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jungkoode · 1 month ago

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𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 18

˗ˏˋ on your kneesˎˊ˗

"He didn't picture himself ever begging for pussy... but alas, here he is."

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⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 8,7k

content: wet sloppy kissing, jungkook being too horny for his own good, vibrator usage, masturbation (f), jerking off while eating kitty (idk what possessed me but i had to), vanilla kink (are we surprised), begging, slight praise kink, comfort, endearing moments, these two being stupid as always, post-orgasm sharing bed (yeah sleeping together), thinking about maybes.

✧ author's note ✧

LISTEN. You’re so lucky I have multiple FMU chapters backlogged right now, because if I didn’t? I would have thrown an actual tantrum, declared a two-week hermit arc, and told you all to fuck off while I moved to the mountains. BUT. Thankfully, I’ve written up to around Chapter 23-ish and just need to edit, so you can all calm the hell down.

First of all, no—I still haven’t updated the update post, because I’ve been too busy prepping this chapter for release. I’ve had zero time to sit and ponder. That said, the only valid suggestion I’ve gotten so far is to keep the Tumblr note goal but ALSO require the Wattpad goal to be hit—so that’s what we’re trying this time around.

Also—BIG ANNOUNCEMENT—we now have an official Kiki Nation Community on Tumblr (yay!). That’s where you little gremlins can finally scream together in one place, throw theories at each other, and insult Jungkook and Nix in a safe, protected space. (Mainly Jungkook. Because he’s a man. And this is a matriarchy. HUSH.)

So please check it out! Join, comment under the official Chapter 18 discussion post, and if you feel inspired to make a meme or TikTok or post your spiral—DO IT. If it makes me laugh, I will absolutely reblog it.

NOW. About this chapter.

BAHAHA. Okay. First of all—I am so proud of the kiss. I wanted it to be sloppy and wet and messy and borderline excessive, and I think I delivered. It’s so long. I really put my whole kikussy into it.

And of course… it was time. The vibrator had to make its appearance. It’s literally law. I don’t make the rules (but I do).

Also: Rogue begging. crawling. STILETTOS. Why did I like this chapter so much. It was delicious. I love sexually down bad men. Wait until he’s romantically down bad. It’s going to be so satisfying. Trust me.

And the ending?? Made me soft. Actual progress?? Kind of??? They’re still filthy, but they’re also edging toward something stupidly endearing and I hate how much I love that. The way this story is progressing is so slow-burn it makes my bones hurt, but I’m obsessed with it. We are maybe… possibly… inching toward friendship territory. MAYBE.

I’m really looking forward to the next chapters—soon, we’ll meet a new LI on Jungkook’s side (YES!). Things are gonna get messy (eventually). Reminder: they have zero romantic feelings right now. ZERO. What you’re seeing is just… subconscious tension, subtle shifts. We’re nowhere near falling.

So please. I beg you. If I start getting asks about them being in love, I will throw my laptop out the window and revoke my dictatorship. Don’t test me.

Enjoy the chaos. Let me know how hard you spiraled. Love you forever.

OH. I said it before but I will say it again. This chapter is entirely based on the song "get on your knees" by Ariana Grande and Nicki Minaj so. Do with that what you will. Listen to it. Enjoy.

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

His kiss tastes like four days of wanting.

Your back hits the wall as his mouth crashes into yours—not gentle, not careful, just hungry. Like he's been starving for the taste of you since Tuesday.

His tongue traces the seam of your lips, a question that isn't really a question at all, because you both know how this ends. You part your lips anyway, granting him access because denying him feels like denying yourself.

His hand comes to rest on your neck, thumb pressing lightly against your pulse point. It's a strange, suspended gesture—like he can't decide whether to pull you closer or hold you exactly where you are. The indecision is so unlike him that it makes your stomach flip.

Then his tongue flattens against yours, and any thoughts of indecision evaporate. He's not kissing you so much as he's tasting you, licking your flavor directly from the source. The sensation is filthy and intimate as his other hand comes to your cheek, fingers splaying across your skin, holding you in place for his exploration.

"Fuck," he breathes against your mouth, the word more vibration than sound. "Missed this."

Not you. This.

The distinction matters, even as his tongue circles yours in a slow, deliberate drag that makes your knees weak. He's coating himself with your saliva, savoring you like you're some expensive whiskey he's been saving for a special occasion.

You should probably be grossed out by how wet this kiss is, by how thoroughly he's claiming your mouth.

Instead, you find yourself pressing closer, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

Because this is what you've been missing too—not him, not really, but this. The way he makes your body respond without even trying. The way he kisses like he's trying to memorize the taste of you.

And then his lips close over yours—soft but firm—like finishing the kiss just to start it all over again. Chained kisses. One bleeding into the next, seamless and endless.

You follow him because how could you not? The way he kisses—it’s not just skill; it’s instinct. Like he knows exactly what to do to keep you hooked, alternating between tongue and lips so perfectly that you never get tired of either.

Not that you could ever tire of him.

You’re pretty sure you could never erase the way he kisses—or fucks—from your mind even if you wanted to.

Maybe it’s him knowing what he’s doing. Or maybe it’s just the two of you—two mismatched pieces of completely different puzzles that somehow fit together anyway.

Just like your mouths do now.

Just like when your tongue darts out to lick at his lower lip in a kitten lick that has him hitching against you, a small, desperate sound escaping his throat. His hips stutter against yours like his body is telling you to stop messing around and get your tongue back inside his mouth where it belongs.

So you do.

You push forward, tongue meeting his again in a slick slide that has him groaning into your mouth. Then you close your lips to transition into another kiss and he follows, tongues forgotten for three, four open-mouthed kisses before he’s lost patience.

He moves his tongue against yours, seeking more, always more. Because when it comes to you, Jungkook is just this eager.

But this time you catch it. Suck it into your mouth in a soft suction that makes him freeze for half a second before his hand tightens on your neck.

And the sound he makes?

Undiluted filth.

It spurs you on.

You suck harder, dragging your lips down his tongue before releasing him with a soft pop that leaves both of you panting against each other’s mouths. He doesn’t let the pause last long—doesn’t let you last long—and dives back in with a hunger that feels less like kissing and more like consuming.

Tongues forgotten for other five or six kisses as his lips move against yours with bruising intensity—open-mouthed and messy—but he easily grows impatient and his tongue is soon back, sliding against yours like he wants it there.

You catch it once more—suck it again—and the way his hips jerk against yours tells you everything you need to know about how much he likes it.

Filthy sounds fill the space between you: wet kisses, soft moans, the occasional hitch in his breath when you do something particularly good with your tongue.

And when his teeth graze your lower lip before pulling back just enough to look at you?

You realize there’s no winning here—not for either of you—because this isn’t about who takes control or who gives in first.

It’s about this. About mouths fitting together perfectly even though nothing else about this situation should make sense. About tongues sliding together and lips bruising from too much pressure but neither of you caring because fuck—it feels good.

It feels better than good.

It feels addictive.

Your back hits the table near the entryway, and honestly? You never thought a piece of furniture could be an accomplice in your bad decisions, but here you are. Pressed against the entryway table. The one that holds your keys, Yoongi's forgotten mail, and now, apparently, your dignity.

Jungkook hasn't stopped kissing you—not for air, not for sanity, not for anything resembling common sense. It's like he's on a mission to consume you entirely, starting with your mouth and working his way through the rest of you.

These are not the kisses you exchange with people you tolerate. These are not even the kisses you exchange with people you like. These are the kisses of people who might actually hate each other but have found a much more interesting way to express it.

Your lower back presses against the edge. Hard wood digs into soft flesh, and you're about to complain when—

Fuck.

He lifts you. One hand. One fucking hand curves under your ass and hoists you onto the table like you weigh nothing, while his other plants itself firmly on the wood beside your hip. The display of casual strength makes something molten pool in your stomach.

Unfair. Completely unfair how stupidly hot he makes stupid things look. Lifting you shouldn't be attractive. It's basic physics, not foreplay. But your brain has apparently liquefied, pouring out your ears while he steals the oxygen straight from your lungs.

"Fuck, Nix," he mutters against your mouth, the words more vibration than sound. "Been thinking about this for days."

His mouth is relentless—wet, demanding, precise in a way that makes your toes curl in your shoes. He sucks your lower lip between his teeth and—god—applies just enough pressure to sting, like he's trying to extract something essential from you. Like he needs to squeeze you dry, drain you of whatever it is that keeps him coming back.

Didn't even know your bottom lip was an erogenous zone until Jungkook decided it was.

It's too much. The heat, the closeness, the way he seems to have forgotten where you are, who you are.

You push against his chest—not hard, just enough to create a sliver of space between your bodies.

"Jesus Christ," you gasp, chest heaving. "Let me breathe, you animal."

He grins at that—a scorching, self-satisfied smile that makes you want to either slap him or pull him back in.

Maybe both.

He bites his lower lip, swollen from your kisses, and immediately leans back in like your need for oxygen is a minor inconvenience to his plans.

Your palm against his chest stops him, firm this time.

"Wait," you say, voice rough.

Not because you want to stop—god no—but because your brain is finally catching up to your body. And there's something you want. Something specific.

His eyes find yours, dark and questioning. Patient, despite the hunger radiating off him in waves. He's holding himself back, you realize. Letting you dictate what happens next.

Your eyes drop, hair falling across your face as you gather your thoughts, your courage. When you look back up at him through your lashes, his breath catches audibly.

"Bring me the vibrator you chose for me."

His reaction? Pretty funny. Like watching a computer crash and reboot. His entire body goes still—processing, processing—then his eyes widen a fraction. He blinks once, twice, tension visible in the way his jaw ticks.

"What?" he asks, voice cracking slightly.

Something about his reaction makes hot satisfaction curl through you. You like throwing him off balance. Like matching his chaos with your own.

"The vibrator," you repeat, slower this time, savoring each syllable. "The one you picked out. Go get it."

His eyes dart toward your bedroom door, then back to your face. For a moment, you think he might refuse. Might challenge you. But then:

"Yeah," he nods jerkily, already stepping back. "Yeah, I will."

"Will you?" you press, because you can't help it. Because you like the way his pupils dilate when you push.

"Fuck yeah," he breathes, already moving toward your bedroom with a kind of urgent, stumbling grace that would be comical if it weren't so hot.

You watch him go, breathing still uneven, lips still tingling.

And you think—not for the first time—that there's something dangerously addictive about the way Jungkook responds to you. The way he matches your energy, then amplifies it, reflecting it back at you until you're both caught in some kind of feedback loop of bad ideas and worse self-control.

Roommates with benefits, you remind yourself. That's all this is.

But as you hear him rummaging through your things, drawers opening and closing with increasing urgency, you can't help but wonder if "benefits" is too mild a word for whatever the fuck is happening between you two.

He sprints.

Jungkook doesn't walk to your room—he fucking jogs, like the vibrator might disappear if he doesn't get there fast enough.

Like this moment has an expiration date he can't afford to miss.

No shame. Not a single ounce of it as he bursts through your door, scanning the bedroom impatiently. The same room he's been in a couple of times, but never with this specific mission, never with this frantic energy coursing through his veins.

Where the fuck would a girl keep her vibrator?

No. Not a girl. You. Where would you hide it?

Under the pillow?

He lifts the edge of your pillowcase, peeks beneath it. Nothing. Definitely not there—you like sleeping too much, and having a hard plastic toy jabbing into your cheek all night would be uncomfortable as hell. You're smarter than that.

The wardrobe?

He eyes the wooden doors across the room, considering.

No way. Too far from the bed. You're too practical for that kind of inconvenience. If you wanted to get off, you wouldn't want to climb out of bed and trek across the room.

His eyes land on the nightstand. Bingo.

The drawer slides open with a soft sound. First thing he sees: a messy stack of panties, some lacy, some cotton, all of them instantly triggering mental images he doesn't have time for right now.

He fights—really fights—against the urge to pick one up. To feel the fabric between his fingers, to imagine it hugging the curves he's already memorized with his hands, his mouth. Maybe even bring one to his nose...

Focus, dickhead.

Pushing the underwear aside (what? sue him for wanting to fuel his imagination), his fingers brush against something solid. Hard plastic. Smooth curves.

There it is.

He pulls it out, a triumphant grin spreading across his face as he examines his find. It's exactly as he remembers from the store—sleek, purple, designed for both internal and external stimulation.

Still in its original packaging, which means you haven't used it yet.

Something jittery and hot coils in his stomach at the thought of being the first to see you use it.

He grips it tighter, already imagining what it'll look like pressed against you, already wondering if you'll let him control it or if you'll insist on doing it yourself.

Either way, he's about to witness something fucking spectacular, and his body knows it. His cock strains painfully against his jeans as he heads back to you.

He takes a deep breath before rounding the corner from the hallway.

Tries to center himself, to cool down just a little.

To not look as desperate as he feels.

But then—

Fuck.

The vibrator nearly slips from his suddenly sweaty palm.

You're naked on the table. Completely, gloriously naked except for those high heels that make your legs look like they go on for fucking miles. The dress is gone—discarded somewhere on the floor—and your panties dangle precariously from one ankle like an afterthought.

One leg bent at the knee, heel resting lazily on the wooden surface. The other straight up, creating a perfect right angle that showcases everything he's been craving since the moment he walked through the front door.

And your hand—Christ—your hand is between your thighs, fingers drawing lazy circles over your clit.

His eyes stutter back to one thing though.

The heels.

What is it about the fucking heels?

He's never particularly cared about shoes before, but something about the way they elongate your legs, the way they make your calves flex, the dangerous point of those stilettos against the wooden table-it's doing something to him. Something unexpected and intense.

He nearly stumbles. Actually has to catch himself on the wall because his knees go weak at the sight of you touching yourself, waiting for him, spread open on the goddamn entryway table like the world's most perfect welcome home gift.

His grip on the vibrator tightens until his knuckles go white. He forces his face into something resembling control—a smirk, he hopes, though it feels more like a grimace of restraint.

"Needed it that badly?" he manages, trying to sound casual and cool, though he guesses he fails spectacularly at that.

Your eyes meet his, challenging. "Didn't you?"

The question catches him off guard, but he doesn't falter. Not much, anyway. Just a slight hitch in his breathing that he hopes you didn't notice.

"Yeah," he admits, the word barely audible. Then, louder: "Yeah, I did."

He starts walking toward you, vibrator clutched in his hand, but you stop him with a single raised palm. The universal sign for wait.

"Crawl to me."

His feet halt. He opens his mouth. Closes it.

What?

"What?" he asks, not sure he heard correctly.

"You heard me." Your fingers never stop their gentle circles. "Crawl."

He doesn't know why he does it. Doesn't pause to analyze why the command sends a jolt of electricity straight to his cock.

He just... does it.

