Oh, Y/N,” he said, his voice low and teasing as he tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’ll be begging for it.”

With effortless strength, he lifted your legs, wrapping them around his waist, pulling you even closer. The intimacy of the position made your heart race, and your breath hitched when you felt him press harder against you, teasing, taunting.

Then, with surprising tenderness, he leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear. His voice softened as he whispered, “Lift your hands, sweetheart.”

You hesitated for a moment, the warmth of his voice catching you off guard. Slowly, you raised your bound wrists, and with a single, smooth motion, Eobard lifted you just enough to free the rope from the hook above you. Your arms, still tied together, instinctively wrapped around his neck, and you held on tightly, your chest pressing against his as he cradled you effortlessly.

He carried you across the hangar, his steps deliberate and steady, the ropes still tight around your wrists a reminder of the control he wielded. When he reached the nearest wall, he pinned you against it, the cold metal shocking against your bare skin and making you gasp.

Eobard leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a fleeting, teasing kiss, his voice low and commanding. “Hold on tight.”

Using the wall for support, he adjusted his position, his hand sliding between your bodies as he aligned himself at your entrance. You felt the tip of him press against you, the anticipation making your breath quicken.

Then, with one smooth, fluid motion, he thrust into you, filling you completely. A cry escaped your lips, the sensation overwhelming as he stretched you, his size and speed making your body tremble. Your nails dug into the back of his neck as you clung to him, your legs tightening around his waist as he began to move.

Eobard groaned, his breath hot against your ear as he buried himself in you again and again. “You’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice rough and thick with desire. “So tight, so ready… all for me.”

Eobard didn’t hold back, his thrusts deep and relentless, each one hitting you with enough force to make the metal wall behind you creak. He moved with precision, angling his hips perfectly to drive his thick length into you, his swollen glans brushing that spongy, sensitive spot deep inside you with every stroke. The sensation sent shockwaves through your entire body, and you cried out, your nails digging into the back of his neck as you clung to him for dear life.

His breathing was heavy and ragged, his lips brushing against your neck as he groaned deeply, the vibrations of his voice sending shivers down your spine. He pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to your skin, his tongue flicking over the spots that made you gasp, his teeth grazing your flesh just enough to leave a lingering sting. His sounds—low, guttural moans and growls of pleasure—filled your ears, driving you wild as they mingled with the storm raging outside.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groaned, his voice rough and strained as he buried himself in you over and over. His hands gripped your hips tightly, pulling you down onto him to meet every powerful thrust. “So tight, so wet… you’re mine, Y/N. Every part of you.”

The pressure was almost too much, the friction of his thick length dragging against your walls, the relentless pace of his hips slamming into you, and the way his glans hit that perfect spot inside you with maddening accuracy. Your body trembled with every thrust, your legs tightening around his waist as you tried to ground yourself against the overwhelming sensation.

“Eobard,” you whimpered, your voice trembling, your head falling back against the wall as you lost yourself in the pleasure.

He groaned louder at the sound of his name on your lips, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “Say it again.” His teeth nipped at your earlobe, his hips snapping harder, faster, as he drove into you with a punishing rhythm that made you see stars.

“Eobard,” you cried out again, the sound echoing in the hangar as your body arched into him, desperate for more. Each thrust sent another jolt of pleasure coursing through you, your walls clenching around him as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

His lips found yours in a messy, desperate kiss, his tongue tangling with yours as he groaned into your mouth. The sounds he made—low, guttural, and full of raw need—were enough to send you spiraling, the heat building in your core threatening to consume you entirely.

“You’re going to cum for me,” he growled, his voice a mix of command and encouragement. “I can feel it, Y/N. You’re so close.”

You could only moan in response, your words lost to the intensity of his thrusts, each one harder and deeper than the last. Your body tightened around him, your nails scraping against his shoulders as the tension coiled tighter and tighter in your core, ready to snap.

The tension inside you reached its breaking point, the overwhelming sensation building until it felt like your body couldn’t take any more. With one particularly deep thrust, Eobard’s glans pressed perfectly against that spongy spot inside you, and the coil in your core snapped. Pleasure exploded through you like a lightning strike, your walls clamping down around him as you cried out his name, your voice echoing through the hangar.

