#local man who has not quite figured out what sex is yet gently surprised to find out what the feeling he gets

[vaguely-concerned]

me @ me: hey don't cry. the fact that blue will just. look at zero (he likes looking at zero :) ) and completely lose his train of thought about anything else is literally canon. okay?

[cocobeanncteez]

Ateez Hongjoong: Tame (Final Part)

Genre: Fluff, angst, smut, mafia au.

Pairing: Mafia!Hongjoong x OC (written in 2nd person)

Word Count: 17k in total, 2.2k in this part. (Part 1, Part 2, Part 3)

Warnings for all parts combined: Mafia themes such as torture, abuse, violence, human auctions, murder, drugs, guns. Mentions of rape, human trafficking, sex slavery, organ trafficking, unprotected sex, pulling out, facesitting.

“What are you guys up to?” you questioned, plopping down on the couch beside Wooyoung. Yunho, Jongho, and San were seated on the opposite couch.

“Just talking about one of our hostages who we will kill tonight,” Yunho replied while playing with a rubik's cube.

“What did they do?” you asked.

“He tried to sabotage our latest drug deal with a secret dealer from Russia. We didn’t know how he found out about it, but he spilled the beans on his gang,” San answered. “So we don’t need him anymore.”

“Well… rest in peace, I guess,” you remarked, making Wooyoung snort.

“Would’ve been better if we killed Yang Daeyoung instead.”

You turned to look at him. “Who exactly is he? I’ve heard his name a few times, but I’ve never gotten the opportunity to ask.”

Jongho gently cleared his throat. “He’s the man who raped and murdered Hongjoong’s sister. Him and three of his men. He wasn’t from a very powerful gang or anything, but he does his work extremely well. He wanted to take us down, and he used Hongjoong’s sister as bait to trap him. Hongjoong refused to give up on Ateez. By the time we managed to track Hongjoong, the damage was already done.” You felt your heart break; you couldn’t even imagine what your boyfriend had to go through.

“Where is Yang Daeyoung now?” you asked.

“Rotting in our torture chamber as we speak.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “What?! Why haven’t you killed him yet?”

“We are looking for his child,” Hongjoong replied, joining the conversation. “The man has over five trillion won kept in a secret bank account. He also has information, good and bad, on every mafia gang and the corrupted politicians and locals involved. That’s why all gangs are still on the lookout for him even though we captured him eight months ago. He has a secret place somewhere in the world and only his child can access his possessions as he used iris pattern recognition. He has covered up everything though. We can’t find shit on any of his family members.”

“No amount of threatening or torturing works on him. We even told him that we’ll find his child and torture them,” Jongho added. “But he won’t reveal anything to us.”

“Maybe I can try?” you suggested. You did learn how to torture someone for information, but it wasn’t something you really enjoyed.

“Your chances are extremely low,” Wooyoung remarked.

“I’m aware of that. But even a little information could be helpful, right?”

“Go ahead then, sweetheart,” Hongjoong said with a smirk. “I’d love to see my girl torture that filthy bastard.”

You pecked his lips. “Then let’s go now, shall we?”

You made your way to the torture room, Hongjoong, Jongho, and Wooyoung following you. Seonghwa joined you after finishing his work in the interrogation room, satisfied with how much information he was able to obtain. Jongho entered a passcode for one of the rooms, letting everyone inside.

The room was pretty dark and looked like a jail cell. You saw a plate of untouched food on the floor. There was a chair in the middle of the room and a cot at the end of the room where Yang Daeyoung was sleeping, his back facing you all, long chains attached from his hands to a pipe.

Wooyoung moved to the sleeping form, giving the man a kick on his back to wake him up. “Get up, fucker.”

Yang Daeyoung groaned in pain before sitting up, looking at the faces of everyone in the room. As soon as you made eye contact with the man, your heart dropped to your stomach.

His eyes widened. “Kiah?! What are you doing here?!”

The boys immediately turned to look at you. You weren’t able to utter a word due to how shocked you were at seeing your own father there. His hair was quite long and he had a long beard and moustache. There were a few scars on his face and arms.

“How do you know her?” Hongjoong interrogated.

“Run from here, Kiah! They’re gonna kill you,” your father yelled at you.

“Do you know him?” Seonghwa asked you, but you weren’t able to answer. You felt sick. You felt terribly sick that it was your father who raped and murdered your lover's sister.

Tears rolled down your eyes when you glanced at your boyfriend. How could you ever face him now?

“Kiah!” your father yelled, tugging hard on the chains, grabbing your attention. “Get out of here! They’re gonna torture you in front my eyes! They said they will find you and torture you!”

Hongjoong looked at you with an emotionless expression, finally understanding the situation. “You’re his daughter?” You couldn’t respond.

“Are you this bastard's daughter?!” he yelled at you. Before you could answer him, he rushed out of the room. You couldn’t help but cry, burying your face in your hands, feeling your heart ache.

Your father glared at you angrily. “Why are you involved with Ateez?! What is wrong with—"

“Shut up!” you shouted, cutting him off. “You’re fucking pathetic! How could you r-rape someone when you have a daughter?! How could you lie to me all these years that you’re a cop, when you’re nothing but a heartless monster!” you sobbed loudly, collapsing onto the floor. You felt someone kneel beside you, wrapping their arms around you.

“Get away from her, Park Seonghwa!” your father spat.

Seonghwa turned to glare at him. “Shut it,” he said, before helping you stand up, taking you to your room.

You blankly stared at the window of your room from your bed, watching the horizon darker as night was approaching. It has been four days since you last saw Hongjoong. You felt nothing but emptiness and agony. You didn’t know if he was at the mansion or if he went somewhere as you haven’t left your room at all ever since Seonghwa brought you to it. The girls tried to make you eat, but you barely had the appetite to.

You sighed, forcing yourself to get out of bed to take a shower even though you were going to crawl right back into it.

Stripping out of your clothes and entering the shower, you pushed the tap, letting the warm water soak you. Closing your eyes, you could feel a dull ache in your chest when you began to think of Hongjoong. A sob got stuck in your throat, but escaped a few seconds later. You couldn’t hold it back anymore. You sat down, hugging your propped up knees. Your sobs got louder, and your throat was aching, tears mixing with the water running down your face.

After spending a few minutes crying until you couldn’t anymore, you finally washed your body and your hair.

Stepping out of the shower, you wrapped a towel around your body and another one for your hair. You exited the bathroom after putting some clothes on, having no strength to dry your hair with a blow-dryer. You stopped in your tracks when you noticed a figure seated on your bed.

“I'm sorry…” Hongjoong apologized, getting off your bed and moving towards you. He stood in front of you with a pained expression on his beautiful face. You wondered how long he was waiting for you and you really hoped he didn’t hear you cry. Even if he didn’t, he could still tell you were crying as your red, puffy eyes gave it away.

“F-For what?” you stuttered, voice shaky.

Hongjoong sighed, looking down at his feet.  “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I shouldn’t have left you alone when you were going through much worse. It was a shock for you too…”

Your eyes filled with tears. “I understand why you did it. It’s okay…”

He shook his head. “No, it’s not okay, baby. I’m ashamed of how I acted. You didn’t deserve that.”

You blinked, causing the tears brimming at your eyes to slide down your cheeks. Hongjoong reached up to cup your cheeks, gently wiping your tears away with his thumbs. He placed a gentle, lingering kiss on your forehead. “I’m so sorry.”

You closed your eyes, shaking your head in his hold. You pulled away from him, taking a deep breath. “Hongjoong, I-I think it’s best if we end things.” His eyes widened, heart aching due to your words. He opened his mouth to say something, but you spoke before he could. “I’m the daughter of the man who raped and murdered your sister, Hongjoong. I-I can’t…” you paused, sobs taking over. “I can’t live with that fact. I can’t look at you without thinking about it.”

“I don’t care, Kiah,” he reached out to hold your hands, his own eyes filling with tears. “I love you. Do you understand? I fucking love you. Yes, I was furious when I found out that you were the daughter of that bastard, but you shouldn’t have to suffer because of him. You didn’t even know what he does for a living. It’s not your problem.”

You sniffled. “You don’t h-hate me?” you couldn’t help but ask.

“Baby…” he sighed, pulling you into a hug, his own tears rolling down his beautiful face. “I could never hate you. Never. You’re the love of my life. Fuck, I can’t even live without you. These past four days… I felt like I was gonna go insane if I didn’t see you, but I had to give you some space.” You didn’t know what to say.

“There's no me without you,” he continued, gently pushing you away so that he could see your face. “So please… never try to break up with me again. I’d rather die than live without you,” he cried. You wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his chest while you both cried together. Hongjoong placed soft kisses onto your head, trying to calm himself and you down.

When your sobs stopped, he gently pushed you away so that he could look at your face. He cupped your cheek, titling your head back before he leaned in, capturing your lips with his own in a soft kiss.

He pulled away, resting his forehead against you. “I love you,” he murmured.

You smile slightly. “I love you more.”

Epilogue

 “Oh my god! We’re finally here!” Jiwoo squealed, running on the cooling sand. Ateez managed to find out the location of your father's secret hideout in Fiji with the help of Yeosang who used your iris pattern to track the computer. Ateez managed to receive all your father’s possessions and now you all had flown across Fiji for a mini vacation.

“Jiwoo's dream destination is Fiji and now we’re here,” San said, watching his girlfriend with love and adoration. You chuckled, watching San run after Jiwoo to join her little hyper session.

“We’re gonna go rest for a while,” Seonghwa stated, holding Aeji's hand.

Wooyoung smirked. “I know what that means,” he said, earning a smack on his head from the older man before the couple went to their beach house in the chain of houses.

Hongjoong took your hand in his, intertwining it. “We’re gonna rest too. See you all for dinner,” he said, dragging you along to your little beach house.

The two of you walked in comfortable silence, sandals leaving prints on the sand, observing the various hues of orange, red, blue, and purple in the beautiful sky as the sun was setting. Hongjoong let go of your hand when you reached your beach house, pausing in his tracks. You gave him a questioning look, wondering why he wasn’t going inside.

He cleared his throat, moving his hands to wrap around your waist. “You’re the only one who could tame my temper, as the boys always say," he started, making you giggle. “The only one who could make my heart beat so fast. I’ve never wanted anything more in life than to be with you. You aren’t just my girlfriend, you’re my best friend and the love of my life. But now I’d like to change that,” he reached into his pocket, taking out a small velvet box.

Hongjoong got down on one knee, and you gasped, realizing what was about to happen. “I’d like to be upgraded from your boyfriend to your fiancé.” You chuckle at that and he opened the box, revealing a beautiful oval-shaped diamond ring.

“Moon Kiah, will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

“Yes!” you squealed, face beaming with happiness. Hongjoong took your hand in his, sliding the ring onto your finger. He got up and you pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. When you pulled away, he grinned before placing a soft kiss on your lips. “I love you. Thank you for bringing light to my life.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck. “I love you too, Joong. So much.” Hongjoong chuckled, pulling you into a sweet kiss.

You couldn’t wait for this new chapter in your life, spending it with Hongjoong by your side for the rest of eternity.

[bonesaldente]

Caliginous I Darth Maul x Reader

Chapter 13: The Invasion of Naboo

ao3

previous chapter

chapter overview

warnings: SMUT, unprotected sex, little bit of biting otherwise no real kinks and I tried to refrain from using overly vulgar language

Disclaimer: please remember that this is fiction, and that you should always use protection when having sex and that you also probably shouldn’t bite unless you asked your partner beforehand idk man you get the idea

ALSO: long chapter ahead, I’m not sorry

words: ~4000

____

Nervously, you pace back and forth in front of the spaceship. Maul has been gone for well over fifteen minutes now, which in and by itself would be no cause for worry - the starship you’ve seen take off from his direction, however, is to be taken as a bad sign.

Something went wrong.

You can’t even get yourself to be annoyed by the heat, all that’s on your mind is Maul’s absence. What if he got injured? What if he is hurt and unable to get back to you, bleeding out somewhere in the desert? Or if the Jedi took him with them? What if, and you shudder at the thought, just now was the last time you saw him?

You flop down onto the ramp, hugging your knees while your fingers start to fiddle with a knife, spinning it - it’s an anxious habit that you’ve had for years, but ever since you were in Maul’s company you dropped it.

But now that he is gone, the urge to do it is right back, proving to you what you always suspected; Your biggest fear is of being alone.

You slowly sway back and forth, still holding on to your own legs tightly, anchoring yourself in the present.

‘He’ll come back’

You repeat it in your head as if saying it would make it true, as if your sheer willpower would be enough to bring him to you right now.

 A quickly approaching sound makes your head snap up from where it was buried behind your knees. There, on his speeder, is Maul. Unscathed.

The breath you release feels heavier than any boulder could ever be.

“You’re alive.” You rasp as he steps off the vehicle.

“They got away.” He is fuming, you can tell that in his mind, he is replaying everything that happened, where he went wrong.

“I thought they hurt you. I saw the ship take off and -”

“I wasn’t good enough,” He is shaking his head, face twisted in pain. “They escaped because I failed!”

“You’re alive,” You repeat, insistently, though you know it offers little comfort to him. “You’ll get another chance.”

“This was supposed to be my chance. I was meant to take them out today, but I was too weak, I-”

“Cut it out!” You snap. It would be borderline comical how offended he looks, if it weren’t for the seriousness of the situation. “You’re single handedly the best, most dangerous fighter I’ve ever encountered. They got away because they got lucky and there is no point in trying to blame yourself, because it won’t change a thing. Next time, things will go differently.” While you were talking you walked up to him, so that now, you’re close enough to rest a hand against his cheek.

His eyes are wide with astonishment, then they flutter shut as he takes a deep breath, leaning into the touch.

“They won’t escape next time,” he mumbles into your hand.

“No, they won’t,” you whisper back.

*

The familiar hum of the engine does little to relax you. You’ve given up on sleeping by now, and are just waiting for Maul to finish his call with his master, while your legs lean against the wall and your head hangs upside down from the edge of the bed.

You wouldn’t want to be in Maul’s shoes now - having to tell his master that he failed to kill the Jedi. Actually, you wouldn't want to be in his shoes in the first place; being an apprentice to Sidious seems dreadful enough.

The two of you took off only a few hours after the Jedi left, and as soon as you left the atmosphere, Maul contacted his master. He’s been talking to him in the cockpit ever since, for at least ten minutes now.

The lift doors opening makes you peer to the right, still upside down.

“We are heading- What are you doing?” He looks slightly perplexed.

“I don’t really know,” you admit, stretching out your arms to meet the floor and swiftly rolling off the bed to look at him from a standing position.

“Where are we headed?”

“Naboo. The Trade Federation is taking complete control of the planet and my master foresees that their queen will return there soon. For the time being, we will stay in the palace in Theed.”

“The palace?” You raise your eyebrows. “Not bad. Haven’t slept in a proper bed in forever.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “It will certainly be a pleasant change.”

You wonder if you will share a room. You would like to. Are you two at that stage yet? What’s considered a ‘bed-sharing’ stage? You wouldn’t know, and you doubt it’s something that Sidious taught Maul.

Guess you will just have to let it surprise you when you’re there.

 You have to admit; Naboo does have its charm. From what you can see flying over the planet, there’s big lakes, torrential rivers and green forests as far as the eye can see. The settlements you have seen so far all looked small, but far from poor.

You almost feel sorry you’re partaking in the plot to take over their system. Almost.

The capital, Theed, tops it all off. Even you, uncultured as you are, are able to admire the stunning architecture as you close in on the landing platform, but your attention is quickly stolen by the two figures you can make out walking towards the ship, escorted by a group of battle droids.

“The viceroy, and his lieutenant,” Maul utters, still maneuvering the ship for the landing.

“So, on a scale from one to ten, how nice do we need to be to them?”

Maul snorts.

“Let’s put it this way: They need us more than we need them.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

 You can feel their eyes on you as the ramp descends, and you don’t need the force to know that they are scared; their postures give it away.

Both you and Maul have got your hoods on, and you hope it will be effective in keeping an air of mystery around you: You have no interest in anyone getting the idea that you are at least a little bit approachable - all of these dirty politicians can stay away from you. Most likely, Maul’s mere presence should accomplish that, but you still like to make your own impression on them.

“Lord Maul, it is our honor to have you here.” Nute Gunray speaks a heavily Neimoidian accented Basic, that is the first thing you notice. The second thing is the way he holds himself; basically cowering before Maul, his whole body language speaking of submission. It is not the appearance of a leader, in your opinion. But, then again, what do you know about politics?

Their gazes are lingering on you, before Gunray resumes speaking.

“We were unaware that you would bring company. Should we prepare another room- ”

“That won’t be necessary,” Maul brushes him off in a dark tone that allows no questions.

“Very well, my Lord.”

So you are at the ‘bed-sharing’ stage. That’s good to know.

Maul sets a fast pace to the end of the landing platform, and it’s entertaining to watch the two Neimoidians struggle to keep up with him despite their much longer legs (their fancy robes are holding them up).

They lead you inside to a lavish conference room, where they start briefing Maul on the situation of the planet. Time and time again you feel Gunray stare at you, his unspoken question up in the air: Is this woman to be trusted?

You just stare right back, almost daring him to voice his concern out loud and see what happens.

He doesn’t.

You have yet to say a single word, but the Neimoidian’s constant looks your way start to annoy you.

“Is there something you’d like to say, Viceroy?” You snap.

The man flinches visibly.

“Respectfully, madam, who are you?” He finally asks.

Good question.

‘Well I used to be a contract killer, but now I work for Lord Sidious and occasionally make out with his apprentice,’ may not be an appropriate answer.

Maul shoots you an amused glance that goes unnoticed by the others and speaks up for you.

“We work together.”

‘Oh, is that what it is?’, you think.

You didn’t expect to hear his voice in your head again, so his reply surprises you.

‘You’re feisty today.’ The corner of his mouth twitches subtly.

Gunray seems to take the hint to not push the matter any further, and continues to explain their moves against local resistance to the invasion. None of it is of much interest to you, so for the next hour or so, you mostly tune out, only listening up whenever the queen and her Jedi protectors are mentioned.

Finally, they seem to wrap it up.

“A droid will show you to your quarters.” The Neimoidian tilts his head as a sign of respect before retreating.

A silver service droid awaits you at the door and starts leading you and Maul through the palace with a low speed that you otherwise would have been irritated by, but it gives you a chance to appreciate your surroundings, so you’re okay with it.

The sun is setting outside, and its rays illuminate the high corridors gently, painting every wall in gold. The setting gives the place an almost magical aura, and it's easy to be entranced by the ceiling-high paintings and statues of queens long gone.