Drops to his knees, then to all fours, the vibrator still clutched in one hand.

Maybe it's the novelty—you taking control like this when usually he's the one calling the shots.

Maybe it's the way your eyes darken as you watch him approach, like seeing him on his knees for you is doing something for you too.

Or maybe—most likely—it's just the promise of getting his head between those fucking glorious thighs again.

Whatever the reason, he crawls to you across the hardwood floor, too turned on to care about how it looks, too desperate to worry about his dignity. All he can think about is how wet you'll be, how good you'll taste, how he wants to make you come on his tongue before introducing the vibrator.

He's almost there—close enough to smell you, close enough that if he stretched forward just a bit, he could press his mouth to your inner thigh—when the sharp heel of your stiletto plants firmly against his forehead.

The pressure isn't hard enough to hurt, just enough to stop his forward momentum. To keep him back.

He looks up at you, disbelief warring with arousal.

Surely you're joking?

There's no way you're genuinely stopping him when he's this close, when you're this wet, when everything about this moment has been building toward his mouth on you.

Right?

"The vibrator," you say, extending your hand, heel still pressed lightly to his skin. "Give it to me."

His throat works as he swallows, suddenly parched. "Don't you want me to—"

"The vibrator, Ro."

The nickname, combined with the firm tone, makes his cock make a mating dance against the zipper of his jeans. He places the toy in your outstretched hand, watches as you examine it with curious eyes.

You turn it over in your palm, studying it like it's a puzzle to solve. Your brow furrows slightly as you locate the power button, press it experimentally, and soon enough its low hum fills the space as the toy comes to life, vibrating gently in your hand.

"I've never used one before," you admit, and he already knew.

You told him that much before buying it.

Nonetheless, the idea that he gets to witness this first for you—it does something to him.

Makes him feel special in a way he has no right to feel.

"Let me help," he offers, voice strained. "I can show you how—"

"I think I can figure it out," you interrupt, but there's uncertainty in your eyes as you look at the different buttons, the various settings.

Fuck, you're adorable. Even spread-eagle on a table with a vibrator in your hand, there's something so endearing about your determination to figure this out on your own.

He watches, mesmerized, as you press another button. The vibration intensifies, making you jump slightly at the change. Your finger slips, pressing yet another button, and suddenly the toy is pulsing in a rhythm that has him imagining it pressed against you, imagining your reaction to that particular pattern.

He can't take it.

"Here," he says, reaching up, a bit desperate, a tad impatient. "May I?"

After a moment's hesitation, you nod, removing your heel from his forehead and allowing him to rise up on his knees. He takes the vibrator from you, quickly familiarizing himself with the controls.

"This button cycles through the patterns," he explains, demonstrating as the toy shifts from steady vibration to pulsing to waves. "And this one controls the intensity."

He presses it, the vibration becoming stronger under his thumb.

"Start low and work your way up."

He hands it back to you, then you glare at him and okay, he immediately settles back on his heels, waiting. Watching. Fucking aching to see what you do next.

You take the toy, reset it to the lowest steady vibration, and then—God help him—you bring it to your breast first. Circle your nipple with it, eyes fluttering closed at the sensation.

"Fuck," he breathes, the word barely audible over the hum of the vibrator.

He shifts on his knees, trying to adjust himself without being too obvious about it. His jeans have become a torture device, constricting him painfully as he watches you explore.

The vibrator trails down your stomach, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He can see them form on your skin, can see the way your muscles tense in anticipation as the toy moves lower, lower—

And then it's there, pressed against your clit, and the sound you make—a soft, surprised gasp followed by a deeper moan—nearly ends him.

"Good?" he asks, voice wrecked.

You nod, eyes still closed, hips already starting to move against the vibration. "Good. Really good."

He leans forward instinctively, mouth watering at the sight of you pleasuring yourself. He wants to taste you, wants to feel the vibrations against his tongue as he licks around the toy.

Wants to be part of this moment in a way that's more than just watching.

But as he moves closer, your eyes snap open, fixing him with a look that stops him cold.

You extend your leg, the one that was dangling off the table, pressing the point of your stiletto against his chest this time.

"Just watch," you command, voice breathy but firm.

He blinks, sure he's misheard. "What?"

"I said watch." You adjust the vibrator slightly, finding a better angle that makes your breath hitch, toe of your shoe pressing more firmly against his sternum. "Don't touch. Just... watch me."

Is he dreaming? Having some kind of bizarre hallucination? There's no way you're asking him to just sit here while you get yourself off right in front of him.

No fucking way.

"You're joking," he says, but the steady look in your eyes tells him you're not. "Nix, come on. You can't expect me to—"

"I can," you interrupt, increasing the vibration intensity with a press of your thumb. The change makes you gasp, hips lifting slightly off the table. "And I do."

He blinks, eyebrows tugging upwards in a cross motion. "Do you want me to bust untouched? Is that it? Because that's cruel, even for you."

A smile curves your lips, mischievous and knowing. "Maybe I just want to see if you can behave for once."

"I behave," he protests, even as his eyes remain fixed on the vibrator, on the way it glides through your wetness, on how your thighs have started to tremble already.

On those fucking shoes that, for some inexplicable reason, are making this whole situation at least ten times hotter.

"Prove it," you challenge, and fuck—he's never been able to resist a challenge from you.

Never really been able to back down when you push him like this.

So he stays where he is, on his knees, hands fisted at his sides, watching as you explore the toy, as you find what feels good, as you experiment with different patterns and pressures. Your foot still rests against his chest, not pushing him away now, just... there.

A point of contact that feels both like ambrosia and agony.

It's torture. Beautiful, exquisite torture to be this close and not touch you. To smell your arousal and not taste it. To hear your moans growing louder and know he's not the direct cause.

But it's also—strangely, unexpectedly—one of the hottest things he's ever witnessed.

Because you're not performing for him. You're genuinely discovering what you like, what makes you feel good. And there's something incredibly intimate about being allowed to witness that, about being trusted enough to see you this vulnerable, this real.

"That's it," he encourages as your movements become more focused, as you settle into a rhythm with the vibrator that has your breathing turning shallow. "Just like that. You look so fucking good, Nix."

Your eyes meet his, heavy-lidded but alert, and for a moment, he can’t help but stare back.

Then you close your eyes again, lost in the sensation as the vibrator buzzes steadily against your clit. Your free hand comes up to your breast, pinching your nipple in time with the pulsations of the toy, and he groans at the sight.

Your foot presses harder against his chest, whether intentionally or as an unconscious reaction to your growing pleasure, he doesn't know.

Doesn't care.

"Cruel," he mutters, because he needs to at least let you know. “You're fucking cruel, you know that?"

His eyes are fixed on your pussy like it's the only thing in the universe worth looking at. Maybe it is. The way you're working that vibrator against yourself, the little circular motions, the way your hips lift occasionally when you hit just the right spot—it's driving him fucking insane.

His dick is so hard it hurts at this point, and he thinks it's going to start a mutiny. He shifts his weight, trying to get some relief, but it only makes things worse. His forehead thumps against the corner of the table in frustrated surrender.

"God fucking hell," he groans, the wood cool against his skin. "Nix, I need to lick you. Please. Just—let me taste you."

You look down at him, eyes heavy-lidded but gleaming with amusement. Your stiletto traces a path down his chest, and when it reaches his stomach, you press slightly, the point digging into the muscle there.

A warning.

A tease.

He's not sure which, but it makes his cock throb painfully either way.

"What was that?" you ask, lifting the vibrator just enough that he can see how wet you are, how your pussy glistens in the low light. "I didn't quite hear you."

Fucking tease. Fucking gorgeous, evil tease.

"I said I need to lick you," he repeats, louder this time, pride completely abandoned. "Let me put my mouth on you. Let me make you feel good."

You pretend to consider it, tilting your head like you're weighing your options. Meanwhile, he's about to combust from the inside out.

"I don't know," you muse, trailing the vibrator up to circle around your clit, making yourself gasp. "I'm doing pretty well on my own, don't you think?"

Your stiletto moves again, tracing along the inside of his thigh. He tenses, breath catching as it moves higher, closer to the straining bulge in his jeans.

“Phee,” he bites back a groan. "You're doing amazing. Fucking incredible. But I can make it better. You know I can."

"Hmm." You press the vibrator directly against your clit again, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before fixing back on him. "Maybe if you ask nicely."

Is this really happening? Are you really making him beg? His cock twitches at the thought, answering that question with an emphatic yes.

He swallows, throat dry.

"Please," he says, voice rough. "Please let me help."

The word lies suspended between you.

Please. Such a simple word, but one he doesn't use often—not like this, not with this much raw need behind it.

Your eyes widen slightly, like you weren't expecting him to actually do it. To actually beg. But then a slow smile spreads across your face, and you nod.

"Since you asked so nicely," you say. "Go ahead."

He doesn't need to be told twice. He surges forward, hands gripping your thighs, spreading them wider as he buries his face against you.

The first swipe of his tongue makes you both moan—you from the sensation, him from finally, finally getting to taste you.

You taste amazing.

Like always.

Like something he could get addicted to if he's not careful.

"Fuck," he groans against you, the word vibrating against your sensitive flesh. "So fucking good."

He could honestly cum like this. Right now. Just from the taste of you on his tongue, from the way your thighs tense around his head, from the little gasps you make.

He knows he's got blue balls at this point. Knows his cock is probably leaking precum into his boxers, making a mess he'll have to deal with later. But he doesn't really care.

Until you kind of make him care.

"Jerk off."

He freezes, tongue mid-lick.

Did he hear that right?

Looking up at you, genuinely confused, he asks, "What?"

Your answer is a knowing smile and a slight increase in pressure as the heel traces the outline of his cock through the denim. Not enough to hurt, just enough to make him incredibly aware of how hard he is.

"I want you to get yourself off while you eat me out, Ro."

Jesus Christ.

When did you get so fucking bossy? And why is it turning him on so much?

"Yeah," he says, almost to himself, fumbling with his zipper. "Yeah, okay, absolutely I can do that."

His hands shake slightly as he undoes his jeans, shoving them and his boxers down just enough to free his cock. It springs up against his stomach, hard and flushed and so sensitive that even the brush of air against it makes him hiss.

"Shit," he warns, wrapping a hand around himself, already knowing this isn't going to last long. "Just a heads up, but this might be embarrassingly short."

You laugh, the sound turning into a gasp as he dives back in. Your leg dangles over his shoulder now, heel pressing slightly against his back.

"That's okay," you manage to say between breaths. "I'm pretty close too."

Thank fuck for that. Because the moment his hand starts moving on his cock, he knows he's on borrowed time.

The vibrator hasn't stopped. That's the thing that's driving him absolutely fucking insane. You've got it pressed right against your clit, humming on its lowest setting while he licks at your lips, tasting every inch of you except the one spot you're keeping for yourself.

It's maddening.

It's genius.

It's the hottest thing he's ever experienced.

His tongue traces your entrance, dipping just slightly inside before retreating to lick broad strokes along your folds. He's taking his time despite his own desperation, despite the way his hand is working his cock at a steady, measured pace.

Because he wants this to last, wants to savor the privilege of having his face between your thighs while you take your pleasure so confidently.

"More," you breathe above him, and he's not sure if you're talking to him or yourself.

But then your fingers move, pressing a button on the vibrator, and the hum intensifies. The sound changes pitch, grows deeper, more insistent. Your hips jerk in response, a gasp falling from your lips that sends blood rushing to his already throbbing cock.

His fist tightens instinctively, pace quickening to match the vibrator's new rhythm. It's like his body is syncing with the toy, with your pleasure, his own arousal tied directly to yours.

"Fuck, Nix," he groans against you, the words muffled but still audible. "You're so fucking wet. So fuckin’ good, I swear—I swear I could do this for hours.”

“But you won’t last hours,” you tease, rolling your hips against his face. “Will you?”

He shakes his head, not even bothering to deny it. Not when his balls are already drawing up tight, not when each stroke of his hand brings him closer to the edge.

“Nngh—no,” he admits, the word punctuated by a particularly firm stroke that has his hips bucking into his fist. “Not gonna—ah—not gonna last long at all.”

Because the truth is, he’s dizzy with it—your taste, your scent, the sounds you're making above him. It's overwhelming in the best possible way, a sensory overload that makes his cock pulse in his grip, precome slicking the way as his fist moves faster, more urgently.

You shift the vibrator slightly, angling it for better contact, and your free hand finds his hair. Fingers tangle in the strands, not quite pulling but definitely directing, holding him exactly where you want him.

"Inside," you command, voice breathless but clear. "I want your tongue inside me."

He doesn't hesitate. Doesn't even think. Just obeys, tongue pushing past your entrance, delving into the wet heat of you while the vibrator continues its relentless assault on your clit.

The angle is awkward, his neck craned to accommodate both the toy and his mouth, but he doesn't care.

Can't care about anything beyond the way you clench around his tongue, the way your thighs tremble against his cheeks, the way your grip tightens in his hair.

His cock throbs in his hand, so sensitive now that each stroke sends sparks shooting up his spine, and fuck he's close—so fucking close—but he's determined to make you come first. Wants to feel you pulsing around his tongue, wants to experience every tremor of your orgasm firsthand.

Above him, your breathing has grown ragged; little gasps and moans that tell him you're getting close too.

"Don't stop," you gasp, basically riding his face at this point. "God, don't stop."

As if he would.

As if he could tear himself away from this even if the building were on fire.

Your thighs start to shake in earnest now, little tremors that grow stronger by the second. The hand in his hair clenches, your stiletto digs into his back, the pressure increasing as your body tenses, and now he just knows; knows how close you are to the edge.

It makes his strokes faster, more desperate.

“Shit,” he gasps, pulling back for air. “Fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Don’t stop,” you command, lost in a whine. “Don’t you dare stop.”

And he feels it the moment you start to come—the way your inner walls flutter around his tongue, the sudden flood of wetness, the sharp cry that tears from your throat. His name, maybe. Or just a sound of pure pleasure. He's too far gone to tell the difference.

But it doesn't matter. What matters is that you're coming on his tongue, coming while he tastes you, while the vibrator buzzes against your clit, while his cock throbs in his hand, so close to his own release that he can feel it building at the base of his spine.

He pushes his tongue deeper, wanting to feel every pulse, every contraction of your orgasm. The vibrator keeps buzzing, prolonging the sensation, pushing you higher and higher until your hand finally yanks at his hair, pulling him back when it becomes too much.

"Fuck," you gasp, voice wrecked, vibrator still humming in your grip though you've pulled it away from your oversensitive clit. "Fuck, Ro."

The sound of his nickname—that stupid nickname you’ve given him—paired with the sight of you flushed and trembling from an orgasm he helped create, is what does it. What finally pushes him over the edge.