Your body convulsed in his arms, shaking violently as wave after wave of ecstasy rolled through you. Your toes curled, your nails dug into his shoulders, and your legs tightened around his waist as you clung to him, completely undone. The intensity stole your breath, your head falling back against the wall as the world blurred around you.

Eobard groaned loudly, his head dropping to your neck as he felt you squeeze around him. “Fuck, Y/N,” he rasped, his voice filled with awe and unrestrained desire. “That’s it… just like that. Let me feel you. Let me feel how much you need me.”

He didn’t slow down, his hips continuing to drive into you relentlessly, prolonging your orgasm and sending shockwaves of pleasure through your oversensitive body. “God, you’re incredible,” he growled, his lips brushing against your neck. “The way you feel around me… so tight, so perfect. Do you feel that? Do you feel how your body reacts to me?”

Your moans mixed with sobs of pleasure as you nodded weakly, unable to form words. The way he moved inside you, the way he talked—so commanding, so confident—kept you on the edge, your body trembling as the aftershocks of your release left you breathless.

“I told you,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with smug satisfaction. “You’d be begging for it. Look at you, Y/N. Completely ruined for anyone else. You’re mine.” He punctuated his words with a hard thrust, making you cry out again, your nails raking down his back.

“You love this, don’t you?” he continued, his tone softening, though it still carried that dark, possessive edge. “The way I make you feel. Admit it. Admit that you’re mine.”

“Yes,” you gasped, your voice trembling as your body shuddered against him. “Eobard… I’m yours.”

Hearing those words sent a deep groan rumbling from his chest. He kissed you fiercely, his lips capturing yours in a messy, desperate kiss as he chased his own release. His movements became rougher, his breathing ragged, and the sounds of his pleasure—low moans and growls—sent another wave of heat coursing through you.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he muttered against your lips, his thrusts growing erratic. “You have no idea what you do to me, Y/N. I can’t stop thinking about you, can’t stop wanting you.”

His words, his voice, his relentless pace—all of it overwhelmed you, and you felt yourself teetering on the edge of another release, your body trembling in his grasp. Eobard sensed it too, his lips brushing your ear as he groaned, “Cum for me again, sweetheart. Let me feel you fall apart for me one more time.”

The fire building in your core reignited, stronger and hotter than before. Eobard’s relentless thrusts, the deep growls vibrating in your ear, and the filthy way he spoke to you—claiming you, worshiping you—drove you straight to the edge. Your body trembled violently, your breaths coming in sharp gasps as he pushed you higher and higher, every movement of his thick length brushing perfectly against your most sensitive spot.

When the coil snapped this time, it wasn’t just pleasure—it was an eruption. Your third orgasm tore through you with raw, uncontrollable intensity, your entire body convulsing in his arms. A scream ripped from your throat, his name falling from your lips like a prayer as your walls clamped down around him, squeezing him with every wave of your release. Your vision blurred, your head falling back against the wall as white-hot ecstasy consumed you, your body trembling violently from the sheer force of it.

Eobard groaned deeply, his hips stuttering as your climax pulled him right along with you. “Y/N!” he cried out, his voice strained, desperate, as he buried himself as deeply as he could, his body tensing. The sudden, overwhelming pressure of your tight, pulsing heat sent him over the edge, and his own release hit him like a bolt of lightning.

He came hard—harder than he ever had in his life. His entire body convulsed, his head falling to your shoulder as he moaned loudly, his voice raw and unrestrained. His hips jerked uncontrollably as he spilled into you, wave after wave of pleasure crashing through him, leaving him shaking and gasping for air. His hands gripped your hips tightly, as if grounding himself against the overwhelming sensations ripping through him.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, his voice hoarse, his breaths ragged. “I’ve… never—God, you’ve ruined me.”

You clung to him, your arms still wrapped around his neck as you trembled against him, your body still quaking with aftershocks. He pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes glazed over with satisfaction and something deeper—something softer.