The droid slows to a halt before a large wooden door, its metal torso awkwardly bowing to you before it turns around and leaves you.

 The room that’s been designated to you is vast and extravagant, equipped with an ornamented desk in front of a high window, right next to a balcony with a view over the waterfalls that fall from the palace into a lake. A large table that could very well fit over ten people is decorated with an intricately embroidered tablecloth (though you’re not quite sure why anyone would want that many people in what is basically their bedroom).

A door to your left leads to a bigger refresher than you’ve ever been in your entire life, and to your right- Well, to your right, there’s the bed.

It looks more luxurious and comfortable than anything you’ve ever owned. Never have you slept in a bed that allowed you to spread out your arms all the way, and you’ve most certainly never slept on a mattress that even from afar looks this soft.

It makes you wonder how weirdly your life has changed.

“To your liking?”

Maul’s smooth voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you hum in approval, though your mind is not quite at ease yet.

“So the plan remains unchanged? You take the Jedi on by yourself the next time we encounter them?” You burst out, unable to contain the conflict inside you anymore.

“Nothing has changed. If it weren’t for their luck, I would have killed them already.” He sounds grim.

You grimace. “Waiting for you to come back on Tatooine was a nightmare, Maul. I thought you got hurt or worse and… I’m not sure I can do it again.”

“I won’t get hurt,” he says insistently.

You throw up your hands in exasperation.

“That’s easy for you to say! But when you’re out there, things happen so fast. And…” your voice becomes a little more timid. “isn’t my purpose kind of to … support you?”

“Your purpose,” he draws out the word as if it were an insult, “is to live. And when you’re there with the Jedi, I can’t ensure that.”

“Fine. Whatever,” you huff, still not content.

“You understand this is to your protection, right?” Maul takes a few steps toward you. “If you got hurt, I… I don’t know what I’d do.”

“Technically,” you give him a sheepish smile, “I’ve gotten hurt on multiple occasions already.”

Shaking his head at you, he retorts: “You know what I mean.”

He is close enough now to extend his hand and brush his knuckles against your cheek. Despite your desperate attempts to stay angry, you can’t help but lean into the touch.

“I knowwhat you’re capable of,” he whispers, crossing what little space there is left between the two of you. “But I worry.”

“You think I don’t?” Your retaliation sounds as weak as your resolution is.

“You shouldn’t.” He leans in to kiss you, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer.

The feeling of his lips on yours makes you forget about the argument, forget about the approaching threat and all other problems. Slinging one arm around his neck, you try to elongate this moment, wishing you could stay like this forever and just ignore all your responsibilities. Your other hand flies up to the back of his head, moving around a bit before settling around a perfectly curved horn, your thumb circling around the base absentmindedly. You aren’t even aware of what you’re doing until the feeling of Maul’s lips changes, the tiniest of moans falling from them. Your eyes open in surprise, just barely catching the way his eyelids flutter in pleasure. Unintentionally, you freeze your movements, causing him to snap out of the haze, his eyes giving away his own surprise at the reaction to the touch.

Before he can say anything, you start rubbing the base again, all the while keeping eye contact, curiously watching for his response to your little experiment.

Canines flash as he bites his lip, seemingly trying to suppress any more unintentional noises. His breaths, short and ragged, fan over your face as he stares down at you with half-lidded eyes.

Your own breath catches in your throat at the sudden turn from romantic to sexual, making you painfully aware of the aching need you have felt for so many rotations now.

Maul leans in again, lips brushing over your ear, whispering:

“If you keep doing this, I may not be able to control myself much longer.”

You are trembling with anticipation, your own breaths getting shallow. “I’ll take that risk.”

His lips are back on yours in a heartbeat, the kiss filled with desire and need this time. His hands move from your back to the front of your body, applying just enough pressure to make you take a few steps back, until you are met with the wooden frame of the bed. Another gentle push sends you falling onto the mattress that you were fantasizing about just minutes ago.

You barely have time to lament the absence of his touch when he is already on top of you, lips attaching to your exposed neck while he uses one hand to hold himself up, the other digging into your hip. Hot fingers slip under your black undershirt, pushing it up and over your head, forcing him to briefly disconnect from your bare skin, only to return with even more determination as he starts sucking and leaving his mark on you.

This has been a long time coming and neither of you is willing to wait a second longer.

You bring your hand up to tug at the black robe that is still hiding his muscular body from your view, him taking the hint and taking it off at a supernatural speed, finally allowing you to admire the tattooed skin.

Your hand comes in contact with the hot skin on his chest, travelling down to feel each muscle rippling under it, while invisible hands pull on your already loosely fitting pants, getting them off without a problem. Very real and beautifully masculine hands work on ridding you of the thin strip of fabric covering up your breasts.

He takes a moment to let his eyes take in your now very sparsely clothed form, eyes lingering longer in some places than others. You are feeling a deep need you’ve never experienced before, writhing underneath him, desperate for him to just touch you again.

“How curious,” he remarks.

“What?” You ask, your voice breathy.

“A woman of so many skills,” he muses, “yet a novice here.” Your cheeks redden at his notice of your sexual inexperience.

“It’s never been -oh” You are interrupted by an involuntary gasp as his hand cups your breast, fingers circling around the nipple while he tilts his head, waiting for you to finish the sentence. “It’s never been a priority,” you struggle to form the words, but it’s the truth: Relationships were forbidden and you have never had much interest in going home with some Kessel dirtbag.

This is different, and already much better than you could have imagined.

“Do not worry, pretty girl,” his voice is close to your ear as he bows down. “I’ll take good care of you”

Goosebumps rise on your skin despite the heat you’re feeling as his hand trails down your side, his mouth right above your collarbone, nibbling and sucking and definitely leaving another well visible mark on you. The action, combined with the touch on your breast, elicits a delicate moan from you, a sound so intimate and sexual you never thought you could make.

His mouth dips lower, tongue replacing his fingers on your breast, while one hand disappears inside your panties. One finger drags between your folds, spreading the slickness over his digit and making you gasp at the foreign touch, then proceeding by circling his thumb right over your most sensitive spot.

Finally he inserts one finger into you, moving it in and out slowly, testingly. The sensation has you electrified with pleasure, inhaling sharply.

He looks up to you to watch for your reaction when he adds a second finger, curling them inside of you, letting out a satisfied hum when another gasp escapes your lips, while he makes quick work of ripping your panties off of you entirely, before suddenly depriving you of his wondrous fingers inside you, causing you to whimper.

“Why did you sto-“ Your jaw falls slack as unexpectedly, his face is between your thighs, his incredibly hot tongue going straight to licking a generous stripe up from your opening to the sensitive bundle of nerves, where it starts doing a circular motion, waves of pleasure making you fist the sheets beside you, and you can no longer fight the sounds coming from your mouth. You moan loudly, immediately clasping a hand over your lips to silence the sinful sound.

A guttural growl comes from the zabrak who snatches your wrist and presses it back against the mattress while his other hand grips tightly on your thigh. “Let me hear you.”

You become a moaning mess, gasping and twitching while his tongue is working you, applying pressure to your clit and occasionally going lower to plunge into you.

“Oh, Maul, I -ah- I’m gonna” A high whimper interrupts you as the feeling of an oncoming release makes your back arch involuntarily. You feel like you need to move, do something or hold on to something as your orgasm finally takes over your body, starting with a tingle in your toes and ending with hoarse moans in your throat, specks of white appearing in your field of vision.

His tongue doesn’t relent while your body shutters, letting the feeling of ecstasy wash over you while he is still sucking and lapping at your sex.

Your muscles relax and your body collapses back onto the mattress, still in a sort of trance after your climax.

Maul pushes himself up to sit back between your legs, scanning your nude body with hungry eyes, your heaving chest, flushed cheeks, ruffled hair -

His lips collide with yours once more when he moves back up, the taste of you on his tongue and one hand tugging down his black pants.

Despite your quickly recovering arousal, combined with the post orgasm haze, your brain still manages to conjure up one thought:

‘Are our anatomies compatible?’ After all, you’re human and he is a zabrak- Who knows what reproduction looks like with them?

His chuckle shows you that he has been listening to your thoughts again, and you don’t mind. Voice close to a purr, he responds.

“Oh, I’ll show you how compatible they are, my sweet.”

He has completely ridded himself of all clothing now, and he is a sight to behold; black tattoos spanning over toned muscles, not a single body hair and maker-

He is going to split you in half.

Arms braced on either side of your head, he lowers himself onto you until you feel his tip grazing your still sensitive core.

Automatically, you wrap your arms around his neck that is still hovering above you, partly to hold on to him, partly to pull him closer.

Slowly, and with such care one could think you are made of glass, he enters you. At first just the head, then a little bit further, a groan falling from his lips. Your head lolls to the side.

“This okay?” His voice sounds uncharacteristically throaty.

“Yeah” you whisper, wanting more despite the sting of being stretched out like this - lust has replaced any and every thought you could have.

You whimper when he pushes himself in deeper, filling you up until the skin of his hip touches yours. Head thrown back, you feel like you’re drowning in the sensation of being filled up to the brim, pleasure overwhelming your senses. He stills, allowing you to adjust, before he slowly starts moving again, one hand sliding down to hold your hips in place, as he fills you up again and again. Your moans become higher pitched when his tip hits such a wondrous spot inside of you that leaves your toes tingling and all bad thoughts and worries disappear from your mind. You catch yourself losing all awareness of the present, your entire focus on the coil inside you that’s getting closer and closer to unwinding.

All of a sudden he pulls out all the way and grabs your hips, flipping you onto your stomach, but keeping his hands in place and holding your hips in the air, knocking the air out of your lungs by thrusting from behind now, going faster, deeper, and now letting himself let out quiet moans of his own. One hand moves up and down your arched back in an almost soothing manner, and you are getting closer and closer to giving in to the crash wave of euphoria lurking in a corner of your mind.

You hardly even register that he is hooking an arm around your torso until your back is pulled flush against his chest and his body heat is enveloping you while your moans become more ragged and desperate as you close in on your second orgasm.

You can’t form the words to tell him, but you know he can sense it too, because his thrusts pick up speed and his own breathing is growing more erratic.

Your high is reached with a broken cry, a shockwave of pleasure shaking your body and making you tighten around Maul, in turn causing him to pull you even closer, if possible, and bite down on your shoulder, sharp incisors drawing a little blood but somehow only adding to your pleasure, while you - worn out and almost overstimulated - go limp, only held up by his steel grip on your torso and thigh, being shaken by every fast-paced thrust.

“Shit, where do- can I-“

“Yeah,” you’re completely out of breath, but your permission is quickly acknowledged.

He twitches inside of you, then hot liquid fills you up, testimony of his own orgasm. He still ruts his hips into yours two, three more times to ride out his high, before pulling out and allowing your tired body to fall back onto the mattress, collapsing right next to you himself.

For a few minutes, only the sound of your mixed breaths fill the room.

Then, tentatively, one strong arm is draped over your still nude form, pulling you against his warm chest. From behind you, you can feel his breath catch in his throat as he freezes, then proceeds to wipe his thumb over the place where he bit down, catching the small droplet of blood.

“I hurt you,” he states, shock and worry resonating in his voice.

“You didn’t. Really, I didn’t mind,” your words are laced with sleepiness, the heat his body is radiating making you feel safe and comfortable.

“I didn’t mean to hurt-“

You shift, turning to face him, or rather his chest from your position. Angling your head upwards, you do your best to look into his eyes.

“You didn’t hurt me. Stop worrying.”

He breathes out slowly, cradling your head with one hand and pulling it closer to his chest. Your legs entangle, and the position feels so natural, so right, that your mind just relaxes completely for the first time in months, in years.

The last thing you know is the sensation of Maul’s hand softly stroking your hair, then sleep takes over your body.

 *

It’s warm.

Maul’s naturally higher body heat feels like a furnace when you wake up in the middle of the night, not used to sleeping for longer periods of time - Kessel used to have shorter days due to the speed of its rotations, so sleeping for one night only really meant sleeping five to six hours.

You are almost still in the same position that you fell asleep in, except for now, a very low rumble right where your head lies on his chest accompanies the silence. It’s a sound akin to … purring?

You hold your breath to take in the sound, and come to the conclusion that your zabrak lover indeed is purring in his sleep. Warmth blossoms in your chest at his response to just being… content. And to think you could have contributed to that state?

Needless to say, the purr feels like the most beautiful, sweet melody that has ever met your ears.

As carefully as you can, you untangle yourself from his embrace and pad over to the refresher, collecting your underwear on the way.

The woman you find staring back at you through the mirror looks… strange.

Your cheeks are an unusual rosy color, your usually tied up hair is ruffled and maker, you are covered in so many more hickeys than you remember him leaving during the act. There’s also a very visible bite mark on your shoulder that brings back the memory of the very moment that Maul reached his release and created the mark you are looking at right now. The tiny hairs on your arm stand up as you recall the feeling of him coming inside you, that moment of the deepest intimacy imaginable.

Both of you had been so wiped out afterwards that you didn’t really bother cleaning up, but now you decide it’s time for you to wash off the sticky substance that’s been leaking out between your legs.

The shower, too, is more spacious than the entire refresher in your old apartment on Kessel was, and you don’t even have to wait for the water to run hot. Besides that, you’re pretty sure it won’t suddenly switch from almost boiling hot to ice cold, which is definitely a plus.

You start washing yourself with one of the many soaps aligned on the shelf, enjoying the way it has an actually nice smell as opposed to your go-to soap that really only smelled… clean?

Perhaps you’ll swipe this one before you leave.

You haven’t even gotten to soap yourself up completely, when you hear the door open and close, followed by footsteps heading towards you, but it’s only when a gentle hand touches your back that you turn your head to greet your sleepy lover.

“Did I wake you up?”

He shakes his head in response, then mumbles: “I don’t usually sleep long.”

Still standing behind you, crimson hands slide down your arms to find your fingers, scooping up the soap and very carefully starting to spread it over your body, starting on the tattoos on your stomach and moving on to your sides, slowly drawing circles upward. His chin rests on your shoulder while his hands find your backside, moving lower again and snarking back around to your front, this time dipping further down and spreading the soap on the inside of your thighs, washing his own release off your skin.

The entire act is more domestic than sexual in its nature, but you can’t cover up the way your breath hitches a little when his hand travels just a bit further up, barely grazing your core.

“Oh?” He sounds much more awake suddenly, as well as more mischievous. “Should I keep going?”

“Please,” you breathe out. Your voice is barely audible over the noise of the water running, but he must have heard you because his arm pulls you closer to his chest and his other hand returns right where you want it, using his palm to apply slight pressure, then beginning to rub small and sensual circles.

Your head rolls back onto his shoulder as you allow yourself to be immersed in the pleasure, eyes falling closed when you sigh in bliss. The hot water makes the sensation spread through your entire being, one gratified moan escaping your lips when he finds the motion that has your knees give in and your toes curl.

“Ah, like that,” You are hardly even holding yourself up anymore, blindly reaching behind you to hold on to his neck for leverage.

Faster than ever, you feel your orgasm boil up in your belly while he just keeps on relentlessly rubbing your clit in the most pleasurable way, as if he was so in tune with your body that he knows what your specific, individual preferences are.

Maybe it’s a force thing.

Whatever it is, it’s working.

You open your eyes just as the high hits you, filling them with raw feelings, hips grinding against his hand while at the same time trying to push yourself closer against him.

His yellow eyes are still half lidded while he watches your entire body quiver in his embrace before your muscles relax again and you slouch against his chest, breathing heavily.

“I’ll leave you to finish in here now,” Carefully, he peels his arms from your form, setting them on your hips to steady you before eventually exiting the shower.

You lean against the wall, closing your eyes with the water running over your face and exhale slowly.

After tonight, there is one thing you are sure of: You trust Maul. You trust him to protect you, you trust him to see you in such a vulnerable state, and you would walk into a battle blindfolded if he told you that was necessary.

The realization is not as much a surprise as it is an understanding. You aren’t in love with him.

You love him.

_____

notes: I have sinned,,,, but I don’t care cause I’m a heathen 😗✌🏻 literally though, writing this was so hard because i kept on zoning out lmao I don’t know if you can tell, but that last part was originally meant to be part of the next chapter, but I decided to add it to this one because I had the feeling it wouldn’t fit the general mood of the next one. hope you enjoyed this <3

@princessayveke @spaghetti-666 @noiralei @secretnerd00 @bagpipes606 @zabrak-show

[ubernoxa]

The Token: A Guns N’ Roses Fanfiction

Chapter 7: Cousin Kendal

Masterlist

Story Summary: Story inspired by the movie She’s the Man. A female Duff is tired of dealing with the bullshit of trying to make it on the strip as a female bassist. In a desperate attempt to make it big doing what she does, she cuts her hair and mascardes as Duff. What’s the wors that could happen?

Chapter Summary: Cousin Kendal comes to town causing several problems and hiccups in Michelle’s plan

Taglist: @viralwolf02 @littlemisscare-all @smokeandmirrorz @aratbaby @slashscowboyboots @achiweyow

“So what did you do last night? Have any fun?” Derek quizzed as I was wiping down the display cases in between rushes.

“Went out with Walter and Macy, and it was...interesting. Went to a couple bars that had okay music. Nothing I won’t forget in a couple weeks though. How about you?,” I shrugged back. The bar hopping part of the night might have been my idea to get away from a certain group of people.

I continued to listen to Derek as he talked about the girl he met last month and was still going out with. He kept going on and on about how cute and sweet she was, making my heart warm. Yeah I was quickly growing tired of his constant praise or borderline obsession over his girlfriend, but I was glad at least one of us had a healthy relationship, hell a relationship in general. The best word to describe my relationship status was nonexistent. I froze for a second as an unfamiliar figure stared back at me. I remained frozen staring at my own reflection. I hadn't noticed it at first, but Michelle the brunette bassist who worked at a coffee shop seemed to be slowly turning into a stranger. A mask I would put only only when needed.

“ I hope my father hasn't been working you too hard,” my heart stopped at the familiar voice that came from behind me.

“No Kendal, but just enough to keep me out of trouble,” I quickly turned around and sent the familiar face a smile, except she wasn’t as familiar as I had expected her to look. It wasn’t her hair, her clothing, or her makeup that was different, but something was. She quickly pulled me into a hug before letting go of me and placing her hand under my chin.

“Did you grow? You have to at least be part giraffe by how tall you’re getting!” She quizzed as I felt her look me up and down

“Giraffe? I’m not even 5’ 10”!” I teased back.

“Ohh there is my college girl,” I turned to see my uncle running out of the back office to give his daughter a large bear hug. It was nice to see them back together after the six months that had passed. I sent them both a warm smile before returning back to work.