His release hits him then, stealing his breath as his cock pulses in his hand, spilling onto the hardwood floor in hot spurts that seem to go on forever.

He groans against your thigh, face pressed into the soft skin there as his hips jerk, chasing the last waves of pleasure.

“Ffff—shit,” he slurs as he strokes himself through the aftershocks. “Holy sssh—oh—fuck… Ahhh.”

For a moment, there's nothing but the sound of breathing, harsh and uneven. The vibrator still hums softly, forgotten in your hand until you fumble for the off button, plunging them into sudden silence.

Jungkook rests his forehead against your thigh, trying to catch his breath, trying to remember how to form coherent thoughts.

His hand is sticky, his knees ache from the hardwood floor, his back tingles from the trail your heel left across it, and he’s pretty sure he’ll never be able to look at the entryway table the same way again.

But fuck if it wasn't worth it.

He pulls back, gasping for breath, his hand still loosely gripping his spent cock. He probably looks a mess—hair wild from your hands, face shiny with your wetness, expression dazed and satisfied.

"Christ," he breathes, looking up at you with something close to awe.

"Yeah," you agree, equally breathless.

A moment passes where you just look at each other, both trying to process what just happened. Then, because he's Jungkook and he can't help himself, he grins.

"So," he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his clean hand. "I guess you like the vibrator I picked, huh?"

You roll your eyes, but there's no real annoyance there. Just a kind of fond exasperation that makes his chest feel weird and tight.

"It's alright," you say, casual as anything, like you weren't just having what looked like the most intense orgasm of your life. "Could've been better."

He laughs, full and genuine. "Liar."

Your lips twitch, fighting a smile. "Maybe."

He sits back on his heels, suddenly aware of the mess he's made on the floor. "We should, uh, probably clean up before Yoongi gets home."

You nod, both legs dangling off the table. “Wouldn’t want to scandalize him.”

"He's seen worse," Jungkook says without thinking, then flinches. "I mean—not with me. Just, you know, in general. Living with roommates and all."

You give him a look that's equal parts amusement and skepticism. "Right."

Awkward silence falls as the reality of what just happened settles in, because this? Yeah, it was sex. But this time you took control, you made him beg, you saw him at his most desperate and needy.

And he... liked it. More than he probably should have.

"So," he says, tucking himself back into his jeans with as much dignity as possible. "That was fun."

You snort. "Such a way with words, Ro."

"What can I say? I'm a poet."

He gathers the dress from the floor and gives it to you. You throw the dress at his head, but you're laughing, and he thinks—not for the first time—that he likes that sound. Likes being the cause of it.

He doesn’t analyze it further than needs to be.

He catches the dress, handing it back to you with exaggerated chivalry. "Your garment, m'lady."

"You're an idiot," you say, but there's no bite to it. Just that weird, fond tone that makes his stomach do strange things.

Fully on both legs now, he places both his arms between your spread thighs, his face hovering close to yours, tilting to the side.

"Yeah," he agrees, because sometimes the simplest truth is the easiest to admit. "But I'm an idiot who makes you cum really fucking hard, so..."

And there it is—that flash in your eyes, that hint of heat that never seems to fully dissipate between you two.

"Don't get cocky," you warn.

Too late, he thinks. Way too late for that.

He stands there with the taste of you still on his lips and he can't help but feel satisfied.

Good.

“Does this mean we’re not fighting anymore?”

You laugh, the sound bright and genuine in the quiet room. “I guess not.”

“Good. Because that was a fucking stupid fight anyway.”

“It was,” you agree. “But the makeup sex was worth it.”

“Always is with us.”

And that’s the truth of it, isn’t it? No matter how much you argue, no matter how much you drive each other crazy, this thing between you—this chemistry, this connection—always brings you back together.

No strings attached, just pure, perfect understanding of what the other needs.

It’s not love. It’s not even like, most days. But it’s something.

Something that works for both of you.

And then, Jungkook feels your forehead press against his shoulder, which catches him off guard. Not because it’s heavy or anything—it’s not—but because it’s you.

You, who usually keeps your distance unless you're actively trying to rile him up. You, who just made him beg on his knees like some desperate idiot a few minutes ago.

And now you’re here, leaning into him like this is normal. Like this is fine.

It’s... nice. He hates that it’s nice.

His lips twitch upward despite himself, a soft smile breaking through the lingering haze of post-orgasmic bliss. His hand moves before he can think better of it, sliding up your back in a slow, deliberate stroke. His palm presses lightly between your shoulder blades, fingers splaying out as he rubs soothing circles into your skin.

Your back is warm under his touch—soft in places, firm in others—and he thinks about how strange it is that he knows what you feel like now. Not just your skin but the way you move under his hands, the way your muscles tense and relax depending on what he’s doing to you.

It’s intimate in a way that makes something uncomfortable stir in his chest if he lingers on it too long.

So he doesn’t linger.

“Cleanup?” he asks, voice low and rough from everything that just happened.

You grunt. Not a word, not even a real sound—just a grunt. Like the idea of moving is physically painful to you right now.

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through both of you.

“Alright,” he says, hand still on your back as if that’s going to keep you from sliding off the table and face-planting onto the floor. “Let me get some wipes.”

Another grunt. This one sounds more annoyed than tired, but he can’t tell for sure because your face is still buried against his shoulder.

“Don’t tell me…” He pauses for dramatic effect because he knows how much you hate when he does that. “You’re a cuddlebug?”

That gets a reaction. Your head snaps up so fast he almost flinches, and then you’re shoving at his chest with both hands like you’re trying to push him off the planet.

“Fuck you,” you mutter, but there’s no real heat behind it. Your hands stay on his chest for a second longer than necessary before falling back to your sides.

He snorts, stepping back and giving you space because even though he likes teasing you (maybe too much), he knows when to quit.

Most of the time, anyway.

“Stay there,” he says over his shoulder as he heads toward his room. “Don’t move.”

You don’t respond this time—not even a grunt—but when he glances back, you’re still perched on the edge of the table looking thoroughly unimpressed with life.

Very you, indeed.

Then he's stepping into his bedroom, and of course, it is dark when he steps inside, the only light coming from the hallway spilling in behind him.

He grabs the container of wet wipes from his nightstand (don’t ask why they’re there; that’s none of anyone’s business) and heads back out before his brain can start overthinking anything.

When he returns to the entryway, you haven’t moved an inch. You’re still sitting there with both legs dangling off the table.

And for a moment, he can’t help but think the sight is oddly cute.

“Alright,” he says again as if this is some kind of official business meeting instead of… whatever this is. “Let’s get this over with.”

He crouches down first, wiping at the floor where his cum has left an embarrassing mess that Yoongi would absolutely kill him for if he saw it later. The hardwood glistens faintly under the light as he scrubs at it with more force than necessary—partly because it needs to be cleaned properly and partly because maybe if he focuses hard enough on this task, he won’t think about how close your legs are or how good you smelled earlier or how fucking soft your skin felt under his hands.

When he's done with that part (and only when he's sure it's spotless), he straightens up and turns toward you.

Your eyes are on him—soft but unreadable—and it makes something twist in his stomach that has nothing to do with hunger or exhaustion or anything else logical.

“What?” he asks because apparently silence makes him nervous now.

You shake your head slightly, lips curving into something that might be a smile if it weren’t so small and fleeting.

“Nothing.”

He doesn’t believe you—not for a second—but decides not to push it because pushing things with you in this state never ends well for him.

Instead, he steps closer until he's standing between your legs again and tilts his head toward yours like he's trying to figure out what you're thinking without actually asking outright.

"Hold still," he murmurs after a beat of hesitation that's barely noticeable but feels significant anyway.

The wipe is cool against your skin as he starts cleaning you up—gentle but thorough in a way that surprises even himself. Your eyes stay on him the whole time—watchful but not wary—and it makes him feel weirdly self-conscious even though there’s no reason for it.

When he's finished (and only when he's sure you're clean), he tosses the used wipe into the trash can by the door without looking away from you entirely.

"Sleep?" he asks after another moment of silence stretches between you like an elastic band ready to snap at any second now if someone doesn’t say something soon enough.

“Yeah.” You murmur. “Your bed.”

Jungkook blinks at you like he’s not sure he heard right.

Not because it’s weird—okay, maybe it’s a little weird—but because you said it so casually. Like it’s the most normal thing in the world to ask to sleep in his bed after everything that just happened.

He doesn’t know what to say at first. He’s not used to this part—the after part. Usually, there isn’t an after part. It’s just sex, then goodbye, then see you whenever.

But this? This feels different in a way he can’t quite put his finger on, and it makes his brain stutter for a second before he finally manages to respond.

“Uh… yeah,” he says, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Sure.”

You don’t say anything else, just lift your arms slightly like you’re expecting him to do something.

He stares at you for a moment, confused, until it clicks.

“Oh, come on,” he mutters, rolling his eyes but already stepping closer. “You’re not serious.”

You just raise an eyebrow at him, and yep—you’re serious.

“Lazy ass,” he grumbles under his breath as he bends down to scoop you up.

Your arms loop around his neck automatically, and your legs wrap around his waist like this is something you do all the time instead of… well, never. He tries not to think about how natural it feels or how warm you are against him or how your breath brushes against his collarbone when you settle into his hold.

It’s fine. Totally fine. This is just… practical.

Yeah.

Practical.

He carries you with ease because let’s be real—he could probably bench press you if he wanted to—and nudges his bedroom door open with his foot.

“Alright,” he says as he approaches the bed and leans forward slightly to deposit you onto the mattress. “Here we go.”

But instead of letting go like a normal person, you cling tighter for half a second before finally releasing him with a grunt that sounds suspiciously like reluctance. He doesn’t comment on it because honestly? He doesn’t trust himself not to make it weird if he does.

You flop onto your back with all the grace of a drunk cat and immediately start wiggling around like you’re trying to make yourself comfortable in record time. Jungkook just stands there for a moment, watching you with an expression he doesn't even know how to describe.

“You good?” he asks once you’ve finally stopped moving and are lying still with your eyes closed like this is your bed and not his.

“Mmhm,” you hum without opening your eyes.

He shakes his head but doesn’t bother arguing because what’s the point?

Then he’s going to lay down too, but you sprawl onto his bed like you’re claiming it for yourself, arms and legs stretched out in every direction like some kind of human starfish.

Jungkook snorts, standing at the side of the bed with his hands on his hips like a disappointed parent.

“Move,” he says, nudging at your foot with his knee. “I want to sleep too.”

You crack one eye open, squinting at him.

“Then sleep,” you mumble, voice muffled by the pillow your face is half-buried in.

“I can’t sleep,” he says, gesturing dramatically at your starfish pose. “Not unless you move your limbs out of my personal space.”

You grunt something unintelligible but make no effort to move.

He sighs—long and exaggerated—before climbing onto the bed anyway, shoving at your leg until you reluctantly curl up enough to give him room.

He flops down beside you with all the grace of someone who’s been awake for far too long and immediately starts adjusting himself into what he considers optimal sleeping position.

Except there’s one problem: his arm.

It’s stuck under him, bent awkwardly against his side instead of stretched out under the pillow where it belongs. He tries shifting around to fix it but quickly realizes there’s no way to do that without encroaching on your territory.

“Hey,” he says, nudging at your side with his foot now.

“What?” you snap, voice sharp despite how tired you sound.

“Let me extend my arm under the pillow.”

“No.”

“What do you mean no?”

“I mean no,” you repeat stubbornly, turning your head just enough to glare at him over your shoulder. “Figure it out without bothering me.”

He stares at you for a second like he can’t believe what he’s hearing before deciding that negotiation is clearly not going to work here.

So instead, he does what any reasonable person would do in this situation: he forcefully shoves his arm under your neck like it belongs there.

You jerk upright immediately, twisting around to face him with wide eyes and an expression that screams 'what the actual fuck'.

“Bro,” you say, voice incredulous as you try—and fail—to push his arm away. “Get off me.”

“Bro,” he says simply, already settling back down like this is perfectly normal behavior between roommates who occasionally hook up but definitely aren’t friends yet (or whatever this is). “You’re in my bed. Shut up and act like a plushie or something.”

“A plushie?” You sound so offended that he almost laughs but manages to hold it back because laughing right now would probably get him kicked out of his own bed.

“Yes,” he says firmly, pulling the blanket over both of you with one hand while keeping his other arm firmly in place under your neck. “A plushie.”

You open your mouth to argue—because of course you do—but he shuts it down with a loud, drawn-out “SSSSHHHHH” that’s so over-the-top, so him, it stops you cold.

“Sleep,” he adds a second later, voice low, eyes already shut like the matter’s settled and he’s the authority on bedtime now.

The room stills. One of those dumb, drawn-out silences where neither of you wants to move first. Like shifting even an inch might make it real. Might make it weird.

But then you sigh. Loud. Dramatic. Flopping back down beside him like you’ve just made the ultimate sacrifice.

“Fine,” you mutter, sharp as ever, head hitting the pillow with a thud. “But if I wake up with a crick in my neck because of this stupid arm thing—”

“You won’t,” he says, already drifting, smug and certain and way too casual for someone who just turned a routine argument into a full-body tangle.

You mumble something under your breath—probably rude, definitely deserved—and go quiet.

And for a second, he just lies there. Listening to your breathing even out. Feeling the slight pull of your body next to his.

The ridiculousness of the situation should hit harder than it does.

But it doesn’t.

It actually feels…weirdly good.

Not in the usual way. Not in the easiest way.

Just—solid. Like he hasn’t fucked it up yet.

Which is a surprise, considering he really thought he had.

After Tuesday.

After the whole Jason thing—the fight that was never really about Jason. The way the guy had looked like every goddamn red flag Jungkook had ever ignored. Too neat, too careful, too condescending behind a smile that felt fake even from a hallway away.

He’d projected. Hard. Got scared on your behalf. Angry in that twitchy, irrational way he hates. Like he couldn’t stand the thought of you falling into something he knew could break you.

But that wasn’t fair. Wasn’t his choice. You’re not fragile. You’re you. You can make your own calls without his fears bleeding into them.

And he should know better by now. Should’ve remembered that you’ve survived things he doesn’t even ask about.

Instead, he snapped. Like he always does when things get too close. Like he’s got some built-in timer that detonates as soon as someone sees more than they’re supposed to.

So yeah. He’d assumed it was done. That he’d pushed too hard, too fast—again.

That whatever fragile thing had been building between you would crack right down the middle, just like every other almost-connection he’s tried to hold onto.

But then… you’d talked. Actually talked.

And—somehow—you’d listened.

Not just tolerated him. Heard him.

And tonight, he thinks—for the first time in a long, long time—he feels…comfortable. With a woman. With you.

And yeah, okay—he kind of likes that.

It’s not some life-changing moment. Not some movie scene epiphany.

Just this quiet flicker of maybe. Of could be.