As your heartbeats slowed and the storm inside you began to calm, he gently shifted his grip, his hands moving to support your waist. Carefully, he unwrapped your legs from around his hips and lowered you to the ground. Your feet touched the cold concrete, and he steadied you immediately, one arm slipping around your waist to hold you upright as your legs wobbled beneath you.

“Easy,” he murmured, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. His usual sharp arrogance was replaced with surprising tenderness as he kept you close, ensuring you didn’t fall. “I’ve got you.”

You leaned against him, still breathless, as he reached for the rope binding your wrists. With a quick, decisive snap, the knot came undone, and the tension eased from your arms. You sighed in relief as he pulled the rope away, his hands immediately moving to your wrists. He massaged the tender skin where the rope had bitten into you, his thumbs circling gently over the marks, his touch warm and soothing.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, his voice low and filled with quiet concern.

You shook your head, though the ache was still there. “Not much,” you whispered, your lips curving into a small smile. “I think I’ll survive.”

Eobard’s lips quirked into a smirk at your response, though his hands remained gentle as he continued to rub away the discomfort. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, and the glimmer of his usual cocky demeanor returned. “Don’t look at me like that,” he murmured, echoing his earlier words, though his voice now carried a teasing warmth. “Unless you’re ready to finish what you started.”

You couldn’t help but grin, despite your exhaustion. “I told you I would,” you replied, your voice soft but laced with triumph. “And I always keep my promises.”

Eobard chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “You’re dangerous, Y/N,” he murmured against your skin, his voice filled with a mix of admiration and amusement. “But God, I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

You rested your head against his chest, letting his steady heartbeat ground you as you finally came down from the high. His arms stayed around you, holding you close, and for a moment, the storm outside seemed to quiet, leaving just the two of you in the stillness of the aftermath.

Main Taglist : @gabriella-aesthetic

[sun-stricken]

Random Gratsu hc’s

Job dates. Training dates. they’ve probably had like 3 real dates not counting anniversaries

Grays childhood nickname for Natsu was Ashes, it was one of the first he called him and probs the only one that wasn’t driven as an insult.

he stopped calling him that at some point in their early teens, but he accidentally let it slip post forming the team and Natsu wouldnt respond to anything else from him for like a week straight

Gray has chronic pain, and he will drape himself over Natsu when it gets bad bc hes a human heating pad. Natsu takes it in stride even if hes having a conversation with someone

If Natsu gets too flustered (or turned on, or angry) his temperature will rise a lot, and since Gray runs cold their first kiss (and plenty after) created light steam

its happened during most of their firsts as a couple and it always makes Gray laugh which in turn causes Natsu even more embarrassment which creates more steam

its a vicious cycle

Gray fell first, Natsu fell harder

Gray isnt bad at flirting per se, hes just awkward ans gets too embarrassed with it. He prefers to ‘flirt’ with actions (looking him up and down, gifts, being touchy)

Natsu unintentionally flirts, hes not the type to hold back and says what he means. So he ends up giving the most genuine, love struck compliments known to man and he doesn’t even realize.

However, his deep hidden knowledge of actual flirting comes out when they’re fighting

Even though they argue constantly they have a rule against going to bed angry that they follow religiously, and if that means they don’t sleep for days on end sometimes thats nobody’s business but theirs.

When they started dating the original plan was to wait to tell people, but Natsu, who was genuinely vibrating with excitement and a need to tell everyone, broke within the first week

(what he doesnt know is Gray actually broke first, telling Cana the day of the first date (He needed moral support and shes had to listen to him moon over him for years! she deserved to know!))

Not that it really mattered, half the guild thought they were dating already

There was no formal announcement, they just started making out in the guild and that was that

ironically, the guildmates closest to them were the ones that had no clue and were surprised. And the ones that werent that close went on abt how ‘it was so obvious’ and ‘how could you not know?’