“What major is she this week?” I had to hold in a snort at Derek’s comment. He had many options about Kendal, and a majority, arguable all, of them weren’t good.

“Hey now, do you know what you want to do for the rest of your life? It is both a scary and hard choice!” I whispered back. Kendal had tried marketing, accounting, journalism, typography, design, and now she was sitting in general business management.

He shrugged and joined me in washing the dishes.

“What would you do?” As he shot up from organizing the pastries, it was clear that my question had caught him off guard.

“What?”

“I said, what would you do if you had the money to go to school?” I repeated.

He shrugged before returning back to the pastries, after a couple of seconds I heard him reply, “I would go to culinary school. Once I got the degree I would head to New York and never look back,” I felt a sense of comfort flow through me as he talked.

“I have always heard that New York has the best dining. Unless it is deep dish pizza, that belongs to Chicago,” I smiled back earning a nod from him.

“Yeah I would become an apprentice or some shit like that and save up enough money until I could own my own local restaurant. It may take 10 or 15 years, but when I have it….ohh god when I get it I will name it after my dad and have his sausage stew as a permanent item I will do anything to get there. Hell, I got one more year before I can start affording to go to college part time. I have and will do whatever it takes,” he added.

“Let me know when you open because I will be the first in line. I will camp out a week before your open if that's what it takes!” I smiled back, his face quickly mimicking my own.

“Are you really going to have time to? You are going to be a world famous rockstar! That's still the dream right?” he asked back, his attention no longer on organizing the pastries.

“Yeah, and I think I might have actually found the right band too! We sound unique and the songs we play aren't the ones you would forget a week later.”

“I am glad that you are finally back on your feet after your last band...what was is Pyxie or some shit like that?”

“Yeah..forget those bitches! They didn't have what it takes!”

“And you do?”

“Yeah..I gotta” I smiled back at him. These were the moments that made me love my job. These were the moments I wish he didn’t have a girlfriend.

“You gotta what?” I immediately snapped up at Kendal’s question.

“She has gotta have what it takes to make it as a rockstar!” Derek bragged as if I was his kid who just won the spelling bee. Which would never happen because I couldn’t and still can’t spell for shit.

“She has to have what it takes,” Derek rolled his eyes when Kendal corrected his grammar. Kendal had many quirks and Derek could not tolerate any of them.

I watched Derek like a hawk as he tried to calm himself down. Luckily for all parties involved he was successful.

“Your band is called Pyxie right?” She quickly asked and immediately apologized when she saw my reaction.

“They were my old band, and they were more interested in sex than the music...so I left and found a new one,” I received a confused look from Derek as I spoke. Using the term left was putting my departure from PYXIE lightly, but that is the beauty of telling the story. I get to tell it my way.

“Ohh sorry to hear, but sounds like you made the smart educated decision by leaving the band. What is your new band called? Can I come see you perform soon?” She was radiating excitement as she spoke.

“We don’t have a name yet, but whenever we have our next gig I will invite you and send you pictures!” The lies easily rolled off of my tongue as I spoke

“Good to hear that you found another band!” I wish I could punch Izzy in the gut when he invited himself into the conversation. How had I not seen him walk in?

“Kendal, I’m Michelle’s cousin. Are you her bandmates?” Izzy tried to hide the smile that was growing on his face, but he failed.

“No, Axl by the way” I rolled my eyes as Kendal swooned over Axl, just like every other girl he encountered.

“If you are looking to see some music tonight, or band has a gig,” I immediately stared Izzy down as he spoke.

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IZZY STRADLIN.

“Oh Shelley and I would love to go,” I never broke eye contact with Izzy as Kendal spoke. I watched as a smirk grew on his face when Kendal slipped and called me my nickname from when I was 10.

“Sorry I can’t go,” I didn’t even fake a saddened tone as I spoke.

“Are you working late?” Axl’s tone was smooth as he spoke

“No, band practice,” I shrugged before Kendal could make a comment offering to get me the night off which would only cause my lie to fall apart and everything spiral out of control.

“What band? You singing or playing guitar?” Axl seemed genuinely curious which threw me for a loop.

“Bass, and name coming soon,” I quickly replied.

“Would I know anyone in this band?” I shot Izzy another death glare as he quizzed me. I wanted to slap his smirk off of his stupid face.

“No….but like I said I won’t be able to make it,” I never broke eye contact with the black haired dick as I spoke. Why? Why was he digging? He knew I was Duff. By the look on his face I could tell he was enjoying this.

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

I started to apply my eyeliner when I heard him walk in.

“Thought you had band practice,” I heard him tease as he leaned against the wall right against the mirror I was using. I could barely focus on applying my eyeliner as he leaned against the wall smoking a cigarette. His purple blouse was unbuttoned all the way and tied at the bottom reminding me of the night that was a little over a month ago. Fuck he looked hot.

“Do you need help teasing your hair?” I raised a brow, but before I could say anything he grabbed a brush and began teasing it to the heavens. He was gently which was actually quite surprising.

“Take a picture, it will last longer,” I remained frozen while Izzy spoke as I stared in his reflection in the mirror. My mind raced around in a circle trying to figure out his game, but I couldn’t think of any reason.Was this some sort of apology?

I decided to close my eyes, and relax. We were going to perform soon, so overthinking would only make the nerves that I always get from performing worsen.

I froze as I felt a moan escape my lips. My eyes shot open and I watched Izzy continue as if nothing happened. I tried to calm my breath as he continued teasing my hair, but another moan soon escaped my lips and that is when I saw it. A smirk had grown on his lips as he repeated to tease the same spot earning another moan. This bastard was doing it on purpose.

“Ohh baby you’re so hot when you moan like that,” I then felt him kiss the crook of my neck.

“Her cousin called her Shelley,” the moment I heard Axl’s voice, Izzy went back to finishing my hair.

“You fuckers ready to kill it tonight?” Slash shouted earning a fuck yeah from the two of us.

“Duff, did you know that Michelle used to go by Shelley? Isn’t that cute? It reminds me of a stripper or dancer” Axl asked before grabbing a beer.

I shrugged looking back at him before replying, “Doesn’t really fit her. Doesn’t look like a Shelley.”

“Did you see how she reacted when her cousin said it? I’m definitely going to be calling her that from now on,” Axl’s laughter echoed backstage which was quickly joined by the rest of my band excluding me.

“Is she seeing anyone? If not, I am definitely going to find her after this gig,” Slash smiled before taking another sip of whatever the fuck he was drinking.

“Well she will be here after the show right?” Izzy turned to me as he spoke.

“No, Derek, the guy who works with her at the coffee shop asked her out on a date tonight, so neither of them will be at the show,” I shrugged back and excused myself to go get another beer.

It had taken 20 minutes of me begging and pleading with Derek for him to ask her out. I used the excuse that I hated the Indiana boys’ guts which took him a lot of convincing. Eventually he caved when I offered to cover a shift for him next weekend. He asked Kendall on a fake date, and that was the end of that problem. At least that is what I thought until I saw Derek and Kendal in the crowd.

I waited at the bar and in an instant I knew that I was fucked. Standing only a few feet away from me was Derek and Kendal. I watched as he came over and his eyes caught mine while a flash of recognition crossed his face. I motioned for him to follow me, and he quickly made some excuse to Kendal.

We stood alone in the ally as I watched him try to find his words. For the first couple of seconds we stood in silence.

“Okay, what the actual fuck is going on? Why are you dressed as a guy? Is this your new band? Last and certainly not least who the fuck is Duff,” I sighed as Derek growled at me.

“Long story short, I got sick and tired of dealing with the bull shit of trying to make it on the strip as a chick, so one day I dressed as a guy for an audition and...boom Duff was born. I am running out of options Derek. Whatever it takes. That’s what you said only a couple of hours ago. You said that you would do whatever is takes to Make your dream come true. Well that’s what I’m doing here,” Derek remained silent as I spoke.

The seconds that it took for him to respond felt like hours. “I guess that explains the wig situation, why you really wanted me to ask out your cousin, along with why you were being nice to Axl and Izzy. Two people who you despised a couple months ago,” He ran his hands through his hair as he spoke. I could tell he was trying not to freak out.

I watched as he shook his head in shock. “How long do you plan on keeping up on this charade? Does anyone else know? Do you have a plan?”

“Once I get my record deal,yes, and my plan is to not fuck this up. But before you continue to judge me, put yourself in my shoes. I’m on borrowed time Derek. Please get my cousin out of here because she can’t find out. She just can’t,” I said before leaving him to go join my band backstage.

“Whoa Duff you okay?” I tuned to Steven as his voice caught my attention.

“Yeah, just a bit nervous,” I shrugged back.

He poured a pair of shots and we took them together.

“Alright boys, let’s show them what the fuck rock and roll is,” Axl shouted before we went on stage.

It was the last song in our encore.

The last note where Axl was screaming to the heavens.

That’s when Kendal and I made eye contact.

That’s when I saw recognition cross her face.

I watched as the smile fell from her face and she immediately shoved her way through the crowd.

Fuck.

She knew.

[lostinaseaoffictionalbliss]

Ride ‘em Cowgirl

A/N: If you like this then check out my bio for my Masterlist (for some reason it’s not working on mobile at the moment so you’ll have to use a browser)

Summary: Sam’s family owns the ranch next to yours and always has. For the past four years he’s been away at college while you kept nursing a crush on him. When he comes back and the two of you meet up will your feelings finally be reciprocated

Pairing: cowboy!Sam x cowgirl!reader

Warnings: Fingering, oral (fem receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it)

Word Count: 2209

Wiping sweat from your brow you leaned the rake against the stall you were currently mucking out. This wasn’t anything new to you. Your whole life has been about taking care of horses, cows, a few goats, and the chickens your family owned. It was tiring work, but it was also rewarding. When you were younger you had been the scrawny kid; lanky and hardly any meat on your bones. Some of the kids had mocked you because you were part of the ‘itty bitty titty committee’. But that had been years ago. Now you were 21 years old.

Your hair was no longer flat and dull. It now had bounce and a few curls. Your body had finally filled out giving you that perfect bubble butt, nice shapely legs for days, and you had finally gotten out of the itty bitty titty committee. Not to say they were huge, but they filled out your pale purple with white lace bra quite nicely.

A lot of your shapely figure was because you worked hard day in and day out. There was hardly any time for you to have a moment’s rest and merely relax. When you did you have downtime you enjoyed it with the Winchesters next door. Dean was quite a bit older than at 26, but you had grown up with him and his brother Sam. Unfortunately for you, Sam had been away at college for the last four years. You hadn’t admitted it to anyone, but you had been harboring feelings for the hazel-eyed cowboy for years.

Sam was only a year older than you and while everyone else had picked on you he had defended you. The two of you were close growing up, closer than you and Dean had ever been. You shared a lot of similar interests and living right next to each other made spending time together easy. Many times the two of you had went horseback riding together, had picnics, went swimming. There were study dates. And long car drives with nothing but the open road and the two of you. You two would laugh together over the things other students did. And when it came to pulling pranks on Dean, you were always there to help.

It really was no surprise that you ended up with feelings for the youngest Winchester. Even when he started dating Rachel from English class you still hung out. When his date for the prom ended up leaving him because he wasn’t what she wanted you were the one that was there for him. You helped him through all of it and never once did you date. But then he graduated while you were still a junior and went off to college.

For the first year you stayed single hoping that maybe he would come back during break and you could finally confess. Instead Sam decided that he wanted to completely have a break from ranch life and stayed in an apartment. He wouldn’t come back until he graduated. When word of his plan made its way to you, you were hurt. Your best friend, the man you had feelings for was going to be gone and you wouldn’t see him for some time. That was when you tried dating.

There was Chad who worked at the local grocery store. He was sweet, but he didn’t know anything about farm animals. Then there was Mikey the mechanic who didn’t know nearly as much as he thought he did. And last there was Joel. Now Joel was a good looking guy, smart, his family owned another ranch in the area. There was just one problem; he was actually into men and only dated you to get his parents off his back. You helped him find his now fiancé Tom and the two were happy.

You on the other hand were still waiting for love. Waiting, hoping, maybe even doing a little praying that when Sam came home you would finally be able to be with him. The only problem was getting the courage to confess. It wasn’t like you could go to Dean or even John and ask for their help. Dean would tell you to put on a sexy outfit, kiss Sam like it was your last day on earth or some other nonsense and hope for the best. John would be kind, but you didn’t exactly feel comfortable going to him with this sort of thing.

Part of you was starting to think maybe you and Sam weren’t meant to be together. Of course that was probably your own insecurities talking and not the truth. Being bullied for so many years has left you wondering if you were good enough for someone as handsome as Sam.

You reached out for your bottle of water, but it wasn’t there. You frowned in confusion. The hard reusable bottle should be right there. Turning around you have to lean back a bit as the bottle is suddenly in your face.

“Looking for this?”

You took the bottle and look up into the hazel eyes you were daydreaming about moments ago. You couldn’t believe that Sam was here. He was standing right here in front of you. It would seem that the four years you were apart had done him good. His body had filled out rather well and you could tell that beneath his tight flannel and undershirt he was in shape. His chestnut locks fell into his face, giving him a youthful, relaxed look. His eyes were still a beautiful kaleidoscope of colors and he had some slight crinkles at the corners of his eyes from the wide smile he was giving.

“Y-yeah,” you whispered, pulling yourself out of your thoughts. “I didn’t expect you to come here. I mean I knew you were coming home after school, but I didn’t expect you to come visit me so soon.”

Sam leaned against a post, crossing his arms. His biceps strained against his shirt and his jeans hugged his thighs. “Already been to the house and dropped my things off. Dean has caught me up on everything so I wanted to come see you.”

“When you say everything…” Did he know about all your dating failures? Would he think that you didn’t know how to make a man happy? You weren’t sure you could handle him thinking that about you.

He smiled. “Yeah everything. Things with the farm are going well, Dean has a girlfriend, dad is planning to enter our horse in the races this summer.”

You let out a sigh of relief. “Yeah I knew about that. Dean and I were hanging out quite a bit until he got his girlfriend. And I knew John planned to enter Bright Snow in the races.”

“He also told me that you had a few boyfriends, but none of them went anywhere. Why is that?” He eyed you curiously.

You shrugged. “One was gay and I helped him find his now fiancé. The other didn’t know a thing about ranch life. And don’t get me started on mister I know everything about cars, but don’t understand why your truck won’t start. It was the starter. An easy fix for any real mechanic.”

Sam made a face. “That all sounds terrible. Guess you haven’t found the right guy.”

You looked down. “Yeah. That’s it,” you mumbled.

“Or maybe you have and just haven’t told him yet.”

You lifted your gaze and Sam was a lot closer than he was moments ago. “What?” You whispered.

His hand cupped your cheek. “I’ve noticed the glances you threw my way when you thought I wasn’t looking, the jealous look on your face when I started dating.”

“If you noticed why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I was young and dumb. I thought maybe it was just a crush because I was one of the few guys that was nice. I thought the jealousy was because you feared losing your only friend. I never imagined it was because you genuinely had a crush on me.”

“And now?” You moved a little closer to him.

“I saw that look in your eyes when you first spotted me, before you could mask it. That look of longing. And the truth is I want you too.” He rested his forehead against yours.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

Sam’s lips crashed upon yours in a mix of teeth and tongue. Years of pent up frustration and desire fueled the two of you. Your rough hands worked at undoing his flannel while his large hands cradled your head, deepening the passionate kiss.

Growing frustrated and desperately wanting to feel his skin you ripped his shirt open and pushed it down his arms. Next game his undershirt and finally you could touch his abs, his pecs, his biceps, forearms, back to his abs. You couldn’t decide which part of him you wanted to touch most and so your hands were everywhere all at once. You moaned into his mouth as you slid your arms around his back to grab hold of his shoulders.

In the next moment Sam was pulling away and ridding you of your own shirts. Then came your bra and his hot mouth was around your nipple, sucking. You keened and let your head fall back against the post behind you. You carded your fingers in his thick dark locks and tugged gently. He let you go and gazed up at you.

“Sam,” you whispered, voice full of want.

He grinned. “I’ve got you.” He undid your jeans and tugged them down to your ankles along with your panties. He kissed your thighs and nipped at them. “You smell so good,” he mumbled, letting his hot breath ghost over you. A small whimper left you and you spread your legs once he had pulled your jeans over your boots and off. He teasingly ran his tongue through your folds, flicking your clit. “Taste even better.”

“Please,” you begged and moved his face between your legs.

He growled softly and dove in; sucking, nipping, and licking at every inch of you. He gazed up at you with dark eyes and eased two fingers into your wet and welcoming heat. You fluttered around him and breathlessly whispered his name. His thick digits filled you and caressed you in ways you had never dreamed possible. Your legs shook as the tell tale signs of your release began. Warmth pooled in the pit of your stomach and you could feel the coil winding tighter and tighter. “That’s it pretty girl. Cum on my fingers and tongue. Let me taste you,” he all, but growled.

The vibration of his voice coupled with his fingers pressing against that spot just inside and his tongue circling your clit had you spiraling. His name came out in a broken cry as stars danced before your eyes. You didn’t know which way was up and which way was down. You barely knew your own name. Closing your eyes you tried to catch your breath as Sam kissed his way back up your body. When his lips met yours you lazily kissed him and began to undo his jeans.

Sam’s cock sprung free from the confines of his Saxx and he let out a soft sigh. Holding onto his hips you walked him backwards and pushed him into a blanket covered pile of hay. You straddled him and slowly sunk down on him, moaning as he stretched you and filled you full. The slight burn that accompanied the pleasure of him feeling you was perfect. You had never felt anything as incredible as having Sam Winchester buried deep inside your pussy.

“Fuck babygirl. Wasn’t expecting you to ride me, but this is a damn fine view.” He cupped your breasts and rolled your nipples, lightly pinching them.

“Save a horse right?” You mumbled as you swirled your hips. Slowly you began rocking back and forth, up and down. He hit every spot inside you and some you didn’t know existed. Pleasure coursed through you from the tip of your head all the way down to your toes.

He groaned softly and gazed up at you. “You can ride me anytime you want. You feel so damn good. So tight and wet. Warm and perfect.”

His words only encouraged you and you picked up your movements. “Oh Sam,” you moaned, resting your hands on his chest. The muscle felt so good under your hands as you continued to spear yourself on his impressive cock.

“Babygirl I’m so close. Gonna fill this tight little pussy. Tell me you’re still on birth control.”

You nodded your head and moved his hand between your legs. “Yes. I want you to fill me up Sam. Give me everything you have.”