Maybe he can have this. A woman beside him. No pressure. No angle. No romantic feelings. No attachments, no entanglements. Not drama, not hurt.

Just a dumb, chaotic almost-friendship built on late-night arguments and questionable sleep arrangements.

And fuck—he’s kind of proud of that.

So he lets his eyes fall shut. Lets the warmth settle. Lets the thought linger.

Not friendship. Not yet.

But maybe.

goal: 500 notes, but the wattpad goal has to be reached too

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⋆｡°✩ taglist✩°｡⋆

@cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @jimineepaboya @somehowukook @stutixmaru @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @annyeongbitch7 @jkrailme @rpwprpwprpwprw @mar-lo-pap @jeontae @whothefuckisthishoe @mikrokookiex @minniejim

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pralinesims · 1 year ago

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Some of my CC faves, accessory edition!

Over the years I've made quite a lot of CC, and in between all those items, I wanted to highlight some of my faves.

My makeup or genetics faves: *CLICK*

Glasses | Nails

EXOV Glasses // 1. SUGAR MILK Stiletto Nails

DUNE Glasses // 2. BUBBLE POP Coffin Nails

PAPILLON Glasses // 3. REBEL Nails

MACHINE Glasses // 4. CHROME TIPS Nails

UNION Glasses // 5. ENIGMA Nails

DOMINO Glasses // 6. ANNIHILATION Nails

Earrings | Necklaces

DELTA Earrings // 1. COUNTDOWN Necklace

MALICE Earrings // 2. SCORE Tattoo Choker

THUNDER Earrings // 3. FIRETRUCK Choker

ZEALOUS Earrings // 4. KINGDOM Choker

HEARTBEAT Earrings // 5. SHADOW Necklace

SCINTILLA Earrings // 6. ANISE Choker

Misc. | Piercings

INSOLENCE Headphones // 1. OBSESSION Lip Chain

OZONE Earbuds // 2. BLUFF Tongue Piercing

DAYDREAMIN' DIY Cap // 3. REGENT Nose Piercing

SHINIGAMI Mask // 4. TROUBLE Piercing

DIVISION Monocle // 5. NEW WORLD Lip Ring

BLOODTHIRST Eye Patch (TW) // 6. EXILE Piercing

If you like, please consider to support my work 🖤 ● ALL MY CC DOWNLOADS

#masterlist #my cc #ts4cc #s4cc #the sims 4 #the sims #simblr #ts4 #sims 4 #sims #sims 4 custom content #ts4 cc #s4 cc #long post

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sweetdevil-sims · 2 months ago

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Lilisims Shoes02 for teen-elder females

This is my most-used pair of stilettos, converted for teens and elders and with some edits to the adult version: better textures, LOD2 and LOD3. These shoes don't conflict with Lilisims' version.

For teen-elder females. Custom thumbnails.

Everyday, Formal, Career, Maternity. Not enabled for random.

Polycount (LOD1, all): 456

Credit: Lilisims [backup folder]

🔸 Download: SFS | Mega

#s3cc #cas #casF #shoes #casFT #casFA #casFE #Lilisims #cas:cc mesh

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scarletlizzard · 1 year ago

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Only Angel

Music Series

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff × fem!Reader

Tags MDNI: smut, fingering, strap on use (R receiving), choking, praise/degradation, alcohol consumption, cheesy shit

Summary: You and your girlfriend Wanda go to a Halloween party at your friends new apartment and, unbeknownst to the two of you, find out her new roommate just so happens to be a familiar face.

Masterlist

A/N: I took this from a fic I wrote ages ago (that shall not be seeing the light of day) and thought it would fit well with this song! Wanda and R live on Avengers Campus, Pietro is alive, everyone is happy, etc etc. Pietro and R are good friends and just want to karaoke! Yelena recently moved to town and found a roommate, and this is where R meets said roomie and sees the apartment for the first time.

I tried to edit it a bit, but I didn't delve too far into it! There may be some massive mistakes or inconsistencies, so if there is.... no, there isn't 🫶 As always, any comments are greatly appreciated 😄 Hope y'all enjoy! Happy Friday and Happy Summerween 🎃

****

You: There is no way I can wear this...

Yelena: You're finee! It's only one night! Hurry up!

You sigh at the texts from your friend and let your eyes travel your body through the mirror in front of you. The amount of skin showing had you beginning to feel self-conscious, had you wanting to take it off and stay home, had you wishing you hadn't given in to your friends idea for the costume.

On top of your head sat a feathered white halo, your hair underneath spilling down your shoulders. Your torso wore a white corset that shows a little more cleavage than you're used to, and strapped to your back were small white feathered wings to match the halo. On your legs, you wore a short white skirt that barely made it mid-thigh, and underneath, you had on white tights.

You were in the middle of debating on taking it all off and not going when you hear a knock on your bedroom door. Wanda walks in, closing it shut behind her, mouth gaping as she looks at you. The desire burning in her eyes makes your cheeks flush, you bite your lips, and turn to her hesitantly.

"So.. what do you think?" You ask quietly, giving a little spin for her. Wanda still hadn't said a word. Instead, she just stared at you and shook her head. You blush harder, "No?"

"I-I'm sorry I just... wow..." Is all Wanda can say as she licks her lips and walks closer to you, standing directly in front of you. "You looking fucking amazing, Y/N.." She whispers against your lips, her hands finding their way on your body. "God, you look stunning... I'm not so sure you're an angel, though," she teases.

"Of course I am! I'll be an angel, just you wait and see," you giggle with a smile and rest your hands on hers, pecking her lips and turning away from her to grab something. She raises an eyebrow curiously.

When you turn back around, you're holding a headband with devil horns attached, and you place it on Wandas head, fixing her hair around it. She laughs, and you step back to take in her appearance. The devious look in her eyes seemingly matches her costume. She's wearing a red suit with a black blouse underneath, black stilettos on her feet. The suit fits to Wandas body perfectly, and it's your turn to drool at the sight of her. It didn't seem fair how gorgeous Wanda always is.

"Wands.." You start off and step forward, placing a hand on her chest.

"Hm?" She mumbles, staring down at you hungrily. Her emerald eyes darken.

"If we don't leave now, we're never going to make it out of this room," You swallow hard, and she chuckles lowly, wrapping an arm around your waist. Wanda can hear your thoughts loud and clear, and she nods, agreeing. She smirks and gives you a kiss on the cheek.

"After you.." Her voice is low, and she holds her arm out for you to walk in front of her. You take a deep breath and walk out into the hallway, feeling Wandas hand immediately on your lower back.

Seeing Wandas reaction definitely calmed you down. She always made you feel beautiful... part of you was still a little self-conscious, but you try to ignore the little voice nagging in the back of your mind and just enjoy the night. A loud whistle being blown brings you back to reality, and you look up to see Pietro and Natasha standing by the car.

"Holy shit!" Natasha says, watching you walk closer and laughing in disbelief. You blush hard and look up to see Wanda smirking.

"Okay, okay," you roll your eyes, a smile playing on your lips as you look to Pietro. "Nice costume," you eye him up and down playfully.

"I know, I look hot, don't I?" Pietro smirks back and flexes, showing off his muscles. He's wearing a white tanktop with the word 'LIFEGUARD' printed bold across his chest along with red shorts, a red whistle around his neck, and white paint that looks like sunscreen on his nose. Pietro puts on the sunglasses he held and blows the whistle that hangs around his chest again. You can't help but laugh.

"Where's your costume, Nat?" Wanda asks and raises an eyebrow at her. The four of you get into the car. You sit in the backseat with Pietro.

"I'm just the driver tonight.. Maria and I are going to take her nephew out around the neighborhood," she says, and Wanda nods, glancing at you in the mirror.

"That sounds really nice," Wanda smiles at her.

"Hey, do you think she grew those herself?" Pietro whispers to you, pointing to the horns sat atop Wandas head. The two of you burst out into a fit of laughter as you nod along.

"You're going to have your hands full tonight," Natasha smirks at Wanda as she drives and nods to the backseat.

"Yes, I am..." Wanda sighs with a smile and watches as you and Pietro crack jokes, making each other laugh. Her heart warms at the sight.

It's dark outside as Natasha walks the three of you to Yelenas building. People run around in the streets in their costumes, kids laughing and yelling as they drag their guardians from place to place. The streetlights send a warm glow on the streets.

"Alright, here it is," Natasha says after you had entered the building and walked up a few sets of stairs. You hear muffled music and chatter as you look back at Wanda. She gives you a smile and a playful wink before following you and Natasha inside.

The apartment was big and spacious, filled with people in costumes all around. Halloween decorations plastered the walls, and the lights were low, glowsticks and pumpkin lights lighting up the living room where you noticed a makeshift dance floor. You passed a few couples making out as you walked down the hallway towards the kitchen. There was only a handful of people in there, one of them being Yelena.

"Oh my god, finally, you guys made it!" She hugs Natasha, who says goodbye to Yelena, then to you, telling Wanda she would be back to pick them up later or whenever you needed. Pietro wastes no time in grabbing a red cup and filling it with liquor before heading to the living room. You laugh at his enthusiasm and grab Wandas hand, entwining your fingers with hers.

"Yelena, this is crazy! I love the apartment, though... from what I can see anyway," you laugh, and she hands you and Wanda a red cup filled with alcohol.

She nods and sips her own drink, in a tipsy state already. "Mm, thank you! The roommate went to grab some more ice, but she'll be back soon. You guys will love her! She's the best."

Wanda nods and sips her drink, drinking half of it in one gulp. You squeeze her hand once before letting go to grab some of the shot glasses you saw on the counter. After filling them up, the three of you take a shot, feeling yourself become looser. Yelena leans in to you as she sees someone talking to Wanda.

"Y/n, you guys look so good. Seriously, the way Wanda was looking at you? You're welcome," she smirks, not so subtlely, and cheers with you before taking another shot.

You take in Wandas appearance again and sigh, looking back to your friend. "God, thank you so much," you fake a prayer with your hands, getting a loud laugh from Yelena. Then, the two of you are taking another shot. You and Wanda fill your cups and follow Yelena to the crowd of people in the living room.

This was so different from the Stark parties you had been to on campus. For one, the crowd was a lot younger. You started to dance with Yelena, the music was loud and the bodies around you were drunk and sweaty.

Wanda stares at you with dark eyes from the side of the room as your body moves against Yelena. She stood there leaning against the wall, sipping the entirety of her drink as she watched carefully. You and Yelena laughed and spun each other around, jumping up and down and moving freely together. You felt the hour go by.

You had just finished your drink when you felt a pair of hands on your hips. Goosebumps appeared on your arms, and Yelena leaned in to you, "I think I saw my roomie! I'll be right back!" She yells in your ear, and you nod, feeling the hands grip tighter.

The body behind you begins to dance, and you put your hands on top of hers, moving up and down her body to grind against her. You hear Wanda groan, and you grin, turning to face her. Putting your arms around her neck, you pull her closer to you. "Got tired of watching?" You giggle, looking up to meet her hungry eyes.

"Mm, no, never. I could watch you all night, angel," Wanda speaks the last part against your ear. You bite your lip to hold in a moan as she bites your lobe. You lean up and press your lips to hers desperately, feeling her lips curve upwards into the kiss. Her hold is tight on you, and you feel her tongue slip onto your mouth, the strong taste of liquor swirling around. After a few moments, you take her bottom lip between your teeth, pulling away with a 'pop' and receiving another low groan from Wanda.

"I'm thirsty.." You pout, and Wanda chuckles, nodding.

"Dancing for an hour straight will do that to you. Come on, baby," she smiles and takes your hand, guiding you to the kitchen. Your lips were red and puffy, and you couldn't keep your hands off Wanda. You smacked her butt playfully as you walked into the kitchen, the two of you laughing drunkenly.

"Y/n?" You hear a familiar voice say, and you stop abruptly. Wanda wraps her arms around you from behind and kisses your cheek, not being able to resist keeping her hands off of you as well.

"Y/n!" Yelena says and holds up her cup. "This is my roomie, Kate Bishop!" She points to the girl in the all black suit with dark hair who is staring at you with a surprised expression.

Wanda chuckles and tilts her head, grabbing a drink from Yelena as she steps away from you. "Kate Bishop.. why does that name sound familiar?" She turns to you with a smile, but seeing the look on your face makes it quickly fade.

Your face was pale, cheeks red from the alcohol coursing through you as you stand there completely still.

"Wow, um, you look amazing." Kate says, eyes shamelessly taking you in. "It's been a while, though..." She clears her throat and sips her drink awkwardly.

"Oh my god, wait, you two know each other?" Yelena smiles as her and Wanda stare at you.

"Uh, yep..." Is all you can manage to get out, filling a red cup up with the nearest bottle of vodka. Wanda frowns and moves forward to you, wrapping an arm around your waist. "What's wrong, angel?" She whispers in your ear.

"We um.. dated for a while," Kate sighs, hand in her pocket as she sips her drink. You close your eyes and sigh, looking up to see Wandas eyes burn red. It suddenly clicked to her why the name sounded familiar. You had told Wanda previously about your past flings with Kate.

"Kate Bishop..." Wanda mumbles to herself and turns to face the girl.

Yelenas mouth drops. "No fucking way!" She starts to laugh hysterically as she looks between the three of you.

"Yep.." You say again, bringing the cup to your lips to taste the vodka.

"It was a long time ago," Kate shrugs and walks towards the two of you, boldly patting Wanda on the shoulder. "It's nice to see you again, Y/N. Really nice..." Kate says and looks you up and down with a wink before leaving the room. Wanda feels her shoulder burn where Kate had touched it, and you both look to Yelena.

"Well... I need to, uh..." Yelena says and puts her red cup up to her mouth before quickly ignoring yours and Wandas gaze, leaving the kitchen. There's a moment of silence between the two of you as you stand there.

"Wanda... I had n-" You start, but Wanda cuts you off by grabbing your wrist and pulling you out of the kitchen. She pulls you down the hallway, past the dance floor to the other side of the apartment where the bathroom was. When she closes the door behind you, you open your mouth to speak again.

This time, you're cut off by her lips on yours and your back hitting the bathroom door hard. Your hands are in her hair, and her arms are by your head, trapping you. Wanda presses her body firm against yours, and you let out a quiet moan when you feel her strap press on you through her pants.

"I am going to fuck you so hard that everyone out there is going to know my name," Wanda threatens agaisnt your lips before traveling to kiss your neck. Your hands tug at her hair and you feel yourself get wet at her words.

"W-Wanda, we shouldn't." You moan out, body betraying your words. She kisses down your chest, leaving a mark on the top of your breast.

Wanda chuckles lowly, "I'm sorry, did you think I was giving you a choice?" She takes your hands and pins them above you, smirking at the gasp that escapes your mouth. "So what's it going to be.." her lips ghost yours as you stare up at her with seemingly innocent eyes. "Are you going to be good, and take what you deserve?"