Once the shock and awe died down, ppl started panicking trying to figure out who to give the shovel talk to

baseline; it was very eventful

Before they started dating every now and then you could catch Gray looking in pure awe at Natsu when hes beating the shit out of someone

He doesnt even try to hide it now, even if hes the one Natsus fighting

Gray, staring at Natsu: hes so hot
Lucy, concerned: ??? Hes about to kill that guy!!
Gray, sighing dreamily: i know

They dont actually know how they started dating. one minute they were fighting and the next they were making out, two days later they were on a date in a restaurant way too fancy for them. and that was that

Gray has used Natsu as a human lighter so many times over the years its likely he doesnt even carry one any more

Natsu will eat the flame if Gray tries to use one till he asks him

[ieatangstforbreakfast]

Pairing ೃ⁀➷ 1610! Miles Morales x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Based off of Conan Gray’s song, Heather.

Genre ೃ⁀➷ Unrequited love, one shot

Tags ೃ⁀➷ Unrequited Love, Really rushed, It’s like twelve here damn, short one shot, Reader is a hopeless romantic idk anymore, not proofread, it’s mostly just poetic shit idk

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ ill design it tomorrow goddamn it i just wanted to write, might wake up and rewrite idfk

“𝐈 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫,”

Suddenly, all of what was left of November passed, with the dead, scarlet leaves the only homage remaining of the autumn that’s escaped your grasps. Autumn left as quick as it came, you couldn’t even bid a proper adieu.

When you think of December, you think of this icy wonderland— a winter that’d leave you huddling in the comfort of thick coats and hot chocolate, while patiently waiting on the nearing holiday that was prancing around the corner. Instead, what poured was not the icy flare of snow, but rain heavy enough to send you and Miles bolting off for cover.

In the thick downpour, your giggles emanated throughout the dim alleyways as the two of you sought sanctuary beneath a bus stop, somehow able to shield yourselves from the pitter-patters that raged on in a sideway fall.

“Oh my God, your hair.” You pointed at his drenched curls, a low laugh following along. Miles shook his head, running his fingers through the fluff of his waves when it poofs up again after a few turns. “It’s got magic, don’t worry.”

You brush your hands over the drenched skirt of your uniform, cursing to yourself. “Kinda need that magic for my clothes too.”

“That’s ‘cause you ain’t a magical being like me,” He huffs while wiping his hoodie. “You’s a mere mortal.”

“Okay, extraterrestrial being, control the damn weather then.”

“Hell yeah I will,” He snaps his fingers up to the skies. “Rain harder f’me, clouds!”

And the rain oh-so-gracious heeds his command. After a short while of cursing him out, you and Miles sat by the bench with your laughs easing down— replacing the excitement with a shared sort of exhaustion. With your heads pressed against the graffiti-covered glass wall behind you, you take a moment to subtly angle your head and look at Miles. He doesn’t notice it at first, but when he catches on, he turns and exchanges the stare with his own, a subtle “What?” escaping his lips.

From the chill of your spine, you mumbled.

“Nothing.”

You sheepishly looked away. “I’m just.. So exhausted, God. I need to work on my cardio.” A small fit of coughs exit your lips, covered up by the block of your wet sleeve. “I don’t understand how you get to run so quick— I couldn’t even see anything.”

“You still caught up pretty quick,” He beams. “Gotta admit, you’re a quick runner.”

“Thanks, I practice by running away from my problems.” A heft chuckle followed. “M’just kidding.”

Miles takes notice of your quivering hand— a frail shiver emanating ‘til the tips of your fingers. For a moment, the short idea of wrapping his hand over yours crosses his mind, but he shoots it down as soon as it came. It inches only a tad bit closer, but the image of someone else flashes in his mind when he looks at you like this.

“What a mood.”

“Running away from problems?”

“Yeah.”

You raised a brow. “You? You run away from your problems?”

He lazily shrugged with a hum. “Everybody runs away from their problems every now and then. It’s aight.”

“In a way, I guess,” You lean a little closer, but your shoulders never touching. “But in the end, no matter how much we run away, it’s all gonna end up catching up to us.”

Miles shoots you an amused look. “You been paying attention to philosophy class lately?”

“Prof Martha and I are besties, y’know.” A tint of sarcasm colored your words, redefining your connection to the strict teacher. “She likes me so much, she calls my name first during every fucking recitation.”

“It’s cause you’s always on that damn phone.”

“With or without my damn phone, nothing can make me sit still throughout her lecture.” A gruff huff escaped your mouth.

“Damn, not even me?”