He rubbed your clit and watched his cock slide in and out of you. He threw his head back as you clenched down on him. Seconds later he was pumping you full of warm thick ropes of his cum. Your own release came after his and you managed to milk him for just a few more drops.

Laying over him you wanted softly. “Welcome home Sam.”

He laughed. “What a homecoming it was. I get to call you mine now.”

                                 ****

Likes don’t spread my work! Please reblog and leave a comment if you enjoyed this! I love hearing from you guys and knowing what you think and hope to see!

[gimmesumsuga]

Concealed Weapon (M)

Pairing: Jungkook x reader

Word count: 10K (approx)

Warnings: Smut.  Smutty smut smut.  Unsafe handling of weapons.  Dirty talk.  Unprotected sex.  Bondage.  Rough sex.  Multiple orgasms.  Oral sex (male receiving).

Summary: Jungkook turns out not to be quite who you thought he was, and your reaction takes you both by surprise.

Happy belated Birthday @yminie ! I hope you survive! <3 <3 

This is kinda PWP, which is why I chose to keep the super cheesy porno title I first came up with haha (plus, I couldn’t actually think of anything better - so sue me). Also, this is the first moodboard I’ve ever made, so please don’t repost or use without credit. 

“Home by seven my ass…” you mutter darkly under your breath as your hands dwell somewhere beneath a layer of lemon-scented suds, a scouring pad clenched in fist.

You'd intended leave the dishes until after having eaten tonight, but seeing as your dinner companion is still yet to show after more than half an hour of you being sat at the table like an idiot, waiting, you figured you'd make a start.  Anger is great for removing stubborn baked on bread crumbs from an oven tray, apparently; by the time you're done pretending its surface is your husband's face and stashed it on the drying rack you've never seen it look cleaner.  

You wish you could pretend this was the first time he's come home later than intended.  It's an occupational hazard you guess; as one of the heads of IT tech support for all of the healthcare providers in the local province it's up to him to make sure every system is running seamlessly no matter the time of day.  If a piece of software goes down it's not just the clinicians who suffer - it's the patient's blood results or x-ray reports they can't gain access to who suffer as well.  

So maybe you shouldn't be so mad - maybe you should be glad to have a husband so hard-working and committed to his job that he's willing to stay late more often than not.  As you pick at little pieces of the beef you'd so painstakingly roasted, long since gone cold, this is what you so avidly try to convince yourself of, but it doesn't really make you feel any better.  It doesn't change the reality of you being stood all alone at your kitchen counter with tears threatening in your eyes, all dressed up with nowhere to go.  

The sound of keys turning in the front door lock has your ears pricking to attention and your back straightening as you abandon your leftovers in favour of watching the entranceway to the hall.  The smouldering embers of annoyance that'd been threatening to dwindle away into sadness come roaring back into life with his impending arrival, and as soon as you hear your husband cross the threshold you're hollering his name, nostrils flared.  

“Jeon Jungkook!”  His heavy exhale reaches your ears even from several metres away; tired and weary.  You know he’ll be worn out after work, and he’s more than likely been dreading having this fight with you all the way home, but your famously short temper won’t let you show him an inch of mercy.  Not yet, anyway. “What the hell kinda time do you call this?!”  

It’s odd - usually Jungkook would be rushing in by now, a pink tinge to his cheeks and an apology on his lips - but tonight he appears to be taking his time.  There’s the sound of his keys clinking against one another as they’re placed on the side and then the heavy tread of his boots coming down the hall that follows, so slow and steady that it only serves to infuriate you all the more.  Let him drag this out if he wants; all he’s doing is prolonging the length of the cold shoulder he’ll be receiving later on.  

“You could’ve at least called,” you carry on, rounding the kitchen island with one hand on your hip, waiting for him to emerge, “I wouldn’t have bothered busting my ass if I’d have known you - oh my god!”  

Hands flying upward to cover your gasping mouth, your wide eyes run rapidly up and down the sorry state of a man who enters your kitchen with his busted lip slanted into a wry smile.  It’s not very often you’re at a loss for words and yet here you are, speechless, all anger eradicated by the sight of your husband’s naturally handsome face so marred with cuts and bruises.  

“Sorry baby,” he apologises as he comes to a standstill in front of you, voice soft.  There’s blood on the usually pristine white collar of his shirt - Jungkook always prides himself in keeping his clothes crisp and sharp - and as your body begins to tremble he touches the pad of his thumb against where his smile has re-opened the split at the corner of his full bottom lip, dabbing it with his tongue.  

“What happened?!” You throw yourself into the arms that Jungkook manages to open just in time to receive you, and when he ‘oofs’ in discomfort as you hit his chest you cringe, peeling yourself back just enough to look up at him past your eyelashes.  They’re wet, glistening with tears, and your husband smiles affectionately down at you as he wipes them away with his fingertips.  You hadn’t even realised you were crying though it doesn’t exactly surprise to find that you are; who wouldn’t when confronted with the sight of a loved one so battered and bruised?  

“Some assholes got the jump on me on the way home,” he shrugs, behaving far more casually than you would ever expect of someone who’s apparently just been mugged, “Took my wallet… my phone.  It could’ve been worse.”

“It could’ve been worse?!” you repeat incredulously, stepping back but allowing him to keep the gentle grip he has on both of your hands, large palms wrapped around your tiny, angry fists.

“I’m home in one piece, aren’t I?”

“Barely!”  You really should stop shrieking sometime soon; it’s not as though it’ll do any good.  It won’t fix the torn sleeve of his expensive suit jacket, nor halt the deepening in colour of the bruise that lays across his cheekbone, and Jungkook keeps on cringing as though you’re assaulting his eardrums every time your voice climbs another octave.  

“Sorry,” you apologise embarrassedly, withdrawing a hand from one of his and using it to stem any further tears from falling and leaving smudges of mascara behind, “Sorry.  Are you-”  You sigh, brushing your palm over the lapel of his jacket to wipe away the white specs of dust sprinkled across it.  “-Are you ok?”

“I’ll live,” he assures you, once more taking a hold of your hand to raise it to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss onto your palm.  You know he will, yet that knowledge doesn’t stop you frowning at every single mark your eyes pass over; the gash across his eyebrow from which blood has ran and dried, now crusted and flaking away, or the purple bruising of broken blood vessels that decorates the sharp angle of his jaw.  

And these are only the injuries you can actually see.  Judging by the way Jungkook tenses when you wrap your arms around him you can only presume there must be more under the rumpled cotton of his shirt.  

“Fucking assholes,” you mutter as you press your cheek to his chest, planting a kiss along the way.  Jungkook is so soft, so kind, so absolutely good - right down to his bones - how could anyone ever want to hurt him?  Ok, so maybe before you saw the state he was in you might’ve wanted to give him a swift kick in the shins, but now?  Now the only blood you’re out for belongs to whomever it was who thought they could get away with hurting the love of your life.

Jungkook’s palm slips downward from the back of your neck into the curve at the bottom of your spine, his soft lips pressing to the top of your head.  

“You called the police, right?” Jungkook cocks one dark eyebrow at you when you look up, amused.  

“And how exactly would I have gone about doing that?” he teases, a playful twinkle in his eye.  Your mouth opens as though to argue but then promptly closes again when you realise how valid a point he’s made.  

“Well, you should now,” you persist, slipping out of his embrace to cross over into your living room and grab a hold of the phone that sits atop of your coffee table, brandishing it at Jungkook when he walks through the doorway after you, shrugging off his jacket.  He throws it onto the back of the sofa and lets you press the handset into his hand before discarding that a moment later, too, sighing.  

“There’s really no point,” he tells you with a shake of his head, his dishevelled bangs sticking up at odd angles when he runs his hand through them.  His knuckles are grazed too, you notice, and you feel a grim sense of satisfaction come over you on realising that he must’ve at least gotten one good punch in during whatever fumble occured.  You hope it hurt.  “I barely saw anything; one guy grabbed me from behind and the other had.some kind of ski mask on or something.”  

“But what if there was CCTV?” you persist, stepping towards him but stopping when you see a look of annoyance fleet over Jungkook’s face.  He looks away from you, his eyebrows furrowing as he places his fists on his hips, shifting his weight.  

“Look-”  He meets your eyes, and when he sees the way you’re worrying your bottom lip it’s as though he makes a conscious effort to soften his expression.  “-All I want right now - more than anything - is a long, hot shower.”  Jungkook closes the gap between the two of you, so close that your chests are almost touching, yet his hands remain at his sides as he looks down at you.  “I want to shower, I want to eat.  I want to snuggle up with the woman I love-” Jungkook returns the little smile that appears on your face, his head tilting slightly to the side, “-And forget all about it.”  

How is it that after two long years of matrimony Jungkook can still have such an effect on your heart rate by his proximity alone?  Just by standing in front of you - close enough to catch the lingering scent of his aftershave that you know so well - he has you feeling a little weak at the knees; a little breathless as you look up into the darkest chocolate of his eyes.  

“Is that ok?” he checks when you neglect to reply, lifting a hand to brush gently against your cheek, voice soft.  

“I suppose so,” you force out, recovering enough to let a little bit of snark enter your tone.  Jungkook’s already smiling lips part as it grows, flashing his adorably imperfect row of front teeth, eyes crinkling at the sides.  “Go on, you stink.”  Grinning playfully, you twist your head enough to noisily kiss his palm where it’d been resting on your cheek before stepping away and walking past him.  “Don’t blame me if your dinner tastes like microwave.”  

You don’t expect the hand that suddenly grabs a hold of yours, nor for Jungkook to suddenly pull you back into his arms and seize a hold of your lips with his own, squeaking your surprise into the kiss and making your husband chuckle at how quickly and effortlessly you melt into his embrace.  He kisses you as though it’d been the only thought to occupy his mind all day, one hand in the small of your back and the other still clutching yours, the thick band of metal encircling his ring finger brushing your skin as they lock together, holding tight.  

A rolling press of his tongue to your lips is enough for you to grant him access to your mouth, wet muscle meeting in the middle before he chases after it when you pull back, inviting him in.  Jungkook groans throatily when you gently tug on his bottom lip with your teeth, forgetting all about the split to the pillow soft flesh until the next time his mouth presses to yours and you feel it there, the drying blood making it feel slightly tacky against your own.  

Running his tongue against the inside of his teeth, Jungkook relinquishes you from his grasp, smirking at the way you wobble a little on losing the support of his firm body pressed to yours.  

“Tastes pretty good to me.”  He grins wolfishly, making sure to cock one eyebrow at you before turning on his heels and heading for your bedroom, leaving you to recover with a flushed red face and one hand pressed to the new-found ache in your lower abdomen.

“God damn it Jungkook,” you murmur to yourself as you will your body to stop acting like some pre-teen girl when confronted with the attentions of the captain of the football team.  It’s just embarrassing, especially when less than five minutes ago you were supposedly hopping mad.  So much for that.  

You’re just putting Jungkook’s dinner into the microwave and punching in the time for it to cook when all over a sudden another sound catches your attention over the shrill beep of the buttons which you press.  It’s an unfamiliar tune but still recognisable enough for you to realise that it must be coming from a cell phone, and it’s with a frown of confusion that you abandon Jungkook’s meal to venture back into the living room, looking around.  

It’s definitely not yours - you have a very bad habit of leaving it on silent 24/7 and repeatedly missing your husband’s calls - but then whose else’s could it be?  The muggers had taken his, he’d said, and yet as you approach the ruined suit jacket that he’d so carelessly flung over the back of the sofa the ringing is most definitely getting louder.  

It cuts off before you can figure out its exact location but you carry on patting down his jacket anyway, certain that whatever was ringing must be tucked away somewhere inside, and when you reach into the soft inner breast pocket your fingers close around the solid rectangular form of a cell phone that you don’t seem to recognise once its laid flat in your palm, staring up at you.  

What is going on?  You’ve never seen Jungkook carrying this sort of phone before; for one thing it’s far too low-tech for anything he’d usually be caught dead with.  It doesn’t even seem to have a proper camera on it, for heaven’s sake.  

Why would he lie?  Why would he have some secret, ancient phone stashed away?  You can’t help but jump to the worst conclusion as it goes off again, the screen illuminating to show one missed call and the text message that has just come through, and as you attempt to figure out how to unlock it your heart begins to race with anxiety, eyes darting nervously towards the corridor down which your bedroom lies.

Is he having some sort of affair?  This is the question that remains at the forefront of your mind as you try various different combinations of numbers to try and guess his six digit passcode, not even pausing to think of how much an invasion of his privacy your husband might see this as.  You’d never dream of going through his phone usually, but this isn’t his - not really.  Perhaps it should reassure you that the code that finally works is the same digits as your birthday, yet the nauseating rolling of your stomach only continues as you open up his messages to find one singular text waiting under the initials of ‘NJ’ and nothing more.  

Fingers shaking, you open the message and read.  

“You better get your shit together, JK.  Another fuck up like tonight and they’ll be pulling you out of the river next time.  Don’t let me down.”  

Pulling him out of the what?  What the hell does that mean?  

Fumbling, you lock the phone and scramble to slip it back into the pocket you retrieved it from with hands that are trembling even more severely than before, convinced that you’ve already seen too much.  

What the hell has Jungkook gotten himself mixed up in?  

Whatever it is it sounds really, really bad - the illegal kind of bad - and suddenly you’re no longer so sure that the injuries Jungkook sustained earlier tonight were really the product of two simple muggers.  No, this sounds far more sinister, but as damning as this evidence is you’ve no idea how to even begin to comprehend that the man that you love - as silly and sweet and goofy as he is - might ever be involved with someone who could send a message so threatening as that.  You’ve met Jungkook’s friends; they’re all as daft as he is!  

Cool metal awaits the brush of your fingers when you slot his phone back into its rightful place, and despite how you may tell yourself not to pry any further you’re unable to shake the curiosity that has you fishing out what appears to be a very small bunch of keys from within the silky black pocket.  

It only takes a split second of peering down at them spread out along your palm for your to make the connection to the lock with which you know they must belong.  Hurried footsteps and shallow breaths lead you directly to Jungkook’s ‘gaming room’ and the desk on which his custom built PC tower sits neatly alongside a 27-inch screen.  

The screen remains black and the CPU’s many cooling fans silent, though you know they won’t remain so for very long.  It’s a mutual agreement of yours and your husbands to allow each other an hour or so a night to indulge in whichever solo hobbies you deem necessary for maintaining your sanity before settling down to spend the rest of the evening together, whether that be curled in front of the tv or tangled up in bed.  

It’s the thought of such times that causes you to hesitate with the key already halfway into the lock, down on bended knee.  What happens if you find something in there that you’d rather not see?  What if whatever it is puts an end to this lovely little life you’ve built?  

You bite your lip, frowning hard at the trembling pincer grip in which you hold the key.  Part of you wants to turn back and try to erase all memory of this from your mind but you know that that’d be an impossibility.  If you don’t look now you’ll always be wondering, worrying - wracked with suspicion every time your husband leaves your side.  No, best to confront it now and deal with the cards that you’re dealt as soon as they reach your hand.   

Whatever it is, whatever you’ve faced, you and Jungkook have always gotten through it before.  

You take a deep breath as though to brace yourself as you slide in the key the rest of the way and turn it smartly to the right.  Opening up the drawer the first thing you see is a neat stack of plastic folders in a variety of colours, and when you take a peek inside the uppermost one it’s full of papers detailing acronyms and figures of which you have no understanding.  They’re confusing but look innocent enough, and as you start to remove one folder after the other you dare to feel a little more hopeful than you did before.  

You’ve probably gotten yourself all worked up over nothing; there’s got to be a reasonable explanation for that phone and the text that followed, a reason for Jungkook to have all these papers locked away from sight.  You shake your head at yourself as you appear to be coming to the bottom of the pile; you should’ve known better than to doubt him.  What exactly were you expecting?  Pictures of some secret family? Drugs?  Maybe even some -

Brass knuckles?

Your stomach drops so violently it feels almost as though it’s fallen out when you see the golden device sat at the bottom of the drawer, the curved metal specially shaped to encase the wearers knuckles and allow them to deliver more lethal a blow to the victim of their choosing.  

These can’t belong to Jungkook, surely?  Not your gentle husband?  He won’t even kill a spider, nevermind don something like… like those.  With a sense of morbid curiosity you reach out and lift them from the drawer, turning them over and shivering at how weighty such a weapon feels rested in your palm, and it’s only then that you realise that there’s a matching set laid there too - one for each hand.  

“Jesus christ,” you mutter under your breath, and as you lift that one out too you become aware of a fault in otherwise smooth wooden bottom of the drawer.  Placing the brass knuckles aside, your relentlessly curious nature has you poking, prodding and jiggling at what appears to be some kind of false bottom.   You finally manage to open it up by pressing it downward and then sliding the thin wooden barrier backward and underneath the other half of the panel, gasping involuntarily when you see what lies beneath.  

A gun.  

A real gun; matte metal grey and chillingly cold to the touch when you run your fingertips gingerly along its barrel, purposefully avoiding the trigger.  It strikes you as odd how threatening an inanimate object can look even when lacking someone to wield it, and it’s with a swallow of trepidation that you very gently lift the pistol from its secret compartment to hold it in two hands.  

Has Jungkook really ever used something like this?

Unwanted images begin to plague your racing mind as you inspect the makings of it, turning it about in your grip.  You see Jungkook stood with gun in hand, his arm outstretched to press the barrel to the temple of some faceless man with whom he regards without a trace of mercy, his expression unfeeling and cold, and the image of it sends a chill right down your spine.  This can’t be your husband; not this cruel figure that your imagination has so conjured up.  

There must be something else.  Some other reason for him to have this - some other reason for him to have kept it all hidden.  If you ask him… if you confront him, surely he’ll have -

One strong hand closes firmly around both your wrists, so rough and so sudden you'd very nearly have let the gun fall to the floor if it weren't already being wrenched away from you, out of the reach of your inexperienced hands.  You look up sharply at the unexpected touch, your mouth falling open with the sharp inhale you take, and it's Jungkook's face you see staring back down at you, expression as hard and stern as you'd pictured it to be with a gun in hand.  

“Jungko-" you start but he cuts you off, tightening his grip around your wrists.  It's testament to how large his hands are that his fingers quite comfortably encircle both, pinning them together.  

“What the fuck do you think you're doing?” he questions angrily, brows furrowing even further, shower wet hair dangling in front of his eyes.  Your husband must've just this moment stepped out of the bathroom; not even yet dressed, a towel knotted low around his hips and droplets of water clinging to the sculpted planes of his chest.  