You can only nod in response, your words slipping from your mind. Her grip on your wrists tighten, green eyes peering into yours. "Y-yes..." You finally spit out, your thighs clenching together harder as you feel yourself even more turned on.

"That's right, angel.. You're gonna be my good girl and take my cock," she whispers in your ear and lets go of your hands. You nod your head again quickly, needing to feel her inside of you, needing any type of relief from the strong ache between your legs.

Wanda picks you up and lets you wrap your legs around her hips. You cup her face in your hands and kiss her passionately and sloppily as she brings you to the bathroom counter. You feel the coolness of the counter against the back of your thighs and the mirror on your back. Wanda continues to kiss you desperately, and she begins to roll her hips against you. Groaning into her lips, you pull away and move your hands to help her take off your skirt. You watch with an even stronger aching as she unbuckles her belt.

You can't help but pull her back to you, and she smirks at your eagerness. You unbutton her suit and untuck her blouse, rubbing your hands against her soft skin underneath. Wanda kisses you again, lips desperate for contact. You gasp into her mouth when you feel her hands rip your tights, pulling them off of you quickly.

"Tsk, Tsk... my little slut... you wanted this, didn't you, angel?" Wanda chuckles, fingers tracing your wet folds. She slides two digits in easily, groaning at how wet you were for her. "Not wearing any panties... you knew I'd be fucking you tonight, didn't you?" She uses her other hand to pull harshly at your hair, forcing you to look up at her. "Answer me, slut."

"Y-Yes!" You whimper out, hands gripping onto her shirt. "I wanted you to fuck me," you confess, and she chuckles darkly as she pumps her fingers faster.

"I know you did, my perfect girl. My angel, hm?" Wanda praises, and you can't help but let your hands slide underneath her blouse again to scratch at the covered skin.

After a minute of listening to you moan for her, she takes out her fingers, ignoring your whines at the sudden empty feeling. Her hand grabs your jaw, forcing your mouth open. "Taste yourself for me," Wanda sticks her two fingers in your mouth and watches as you suck them clean, feeling your tongue swirl around her digits as you taste yourself.

She practically growls at the sight and removes her fingers. Her hands leave you momentarily to slide down her pants enough to pull out her thick strap. Grabbing your hips in one hand and her cock in the other, she lines herself up at your entrance, moving the tip up and down your slit, circling it over your clit teasingly.

"Please, please, Wanda!" You beg, pulling her as close to you as you can. She smirks at your neediness, at your desperation.

"You're lucky we're short on time," she comments, "And you're lucky I can't control myself," Wanda adds, feeling the primal need to fuck you immediately. She was just as desperate for you. Before you could say anything you feel yourself being stretched out as she slides the plastic cock inside of you.

"Oh fuck!" You moan out loudly. Wandas arms move to wrap around you, her hands gripping your ass as you wrap your legs around her to pull her hips closer.

Your arms are wrapped around her neck as she starts to move, pumping herself in and out of you. Wanda groans at the sight of you, the noises you were making for her. Your breath is hot against her face before pulling her into a kiss. Wanda began thrusting harder at the feeling of your lips on hers and the sounds of your skin slapping together filled the small room.

"Thats it, take my fucking cock, angel.. I want everyone to know who this sweet cunt belongs to," Wanda chuckles lowly, her accent coming out thick. "Let me hear you, tell them who owns your perfect cunt,"

"Oh, god! Wanda! F-fuck you own me," you moan out and lean forward to put your head against her shoulder. Your lips attach to her neck, biting down on open skin. You can't help but smirk at the sound of Wanda moaning. The feeling of your wet lips kissing and nipping at her neck seemed to send her into a frenzy.

All too soon, Wanda is pulling out of you. She grabs you off of the counter and, in one quick motion, turns you around to face the mirror. Her hands make quick work in removing the now ruffled wings off of you, pulling your corset down just enough to see your breasts spill out from the top of it. When she's satisfied with the sight of your disheveled state, you feel her strap fill you up again. Her hands grip your hips as she begins pounding into you mercilessly.

"Wanda! Ohh feels so good, fuck.. stretching me out!" You manage to get out and she moans, moving one hand off of your hips to reach forward and grab your neck. She pulls you up roughly to have your back pressing against her front. Her fingers tighten around your neck as you feel her lips against your earlobe.

"I want you to watch..." She speaks lowly into your ear, staring into your eyes through the mirror. "I want you to watch as I fuck you and fill you up with my cum. You're going to watch as you fall apart, as you beg for me," Wanda moans in your ear and keeps her hand wrapped around your neck. Her other arm wraps around your chest, her fingers squeezing your sensitive nipples, hand groping your breasts that bounce with every thrust as she drills into you.

"Look at you, angel... Tits out, taking my cock in the bathroom while everyone can hear you being a slut for me. This is how it's supposed to be, isn't it? God, you are perfect. My only angel.. " Wanda never got tired of watching you like this, so needy and messy for her. Your lips parted as you tried to breath with her hand cutting off your air every couple seconds, tears running down your cheeks as she fucked you relentlessly, taking you closer and closer to an orgasm.

You can feel Wanda deep inside you, driving in and out of you at a steady pace. She's hitting that one spot that drives you crazy, and you know you won't last any longer. What really sends you over the edge is the look on Wandas face. Her dark green eyes stare intently at your body, looking into your eyes as she pants heavily and moans your name.

"Fuck angel. You're going to make me cum! I'm going to fucking cum, going to fill you up just like you deserve, baby. Fuck, fuck!" Wanda growls as her thrust become sloppy and you moan in response, nails digging into her arm as you grip onto her.

"Me too, Wands! Please let me cum, please," you moan, vision becoming blurry with tears as you reach your climax.

"Cum with me, angel.. fucking cum all over my cock, let me hear you when you do. Tell them one more time who owns you," she pants out and latches her lips to your shoulder. "God, take it, take it!" Wanda moans against your skin, biting down hard as she cums.

"Wanda!" You scream her name loudly, both of your moans echoing off the walls as you finally get the relief you were looking for. Your knees go weak as you let go for her, pleasure shocking your core as you wet her cock just as she wanted. Wandas grip is tight on you as your body fails you, holding you in place as she fucks you through your orgasm. She slows to a stop, watching your chest rise and fall rapidly.

"That's it, that's it, I've got you.." She whispers in your ear, holding you tightly against her and kissing the side of your face and neck. "You did so good for me, angel, that's it.."

After a moment, she pulls out slowly, smirking at the hiss that leaves your lips. You turn around, seeing the familiar devious glint in her eyes. "Get on your knees," she commands, and you can't help but obey. You go to your knees, there in the bathroom, face to face with her strap that was covered in your arousal. "Clean it up for me, angel," Wanda smiles softly, not matching the look behind her green eyes.

Her fingers weave into your hair as you take her cock in your mouth, tasting yourself, gagging as she slides it in further to the back of your throat. Wanda moans as she watches, drool dripping down your chin and onto your chest as you blink through those innocent eyes again. Although you and Wanda both knew, you were anything but. Wanda may have been wearing the horns, but she knew you were a devil in between the sheets. You were enjoying this just as much as she was.

"Just like that baby, every last drop," Wanda smirks down at you and lets you suck her strap for a few more moments. "Good job, you did so good for me," she praises you and removes her cock, tucking it back into her pants and buckling her belt back up.

Wanda wastes no time in helping you up and getting you cleaned up, praising you with more words of affirmations and plenty of kisses. The smile on your face as she did so made her chest warm all over again. She watches you slide up your skirt with shaky hands, chuckling at your the way your legs tremble slightly as she tucks her own shirt back in.

"Come here, my angel," Wanda smiles and takes off her suit jacket, wrapping it around you. You slide your arms inside the sleeves and breathe in deeply, feeling not only the fabric, but her comforting scent wrap around you.

"Thank you," you giggle and rest your hands on her stomach, leaning up to kiss her.

****

You and Wanda were still in the bathroom, making out. You sat on the counter again, and she was standing between your legs. A knock at the door has you groaning as Wanda pulls away from your lips.

"I think we've held it up long enough. Let's go have some fun," she smiles and kisses your forehead, picking you up and lifting you off of the counter. Wanda had literally fucked you stupid. Your legs were still shaking when she set you down and even though she had done her best to clean you up, you still looked a mess in the mirror.

Wanda opens the door and holds your hand as you walk into the hallway. A few people standing there are staring at you with some wide eyes and giggles and a few of them smirking. One of those with wide eyes was Kate Bishop herself, unable to meet your own eyes. You smile to yourself, blushing deeply and wrapping yourself around Wandas arm. You didn't have to look up at her to know she had a crooked smile on her lips.

A couple hours later and an unknown amount of shots later, you were currently in front of everyone on the makeshift 'stage' with Pietro. Half of the crowd had left, but you and Pietro were still going strong. He stood next to you, shirt gone and wearing your wings and halo with a microphone in his hand. You had one arm wrapped around his shoulder to keep yourself from falling, now wearing his sunglasses and red whistle around your neck.

Bringing your microphone to your lips, you point at Wanda, who was stood in the back, still watching your every move. "This one -hiccup- goes out to my girlfriend! Shout out -hiccup- Wanda!" Your words slur together, and Pietro nods his head. Wanda can't help but laugh and smile at your drunken state, shaking her head.

"Yeah, and I dedicate it to that girl I made out with earlier," he points to a random brunette, and you hear a loud, "Whoo!" and "Yes!" From Yelena, who was, barely, standing in front of the two of you, recording on her phone.

You and Pietro wrap an arm around each other, both of you swaying back and forth as you belt into the microphones drunkenly.

"Baby, not a day goes by, that I'm not, into you!" You're practically yelling into the microphone, but you still point to Wanda, serenading her beautifully, in your mind, at least. You and Pietro start to jump as the song picks up.

"I should be over all the butterflies, but I'm into, I'm into you..."

The two of you barely finish the song before Pietro is falling down, Yelena laughing hysterically and still recording.

"This is amazing!" She slurs and watches as you trip and fall right over Pietro. The three of you are in fits of laughter as Wanda walks over and nudges her brother, then picks you up.

"Alright, alright.. you guys got to do your karaoke.." Wanda is laughing and holding you up at your waist. You just stare at her, smiling and playing with her hair. "You're sooo pretty," you draw out your words with a giggle and bat your eyelashes, poking the horns on her head. She scrunches her nose playfully at you, "And you are so silly," she giggles back.

"Wait! Y/N, we didn't get to sin -" Pietro starts but is cut off by Natasha walking up.

"Nope! Get your asses in the car," she claps, pointing to the door. You and Pietro pout for a little bit but finally agree to leave. Yelena throws herself at you, hugging you tightly and telling you goodbye. Wanda finally pulls you away and wraps her shoulder around your waist to practically carry you down to Natashas car.

As you lay in the backseat with your head in Wandas lap, you feel her fingers running through your hair, playing with the soft strands. With your own hands, you gripped tightly onto her free hand. Pietro was still singing in the front seat next to Natasha, who was just laughing and shaking her head. Her and Wanda talked about the night, but you could only focus on Wanda, staring up at her. The streetlights shone through the window in flashes, lighting her face every once in a while. You watch as she talks, listening to her accent wrap around certain words. The way her fingers stroked your hair softly. Then suddenly she was staring down at you and you freeze as she smiles.

"You doing okay, angel?" She whispers, and you nod, watching her lips. Wanda leans down and gives you a sweet kiss, continuing to stroke your hair.

By the time Natasha pulled into the garage, you had passed out in the backseat. Pietro wanted to wake you to 'continue the party', but Wanda firmly told him no. She lifts you up in her arms, holding your body to her chest.

"She's an angel," Natasha teases and laughs at your sleepy state. "You got her?" Natasha asks, and Wanda nods, looking down at you in her arms. "I got her," she smiles and chuckles at your sleepy nature, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "My only angel," Wanda sighs quietly.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x reader #wanda x you #marvel one shot #marvel fic #Spotify

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thanksbutno98 · 11 days ago

Text

Silk

John Price x female!reader OC

Summary: Being John Price’s friend with benefits ends in an ultimatum.

Warnings: sexual themes, swearing, hurt, alcohol, threats of violence, not edited.

——————

Silk fabric, lace embroideries, and price tags that matched your monthly rent. Stiletto heels, frilly bows, in a dimly lit shop that offered champagne while you tried on clothes. This store was too rich for your blood but you had been talked into going here instead of a much more affordable option.

“Looks beautiful on you.” Lieutenant John Price was smiling softly watching you try on dresses for a work event.

He hummed or shook his head ‘no’ if he didn’t like a dress you tried on. It was actually refreshing to have an honest opinion rather than the typical male perspective of ‘you look good in everything.’ You did notice in your hunt John favored you in the color red but you chalked that up to his mind being stuck on the Liverpool match tonight.

You were currently in a midnight blue dress with a high neckline and long sleeves. The sleeves were sheer and top fitted, both having intricate lace work. The fabric was cinched at your waist while having a loose skirt that came down to just above your knees.

“It’s not too much?” You turned to look at John with a shy smile.

You watched his eyes carefully. Leaning to the side John looked at the mirror behind you to get another look at your ass. He was then shaking his head and wagging his eyebrows at you to show how good he thought you looked. This was the most positive reaction yet, so you knew you had to look as good as you felt.

“You look like one of those figure skaters, only the skirts long and your ass looks better.” John’s compliment didn’t help answer your question. It made you wonder if he had a thing for figure skaters.

“So it’s too much?” Your nose scrunched hoping this thought was wrong because the dress fit you like a glove and you looked amazing in it.

“Not at all. You said it’s a cocktail party, right? I don’t really know what women wear to those but this seems right.” John motioned to your dress. He was giving you bedroom eyes and you were having a sneaking suspicion he would be pulling you into the first secluded spot he could find to go down on you.

“You’re no help.” You grumbled playfully.

Turning back around you admired the smooth silk fabric and how when it caught the light it shimmered. It was perfect because you could wear it to more than just this event. That’s how you were justifying spending this much money on a single item.

“I’ll help you take it off.” There was a growl to John’s voice and you caught him winking at you through the store mirror.

“Down boy.” You giggled and gave him a wink back.

Those blue eyes caught yours again. There was a hunger in them that made your cheeks warm and hair stand on end. Desire looked good on John and you swore you could die happy staring into those eyes.

“You look stunning! What’s the occasion?” One of the store employees came over snapping you out of the deep eye contact you and John had been locked in.

You hated being helped at stores. It was like a nightmare to you to have a stranger weighing in on the clothes you were trying on. It usually ended up with you dressed in something that was completely not your style and then feeling so awkward you would buy it anyway.