You looked at him, wondering if he was flirting with you or if it was just your delusional brain whispering sweet theories into your ear. But even then, you admit.

“Ionno, maybe.”

You couldn’t even look him in the hazel of his pretty eyes.

“Maybe?”

He sounded half-disappointed, but you didn’t want to plant a presumptive seed inside your overly creative brain. That word alone’s enough to craft you a million what-ifs later on when you’re fading into the world of your dreams.

A chill runs down your spine.

“… I think I’m definitely gonna get sick tomorrow.”

“Oh, shit,” He sits up. “We definitely can’t have that happening.” Immediately after, he starts taking off his sweater. You flush, rambling on with the same question; “What the fuck are you doing!?”

“Our presentation’s tomorrow, and if anybody’s gonna be presenting the damn thing, it ain’t me— so you,” He tosses it over to you. “You wear this for now.”

You hesitate for a moment, dragging your hands towards the red polyester with a raised brow.

“How about you?”

Miles shrugged. “I can make do. My system’s made out of steel.”

“Made out of steel but you can’t perform for shit?” You pull the sweater over your head, the fluffy thing engulfing you into warmth. It was still somewhat damp from the rain, but it was better than earlier.

“Huh,” Miles sat back as you looked up to meet his gaze. “.. Would you look at that. It looks better on you than it does on me.”

Your eyes glanced down at the crimson, your hands smoothing out the creases of the cloth. “Really? I don’t usually wear this shade.”

“You don’t?”

“I’m more of a.. Less saturated kinda gal.”

“.. I mean, you can have it if you want.”

You shot him a look of disbelief. “.. Does this sweater have a hole because if you’re giving this away I—“

“It doesn’t have a hole, [Y/n].”

And your name rolled off his tongue so gently, it caught you off guard.

“I just think it looks better on you.”

Upon that murmur, he crossed his arms over his chest and sunk deep into the comfort of his seat. You’re stuck contemplating with an open palm, straightening the creases of his sweater. “Are you really giving this to me? ‘Cause I can give it back to you after laundry day.”

He shook his head. “Just.. Think of it as an early Christmas gift.”

“.. Thank you, then.” A smile crossed your lips. “I’ll keep it forever.”

When you see the way he looks at you— like a sort of guilt laced in hesitation, but a certain sort of awe. At that moment, a sense of hope lingered inside you like a dream. You think, maybe, just maybe, that helpless look in his eyes— that sort of gut wrenching longing— was crafted entirely and solely, exclusively for you.

But you knew that gaze of his wasn’t for you.

And you knew exactly who he was pretending you to be.

Oh, if only I was her.

Feelings, your feelings— erratic, volatile, and erupting out of you like a bird unwilling to be caged. You wanted to speak, say it— just say it.

But your hair wasn’t as golden as hers, your cheeks weren’t as rosy as hers. You wanted her effortless pixie hair cut, her ballerina grace. She reminded you of those flowers fleeting in the wind, like the purple heaths they called ‘Heathers’. You wanted to smell like her sweet perfume, do everything the way she does, just so Miles could look at you the way you imagined he’d look at her.

His doe-eyed sweetness. You wished you could own it, you wished he’d spare at least a part of it for you.

Rather, you wanted all of him for yourself.

You wanted a glimpse of this girl beyond the confines of Miles’ dabbles in watercolor and markers. You’d much rather prefer the object of your jealousy walk across your sights, smile with the bunny teeth he likes so much, and make your stomach churn rather than have you dwell over a 2D image you couldn’t help but gauntly skim past.

What is it about you that I can’t make Miles look at me?

Maybe if you’d meet her beyond his sketchpad and recollections, then maybe you’d understand why he can’t get her out of his mind.

At that moment, she was just someone you wished to be.

The bright red of this polyester which you deemed unfitting of your skin. You wondered if Miles truly meant it when he said it suits you— or if what he truly meant was that the shade would’ve looked great on her.

As the sweater was yours, but Miles was hers.

Your arms meet with a tiny press, and you feel his shiver. It was only so subtle, but at the ease of his shoulders, you couldn’t help but think as he looked onto the empty space with a blank stare.

Wish I were Heather.