Purple bruising along his ribs aside, it'd be all too easy let yourself become completely distracted by Jungkook's mouth-watering appearance if it weren't for the gun that hangs by his side.  It’s pointed firmly at the floor, steady in his hand, and you’re relieved to see that his index finger is resting well away from the trigger.  

You grope for some sort of response, your pulse thudding deafeningly in your ears at having been caught in the act, and when you fail to even try to defend yourself Jungkook huffs an exhale, infuriated.  

“I should've known you'd come snooping around in here one day.”  Keeping your wrists firmly locked, Jungkook pulls open the top drawer to his desk and rummages for something, gun still in hand.  “Too damn curious for your own good,” he adds, grumbling under his breath, and you're just about to start protesting at how unjust it is right now for him to be mad at you when the sight of him pulling a long black strip of plastic from the drawer totally derails your train of thought.

“What are you doing?” you ask, a fringe of panic lacing your voice as he places the gun down on the table with a satisfying ‘thunk’ of wood against metal and then loops what you now recognise as a cable tie around the underside of your wrists, just above where his other hand is squeezing them together.  

“Trying to make sure you don't go running off before you hear me out,” he informs you matter-of-factly, and it's with alarming swiftness that Jungkook manages to secure your wrists together, the strip of plastic pulled not quite so tight as to cut into your flesh but enough to remind you that it's there, unyielding against your skin. “Besides, you clearly need some help keeping your hands to yourself.”

He releases your hands and they fall, fixed, to knock against your thighs as you look up at him in trepidation.  Jungkook stares right back, unblinking, and you wish you weren't knelt so vulnerably like this on your knees, though his expression - although visibly annoyed - looks neither threatening or unkind.  

Before now it's always been a bit of a running joke amongst your mutual friends that you're the one who wears the trousers in your marriage.  You're marginally older than Jungkook and have always been a bit more ballsy; a bit more outspoken in circumstances in which your husband would be more inclined to let things go and keep the peace.  Even-tempered, patient and perhaps a little bit of a perfectionist, Jungkook has always happily followed your lead - until now.

“I never wanted you involved in any of this,” he tells you wearily, momentarily releasing you from his gaze to turn and take the gun from the table with a shake of his head.  

“Involved in any of what?!” You suddenly seem to find your tongue again, vulnerable or not, and as you speak the volume of your voice seems to climb, near hysterical.  “The hell are you doing with a gun, Jungkook?!  Who's NJ?!”  Jungkook pauses at your outburst, apparently changing his mind about putting the gun away and choosing to slam the drawer shut instead, rounding on you with a scowl.

“It's nothing that concerns you.”  Incensed, you glower right back up at him, pretending not to notice the way a vein in his neck bulges when he clenches his jaw.  

“It is if it means you're coming home all battered and bruised,” you insist vehemently, bunching your fingers into angry little fists whilst you're still able to feel them, “You were supposed to be working late!  Where were you?”  

Jungkook doesn’t answer right away but he does laugh, smirking as he reaches out and grabs you by the arm to pull your feet.  Defiant, you tilt your chin up.  You won't be intimidated; whether he's been keeping secrets or not Jungkook is still your husband, and you know he'd never hurt you.  

“So fiesty,” Jungkook admires, smiling growing as he tilts his head, looking down at you from his greater height, “Even when you're so obviously at a disadvantage.”  

You wish you were oblivious to the heat you can feel radiating off of Jungkook's naked chest as you stand toe to toe but your body if refusing to play ignorant, heart pounding rapidly against the inside of your ribcage and your mouth bone dry.  

“I was at work.”

“Yeah, ok,” you scoff disbelievingly, rolling your eyes toward to the ceiling until Jungkook grabs a hold firm of your chin and pulls your attention back to him with a sharp snap of your name.  

“Did you really think a little desk job could've bought us this house?” Jungkook asks, his thumb and forefinger still holding you in place, dark eyes flicking between your own, “That rock on your finger?”  You jump as the cold metal of Jungkook’s gun taps against your ring finger, flinching and drawing your clasped hands up to your chest with a deep flush filling your cheeks.  

Why are there butterflies swirling frantically within your stomach at the cocky little flick of your husband's eyebrow as he releases your chin?  You're supposed to feel angry - betrayed - not like... this.  Not like your insides are slowly filling with molten heat; desire pooling heavy in your pelvis.  

“Th-then what is it?” Your voice is halting, catching in your throat, and when Jungkook releases you to press two fingers to your sternum and walk you backwards with a wicked gleam in his eyes you're swallowing nervously, yelping in surprise when you're suddenly pushed into the soft leather gaming chair in which your husband spends so many of his evenings.  Unable to brace your landing with your hands your fall is somewhat ungainly; the floaty fabric of your skirt settling somewhere halfway up your thighs to expose more skin to Jungkook’s slowly roving eyes.  

He leans forward over you, bracing his weight on the arms of the chair that enclose you on either side, and when he speaks he’s so close that you can smell the peppermint of his breath as it blows upon your face.

“Are you sure you want to know?” he asks quietly, and you nod.  He’s right, you really are too curious for your own good.  

With a heavy sigh of resignation, Jungkook straightens up and runs a hand through his damp hair, bicep flexing. 

“I work for an organisation called BTS.”  BTS… that’s one of the acronyms you remember seeing amongst the paperwork you’d just been scouring through, printed neatly alongside a multitude of dollar signs and zeroes.  “Namjoon - NJ - is it’s leader.”  

Slowly, you nod.  Organised crime, then, you’re guessing; that’s the business to which your husband belongs.  How could he have managed to keep this from you for so long?  You’ve known each other since your late teens and yet this is the first time he’s ever come home looking like this - the first sign you’ve ever had.   Maybe he’s not in so deep as you think.  Maybe it’s not as bad as all that.  Maybe he’s just their... their accountant or something…

“What do you actually… do?”  you persist, though you’re not entirely sure you want to know.  Jungkook’s lip curls into a smirk once more as he glances down to the gun that hangs at his side, and before your widening eyes he lifts it till it’s pointed straight at you, mechanism clicking as he disengages the safety, index finger hovering over the trigger.   

You heart rate skyrockets the moment it’s turned on you, eyes fixed fixed on the open, gaping mouth of the barrel staring back.  It feels as though the organ is in your throat and choking you, thumping hard, blood rushing and roaring in your ears until your husband next speaks, deadly soft.  

“What do you think?”

There can be no doubt any longer.  Up until this point you’ve been trying to convince yourself that perhaps you’re wrong, perhaps this is all some mistake or you’re just overreacting - over-reaching to draw the most dramatic of conclusions - but no.  Every presumption you’ve jumped to appears to be coming true, and now you can't seem to stop wondering about just how many lives Jungkook must have ended with the gun that’s now so steadily aimed at you.  

You should be livid at having been lied to for so long, and you should probably be afraid, too, given the circumstances in which you’ve found yourself - and yet you’re not.  Maybe in the deep recesses of your mind you have those thoughts,  maybe, but not right now; right now the singular, most overwhelming feeling  you’re aware of is desire.  Desire, lust, want, and need.  

You've never seen him look like this before; so powerful, so in control.  The dominant aura Jungkook’s exuding has you feeling all hot and bothered under the thin fabric of your clothes, and when he tilts his chin downward to inspect the flush across your chest you can't help but clench your thighs together to quell the aching where they meet, spurred on by his watchful, almond eyes.  

“Why lie to me?” Your voice comes out slightly breathless, husky, though if Jungkook notices it he doesn't say so.  He holds the gun in place for a second or two longer before letting it drop again to his side with a shake of his head.  There's another click as the safety goes back on and a loud, shuddering exhale that passes your lips as he finally puts the thing down.  

“It was the only way I could try to keep you safe,” he answers a moment later, the angry expression he's been wearing softening slightly as he turns back to you, one hand still poised upon the desk, “What do you think they'd do if they got their hands on you, if it meant they were able to get to me?" Jungkook gestures to his own face as an example, furrowing his eyebrows. “This is nothing.”

Swallowing, your eyes travel from mark to mark, injury to injury; the gash to the bridge of his nose down to the black cherry bruising of the hip bone peeking out above his towel.  Every inch of him, battered or not, is still just as pleasing to your eye - still just as tempting to touch if only you were able - and so busy are you inspecting his finely honed physique that you're barely even aware of the silence that's settled between the two of you until Jungkook lets out a heavy exhale, mistaking your preoccupation for something else.  

“It's ok… if you want me to leave.” You look up, blindsided by the pained expression your husband is wearing now - the worry lines evident in his brow.  “I'll understand.”  He reaches into the drawer again to pull out a switchblade this time, flicking free a small, silver knife as he approaches you and draws your hands away from your chest, cradling them in one of his own.  “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“- Don't!” you exclaim quickly when he slips the blade between the cable tie and the flesh of your wrist, meaning to cut you free, and at your shout Jungkook comes to a sudden halt, his gaze lifting to look up into your eyes where he's bent over you, leaning close.  “I don't want you to leave.”  Your throat feels tight with nerves as you bring your conjoined hands, knife and all, towards the base of Jungkook's throat to brush your fingertips along the smooth skin there, digits trembling.

He's still a little damp after his shower - his gorgeous, caramel skin soft and smooth to touch - and you lick your lips with the want to lap up the little dew drops that remain clinging onto his broad chest.  

Your husband utters your name under his breath, confused by the hunger in your restless eyes as they trail over the length of him.

“Don't go,” you tell him thickly, and unbeknown to you your pupils expand at the moment you look up and meet his gaze.  “Don't let me free.”  You bite your bottom lip as Jungkook withdraws the knife, and slowly he begins to understand what it is that has you watching so eagerly as he flips the blade away.  “Not yet.”

He observes the way you press your thighs together as he stands to full height, a smile pulling at his lips when he comes to realise the full extent of how aroused you are; the heaviness of your eyelids as you gaze lustfully up at him, the shuddering rise and fall of your chest.  This is not the reaction that he'd expected, yet he wonders how he hadn't noticed it before.  

“It almost seems like you're enjoying this,” Jungkook muses, beginning to pace around the chair in which you're sat.  Your hands are clammy clasped together against your chest, but the sudden, subtle shift to the look in Jungkook's eyes has you tingling all over with excitement in anticipation of what you're hoping is yet to come.  

You turn your head so as to not lose his gorgeous visage from your sight as he circles you, swivelling the chair until Jungkook grabs a hold of the back of it to jerk it to a halt, barking,

“Eyes straight ahead.”

Back straight and your eyes wide open, you stare at the wall opposite as instructed whilst your heart gallops at the feel of him stood behind you.  Goosebumps rise across your shoulders as Jungkook leans in, not touching you save the brush of soft lips to the curve of your ear.  

“Do you like it when I'm bad, baby?” he questions teasingly, blunt teeth nipping at your earlobe, “You like a little bit of danger?”  

“M-maybe,” you allow yourself to admit, though there's no maybe about it.  Beneath your skirt your underwear is starting to feel warm and damp, and the brief passing of Jungkook's hand around your throat as he nuzzles into your hair, inhaling, does nothing to dampen the growing flames of arousal which are unfurling deep in your insides.  

“You've been a naughty girl, poking your nose in where it doesn't belong,” Jungkook scolds as he releases you, tongue tutting against his teeth at the little whimper you fail to withhold.  You open up your eyes that'd flopped closed and pick up your head from where it'd fallen back just in time to see your husband come to a stop right before you, and though the heat within his gaze is familiar enough from all the many, many times such as these that've come to pass before, you've never seen him look quite like this.  

So dark. So seductive.

“I think you ought to make it up to me.”  Jungkook's eyes flick southward and yours follow, down to where the front of his towel is draping awkwardly over the semi-erection concealed beneath.  When he begins to untuck the knot that's tied around his hips - his eyes locked on yours - your mouth is quick to water for whatever it may be that he has in store, and as his towel drops to the floor, crumpled messily at his feet, your core starts to drip equally as warm and wet.  

You swear you're not a shallow woman, but only an idiot would think to deny how easy your husband is on the eyes.  Tall and broad, Jungkook's lithe torso tapers from muscular shoulders into the inexplicably narrow waist you so love to wrap your arms around, and all of him is golden, flawlessly smooth save the dark thatch of neatly trimmed hair nestled around the base of that which currently holds your rapt attention.  His cock, half-hard and currently held by one Jungkook's well-practised hands is already leaking the clear, serous fluid that belies his arousal as it's stroked, the muscles of his thighs flexing as he approaches where you're sat.  

“Open up that pretty mouth, baby,” Jungkook purrs, pointing it towards your lips, “Show me what a good girl you can be.”  

You'd never anticipated before tonight that you would ever be so receptive to the idea of your husband being the one to call the shots between the sheets.  Sure, it's something you’ve daydreamed about every now and then, maybe, but with how quiet and obliging Jungkook has always been in the bedroom before now - so solely focused on your pleasure rather than his own - you'd convinced yourself it would likely never happen.  

Now that it is, and now that Jungkook's cocking one of his thick, dark eyebrows down at you in expectation, it feels like a dream come true.  Eagerly, you shuffle forward on his chair, tied wrists rested on your lap, and obligingly open your mouth nice and wide, sticking out your tongue for good measure.  

“That's it,” he mumbles quietly, no longer watching you but focusing instead on guiding his cock into your open, waiting mouth and licking his lips as the pink, weeping tip brushes your tongue.  The weight of it is so satisfying, the musky taste one you know and love, and it's with a groan of delight that you finally seal your lips around him and begin to suckle sweetly at its sensitive head, pleased when you hear Jungkook's answering moan.  

“Suck baby.”  His encouragements are soft but as just as insistent as the firm hand that makes its way into your hair whilst you busy yourself tracing his frenulum with the tip of your tongue, your eyes flopping closed.  He neither pulls nor tugs, simply caresses your scalp as you diligently set to work easing him deeper into your mouth - perhaps digging his blunt nails into the roots on the odd occasion that he looks down and is overcome by the sight of your lips stretched so tightly around his girth.  

“Come on, pretty girl, I know you can take some more,” Jungkook hums, a little breathless, and you feel your cheeks fill with warmth at the way he addresses you so fondly, “You're so good at sucking my cock.  My perfect little slut.”  You feel a hand on your aching jaw, supporting it as you slide your mouth back and forth along his length, sucking and slurping as you go.  

You're determined to take him all, determined to show your husband what a good, dutiful wife you can be - snooping aside - and after a few more strokes and a conscious effort to relax your throat, you're face first amongst his pubic hair and resisting the urge to gag when his cock twitches on your tongue.

You hear Jungkook groan with satisfaction above you, and when you peel open your eyes to gaze up you're delighted to see nothing but the sharp angle of his jaw from below, his head lolling back as he savours the feeling of being stuffed so far down your throat.  

“You’re doing so well,” he says breathlessly as his chin tips forward again, meeting your watering eyes he looks down, “Knew you could be a good girl for me.” Still holding onto your jaw, Jungkook rocks his hips back to withdraw his length almost all the way to the tip before sliding it all the way inside, slow and steady, resting there sheathed fully inside before doing it again and again, gradually gaining speed.  “Gonna let me fuck your mouth, aren't you, baby?”

Mouth full and saliva leaking from the corners of your mouth, you nod, and Jungkook flashes you a cocky, satisfied smile.  

As your husband uses and abuses the hollow vacuum of your eager mouth in the minutes that follow, your desire for him only continues to grow.  Save the brief seconds in which you're forced to close your eyes when you gag, you spend every other moment you can greedily watching the man come apart; every twitch of his toned stomach and every tick of his jaw making your dipping core begin to pulse with need.   

So fierce is the ache between your legs that your helpless hands soon grow restless in your lap.  They search out the hem of your skirt and slide underneath it, clumsily attempting to provide yourself some much needed relief as best you can with your wrists pinned together as they are.  It’s difficult, but by spreading your legs as wide as you can you just about rub the heel of your hands between them, wantonly moaning around Jungkook’s cock at every slightest bit of friction you manage to press against your lace-covered clit.  

The rocking of your husband’s hips slows on registering the needful pitch of your moans, turning soft and shallow, willing to let catch your breath, at least, if not yet quite ready to fully withdraw himself from the warm, wet utopia that lies behind your lips.

“You know,” he muses as he lets the slick, swollen head of his cock sit stationary at the entrance of your mouth, watching with a heavy heaving chest as your tongue laves it all around, tracing every ridge and mapping out every vein before swiping up along his frenulum to dip shallowly inside his slit. “If you ask nicely enough, I might just give you a hand.”  Opening up your eyes, you see Jungkook’s dark ones glance down past where you’re joined to the desperate shifting of your bound hands against your mound.  

“I might even let you have this big, fat cock, if you say please.”

Your core contracts, hard, as if to express its enthusiasm at the prospect, and it’s with a wet slurp and wide, hopeful eyes that you you slip your mouth off of his length to beseech with neither shame nor eloquence,

“Please, god, touch me, fuck me.  Whatever you want - anything.”  You’re breathless, panting with want, and you know Jungkook’s relishing in just how desperate you appear - you can tell by the slanted smile that spreads across his handsome face - but you’re so far gone at this point that you really don’t care about any dignity that you may have lost.  He can be an asshole if he wants, as long as he’s balls deep inside of you.  

“I think you can do a little better than that, baby,” he presses, holding your eye contact as he sinks into a deep squat before you, golden thighs so thick that they look almost fit to burst, “I’ve heard an awful lot of begging in my time; it’ll take a lot to convince me.”  

God, that really shouldn’t turn you on.  

Jungkook hooks his thumbs under the sides of your underwear and you rock onto your tiptoes where your feet are planted on the floor in order to lift your hips and enable him to drag them off, pulling you towards him in the process, and it’s there, slouched deep in the leather of his chair, that you begin to beg and plead for mercy.  

He smiles all the way through your whimpers and whines, relishing in the way you shudder with every light brush of his fingertips as he slowly peels you from your clothes - careful not to touch you too much.  Your skirt goes first and then your little white ankle socks, his teeth nipping a bite into the meat of your calf as he rolls them off, and then because the cable tie encircling your wrists make it impossible to remove Jungkook improvises, hitching your vest top up above your breasts and then grabbing a hold of your hands, placing them on top of your head.  

You’re still whimpering his name when Jungkook stands back to admire the view, taking his time to slowly stroke one large, vascular hand back and forth along his cock that’s weeping excitement at the sight of you.  Your hips twist restlessly against the leather, your buttocks wet with the copious arousal that’s leaked from your core, and it’s an act of impulsion that has you boldly picking up your feet from the floor and placing a heel on the end of each arm rest to put yourself on full display, praying it might tempt him into giving in.  