“Cocktail party for work.” You told her.

You were now devising a plan on how to retreat as quickly as possible. This was the dress and you didn’t need to be convinced to try on something double in price because these employees worked on commission.

“It’s perfect, elegant and a little sexy. I do have another that might look even better. Before that, does your boyfriend need a suit?” You stiffened at the question.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” You blurted out.

“Oh, my apologies.” She looked between you two with a tiny smirk that said she didn’t believe you.

“I love this dress, but thank you for the help. Let me get changed.” You smiled awkwardly.

Before the employee could respond you were retreating into the dressing room. You could hear muffled chatter which must have been John and her. If there was a little more privacy you would ask for help unzipping your dress instead of struggling to do it yourself, like you were now.

“She asked for my number.” John voice was just outside the changing room now. You weren’t sure why John was telling you this. It was infuriating to say the least but you couldn’t be mad about it. John wasn’t your boyfriend even though you wished he was.

“You give it to her?” You cringed at your question, hearing the jealousy in your voice. John chuckled on the other side of the curtain.

“No, like I said before I’m only seeing you. You have a date for the event?” John’s question had you feeling vindictive. If he could so nonchalantly rub in your face a woman was hitting on him you were going to make him just as jealous as you were.

“Why, you planning on being my date? Thought you didn’t do stuff like that.” Your snarkiness wasn’t lost on John but he continued on.

“Don’t want you to have to go alone.” John sounded smug.

That response riled you up. You were having trouble handling his possessiveness when you weren’t even his girlfriend. You knew he was only saying this because he didn’t want you going with Adam. The reason you knew that was because of John’s sarcastic and rude comments about Adam that were made at random. He taunted you at times during sex asking if anyone else could make you feel as good as he did. The answer was no, John usually dragged it out of you by edging you.

Pulling back the curtain forcefully you squared up to him. John stared down at you with a cocky grin and quirked eyebrow. Even when pissed off with him he didn’t find you intimidating, you were too sweet to actually scare him.

“I was going to ask Adam.” You said pointedly and then marched to the cash register.

“Ah, he’s still in the picture. I assumed you dropped him last month when you came over to my flat.” John sounded annoyed but you didn’t care. He grabbed your ass and you saw it as a way to pacify himself that he still had access to you in the ways he wanted.

“Well, I didn’t and you know that because you haven’t stopped making rude comments about him since then. And we work together so it’ll be easy since he’s already going.” You sighed heavily seeing the price of your dress ring up.

Reaching into your purse you pulled out your wallet in order to get your credit card. To your shock John already handed his over. Looking at him with your jaw hanging open you were about to protest that he didn’t need to do that. Before you could, his finger came up and slowly brought your chin up so your mouth clamped shut.

“My treat.” And with a wink John took his card back and handed you the shopping bag.

“You shouldn’t be buying me expensive things.” You had to jog after John because he left as soon as you were handed the bag.

“A thank you should suffice.” John stopped to let you catch up and then swatted your ass and you followed after him.

You took notice to how a few women your age stopped their shopping to gawk at John. It made you incredibly insecure to see the effect he had on women with no effort. It wouldn’t feel like your chest was being crushed if he was your boyfriend. Because then you could walk around with your head held high and a security that he had chosen you and you belonged to each other. But then again, he did look delectable in his fitted brown long sleeve, dark blue jeans, and burnt orange Carhartt jacket; it was hard not to stare.

“Well, thank you. Don’t do it again.” The smile you wore was enough John would absolutely be doing something like this again.

In fact it was why he just decided he’d be taking you out for a nice lunch too.

“Let’s grab something to eat, I’m hungry.” John took your hand and lead you along with him.

You weren’t as confident in London as he was. You tended to get batted around and overcharged because you were an American. John flipped his lid once at what someone charged you for a sandwich so you stopped telling him how much you spent on things. You were from one of the major cities in the U.S. so you thought London would be easy to navigate. But you were sorely mistaken, it was its own beast and you were happy John accompanied you today.

“Uh, all the restaurant are expensive around here. Why don’t we get something-“ You tried to speak because you knew buying that dress was going to leave you strapped for cash. There was no way you could justify spending an inordinate amount of money on one meal so you didn’t want John to do that either.

“Don’t worry, darling. I’m footing the bill.” With a chuckle John brought you to an Italian restaurant he had heard great things about.

You cringed at that. Was it that obvious you were broke? Maybe your dingy old flat gave that away or how you avoided expensive things. Finances were hard, you made decent money but you found saving was difficult when you were helping support your dad. He had moved to the UK after you graduated university because he couldn’t stand living in a different country from you. You were incredibly greatful because it meant you weren’t here all by yourself anymore.

The transition was hard on him and finding work was even harder. Your dad didn’t have a college degree and had owned a bar his whole adult life back home, so he didn’t have references really. You actually grew up in the dilapidated apartment above the bar. So when you started making good money you moved him out of his disgusting flat with mice and put him up somewhere a little nicer, but not as nice as you thought he deserved. The goal was to help buy him a pub to run which is what you and him had been pooling your money together for to help that dream of his come true.

You felt out of place in a restaurant so nice that you would never be able to afford. John seemed in his element and you wondered how wealthy he grew up. He knew a restaurant this nice that had to mean he went around trying fancy places. John was charming to the staff and got you seated rather quickly. Wine was poured and a complimentary appetizer came out after you decided on entrees. You were becoming more and more self conscious wondering how many women he had taken to expensive places like this. Little did you know John never did this for anyone but you.

“Why’d you come dress shopping with me?” You asked with your eyes fixed on your plate.

“Didn’t have anything else to do today and I thought I’d be able to sneak into the dressing room with you.” John flirted and nudged your foot under the table. When you mentioned that you needed to go shopping John jumped at the opportunity this morning but you weren’t sure this was why. It honestly seemed like he genuinely wanted to spend more time with you.

“Cheeky.” It was both sexy and endearing John wanted to have his way with you even in public.

You thought he would shy away from PDA but he had no reservation holding your hand or draping his arm around you. Even now, the way he was looking at you told everyone around he only had eyes for you.

“Why do you like being taken out to eat so much? It seems to be your favorite thing.” Tilting his head slightly John’s gaze was focused on you trying to pick you apart.

You felt very seen in this moment and you weren’t sure if you liked it. John wanted to know you better, understand you on a deeper level. His inability to commit to a relationship didn’t match the way he felt about you. In fact he treated you like any man treated their girlfriend, when the two of you were around one another. John craved to know you, every curve, every dislike, the small things you did when you thought no one was watching, what made you light up and the things that made those bright eyes of yours sparkle. He wanted to consume you and make you a fixture in his life.

For all intense and purposes John did see you as his one and only, even though he stood in his own way to make it official. John felt you deserved better than a man like him. He was away too often and the idea of not coming home to you and breaking such a beautiful heart like yours would be a shame. John wouldn’t be able to live with himself at the thought that you would be spending your days mourning a man as rotten as him.

“I, uh. It’s personal I guess.” Shrugging it off you weren’t sure you wanted to get that deep with John.

“C’mon, I’m only curious.” John stared at you softly.

You two were interrupted for a moment as your food was placed in front of you. John’s eyes sparkled at the linguini and clams now sat in front of him. His eyes then shot to your dish and you felt like you could read his mind that he wanted a bite of yours. Nodding toward your plate John took a bite and waved for you to pick up where you left off.

“Um, I grew up without a lot of money. It was really just me and my dad my whole life and he was a shit cook and I’m a shit cook. He couldn’t afford to take me out to eat beside my birthday and he let me pick wherever I wanted to go. . .” You took a breath before sharing the truly vulnerable part.

“So I never experienced good food until my adult life once I got a job. And a lot of those experiences have been by myself because I didn’t have anyone to go with. Well my dad goes with me sometimes but he still gets the cheapest option because he doesn’t like spending money so it still doesn’t feel good.” You couldn’t get yourself to look at John, it felt more intimate sharing this than when you two rolled around in the sheets.

You were taught being poor was something to be embarrassed about. That you had to put on your best clothes and a brave face and act more well off than you were. And you always did, because you didn’t want to humiliate your father and all his efforts to support you.

“Past relationships didn’t take you out to nice places?” John probed.

“Sometimes, really just for my birthday or anniversaries. . . So it never felt like I out grew that poor city girl I grew up as. If that makes any sense.” You mumbled the last part and picked at your food.

“That makes sense. I grew up similarly so I get it.” Taking your hand John squeezed it reassuringly. Looking into his eyes you saw the same shame that riddled you. It was a moment of clarity that came all from a silent understanding that you weren’t the only one who felt this way or went through something similar.

“Yeah?” You asked. That surprised you. You had John pegged for someone who grew up with money. That’s why he lived in a swanky flat with a balcony and took you to places like this and never let you pay for anything.

“Yeah, just in the country side. I’ve got three other siblings so we grew up with holes in our shoes and knew how to make a little go a long way. I really started to try different foods when I was being shipped out to country after country.” John seemed somewhat guarded when he spoke about his family life but it fizzled off by the time he started to speak of food.

“How many siblings? And same, only I was traveling for work.” You knew John wasn’t an only child like you but he never gave more details.

“Yeah, two older brothers and a younger sister. You have any siblings?“ John seemed genuinely curious in getting to know you a little bit deeper and open enough to share about himself.

“Only child. It’s just me and my dad, don’t really have a big family. There’s my mums brother but we don’t get along.” With a shrug you continued to eat.

“Why’s that?” John lightly chuckled at the sour face you made thinking about your uncle.

“He’s not really on board with the whole women’s rights thing. Last we spoke my dad ended up rocking his shit for saying something colorful about me becoming an archeologist.” What you said made John’s eyebrows shoot up and a smile spread across his face. He wasn’t sure why but it felt good that you had a protective father. It meant he didn’t have to worry about you as much as he involuntarily did.

“Your dad seems protective.” By the way John spoke it was a compliment.

“You have no idea. He moved here to be close to me so I wouldn’t be living in a country I didn’t have any family in.” It made you smile to share about your father since you were so close to him.

“Sounds like a good man. He a foodie like you?” The question kept coming and you were finding it easier and easier to share more about yourself.

“No, but he likes good liquor and nice cigars.” Telling John this got another approving nod from him.

“Good man. What about your mum?” That question made you physically react.

You weren’t an open book so John felt he had to be very specific in the questions he asked you. He noticed you willingly talk about your father so he wondered about your mother. Part of him wondered if she left or there was some falling out. It obviously hurt by the way you immediately frowned and looked away.

“She’s dead. I don’t like talking about it.” The way you spoke was nonchalant which peaked John’s interest but he was smart enough to not push.

“I’m sorry about that.” John wanted to squeeze your hand again but you had already moved them into your lap.

“Nothing to be sorry about. People die, she died, cancer, I was little, I’m fine now, my dad’s never really been the same- I feel like I’m rambling.” You were in fact rambling and John could tell you were not fine about it. So to give you some grace he changed the subject.

“Where’s the best food from the places you’ve traveled?” It was the kindest question he asked because he didn’t push on the subject of your mother any further. Taking a sigh of relief your smile returned and you rolled into the next conversation.

“Korea and Japan, hands down. It’s a different level of cooking there. You?” Taking a bite of your food you watched John eye it and then giggled and motioned for his to have more of yours.

“Turkey, some of the best food I’ve ever had.” John was more focused on taking a bite of your food than the conversation. You scooted your plate closer so you could share and he did the same. Neither of you looked for permission anymore and mindlessly ate.

“You’re amazing to take out to eat. You know that right?” John’s compliment made you beam and you wondered if it was only because you were good about sharing your food.

“Yeah?” You asked coyly.

“You’re quick as a whip, funny, and pick the better food every time I take you out.” John pointed at your plate with his fork and went back to eating his food.

“You know we could start picking dishes together and split them.” You suggested.

“See, you’re bloody brilliant.” With a wink John took a sip of his wine and carried on eating.

John was being so charming you wanted to squeal. He made your heart skip a beat. The smile you wore was so wide you knew it would start to hurt soon enough. There was a thrumming in your veins that echoed John’s. You two were smiling at one another in a cheesy love struck way that only those around could see. Somehow you both were blind to the passion dancing in the other’s eyes.

“You know my dream is to vacation in Bologna and get to have the best authentic Italian food.” Biting you lip John seemed to enjoy your small confession.

“Yeah? What about the wine?” John said this as he filled up your glass and then his own.

“The wines only a bonus. I want to gorge myself on pasta and bread. Gain so much weight I’m unrecognizable.” Your joke had John laughing from deep in his belly.

“Sounds like an absolute dream. I’ll get fat with you.” Toasting to that you both softly laughed.

“I don’t think it’s possible for you to gain weight with how much you work out.” You were flirting but John didn’t take the bait.

Normally he flirted back seamlessly but there was a gentleness to him. Reaching across the table John took your hand and played with your ring finger mindlessly.

“Do you want to come with me to the Liverpool match tonight?” His question came out of nowhere.

“I thought you were going with a friend?” You asked, now sitting on the edge of your seat. You wanted to go more than anything. The chemistry between you two was off the charts and it would be a spectacular day for you if this date didn’t end after the meal.

“Don’t have to. You’ve never seen the reds in person and I’d fancy being the one to take you.”

“Yeah, that sounds like fun.”

——————

Tonight was calm and lacked the electricity you felt on your day out with John. It was a casual date. Nothing special, nothing memorable. The wine was decent and the conversation simple. It was meant to be romantic but to you this swanky restaurant wasn’t doing it for you.

“You do anything fun over the weekend?” Adam asked as he poured you a fresh glass of wine.

You were in a daze, mind stuck on John Price instead of your date sitting across from you. When you didn’t answer Adam asked the same question again which got your attention.

“Yeah, went to the Liverpool match with a friend.” You shrugged it off trying to act like it wasn’t the most magical night you’d spent with a man.

“Let me take you to a Chelsea match, they’re the ones you’ve got to support.” It was sweet but it sounded corny for Adam to want you to support his team. It made you wonder why it felt cringy to hear him say it yet when John was excited to have you in red and cheering you were smitten.

“Oh really?” You asked softly and then took a sip of your wine. It made you long for the taste of the sparkling, sweet white you shared with John instead of this flat, boring red.

“I’ve been thinking. We have fun together, good banter, great sex. I’m ready for us to make things official.” Adam smiled at you.

That made your breath hitch. Dread started to fill you. Part of you was hoping that you two would never get to this point. That Adam would break things off or you would find the courage to do it. He was your place holder; all because he was a good match for you. Adam was intelligent, well established in his career, and most importantly, not afraid of commitment. He was the man you should be dating but the spake just wasn’t there for you.

“Really?” It was fake sincerity the dripped off your tongue.