“Desperation looks so damn good on you,” Jungkook grits out, his fist tightening around his cock as he pumps it roughly, his attention focused directly on your glistening folds, “Fucking beautiful.”   

“Please Jungkook,” you mewl, your needy little hole visibly clenching for him to see, wetness running down between your buttocks and making every inch of your filth slickened skin seem to shine, “I need you, please.”  

You’re not sure exactly what it is that finally makes your husband snap.  All you know is that one second he’s stood above you, hand wrapped his cock, and then the next he’s all over you, fingers dug deep into the meat of your thighs and his tongue behind your teeth.  It’s the first time you’ve kissed since your discovery, and this is like none you’ve shared before, even in your most passionate of moments.  

Jungkook dominates in every sense of the word, his teeth sinking into your already well-chewed bottom lip and tongue diving deep, reckless with the weight of his body as he presses himself on top of you, the girth of his cock slipping against your core.  

“Oh god,” you gasp into his open mouth as you feel him angle his hips just so, so eager to take you that there’s no preparation, no stretch of his fingers to ready you before he starts to push inside, groaning low as you let out a strangled cry in half-hearted protest, “Jungko-ah!”

Inch by inch, he eases himself inside, his forehead pressed to yours as your walls convulse around the intrusion, like your body is trying in vain to drag him further in faster than Jungkook will allow.  He’s dragging this out to enjoy every wail that you release into his mouth, every jump of your hips each time he sinks further in.

“Know you love that burn, baby,” Jungkook grunts out, teeth clenched and jaw tight, “Love my fat cock stretching you out just right.”  With your hands bound as they are and your body trapped under Jungkook’s own, you have little choice but to wrap your thighs around his narrow waist and gratefully receive all he has to give you, whimpering with pleasure when he finally bottoms out, the head of his cock nestled snug against your cervix.  

“Fuck, you’re so tight.”  Slowly, he pulls all the way out.  “Fuck.”  The second thrust is much easier than the first and the third just right, and each and every time Jungkook sinks into you it's to an accompaniment of wet, squelching sounds that border on obscene.  

“J-jungkook,” you stammer, driven mad by the excruciatingly slow pace he’s adopted and the leisurely way he rolls his hips against you.  Before every thrust he pulls all the way out before plunging back inside, and every time he slips out it leaves you with an ache so fierce deep down in your core that it almost makes you cry, throat burning with the effort it takes to hold back the tears.  

“You want it harder, baby?” Jungkook smirks into the crook of your neck where he’d been busy trailing kiss after kiss to your extra-sensitive skin when he feels your heels dig into his meaty buttocks, fighting to keep him inside.  Your throat has always been your weakness, and clearly your husband means to exploit by the way he lavishes it with such attention, tongue and lips and teeth working in tandem to make your wriggle around on the end of his cock all the more.  

He pulls away just enough to fix you in a dark, heated stare, stilling inside of you before uttering huskily,

“Want me to show you how rough I can get?”  

Air stolen out from your lungs, all you can do is nod your acquiescence and the fingers resting atop of your head twist together as you palm begin to sweat, suddenly nervous, wondering what it is you’re letting yourself in for, but Jungkook doesn’t give you time to second guess.  

As soon as your head is bobbing he’s abruptly lifting you up and out of his chair, still buried deep within, grabbing handfuls on your ass to hold you in place as you sling your arms around his neck and clench your thighs around him tight, afraid that you might fall.

Jungkook has no intention of letting that happen.  Grunting with the effort, he begins to bouncing you rapidly on his cock in mid-air, and the exertion of it breaking him out into a sweat only seconds after he begins, dripping between the frown that creases his brow.  Underneath you his powerful thighs are straining to breaking point and yet he still doesn’t stop, not until you’re practically sobbing at how heavenly it feels to have him slam against your g-spot again and again, your face buried at the juncture of his shoulder and neck.  

You feel him side-step and then all of a sudden you’re falling backward and your back is crashing down onto the desk, Jungkook grabbing at both of your thighs to push them back and bury himself even deeper into you, utterly unconcerned with the sound of his gun falling to the floor at his feet.  He has far sweeter noises to listen to; the endless moans of pleasure that are pouring forth from your wide open mouth, back arching, head tilted back.  

“You make the prettiest sounds when you’re taking my cock, baby,” Jungkook informs you through his laboured breaths, “You take it so well.”  

With great effort you manage to open your eyes to the sound of his voice, body jolting with every one of his thrusts, and the visage that awaits you has your orgasm you could already feel approaching lurching ever nearer.  Jungkook towering over you, his musculature covered in a sheen of sweat and a hungry look in the eyes that follow the path his hand trials downward from your stomach to reach between your legs for the rough pads of his fingertips to locate your clit and pinch it, hard.  

“O-oh shit,” you curse at the feel of your high fast approaching; a delicious tightening of every one of your muscles that Jungkook is able to feel from the inside, your passages squeezing even harder than before, impossibly tight.  Your whole pelvis feels as though it’s liquefying into a molten heat that spreads further out into your veins with every thrust of his hips and circle of his fingers, alighting every one of your nerves along the way until a wave of white hot pleasure engulfs you from your head to your toes.

“Cum nice and hard for me, baby,” Jungkook encourages even as you convulse underneath him, crying out his name, your stomach muscles tensing in perfect time with your core, “There’s a good girl.”  

Your orgasm is so fierce, so long-lasting, that it takes all Jungkook has to hold back and not finish there and then - to pour himself into you as he so longs to.  Instead, he forces himself to pull out before the temptation proves too much, and even as in the haze that accompanies your coming down you’re still aware of his sudden absence within you.  You look up - chin tilted forward - confusion flashing across your fucked out expression.  

Jungkook’s sinks back into his computer chair, spreading his legs open wide, and it’s with a curl of his finger that he beckons you to come take your place on his lap.  On wobbling legs you manage to stand, your gaze fixed on the thick cock that awaits you, stood tall against his stomach and shining with the fluid that’d gushed forth with your orgasm.   

Jungkook hums lowly as he watches you climb onto his lap, admiring the way your body moves to settle your thighs either side of his own, a hand on your hip to keep you steady.  His chestnut brown hair is a mess from having dried in disarray yet it only serves to make him look all more irresistible, and you find It amazing that even having cum so hard just a matter of minutes ago you’re still craving him more and more; your appetite for him insatiable.

Leaning yourself forward, breasts against his chest, you begin to rub your core up and down his length, rolling your hips and softly whining every time it almost slips inside.  Without your hands you can’t quite angle everything right, and after a minute or so of senseless grinding against him your husband helpfully grasps his cock between thumb and forefinger to nestle the head amongst your folds, just as eager as you are to put an end to your mutual frustration.  

“Fuck, that’s right,” he groans as you sink down onto him, his pretty eyes closing as his chin tilts up, head rolling back, “Bounce on me, baby.  Fuck yourself on my cock.”  Bracing your forearms against his chest, hands clasped together at the base of his throat, you begin to move.  You’ve no intention of taking things slow or drawing this out - you’re both long past that - and the tempo with which you slam yourself down onto his lap, over and over again, is relentless from the offset.  

Your thighs burn with the effort it takes to keep going, but it’s worth it; worth it for the pleasure that throbs inside with every smack of his cock against your cervix, every drag of your clit against his pubic bone and every broken moan that falls from Jungkook’s lips.  When you start to circle your hips on each stroke up and down his head tips forward again, eyes opening and making you quiver with the intensity with which they look you up and down, greedily taking you in.  

“You like riding me, huh?” he asks you, voice strained and his fingertips digging into the flesh of your hips when you nod, boneless, dragging you down onto him even harder. “Ngh - feels so good.  Love watching these titties bounce.”  Jungkook grabs a handful of your breast to feel it undulate in his palm with your every movement before plucking at your nipple sharply enough to make you gasp, rolling the bud between his fingers and licking his lips like he’d rather it were inside his mouth.  

“J-Jungkook,” you mewl, unlinking your fingers to paw helplessly at his skin as you rock back and forth, pace refusing to falter even with your growing exhaustion.  It feels to good to stop to stop now - not until you’ve cum again and made him cum with you.  “W-wanna cum, please, oh god.”  

“Come on then, pretty girl,” Jungkook smiles, leaning his head back against the chair and letting it tilt slightly to the side so as to better admire the view of his cock plunging into your depths over and over again, “No-one’s stopping you.”  

“Oh fu-uuck!”  You’re close - so close - so very almost there, your head thrown back and sweat beading down your chest with the effort it’s taking to get yourself there without any help from the man beneath you who’s content just to watch you using his body in order to get off, save the extra push and pull of his hands on your hips.  

“Come on baby,” he persists, and you can tell from the timbre of Jungkook’s voice and the further hardening of his cock within you that he’s getting close too, “Don’t stop now.  You look so good, so perfect for me, fuck, babe, you’re gonna make me cum so hard.”  Somehow, you find it within you to start moving even faster, letting out a strangled moan in amongst the sounds of skin slapping and the squelching that accompanies every your every motion thanks to the juices that have seeped onto onto his lap and thighs.  

“That’s what you want, right?”  His words may be starting to slur - to pour out from his mouth so fast that you’re not even sure that they really make sense - but they’re driving you wild.  Jungkook has never been this vocal in bed before you’re starting to think that you might have to insist on it from now on; he’s too good not to.  “Want your s-sweet little pussy stuffed full of my cum.”

“Mmff, yes, yes, please, yes,” you chant, unaware that you’re even speaking aloud.  Your please are directed more to your own body than to your husband, anyway, egging on the pleasure you can feel growing within until you break for the second time, teeth clamping down on your bottom lip so hard you draw blood.  Your movements slow dramatically - a slow undulation of your pelvis rather than the frantic grind that had led you here - but Jungkook is quick to pick up where you left off.  

Whilst the walls of your pussy are still clenching around him he grabs onto your ass and begins to thrust up into you from underneath, ruthless, and oversensitivity has you crying out his name and letting your head flop forward to rest on his shoulder as he takes control.  Like a ragdoll he lifts you up and down, hips and ass and thighs working hard to reach his end, expending so much energy that he can no longer speak to save the quiet, breathy,

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” that fall endlessly from his lips.  

It’s with a faltering cry of your name that Jungkook finally cums, his face pressed into your hair to muffle the moans that follow.  You feel every muscle he owns tensing underneath you, as rock solid as his cock has become inside, and then he’s twitching and pulsing and spilling himself inside of you in ecstasy; white hot ribbons of cum squirting out so thick and fast and so much that you can feel it start to seep out even while he’s stuffed so deep.  

His breath is hot against your scalp as he tries to catch it, your heaving chests sticky with sweat where they’re pressed together.  

“I love you,” Jungkook sighs into your hair after a minute has passed, a hand running through it, and when he sits up you feel him brushing it gently back from your face to look down at where you remain in the crook of his neck, completely exhausted.  “I’m sorry I never told you.”  

“It’s ok,” you murmur, eyelids fluttering open to be greeted by your husband smiling softly down at you, eyes creasing at the corners, “I’m still mad… and there’s a lot we need to talk about.”  It takes a great effort to sit yourself upright again but with Jungkook’s help you accomplish it, smiling sleepily back at him.  “But I still love you, even if you’re not quite who I thought you were.”  

“Good to know.”  Cradling your cheek, Jungkook leans forward and presses a sweet, lingering kiss to your mouth and another peck thereafter, touching noses.  

It’s reassuring to have him act so sweetly with you now; gently lifting you off of his length to settle you crossways over his lap, uncaring about the mess that swiftly leaks out of you onto his thighs.  He’s extra careful, too, as he cuts you lose from your binds, and after he sets his knife aside Jungkook spends a good few minutes dutifully massaging and kissing at the red marks that are left behind, the soft brown of his eyes full of love as he lavishes you with affection.    

No matter who he is - or what he might be - Jungkook is still the man you fell in love with so many years ago.  He’s still the same man who falls asleep every night at your side and who kisses you awake every morning; who brings you breakfast in bed and makes you laugh until you cry.  It’ll take a lot of time, and a lot of talking, but somehow you’ll get through this.  No matter what, you couldn’t bare to part.  

You’re not sure what that says about you - but one problem at a time.  

“So,” you begin as Jungkook is carrying you across the living room in his arms, your fingers playing in the back of his hair where it’s starting to grow just a little too long, “There’s definitely nothing else you need to tell me?”  

“Nothing,” he confirms with a decisive nod, “Promise.”  

“Hm.”  Dangling your legs over the crook of his elbow, you cluck your tongue thoughtfully. “That’s a shame… I kinda liked the cable ties.”  Your husband pauses on the bathroom tile, looking down at you with raised eyebrows and an amused twinkle in his eyes.

“... I’m sure I can think of something.”  

[ohpedromypedros-main]

Every Sense of the Way (Part 1)

A/N: Part 1 for my Roman x Reader series is finally here! Enjoy!

Author: bill-skarsgard-writings

Word Count: 2,005

Characters: Bill x Reader, Stina (OC)

Pairings: None yet. ;)

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of sex, but no actual smut between Roman and reader. That’ll come in the next part. ;)

Your name: submit What is this? // <![CDATA[ document.getElementById("submit").addEventListener('click', myHandler); function myHandler() { var v = document.body.innerHTML; var input = document.getElementById("inputTxt").value; v = v.replace(/\by\/n\b|\(y\/n\)/ig, input); document.body.innerHTML = v; }

Summary: The reader is hired as Roman Godfrey’s personal secretary and he has an instant attraction toward her, but something the reader promises to do for him leaves him wanting her even more.

Godfrey Institute, the most powerful institution in all of Hemlock Grove. And to think, you were about to start a job there. Of course it was only a secretary job, but, you were the new secretary for the man himself. Roman Godfrey.

You'd heard stories about Roman from several different people. Things like his bad temper, his 'don't give a fuck' attitude (though if you were to ask some of his close friends and family, they'd tell you that he gives a fuck on rare occasions.), but the one thing that caught your attention the most was that he could get laid any time he wanted, anywhere he wanted, with whoever he damn well pleased. You'd be lying if you said you didn't want a good fucking from him. But, since he was going to be your new boss, that would be a bit unprofessional. Right?

You were quite nervous to meet Roman on your first day. You weren't sure you were gonna be able to meet his expectations. The last secretary clearly didn't, seeing as he was gotten rid of. Quite literally too. You hoped you could do better than the last guy and at least spare yourself the embarrassment around the hottest guy in town. The closer you got to Roman's office, the more your heart pounded. Were you ready for this? Sure you were qualified, had experience from a past job, but come on... this was Roman fucking Godfrey. Maybe you could change your mind, maybe you could--

“Mr. Godfrey? Your new secretary is here to see you.”

Nope. Too late.

“Send her in.”

You could hear the slight annoyance in his voice and that raised red flags for you. FUCK. Can I really do this? What if he sees me and instantly hates me? A hand on your back snapped you back from your thoughts and the woman that led you to Roman's office motioned inside.

“Go on ahead, dear. He's been patiently waiting for your arrival.”

You could only nod your head, swallowing the lump in your throat before making your way into Roman's office. He was busy scribbling away on some papers, probably signing important documents, so he didn't pay any mind to you at first. You bit your lip, just soaking in your surroundings while you waited for him to finish what he was doing. You surely didn't want to interrupt him and make him upset on your first day. First impressions were always important to you. You decided to observe the pictures hanging on the walls for several minutes while he finished his task.

“Alright. Sorry about the w-- Holy shit.”

You looked away from the picture you were currently admiring to glance at him, a slight blush creeping on your cheeks at his reaction. Roman stood there gawking at you, his eyes deliberately scanning your figure.

“Wow... You must be Y/N, I presume?”

“Mhm,” you bit your lip. “It's... It's a pleasure to be working for you. I've heard a lot about you.”

“Good things I hope?”

“Nothing but,” you grinned, your words a slight lie, but mostly true. You couldn't care what people said about his temper, you had a bit of a bad one yourself.

“Well that's good to hear. So,” he paused, walking around his desk and to where you stood. “Has anyone explained what you'll be doing for me yet?”

“Not exactly. All I know is that I'll be your secretary,” you smiled.

“Well, your work isn't too hard. The last guy couldn't grasp that concept, so I let him go. You'll just take phone calls for me, grab any documents I ask for, maybe even sneak some things to me. Some stuff around here are kept secret from me and I find it very fishy, so I've been trying to get to the bottom of it.”

“Really? Aren't you like, the fucking CEO now?”

“Pretty much, but apparently no one treats me that way.”

“Well, I'll do anything you ask.”

“Good,” he smirked. “Anything?”

You blushed a little more, nodding your head.

“Yes sir, Mr. Godfrey.”

“Oh, please, call me Roman.”

“Okay, Roman.”

“So how's the job going?”

You sat across from your best friend Stina at a local coffee shop, a grin spreading across your face.

“Honestly? Pretty fucking great so far. I mean, it's like I won the lottery.”

“How's that?” She laughed.

“You have seen Roman, right? He's godly!”

“Oh jeez...”

“What?” You huffed, your arms crossing over your chest. “It's true.”

“I know it is, but he's your boss. You don't expect to get anything more out of that, do you?”

You shrugged your shoulders, a slight smirk spreading across your lips. You personally would love to have a sexual relationship with Roman. Yeah he was your boss, but that never stopped anyone else from having secret relationships with theirs in the past.

“Y/N...”

“What?” You rolled your eyes.

“Roman sleeps with literally anyone and everyone he wants. I don't want you to get hurt.”

“Hurt meaning what? An STD?”

“NO. Oh my God,” she pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing softly. “Do you know how many girls that have slept with Roman fell for him, but were in the end turned down by him because of how big of a man whore he is? He doesn't want love, he wants one thing. He uses girls to get a lay and that's it.”

You sighed, realizing Stina was probably right. Was it a good idea anyway? Would he get in trouble for sleeping with you? You personally didn't care what anybody else thought, you just wanted to know what it was like to fuck Roman Godfrey himself.

“Just... Trust me on this, okay?” She begged, eyes pleading with yours.

“Alright fine. I'll lay off and just focus on my job.”

“Good. I really mean it. I don't want you to get hurt.”

You gave her an appreciative smile, reaching across the table to place your hand over hers.

“I know. Thank you.”

“It's what best friends are for, right?”

“Right.”

You decided to change the subject, not wanting to upset or worry her any more than she already was. You could tell something was off with her, but you didn't want to push the subject.

“So, how are things going with you anyway?” You asked, taking a sip of your coffee.

“Pretty good. I've got a date this Friday.”

“Oh? With whooo?” You teased, already knowing the answer. She had met a guy about a month ago at a bar two towns over and they hit it off pretty quickly.

“Madden, duh.”