It tasted putrid and left you feeling sick. Being asked to be someone’s girlfriend was suppose to make you excited for the future. But the first thing that came to mind was that you would have to stop seeing John; and no part of you wanted that.

“Yeah, I really like you.” Adam was being so genuine and the way he looked at you spoke volumes.

You felt like a piece of shit.

“I-I can’t. I don’t think I’m ready.” You must have looked like a deer in headlight because before you even spoke Adam demeanor shifted to confusion.

“Seriously?” Confusion and disdain were the first emotions to hit Adam. Then you watched his face twist as if he’d sucked on a lemon.

“I-look, I’m-“ You tried.

“What’s your problem? You went on and on about wanting a relationship and now that’s not what you want? It’s the military prick isn’t it?” Just like at work Adams’s jump to conclusion was spot on. It was kind of annoying how accurate he was. You were also realizing he didn’t take rejection well.

“I don’t have a problem.” That was a lie, something was wrong with you and you needed to figure out what it was.

“No, because I really do like you. And I don’t know what’s going on with you or why you’re running away but I’m not sticking around to convince you to date me.” Adam got up abruptly threw a few notes down and left.

You couldn’t really blame him for his frustration, you had that coming. In your quest to find commitment and happiness you had done to someone what John was doing to you. Stringing Adam along wasn’t intentional and you really did have good intentions but it didn’t line up with your feelings.

“Fuck.” You placed your face in your hands and sat there quietly.

You knew people were staring at you after Adam’s dramatic display. The feeling of prying eyes only made your skin hotter and embarrassment sting more.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’m in love with him.” The realization hit you like a ton of bricks.

Your life was falling apart all because you were in love with John Price. Who were you kidding? You knew halfway through the Liverpool match you loved him. The second he lifted you into the air and then kissed you when they scored their first goal was what did you in. John had you wear his jersey and even swept you in a convenient store for you to get some red lipstick, claiming it was only right. You left a perfect red lipstick print to his cheek as a joke and he kept it there the entire night.

“Ma’am, could I get you anything else?” You waitress was looking at you like you were some fragile thing.

“Do you have vodka?”

——————

“We making a thing of showing up uninvited?” John joked seeing you standing at his front door.

He was very excited to see you because you caught him half way through a wank. You also looked amazing in your sweater dress and heels meanwhile he was shirtless and in grey sweatpants that hung low.

“You started it.” You mused back and then pointed at the obvious bulge in his sweatpants. You gave him that seductive smile that riled him up.

“Come in-“ John motioned you in and then started chuckling.

“You smell like you crawled out from a bottle.” He barked out a laugh and grabbed your ass.

You weren’t much of a drinker and John commonly saw you gawking and looking mortified with British drinking culture. So for you to turn up drunk meant something happened and John was praying it was because you broke up with your little boyfriend.

“Might have had a few drinks.” With a shrug you spun around to face John and started to back down his hallway toward the kitchen.

John was now crowding your space and backed you up against the wall just outside his bedroom. With both hands pressed against the wall he caged you in. Lowering his head slight he tilted it and gave you a wicked grin. Taking his finger John hooked it in your tank top and pulled so he could see down your top.

“Be my date to that work event?” You asked softly, waiting for rejection.

“Your little boyfriend doesn’t want to go?” John was getting that smug smirk again. The one where he was feeling like he won, as if you were some prize to be had.

“He was never my boyfriend. I broke things off with him.” You shrugged then left a kiss to the corner of John’s mouth. You hoped that kiss would get the conversation to end but it didn’t.

“Why’s that?” Pulling back John was teasing and you weren’t feeling up for it.

“You said you’re only seeing me. Keep it that way and I’ll only see you.” Staring into his icy eyes you silently pleaded that he hadn’t gone back on what he had told you.

“Alright. I can do that.” John nodded happily.

“Do you actually like me, John. Or am I just a warm body to keep you from feeling lonely.” It took the alcohol for you to finally ask this question that had been weighing on you since this all began.

“I actually like you.” John hardened in a split second at your question. His face became unreadable and posture stiff. You weren’t sure he meant what he said.

“Then, why aren’t I enough?” Your voice cracked as you spoke. Taking a deep breath you felt yourself about to cry.

John’s eyes went wide and he had no idea what to say to you. Emotional conversations weren’t really his thing and he had never seen you upset before. Ducking under his arm you quickly exited his flat and headed straight for the elevator.

“Wait.” John called from his door.

“I’ll see you at the party.” You called over your shoulder not trusting yourself to look back. You couldn’t let John see you cry, it would scare him off.

——————

The crisp night air turned John’s cheeks rosy as he waited for you outside your building. He almost brought flowers but realized you would have to run back up to your flat to put them in water. So he opted to have a mini bottle of wine for you in his car.

“Woah.” John’s eyes were as wide as saucers seeing you walk down your buildings steps.

When he first saw you in that midnight blue dress John didn’t think you could look any more beautiful. But here you were, with your hair tied back in an elegant loose bun that was braided on either side. You were a stark contrast of beauty against the backdrop of your old rundown apartment building.

The pale light of the moonlight made your skin glow almost like you were radiant. John’s breath hitched in his throat and his heartbeat began to pick up pace. You looked beautiful, divine, breathtaking. There was no doubt in John’s mind you were the most captivating woman he had ever had the pleasure of knowing.

“Look at you.” You then whistled seeing John stand there in a navy suit.

You knew John was handsome but this was your first time seeing him in a suit. It fit him perfectly and he paired it with a rust colored tie, matching pocket square, brown shoes, a gold watch and cufflinks. Part of you wondered if he was this stylish on his own or if someone helped him pick this out. Someone had to have helped him because the ensemble had a woman’s touch to it.

“Your sister pick that out for you?” You joked and motioned to his impeccable suit. Straightening his tie your smile never faded and you felt smitten having the man you had fallen in love with as your date tonight.

The answer to your question was, yes. John showed up at his younger sister’s house and practically forced her out the door to help him pick out a suit since he didn’t have a nice one. It cost him more money than he liked, a pricey lunch, and an onslaught of invasive questions; but it was all worth it to impress you.

“You’re beautiful.” John barely got the words out before he was kissing you.

Your eyes widened in surprise, not expecting him to plant one on you. Your eyes fluttered shut when you realized he wasn’t going to pull away. Kissing John back you felt one large hand on the small of your back pulling you close while the other cupped the back of your neck. The way his lips moved against yours was slow and tender, like he was trying to memorize the way you tasted. The normal heat and desire was absent. You felt wanted, cherished, like you were his world in this tender moment.

Pulling away slowly John stared deeply in your eyes. It was emotion you saw, one of adoration that you’d seen when an artists gazed at the sistine chapel for the first time. You felt more than beautiful, like you were a work of art to behold and John was the one to see the beauty of you in every stroke, every line, for all you were.

“Divine, doesn’t begin to describe how breath taking you are.” John whispered before bringing you close to his chest and hugging you.

Nothing compared to the feeling of being held by John Price. Melting in to his hold you breathed in his scent of oaky cologne and spearmint. John always smelled good, even when he didn’t. There was this natural manly scent about him that made your knees weak. You hummed and mumbled about him smelling good and he reciprocated the compliment.

“Yeah, I look that good?” Blood rushed to your face and you felt the flush of insecurity light up your skin.

This wasn’t a normal compliment where John was trying to get you in bed. You could see in the way he looked at you and his tone that this was different. The goal wasn’t sex. It was - you had no idea what this was; and that’s what made you so insecure.

“The way you look is just a bonus.” John’s words made your hair stand on end.

John wasn’t just talking about your appearance, he meant you as a person was what got this reaction from him. It made your heart swell to hear him use your own words you said in passing once on what you found attractive. That looks were always a bonus to you and to know John felt that way about you could make you melt into the earth.

“Really trying to get lucky tonight.” You tried humor to keep your racing heart from leaping out of your throat.

Maybe having him tell you, you were hot or sexy would quell the butterflies in your stomach. Because being desired by John physically was what you had become accustom to. Anything else was new and foreign and solidified you had fallen in love with him.

“Lucky to be your date tonight. That’s all I want.” Laying a soft kiss to your cheek John whispered in your ear.

It was confusing to hear that but you weren’t going to dwell on it. You wanted to enjoy John’s company tonight. Shooing all the insecurities creeping into your mind away you took John’s hand and nodded at him as if he knew what you were thinking. With compliment after compliment rolling from his tongue John took you to your work event.

There was electricity in the air walking in to the posh hotel bar that was rented out for your work event. There was something exhilarating about being on John’s arm and feeling like a couple although you weren’t. It was a taste of what life could be and you found it addictive.

John was amazing, made small talk with your colleagues, even had your boss Sampson in stitches. Sampson and John remembered one another from the dig you met John on and your boss admitted he had a feeling something was going on.

During the conversation John was having with your boss, Adam approached you and asked to have a word. It felt rude to say no so you walked off with him and pretended everything was fine. No one knew about you and Adam seeing each other as you were both private people. John continued to chat with some of your colleagues but was watching you from the corner of his eye.

“Turn me down and bring that prick? You’re fucking joking?” Adam didn’t snap but sounded hurt and confused.

When he asked you the other night if it was the military guy that was holding you back he said it to be cruel. No part of him actually thought that was what was going on. Adam actually thought you stopped seeing him a while ago when you told him not to worry about John, so he felt hurt and betrayed that John was still in your life.

“Adam, I’m sorry. But don’t you want someone who wants you?” You asked and then cringed at how horrible you sounded.

“I didn’t mean that, that came out wrong-“ You tried to add quickly but you watched Adam flare up like a firecracker.

“That’s rich coming from you. You really think that asshole wants you? You’re nothing but something to kill time with until he’s ready to move on to the next. And you really want to waist your time with him than be with me? It’s fucking ludicrous, Indy.” Adam wasn’t yelling or causing a scene and close enough to keep things quiet. The look on his face spoke volumes to those around because Adam wasn’t one for anger and he looked pissed off with you.

Glancing around you continued to smile like nothing was happening. It was taking a moment for your brain to catch up with your mouth. Because what Adam said was what you had been thinking for months now. That John didn’t actually want you and he was killing time. You were his makeshift girlfriend that he never had to commit to and could turn tail and run when it best suited him.

“Oi, don’t know what’s going on but get out of her face.” John was by your side now and took Adam by the shoulder and moved him back a step.

It could be misconstrued as playful to those around but you and Adam both knew it wasn’t. Intimidation was something John excelled at and you watched Adam square his shoulder clearly not willing to back down. You had a friend say there was no better feeling than two men fighting over her but you couldn’t disagree more with that sentiment. You wanted the floor to open up and swallow you, this was so mortifying.

“I have half a mind to-“

“To what? We can step outside if that’s where this is going.” The timber is John’s voice was like coarse black smoke.

You were against physical violence and knew Adam found it as barbaric as you did. Looking up at John you were about to tell him to stop but Adam spoke first.

“Of course she fancies you, she spends her days studying knuckle dragging Neanderthal’s just like you.” Adam spat the words out.

That seemed to shut John up. John wasn’t insecure about his intelligence normally, but being around people as smart as you and your colleagues did leave him feeling out of his depths. Adam wished you a job well done on your latest find, referring to John, called him a Neanderthal one more time and headed toward the bar. You had to step on John’s foot and tug him by the arm before he dragged Adam out by his hair. You realized John wasn’t a fan of being called unintelligent and would only prove that point by trying to fight Adam. John stopped immediately at your touch and looked to you with an expression you had never seen before.

“You okay?” Somehow he was fuming mad but still had the wherewithal to check on you.

“Yeah, he’s upset and I don’t blame him. I’ve been really shitty.” After you spoke you quickly went after Adam and grabbed him lightly.

You left John there, feeling like a fool. He wanted to grab you and ask what that prick meant to you and why you would chase after him. Somehow this felt like betrayal to John and in a split second he swallowed down that feeling realizing it was self inflicted. John knew deep down you would devote yourself to him fully if he allowed, that this pain in his chest was his own fault.

“What?” Adam turned at your familiar touch of his bicep and was not amused with you chasing after him.

“You’re right. You deserved better and it was shitty of me to lead you on when I didn’t know what I wanted. I should’ve sorted my self out instead of dragging you along with me. I’m sorry.” You said earnestly, trying to keep yourself from breaking down in a fit of tears. You felt disgusted with yourself for doing what John was doing to you. Adam didn’t deserve that and you had selfishly hurt him the way you were hurting. You were better than this, too emotionally aware to not see the damage you had done.

Adam blinked at you. There seemed to be a shift, not one of forgiveness but mutual understanding. With the softest of smiles he nodded to you and then squeezed your shoulder.

“Thanks. I meant what I said. Indy, I care for you and as one friend to another, he’s only going to hurt you.” It was starting to become apparent to you that the men in your life that you had romantic relationships with looked at you with pity.

It was leaving a sour taste in your mouth and you hated that this was your reality. Life shouldn’t be leaving you feeling so dirty. Your love life shouldn’t be the shit show that you allowed it to become. It was you, you were the common denominator; the problem.

“I know. . . I know.” In almost a whisper you admitted what had been weighing on your heart for so long to a man that deserved so much better than you.

“Enjoy yourself, okay. We can still be friends. And. . . You look beautiful by the way.” Even in a moment you had treated him so poorly, Adam had the decency to treat you with kindness. Part of you knew he was still hoping for a chance with you.

“Thanks. . . Friends.” You smiled meekly and watched Adam walk off. Standing there you let yourself feel the disappointment that had morphed into acceptance. You had done the right thing, apologized and taken accountability for your poor behavior. And that’s that most you could do in the aftermath of your selfishness.

“What was that about?” John was now by your side and looking smug to hide his annoyance. To him even without throwing a punch he won, because you were standing by him not Adam.

You were starting to hate when he looked at other men that way. There was nothing for him to be smug about. You weren’t his girlfriend, he’d won nothing. Just like him, all you got was some mind blowing sex and a good time when it was convenient. If he asked you what you were thinking in this moment you would tell him you were both losers who were shit at relationships and should swear off dating until you got your shit together.

“I strung him along. I owed him an apology for that.” It was a pointed comment meant to needle at John.

“Did you?” John scoffed.

“Yeah, I did.” You said coldly.

——————

“Morning.” John stood in his living room doorway shirtless and in grey sweatpants that hung low enough you could see he hadn’t put on boxers. He wore that sleepy smile you would dream about on lonely nights.

It was a cloudy dreary day that left the bright sun to cast a grey shadow. The room was lighter but in a depressingly gloomy kind of way. The grey British morning made John’s flat look even more depressing since the walls were white and the furniture black and brown. There was no real pop of color that always left his flat looking like a hotel rather than a home.

“John?” You asked. You were sitting on his couch, fully clothed and looking distressed.