“Niiice. Do you know where you guys are going for your date?”

“I dunno,” she shrugged. “He says it's a surprise.”

“Ah. Well I hope you have a good time. I know how you are with guys. Don't like having your time wasted.”

“Pretty much,” she laughed.

You talked about her upcoming date with Madden for several minutes before your phone started to ring. You looked down and noticed Roman was calling.

“Hey I gotta take this real quick,” you stood up, giving her an apologetic look.

“That's fine.”

You headed outside, quickly answering the call.

“Hey, Roman.”

“Hey. I need a huge favor. You busy?”

You turned your head to look back inside at Stina who was typing away on her cell.

“Not really. Why, what's up?”

“I think it's best if we discussed in person. Can you stop by my office as soon as you can?”

“Of course. I'm on my way now.”

“Thank you, Y/N.”

“You're welcome, boss.”

You hung up and headed back inside to where Stina was just putting her cell down on the table.

“I'm seriously so sorry to ditch you like this, but that was Roman and it sounded pretty urgent. He needs me for something at work.”

“That's okay, Y/N. I know working for him you're gonna be extremely busy. Just text me later, okay?”

“Okay. Love you, bitch.”

“Love you too,” she laughed.

You gave her a quick hug before going on your way and driving to work. You were pretty worried about the phone call with Roman. It sounded very urgent and you weren't sure what to expect when you got there. After parking your car, you hurriedly made your way inside and to Roman's office. You gently knocked on his door, waiting for him to respond.

“Come in.”

You opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind you. You opened your mouth to greet him, but it only hung open when your eyes landed on him. He was wearing the tightest button up shirt that hugged his biceps in the utmost sexiest way and only a black vest over it. He looked up at you when he sensed your presence and that was when you quickly shut your mouth before any drool could spill from your lips. Of course he saw the small action, which only made him smirk.

“Y/N.”

“Roman,” you blushed.

“Have a seat.”

You nodded your head, taking the seat placed directly in front of his desk. He watched your every move, tongue swiping across his bottom lip as his eyes landed on your cleavage. You weren't planning on being there, so you were still wearing the outfit you wore to coffee with Stina, and it wasn't your usual business casual outfit you would wear to work. Before you noticed his eyes on your boobs, he quickly darted them to his desk then back up at you.

“So I called you here because I have a huge favor to ask you.”

“Of course. I'll do anything.”

“Thank you... I don't know if you heard, but recently my sister ran away.”

“Shelley. Yeah, I heard about that. Have you heard from her?”

“No,” he frowned. “It's kinda why I called you here. I was hoping maybe you could do some digging and see if anyone's seen her. And I'm not talking locally, I'm talking surrounding towns and cities. States, even.”

You bit your lip, realizing this was going to be a very hard task for you. What if you couldn't find squat on Shelley's whereabouts? What would Roman do? Would he tell you it was okay and that he didn't expect you to find anything? Or would he get pissed with you and tell you to work harder?

“You don't have to get this done quick,” he added. “I know it's going to be a hard thing for you to do, but I just ask because I really worry about Shelley. Especially in places that aren't Hemlock Grove. People will see her and...and think she's some sort of a monster. She's not. I don't want her to get hurt.”

You nodded your head, a saddened yet understanding look in your eyes. You reached across the table for Roman's hand and gently brushed your thumb across the back of it.

“I understand what you mean. I can't say I understand what it feels like to lose a sibling like Shelley, but I understand your worry. And I promise you, Roman, I will try my absolute hardest to find your sister.”

Roman gave you the biggest appreciative smile he's ever given anybody and stood up to walk around his desk, reaching to pull you out of your chair and give you a hug. You smiled in return, wrapping your arms around his tall frame and resting your head against his chest.

Roman never hugged like this, but your words struck something in him and he knew, he just knew, you were everything he's ever been looking for. In every sense of the way.

Read part 2 here!

Roman x Reader tag list: @weak-aesthetic @skarsgardtrash @sebbystanxbuckybarnes @thebeautyandthatbass @adoresfandoms @mahomie-sara-9-84 @baileystorm17 @first-jumper-tris46 @the-fandom-phantom-fanfics @mango307 @elizabethkatarina @my-fan-girl-life @ohmyformula-one

Everything tag list: @cecesunshine-fanfictions @this-is-what-makes-us-fandoms @scarlett-lehane @jughead-wuz-here @bluebird19 @penni-saur @motionlessinwow

A/N: If you’d like to be added to any of my tag lists, let me know!

[sueboohscorner]

OUTLANDER S3 Ep 11 : "Uncharted" .....New version of Survivor

FIrst....Diana Gabaldon wrote about a short bit about a man on a tropical island that talked to a Coconut named "Coco" LONG before Tom Hanks had Wilson to keep him company.  Just an FYI.

So, Claire jumped ship and the water was supposed to carry her to the Grand Turks where she could get a ship to Jamaica.  That is not what happened. Claire floats for god knows how long and then sees land and barely makes it to the beach. 

The next 12 minutes is her drying her clothes, walking through the middle of the jungle, getting eaten alive by fire ants, having a boa constrictor slithering over her when she wakes up one morning, and basically trying to find water and survive.  In my opinion, 10 minutes too long, especially since there WAS a HURRICANE in the books which we did not get to experience.  I mean Claire hanging in a mangrove holding onto a tree for dear life in dangerously high winds is much more exciting to me.

Nevertheless, she passes out as she just starts to hear a voice and a dog barking.  She wakes up sometime later, convinced she is dying and trying to figure out where she is and then realizes she is tied to the bed hand and foot with a nice glass of water nearby. 

A woman comes in with a poor bedside manner in my opinion and gives Claire the water, but nearly drowns her in doing so.  She tells Claire in Spanish that she is tied up for her own good.  Claire passes back out.

She wakes up again, some time later, and there is a man sitting on the side of her bed and announces to "Mamacita" that their guest is awake at last.  He unties Claire and hands her some water and introduces himself as Father Fogden and asks how she got there.  Claire asks where "here" is and the Father is very pleased to hear she is English. The Father tells her she is on the island of Sam Domingue, three days from Jamaica.  He is shocked to hear that she not only jumped off a ship into the ocean, but is also a doctor.  "It is much more common in the colonies" she tells him lamely.  

Claire learns there is a small village on the other side of the island, a days walk from there.  She could get a boat to the next island over and then to Jamaica.  She is eager to go but the Father says that it is not a good idea in her condition and this is where he gets even weirder....consults with "Coco" his coconut friend for advice.  Oooooookaaaay then.  The Father asks Mamacitia if they have any clothing for Claire, perhaps one of Ermengilda's, but Mamacita says no in a big way and calls Claire a whore really not worthy of the clothing.  Mamacita takes Claire out back and gives her a towel with some soap and a robe.  She can take a bath and she relishes in it.

Back inside, Claire is seated to dinner with Mamacita and the Father.�� He tells his story of being a missionary in Cuba and fell deeply in love with a woman there....Ermengilda.  She returned his affections, which surprised him.  However, she was already married to a powerful and dangerous man named Don Hernando and the Father, being a priest is never supposed to become involved with a woman, especially a married one.  So the couple fled together and ended up on the island where they are now.  However, shortly after arriving, Ermengilda became sick and died.  She was Mamacita's only child and is convinced that this "whore" is here to take her daughter's place.  Claire says she wishes to depart as soon as possible.  Of course, Mamacita is more than happy with that plan.  Father Fogden and Mamacita start to argue and Claire excuses herself and sits down the hall next to a room and sees a beautiful dress hanging.  Just then, the Father comes and tells her that it was his Ermengilda's dress.  

Claire listens to the Father talk about this woman he loved.  He turns to Claire and says, “When you loved someone as much as I loved Ermenegilda, it never leaves you."  . He looks at Claire and having heard her tale of woe about Jamie, he understands. “You have loved someone so much that you would risk everything for them,” he says.  Ummmm.....yeah.....that is why I am trying to leave NOW.

The only one left to convince is Coco to which Claire makes a brave, albeit lame attempt at having a conversation with the coconut when she hears the Father approaching.  However, we don't know if this would have worked, because Mamacita starts screaming for the Father.

When the Father and Claire arrive outside, Mamacita says that a "China man" killed and ate Arabella, their favorite goat.  She hands the Father the skinned head which he gently puts on top of a barrel and grabs a jar and dumps some flesh eating beetles on top.  “Voracious little fellows,” he says to Claire, “from a cave called Abandawe."  Claire immediately gets a flashback of Margaret Campbell in Edinburgh warning her about that cave.  I just call it the "other" stone circle.  Yes, people.....there is more than one worldwide and there is usually stone involved, but not always a standing stone circle. The Father says that it is highly regarded as a place of great power by the locals and that there is a history of people "just appearing there".  Hmmmmmm.

Claire asks for more information when she hears the work "China man" again.  Could it be?  She is told that there are sailors on the beach as some damage was done to their ship.  Claire is pointed in the proper direction and she takes off running.

Meanwhile, we finally see Jamie, sitting on the beach.  Apparently some strong winds (again....HURRICANE people...it IS hurricane season the same time every year) came along and they lost several crew members, like Captain Raines and Mr. Murphy (the cook).  They are busy trying to fix their mast and sails.  Marsali is even asked to help as she is good with a needle and thread.

Claire, running as fast as her feet can run through the jungle, convinced that it is Jamie (hey...it COULD be the same ship you jumped off of...but okay).  There is a montage of men working to get things fixed and picked up and Claire running.  Question becomes, will she make it on time? She cuts open her arm pretty good on the way through, but manages to keep going.  When she finally arrives on the beach, she sees the Artemis out in the ocean.  The ship hasn't left yet, thank goodness, but they are too far away to hear her screaming.  They are not ready to sail just yet, they are still adding the finishing touches to their repairs.  

Claire had pocketed a small mirror earlier at dinner time when she went to sit by herself.  She thinks of it now and uses it as a beacon which catches Jamie's eye.  When Jamie looks through the spyglass and sees his beloved Claire there, the next thing we see is Claire running toward the beach and small boat arriving at the beach, but Jamie is already out and running towards Claire. 

A beautiful reunion moment, where Jamie tells her he thought he lost her again and he thanks God that they have found each other.  Kissing of course comes with this.

A little later, Jamie and Claire are talking and Jamie confesses he has given his blessing to Fergus and Marsali to be married.  He has seen that Fergus loves Marsali like he loves Claire.  He thinks it a good idea to have a wedding as a way of lifting the mood of the men and a celebration (they found each other again!).  Claire just happens to know of someone who could help out in that area. Oh, and Mr. Willoughby stitches up Claire and she approves of his work.

Back at the "ranch", Marsali is trying to get herself ready for her wedding.  She is having difficulties with her corset and Claire comes to help her.  She asks Claire if she knows of a way to prevent pregnancy.  Claire asks why a young girl like Marsali would not be pleased to start a family right away.  First, Marsali says she just wants to have her and Fergus time to enjoy each other (very future modern of her).  She then confesses that when Jamie would pull her mother close, her mom would shrink back.  But, she sees Jamie with Claire and it is different.  Claire loves the touching, etc.  Claire admits she does and as she finishes up the corset on Marsali, tells her once they are back on the boat, she will tell her how it is done. 

Marsali is pleased that there is actually a way and that maybe Claire is not the devil after all.  Gee....thanks girl.

The wedding happens....well....for the most part.  LOL!  Father Fogden is high, crazy and possibly drunk (but there was none of the famous drink in the show).  He turns to the wrong man and asks him if he chooses to marry this woman and the poor man says no and points to Fergus.  The Father asks if he is sure as this "one" only has one hand a “I suppose it’s fine unless he’s missing his cock. He isn’t, is he?” asks the priest. To which Marsali responds, saucily, “I could tell you if you’d up and get on with it.”  Marsali is getting impatient and speaks her mind a few times.  When it comes to Fergus's turn, the Father asks his WHOLE name.  Fergus tells him that Fergus is his name. 

Jamie speaks up that his name is Fergus Claudel FRASER.  Fergus is more than pleased.

Back on the ship, we don't get to see Fergus and Marsali, but we get our Turtle Soup scene, although it isn't quite as good as the book version IMO.  Claire is slurping up soup and telling Jamie how good it is.  She is obvious drunk (from the soup) and Jamie also sees she is burning up of fever. 

She tries to get him to help her inject her with the penicillin.  Jamie gets close, but can't do the final deed of stabbing her with it.  Claire does it herself.  She comes on strong to Jamie and tells him to bolt the door as she is climbing over the table to him. 

Jamie thinks it is wrong to take advantage of a woman who is drunk and feverish.  Claire disagrees and says she is not drunk.  What follows is a hot sex scene (they finally do it like "horses" like Jamie thought on the wedding night), but Mr. Willoughby knocks to see how "first wife" likes the soup and if she wants anymore.  Jamie is trying his best to do his deed, and keep his wife quite but she isn't that easy to handle.  Mr. Willoughby gets the message when he hears a couple of sounds and walks away.

That is a great way to end an episode.  At least this week, they are together and not in danger.  However, we still have Jamaica and for one, I am NOT happy they chose to do it in only two episodes.  Jamaica is almost HALF of the freaking book and quite a bit happens while they are there.  Well, I guess we will see.

What are your thoughts or opinions on this episode?  I give it a FOUR as they once again spent too much time on something where they could put something they are leaving out IN.

[anavoliselenu]

Relaese me chapter 6

“No way. He wants you. Your snark. Your attitude. I mean, he flat out told you that you’re not like the usual women on his arm. I Googled him, you know.”

I blink at the non sequitur. “You did not. When?”

“After you told me he was bringing you home. He’s pretty private—I didn’t find a lot and to be honest I didn’t try very hard. But it doesn’t look like he dates that much. Lots of women, sure, but nobody serious except for this one socialite a few months ago, but she’s dead.”

“Dead? Shit. How?”

“I know. Sad, right? Some sort of accident. But that’s not the point.”

My head is spinning. “What is the point?”

“You,” she says. “I mean, even if you are just a notch on his bedpost, so what? You’re not a nun.”

I almost ask if she was listening when I described the whole phone-sex-in-the-limo thing, but I wisely keep my mouth shut.

“And honestly, I don’t think you’re just a notch. I think he really likes you.”

I raise a brow. “And you base this on your extensive knowledge of the man gleaned from five minutes on the Internet?”

“I gleaned it from what you told me,” she says. “He wanted your opinion on a painting. He got all alpha male on Ollie’s ass. He made you come, for Christ’s sake. And let’s not forget the foot massage. Holy crap, girl, I’d totally fuck a guy who gave me a foot massage. Hell, I’d probably marry him.”

I can’t help but smile. Sadly, Jamie probably isn’t exaggerating.

“Not every guy is an asshole like Kurt,” she says, and for Jamie her voice is surprisingly gentle. “You can’t keep pretending you’re wearing a damn chastity belt.”

I cringe. “Just drop it. Please.”

She looks at me, then bites out a sharp, “Dammit.” She draws in a breath. Her eyes are sad, and I can see that she knows she’s gone too far.

She stands up and moves to the fireplace. Since a fireplace in the San Fernando Valley is an absolutely idiotic concept, Jamie has converted it to a bar. Bottles instead of logs. Glasses on the mantel. She grabs the bottle of Knob Creek. “Want some?”

I do, but I shake my head. I’ve had enough of alcohol for the night. “I’m tired,” I say, pushing myself up off the sofa.

“I’m really sorry. You know I wouldn’t—”

“I know,” I say. “And it’s really okay. I just need sleep.”

A sly smile touches her mouth, and I know that we’re okay again. “I guess so. You have a meeting tomorrow, don’t you? And who’s that meeting with, exactly?”

“Give it a rest, Jamie,” I say, but I grin as I head toward my bedroom. She’s right. I do have a big meeting. With Stark. In his offices. With my boss standing right there with the two of us.

I think back over the events of the evening.

I dwell on the panties I left in the limo.

And as I collapse facedown on my bed, only one thought goes through my mind: What the hell have I done?

10

My arms are stretched above my head, my wrists bound by something smooth but firm. My naked body is stretched out on cool silk. I cannot move my legs.

My eyes are closed, and yet I know what binds me. A red ribbon twined around my wrists. Wrapped tight around my ankles. I struggle, but there’s nowhere to go, and I don’t really want to escape anyway.

Something cool brushes my erect nipple, and I arch up in surprise and pleasure.

“Hush.” His voice seems to brush over me like a caress.

“Please,” I whisper.

He doesn’t answer, but once again I’m sweetly assaulted by a burst of cold. This time, he doesn’t pull away. It’s an ice cube, and he traces it over my nipple, down the swell of my breasts. I feel the trickle of water down my cleavage as the ice melts. He traces patterns on me with the melting ice, his hands never touching me, just the cold hardness that’s melting against my skin.

“Please,” I whisper again. I arch up, wanting more, but am stopped by my bindings.

“You’re mine,” he says.

I open my eyes, needing to see his face, but everything around me is gray and out of focus. I am lost in an imagined world.

I am the girl in the painting. Aroused and on display for all the world to see.

“Mine,” he repeats, his body a blurred gray shape above me.

His hands on my breasts are calloused and strong, yet so tender I want to cry. He eases them down, touching every inch of me, tracing my breasts, my rib cage, my belly. I tense as he approaches my pubis, suddenly afraid, but his hands lift and settle again on the outside of my thighs. I am in heaven from his touch. Lost. Floating. Dancing in a haze of pleasure.

But then his hands shift. He takes my knees and gently forces my legs apart. And slowly, so slowly, he glides his palms up my inner thighs.

I tense, and it’s no longer a pleasurable dance but a frightening maelstrom. I try to pull away, but I’m trapped, and he’s coming closer to my secrets. To my scars.

I struggle more. I have to get away, and warning bells are ringing, echoing through the room like red-hot klaxons—

Away,

Away,

Away,

“—awake?”

I’m jolted out of my dream by the sound of Jamie’s voice. “What? I’m sorry, what?”

On the nightstand beside me, my phone is screeching. Outside my doorway, Jamie is shouting.

“I said, ‘Are you awake?’ Because if you are, you need to answer your damn phone.”

Frazzled, I reach for it, and see Carl’s name on the display. I snatch it up, but the call’s already rolled over to voice mail.

With a groan, I slide my legs off the bed and stretch, then glance at the phone again to check the time. Six-fucking-thirty.

Seriously? I mean, is the sun even up yet?

I’m about to call him back when the phone rings yet again, and Carl’s name flashes like neon.

“I’m here,” I say. “I was just about to call you back.”

“Jesus Christ, Fairchild. Where’ve you been?”

“It’s practically dawn. I was in bed.”

“Well, get down here. We’ve got a shitload of work to do. I can’t get the fucking PowerPoint to work right, and we need to print out PDFs of the specs and get the proposal packages bound for Stark and his staff. I need you on it, pronto. Unless you already signed him to the deal last night? Or was there a nonbusiness purpose for his late night phone call to you?” There’s a lascivious tone to the last that I really don’t appreciate, but at least now I know how Justin got my phone number and my address.

“He called to make sure I got home okay,” I lie. “But next time I’d appreciate it if you didn’t give out my cell number without asking me first.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Get dressed and get down here. We’ll go from our office to Stark’s at one-thirty.”

I frown, because C-Squared occupies one corner of the eighteenth floor of the Logan Bank Building, and Stark Tower is right next door. In fact, the two buildings share a courtyard and an underground parking garage. “Isn’t the meeting at two?” A snail could make the trek in thirty minutes. We should be able to manage it in five.

“I’m not leaving anything to chance,” Carl says.

I know better than to argue. “I’ll be there in an hour. Tops.”

Jamie looks up as I rush into the kitchen to pop a bagel into the toaster. “Boss on a rampage?”

“Big time.” I bend down and scratch Lady M, who’s making figure eights around my legs. “And he was being oh so snarky about Justin asking me to stay last night.”

“Um, hello? You did get off in the backseat of Mr. Moneybags’s limousine.”

I glare at her, then head for the shower while my bagel toasts. On the way, I pass the flower arrangement. I sigh. Jamie’s right, of course.

I let the water get so hot and steamy it makes my skin turn red. Then I step in, tensing as those first heated drops batter my body, then relaxing as the heat oozes through me. I close my eyes and let the water sluice over me. I feel like I should be angry at myself for letting it get so out of control last night, but I can’t quite work up the lather. It sure as hell wasn’t the most prudent thing I ever did, but I’m a grown-up and so is Stark and there was chemistry and free will and it’s none of Carl’s business anyway.

Which would be all good and well if I didn’t have to see the man today. Or, rather, the men. One who’s a lascivious jerk. And one who I’m afraid is going to distract me and throw me off my game.

And what if he surreptitiously shows me my panties?

Enough.

I can’t think about it anymore or I’ll go crazy, so I focus on finishing my shower and getting dressed. I choose a black skirt, white blouse, and matching jacket. Not a suit, because this is Saturday and because I’m working in the tech field and clean jeans are about as fashionable as we tend to get, but I just can’t do a meeting in jeans. The shoes are a bit of a problem because my feet ache, but I jam them into my favorite black pumps anyway. I go easy on the makeup, pull my hair back into a ponytail, and, voilà, dressed in fifteen minutes. I think that’s a personal best.

I grab my purse and my bagel, but I don’t bother with cream cheese—with my luck I’d drop it and have to go the entire day with a creamy white smear on my black skirt. Then I shout goodbye to Jamie and head out the door.

I pause immediately, realizing that I’ve just stepped on a large yellow envelope that someone has left on the doormat. I pick it up. It’s light, with minimal bulk. A sheaf of papers or something similar. I turn it over and see that it has my name on it, along with the sticker from a local messenger service. I roll my eyes. Carl.

With the envelope tucked under my arm, I head to my car. If I’m going to be on time, I’ll have to read it at the stoplights.

My usual commute-time entertainment is the news, but I can’t stomach it today, so as I pull out onto Ventura Boulevard, I let the radio scan through static, evangelical stations, talk shows, and blaring rap music. I really need to get a new radio, the kind with a plug for an iPod. Finally the tuner lands on an oldies station, and by the time I enter the 101 freeway, I’m jamming with Mick as he and the Stones sing about not getting any satisfaction. I grin. At least last night I was one up on Jagger.

I pull into my assigned space in a remote corner of the underground parking lot exactly forty-seven minutes from the time Carl called, which probably breaks some Los Angeles speed record. I don’t leave the car immediately, though, because I still haven’t looked at the envelope, and if it’s about the presentation, Carl’s going to expect me to know the details cold.

I slide my finger under the flap and open it, then tilt the envelope sideways. A copy of Forbes falls into my lap, and I realize that I am grinning. There’s a note paper-clipped to the outside of the magazine. I told you I was tenacious. Read and learn. There’s no signature, but the From the Desk of Justin J. Stark stationery is a big clue.

I’m still smiling as I tuck the magazine in my oversized purse. So he’s tenacious, is he? Well, I can believe that. But my decision still stands. Just like I told Jamie, I can’t let this go any further.

But that doesn’t mean I’m not moved by his gesture. Not only did he remember a throwaway comment from our banter at the art show, but he actually sent the magazine all the way to my house.

“What are you grinning about?” Carl demands as I push through the glass doors into the aquarium-style conference room that is the focal point of the C-Squared offices. But he doesn’t really want my answer. He’s already looking me up and down, nodding, and saying, “Good. Good. You look professional, businesslike. Yeah. I’d give you money. So long as you don’t screw up the slideshow.”

“I won’t,” I say, grateful that he’s not mentioning last night or Justin or late night phone calls.

Carl preps with the intensity of a criminal defense attorney preparing for the trial of the century. His organizational system is a thing to be marveled at, and in the relatively short time since yesterday afternoon he’s completely revamped our presentation outline.

I ask a ton of questions and make at least as many suggestions, and instead of falling back on his asshat personality, Carl responds thoughtfully, answering my questions, considering my ideas, implementing them when they make sense, and taking the time to explain when he decides to pass on one of my proposals.

I’m in heaven. I’ve reviewed the specs of the 3-D modeling program enough to know that I could be a valuable member of the tech team, possibly even the team leader. But being a project leader or even a manager isn’t my goal. I want to be Carl. Hell, I want to be Justin Stark. And to get there, I need to know how to pull together a kick-ass presentation that will hook an underwriter for any one of the projects I’ve been toying with since my last year at UT.

Today I’m going to get to see two entrepreneurs in action. Carl, who rarely fails to get financing for any project he pitches. And Justin Stark, who has never said yes to a project that didn’t ultimately exceed expectations and make a fortune for both him and the underlying company.

The conference room table is littered with paper, electronic tablets, and notebook computers. While the rest of the team scurries about, Brian and Dave, the two lead programmers who had worked with Carl developing the software, bang away at the notebooks, fine-tuning the presentation slideshow and doing dry runs of the software with a staggering number of parameters.

Carl paces, his eagle eye on everyone. “We’re doing this right,” he says. “No fuck-ups. No slips. A well-oiled ship.” He narrows his eyes at Dave. “Go order up some sandwiches for lunch, but I swear to God, if anyone goes to that meeting with mustard on their shirt, I am firing his ass right then and there.”

At one-thirty sharp, Carl, Brian, Dave, and I gather our things and march mustard-free to the elevator. Carl fidgets during the entire eighteen-story descent. He looks at himself so often in the mirrored wall panels that I am tempted to tell him he makes a beautiful bride. Wisely, I keep my mouth shut.

Of course, once we cross the courtyard and enter the ultra-modern Stark Tower, I’m the one who fidgets. My nervousness exists on so many levels that I can’t even rally and organize my thoughts. There’s the basic flutter of nerves simply from the thought of seeing Stark again. Then there’s the fear that he’s going to say something during the meeting—not necessarily even something suggestive. But God forbid he should say the word “phone.” Or “ice.” It’ll throw me off my game completely.

I stop worrying long enough to sign in at the security desk, which is really more of a console, sleek and efficient. Two guards sit behind it, one typing something and the other efficiently taking and scanning our drivers’ licenses.

“All checked in,” the guard, whose nametag reads Joe, says. “You’re cleared to the penthouse,” he adds, handing us each a guest badge.

“The penthouse?” Carl repeats. “Our meeting’s at Stark Applied Technology.” The company is one of many owned by Stark and housed in this building. Tech companies, charitable foundations, companies that do things I probably haven’t even thought about. I glance down at the list of business names on the backlit console. All of them, I realize, are somehow related to Stark International. In other words, all of them are related to Justin Stark. Whatever I thought I knew was wrong; I have no concept of the wealth and power that Mr. Justin Stark commands.

“Yup, all the way up,” Joe is saying to Carl. “On Saturdays, Mr. Stark takes meetings in the penthouse conference room. Use the last elevator bank on the end. Here’s your card key to access the penthouse.”

My nervousness returns in the elevator. And this time it’s not just about seeing Justin. It’s about the presentation, too. I latch onto that. Work nerves are much better than sex nerves.

As Joe had said, we arrive at the penthouse quickly and smoothly. Carl and I are standing near the elevator doors when they open, with Brian and Dave behind us guiding the rolling cases that house all of our presentation materials. At first, I can only stand and gape. I’m staring at a stunning, yet comfortable, reception area.

One wall is made entirely of glass and presents a magnificent vista of the hills of Pasadena. At least a dozen Impressionist paintings line the other walls, each simply framed so as to keep the focus on the art and not the package. Each is individually lit and together they present an array of nature scenes. Verdant fields. Sparkling lakes. Vibrant sunsets. Impressive mountain ranges.

The art gives a soft, welcoming quality to the polished reception area, as does the coffee bar that stands off to one side, silently inviting guests to help themselves, and then take a seat on the black leather sofa. A smattering of magazines covers a coffee table, the topics ranging from finance to science to sports to celebrity. Off to the side, a foosball table adds a bit of whimsy.

A reception desk dominates the room, its surface cleared of everything except an appointment calendar and a phone. At the moment, it is unmanned. I’m wondering if Justin doesn’t keep a receptionist working on Saturdays when a tall, lithe brunette appears in the hallway leading off to the left. She smiles at us, revealing perfect teeth. “Mr. Rosenfeld,” she says, holding out her hand. “I’m Ms. Peters, Mr. Stark’s weekend assistant. I’d like to welcome you and your team to the penthouse. Mr. Stark is very much looking forward to your presentation.”

“Thank you,” Carl says. He looks a little intimidated. Behind me, Brian and Dave are a cacophony of shifting feet and rustling clothes. They are definitely a little intimidated.

Ms. Peters leads us down a wide hallway to the right and into a conference room so huge that NFL teams could practice there. It’s then that I realize that the penthouse office takes up a full half of the top story. The elevator rose in the center of the building, and the side we’re on is roughly shaped like a rectangle, with the reception area in the middle, the conference room on one side, and Stark’s office on the other.

But that means that there is an entire half a story behind us. Does Stark’s office flow into that space as well? Is some other CEO subletting from Stark?

I’m not sure why I’m so curious, but I am, and so I ask Ms. Peters about the building’s layout.

“You’re right,” she says. “The office area of the penthouse takes up only half the square footage. The rest of the space constitutes one of Mr. Stark’s private residences. We call it the Tower Apartment.”

“Oh,” I say, wondering how many residences Justin Stark has. I don’t ask, though. I’ve already pushed the bounds of nosiness.

Ms. Peters points out the hidden wet bar built into one wall. “It’s fully stocked. Help yourself to orange juice, coffee, water, soda. Or if you need it to calm your nerves, you’re more than welcome to have something stronger.” She says the last with a smile, her voice full of humor. But honestly, at the moment I’m thinking that a double shot of bourbon might be just the ticket.

“I’ll leave you to set up,” Ms. Peters says. “If you need anything, just buzz me. Mr. Stark is finishing a call. I expect he’ll join you in ten minutes.”

It turns out to be twelve. Twelve long minutes during which I alternate between working feverishly to set up our showcase and worrying nervously about how I’ll react when I see him again.

And then the twelve minutes are over and Justin is striding into the conference area. The moment he enters the space, the air shifts. This is his territory, and though he doesn’t say a word, power and authority seem to cling to him, and the two men who enter behind him are little more than afterthoughts. Every movement is controlled, every glance has purpose. There can be no doubt that Justin Stark is the one in charge, and I feel a strange little surge of pride that this exceptional man not only wanted me, but has touched me so intimately.

He’s wearing jeans and a tan sport coat over a pale blue shirt. The top button is undone, and the ensemble gives him a casual, approachable quality. I wonder if he dressed that way on purpose in an attempt to make his guests more at ease. Just as quickly, I realize that of course he did. I can’t imagine that Justin Stark does anything without fully understanding the impact his actions will have.

“Thank you all for meeting here. On the weekends I like to work out of the penthouse. The change of pace reminds me that it’s time to kick back a little.” He turns to his two companions and introduces them as Preston Rhodes, the new head of acquisitions, and Mac Talbot, a new member of the product acquisition team. Then Stark shakes Brian’s and Dave’s hands, taking the time to chat briefly with each. They still look nervous, but I think that he’s soothed them enough that neither of the boys will botch the presentation by pushing a wrong button with a shaky finger.

He greets me next. Acceptable, polite, professional. But when he pulls his hand away, there’s the slightest curve of his finger, so that he gently strokes my palm. Maybe it’s my imagination, but I choose to take it as an acknowledgment that last night happened, but that today is only about the presentation.

All that in one little touch. I smile, and as I take my seat at the table, I realize that I’m much calmer. Whether he intended it to or not, Stark’s touch has soothed me.

Finally, he shakes Carl’s hand and greets him as if they’re the best of friends. They chat about vintage LPs—apparently Carl collects them—and the weather and the traffic on the 405. His intent is clear—he’s putting Carl at ease, and he’s done it so skillfully I can’t help but admire his technique. Finally, Stark takes a seat at the conference table, but not at the head. Instead, he sits opposite me, his long legs stretched out. He gestures to the head of the table and tells Carl to begin whenever he’s ready.

I’ve seen the presentation so many times that I mostly tune it out, focusing instead on Stark’s reaction. The technology really is amazing. Video footage of athletes is analyzed using a series of proprietary algorithms that translate anatomical movement into spatial data sets. Stats from each player are mapped against the data. Then, taking into account the player’s particular body structure and metrics, the software provides concrete suggestions for improving performance. But what is truly revolutionary is that those suggestions are demonstrated in holographic form so that the athletes and their coaches can see the actual position adjustments necessary for improvement.

Every article I’ve read about Stark mentions how brilliant he is, but today I get to see that intellect in action. He asks all the right questions from theoretical to applied to marketing and sales. When Carl raves and crows instead of letting the product speak for itself, Stark shuts that down so skillfully that I don’t think Carl even notices. He’s direct and to the point, efficient without being rude, firm without being patronizing. The man may have made his original fortune on a tennis court, but as I watch him, I have no doubt that business and science are in his blood.

Stark asks questions of all of us, including Brian and Dave, who gape and mumble but manage to articulate responses under Stark’s easy but firm control of the conversation.

He turns to me next and asks a technical question about one of the key equations at the heart of the primary algorithm. I can see Carl out of the corner of my eye, and I’m pretty sure he’s about to have a heart attack. This question is very firmly outside of my job description. But I’ve done my homework, and I use the virtual whiteboard to show Stark the mathematical underpinnings of the equation. I even go so far as to address the anticipated consequences of a few hypothetical adjustments that Stark suggests. At the head of the table, Carl sags in relief.

I’ve obviously impressed my boss. But what’s more satisfying is that I’ve impressed Stark. I can’t say the satisfaction rises to the same level as last night, but it comes pretty damn close.

When the meeting finally wraps up, I can tell that Carl is having a hell of a time playing the cool, calm professional. He knows too well that the whole thing went over fabulously. Stark’s interested in the product and impressed by the team. In this business, it doesn’t get much better than that.

We’re just about to start the round of goodbyes and handshakes when Ms. Peters steps in, her expression tightly efficient. “I apologize for interrupting, Mr. Stark, but you asked me to inform you if Mr. Padgett returned to the building.”

“He’s here now?” I watch as Stark’s expression shifts from casual and calm to hard and dangerous.

“Security just called up. I assume you’d like to speak to them?”

Stark nods, then turns to face us. “I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me. There’s a situation that demands my attention. I’ll be in touch next week.” He glances at Ms. Peters. “If you could see our guests out?”

“Of course, sir.”

His eyes meet mine, but they are unreadable. And then he steps out of the conference room and disappears down the hall. The sense of loss from his departure surprises me, but I say my goodbyes to his colleagues, then turn my attention to helping Brian pack one of the cases, all the while afraid that everyone in the room can read my expression.

After Ms. Peters has put us on the elevator and the door has firmly closed, Carl does such a funky little jig that I can’t help but laugh. “That was great,” I say. “Thank you so much for letting me be here for this.”

Carl spreads his arms in a magnanimous gesture. “Hey, we’re a team. And we all kicked some ass.” The elevator doors open onto the lobby, and Carl swings his arms jovially around Brian’s and Dave’s shoulders. They valiantly try to move with their boss and still drag the rolling cases. I’m about to take pity on them when I hear my name.

I look up and see Joe the security guard gesturing toward me. “Ms. Fairchild? If you have a moment?” He’s holding a phone to his ear.

“Yes?” I say, hurrying to the guard desk.

Joe holds up a finger in a just a moment gesture. I glance sideways at Carl, who’s looking at me with an unmistakable what the fuck? expression. I shrug, just as clueless as my boss.

Joe says something I can’t hear, then hangs up the phone. “You’re wanted upstairs, ma’am.”

“Upstairs?”

“Back in the penthouse,” he says. “Mr. Stark would like to see you.”

Behind me, I see Dave and Brian nudge each other. Great. Apparently Carl shared his suspicions with the staff. Maybe by tomorrow there’ll be an interoffice memo.

“Now’s not a good time,” I tell the guard. “I’m on my way to a team meeting.”

“Mr. Stark was very insistent.”

I bet he was. An unpleasant heaviness starts to settle over me. I spent most of my life being told exactly where to be, where to stand, what to do, and when to do it. I squeeze my right hand into a tight fist and force myself to smile at Joe. “I’m sure he’ll find something else to occupy his time this afternoon. But if he calls my office, I’ll be happy to work him into my schedule next week.”

Joe’s eyes are wide, and his mouth hangs open a little, as if his jaw is made of rubber. I have the feeling nothing like this has happened before. People don’t say no to Justin Stark.

I toss my shoulders back a little, liking the new Selena. “Shall we?” I say to Carl and the boys.

Carl frowns. “Maybe you—”

“No,” I say. “If he wants to talk about the project, we can all go back up.” In the distance, I hear the ding of an elevator, the sound punctuating my resolve.

“And if it’s not the project he wants to see you about?” Carl asks, looking at me hard.

I stare back, just as coolly. “Then he doesn’t need to see me, does he?” I stand firm, daring Carl to send me up there. He did it once at the party. If he does it again in the lobby of Stark’s building, it really isn’t going to be pretty.

After a moment, he nods. “Come on. Champagne’s waiting.”

>