After your work event you and John came back to his place. You seemed off to him and a lot colder than normal. He didn’t know if he should ask if you were okay and by the time he had built up the courage to you were climbing him like a tree the second you walked into his flat. There was a desperation in the way you two fucked. You clung to him, held on tighter than ever, kissed him deeper than normal, and were more into it than John was accustom to, almost like you felt him slipping through your fingers.

“You not sleep well?” John asked while tilting his head at your curiously.

“I can’t keep doing this. I need you to step up or let me go. I’m putting my life on hold for you and, and, and I just, I just need to know if you feel what I’m feeling when we’re together.” The truth came bursting out of you and once you said it you realized the admission wasn’t making this weight on your chest go away; somehow it became worse.

You were hopeful John would tell you he wanted you just as bad as you wanted him. That he had been a fool to keep you strung along this long and that he was sorry to do that to you. Then he would wrap you in his arms and ask you to be his.

But that didn’t happen. In fact, pity formed on John’s face and his gorgeous blue eyes that you’d fallen in love with showed you he was sorry for you. You bit the inside of your cheek feeling in your bones what was to come next. This was the part where he sweet talked you and convinced you to lower your standards and accept the bare minimum from him.

“Darling-“ There was that charming smile as bright as the sun, that won you over so easily, but for once it angered you to see John like that.

“No, no, please don’t do that thing where you’re all charming and hook me back on and I give you even more of my time. Either say you want me to be your girlfriend or let me go.” The intention was to be assertive but all you could hear in your voice was a pathetic, desperate girl begging a man to love her.

And that broke your heart in and of itself. You never saw yourself as desperate or needing a man, especially needing one enough to help you love yourself. Independence was your armor and you weren’t sure where you went wrong or when you started to lean on John for love and affection; if you could even call what he gave you that. No relationship, even the years long ones left you feeling as worthless and broken down as this casual fling with John had.

It was as if you could see the rest of your life in his blue eyes. You knew in your very core he could make you so very happy and you could do the same for him. But he just wouldn’t let you. It all hurt so much and you felt shame for being needy but you knew what you would be losing. You loved John, you fell in love with him at the Liverpool match he took you too and you wanted to cling on to that version of him.

“I’m sorry. It’s not going to work between us if you want more than what we have going.” There was a callousness that John spoke with.

The ultimatum seemed to make him harden. All the emotion he had for you the previous night was gone. That soft look in his eyes when he saw you walk down the steps of your building turned cold. It felt like he stopped seeing you as someone he was fond of and only saw a stranger. Like he would look right through you if you passed one another on the street.

“Okay. Okay-“

“You don’t have to go.” There was a hint of emotion in John’s voice, an ounce of pleading not to leave him alone yet it was wrapped up in disdain. You wondered if he felt even a fraction of the hurt you were or maybe he did feel what you were feeling; only he was much better at masking it.

“John, I can’t. I can’t keep living my life like this- it means I’m getting it wrong. That I’m doing, this whole living my life thing all wrong- and I’m to proud live like this. Off scraps from a man who could give me so much more.” Pain was riddled in the words you spoke and for once it felt like you were breaking your own heart.

Admitting this to the man you wanted more than anything felt gross, like a new level of intimacy he didn’t deserve and you weren’t ready to share. John only stared at you, brows furrowed and lips pressed firmly in a line. There was something in his blue eyes you couldn’t decipher and you had no desire to; not anymore.

“Let me grab my things and please just- let me leave quietly.” Somehow you kept your voice even and calm although it felt like your heart had just been ripped out.

John did as you said. He sat in his living room listening to you shuffle around his room packing a bag of your things. When he heard you move to the bathroom to grab your toiletries he really knew it was over. There would be no talking his way out of this or winning you back unless he gave in to your demands. It wasn’t fully sinking in to John what life meant without you around. He was convincing himself he would be alright and bounce back quickly; although that was far from the reality.

Stopping at the front door you looked around John’s flat trying to memorize it because this was the last time you would see it. You and John shared a look and you weren’t sure why but you felt angry. It felt better to be angry than as hurt as you were. There was no sadness but a resentment that bubbled up and hot tears began to fill your eyes. Stepping out of John’s flat for the last time you slammed the door behind you and finally let the tears flow.

It was humiliating to cry your eyes out on the bus on your way home. Passerby’s looked at you with that same pity you saw in John’s blue eyes and you promised yourself to never settle for a man who left you feeling so pathetic. Because you deserved better and you promised yourself you would never settle for a man who couldn’t commit to you, ever again.

You showered when you got home to get the smell of John off your skin and then went for a run. This was the heartbreak you needed - that’s what you told yourself. Now it was time for you to get your life back on track and it started today. While you deep cleaned your apartment, got ahead on work, and went grocery shopping to stock your home with healthy food, John fell apart. You didn’t know it but he spent that day drinking himself sick and smoking way too much on his balcony. As you threw all his stuff in a bag and washed your sheets, John slept with the pillow you once used hugged to his chest, missing the silk fabric that once covered it. John clung to the smell you left behind while you ridded yourself of him. Neither of you truly being able to out run the heartache left behind, no matter how hard you tried or how much time passed.

~~~~~tag list~~~~~

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mingi-s-dimples · 1 month ago

Text

Stiletto - P.SH

“Messy... You really got yourself off on my shoe, huh?” ~ Seonghwa for isabel marant... enjoy guys. I loved writing this

pairing: seonghwa x fem!reader genre: 18+ summary: wc: 6k warnings: dom!seonghwa, sub fem!reader, dom/sub dynamic, bdsm implied, heel/shoe kink, size difference, size kink, power play, degradation, humiliation kink, praise kink, begging, begging kink, orgasm denial, objectification, object insertion (heel), grinding, cnc elements (just seems like that), slight breathplay, possessiveness, overstim, rough sex, manipulation, name calling (slut, toy, filthy), ownership kink, orgasm control, forced orgasms, manhandling, safe word mentioned, impact play, spanking, dom subversion, completely consesual!, unprotected, for sure forgot something, will for sure edit later. author's note: I loved writing this, but omfg, I'm so sorry for not posting in so longgggg. As I said in a previous post, I had a small surgery for my CTS and so I'm not entirely allowed to type on my phone buuutttttt I used my laptop and I was able to type without forcing my hand at all!

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent the reality of the member in any way.

The second Seonghwa stepped off the runway, he was moving fast. Not a full sprint, not a reckless rush—but a purposeful stride, his heels clicking against the polished floors with urgency.

He didn’t stop to celebrate, didn’t pause for the post-show chatter. His mind was elsewhere. On you.

You, waiting for him in the hotel room. You, probably curled up on the bed, counting down the minutes until he returned. You, who hadn’t seen him in nearly two weeks because of the relentless runway prep.

He knew you missed him. Knew you needed him. And right now? He needed you just as badly.

By the time he reached the hotel room, his breath was steady, but his pulse wasn’t. A flick of the key card, a push of the door, and— There you were.

Sitting on the bed, legs folded beneath you, looking utterly frozen the moment he stepped inside. Your lips parted slightly, your eyes tracing over him from head to toe, taking him in like you’d never seen anything so breathtaking before.

And Seonghwa knew exactly why. He was still in the outfit from the runway—dark tailored jacket cinched at the waist, sheer fabric teasing at his skin, and the pièce de résistance: the stilettos. Tall. Sleek. Commanding.

He set his bag down near the door, but you didn’t move. Didn’t get up. Didn’t say a word. Seonghwa exhaled a quiet chuckle, something deep and knowing. Slowly, he stepped forward—click. Then another—click. Until he was right in front of you, gazing down at you with something dark and starved in his eyes.

“You’re staring.”

Your lips parted slightly, eyes dragging slowly down his body, drinking him in like you’d never seen anything so devastatingly gorgeous before.

And then you clenched your thighs. Seonghwa saw. His smirk curled into something downright dangerous.

“Oh?” His voice was smooth, teasing. “You like this, don’t you?”

You swallowed thickly, eyes flickering between his heels and the way he towered over you in them. Seonghwa tilted his head, amused. Then, without warning, he lifted his foot—pressing the pointed toe of his stiletto against the top of yours, light but deliberate.

A silent reminder of just how much bigger he was than you. Just how easily he could dominate you.

“You always get like this when I come back from a trip,” he mused, voice velvety smooth. “But this time… it’s worse, isn’t it?”

The heel dragged up your leg—slowly, teasing over your ankle, up your calf. Your breath hitched. Seonghwa watched you, drinking in every reaction, every little shudder. His eyes gleamed, dark with amusement.

“God, you’re so easy,” he murmured, tapping the toe against your thigh. “I haven’t even touched you yet, and you’re already falling apart.”

Your fingers curled into the sheets, trying to ground yourself, trying not to let him see just how badly you wanted him.

But Seonghwa was not the type to let things slide.

The toe of his heel pressed higher, parting your thighs just slightly. Your breath caught in your throat.

Seonghwa grinned. “On your knees.”

Your heart skipped.

He didn’t ask. He didn’t suggest. It was a command. One that you obeyed immediately, sinking to the floor without hesitation. The second your knees hit the plush carpet, Seonghwa exhaled a pleased hum, shifting his stance.

“Good girl.”

Then, with deliberate slowness, he lifted his foot again—using the arch of his heel to tip your chin up, forcing you to look at him.

“You missed me, didn’t you?” His voice was all honey and sin, dripping with amusement. “Missed being put in your place?”

You swallowed, nodding weakly. But that wasn’t enough.

“Say it.” His tone was firm, expectant.

Your lips parted, voice coming out softer than you intended. “I missed you.”

Seonghwa’s smirk deepened. His foot trailed down, the arch of his shoe dragging along your collarbone, your chest—tracing everywhere except where you wanted him.

“You did?” His tone was almost mocking now, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Tell me how much.”

You exhaled shakily, head foggy, body burning under his gaze. “So much,” you admitted, breath hitching when he pressed the tip of his stiletto against your sternum. “I—I couldn’t stop thinking about you. About how—”

You swallowed, cheeks burning.

“About what?” Seonghwa pressed, his voice a touch lower, eyes hungry.

You hesitated, but his foot lowered—trailing past your stomach, the smooth sole gliding over your thighs. Then—finally—he pressed the sharp tip of his shoe right between your legs.

You gasped.

Seonghwa exhaled sharply, something dark flashing across his face. “Oh… you really missed me..”

He applied the tiniest bit of pressure, making your thighs clench around the heel instinctively. His lips parted slightly, exhaling as if the sight alone was fueling something deep inside him.

“I should make you beg for it first,” he murmured, tilting his head, watching the way your breath hitched at every little movement of his foot. “But you’re already soaking, aren’t you?”

His shoe pressed again—just enough to make your hips twitch.

Seonghwa groaned softly, half in amusement, half in satisfaction. His eyes dragged over you, drinking in the sight of you—kneeling beneath him, legs spread, practically trembling from just this.

And then he smiled, something slow and cruel.

“Let’s see if you can cum from this alone.”

And Seonghwa didn’t rush.

He never did.

Dominance was a slow thing, a precise thing—and watching you tremble beneath him, teetering on the edge of desperation, was far too satisfying to end so soon.

He pressed the pointed toe of his stiletto between your legs—just enough to tease, enough to make you feel it, but not enough to give you what you wanted.

You jerked—your body reacting instinctively, a tiny, helpless rut against the arch of his shoe. It was humiliating, how quickly you sought friction, how little it took for you to start falling apart.

He laughed. A soft, cruel chuckle, dark with amusement.

“Oh, doll,” he murmured, tilting his head, lips curling into a smirk. “Are you really this desperate already?”

Your cheeks burned. Your thighs clenched. But you didn’t answer.

He tsked. A slow, disappointed sound.

Then, without warning, his shoe pressed—not enough to satisfy, not enough to let you grind down properly, but just enough to make you ache for it.

Your breath hitched, body jolting as if you could somehow get more from him.

“Pathetic,” he mused, dragging the sole up—a slow, tormenting glide against your clothed heat. “I haven’t even touched you properly, and you’re already acting like a little slut for me.”

You whimpered, fingers gripping the carpet beneath you, body betraying you with the way your hips shifted, seeking anything more than this teasing touch.

Seonghwa just watched, utterly amused.

“You want to ride my heel, don’t you?” he murmured, voice sickeningly sweet. “You want to grind against my shoe like a desperate little thing—” He pressed again, the rigid arch of his stiletto pressing flush against your core, and you gasped. “—until you make a mess all over it.”

Heat pooled in your stomach, shame curling at the edges of your pleasure.

Seonghwa relished it.

“Go on,” he said, voice dark. “Show me how bad you need it.”

You hesitated—just for a second. And that was a mistake.

Because suddenly, Seonghwa lifted his foot away completely.

Your body whined before your voice did—a pathetic little sound catching in your throat as your pleasure was ripped away in an instant.

Seonghwa laughed, slow and mocking.

“Oh, doll,” he cooed, shaking his head. “Did you really think I’d make it that easy for you?”

You swallowed hard, hands trembling, thighs pressing together uselessly in search of the friction he stole.

Then—suddenly—his heel was back.

But this time? He was cruel.

The sharp, stiff curve of the stiletto dragged excruciatingly slow over your core. Up. Down. The smooth leather teasing just enough to feel it, but not enough to push you over the edge.

Your body twitched. Your breath came in shaky, uneven gasps.

And Seonghwa just watched you suffer.

“Look at you,” he murmured, tilting his foot slightly—letting the toe nudge against your sensitive clit in a way that made you jerk. “Falling apart over nothing.”

Your fingers dug into the carpet, your body trembling. It wasn’t enough.

But Seonghwa wouldn’t let you have it.

Not yet.

He wanted you wrecked.

His shoe traced teasing little circles against your core, the thin arch of his stiletto pressing right where you needed him most, but never enough.

“Come on, doll,” he murmured, his voice like silk and sin. “Beg me for it.”

Your lips parted—breathless, burning. But the words wouldn’t come.

He punished you for it.

Because suddenly, his shoe lifted again—just an inch, just enough to deny you properly.

You whimpered.

A slow, knowing smirk stretched across his lips.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, eyes gleaming with delight. “You don’t deserve it yet.”

Your chest heaved. Your thighs trembled. Your body was on the verge of breaking, your arousal soaking through your panties, your hips still shifting helplessly toward him despite the lack of friction.

“So desperate,” he murmured, shaking his head. “I should make you wait longer.”

You whined, lips trembling, but Seonghwa wasn’t done.

His shoe lowered again—but this time, it was relentless.

The sharp tip of his stiletto pressed directly against your clit, firm and precise.

You gasped.

Your body reacted instantly—hips jerking, thighs squeezing, pleasure snapping through your veins.

Seonghwa felt it—watched you tremble, watched your back arch—but he didn’t ease up.

If anything? He pushed harder.

A slow, steady grind of the shoe against you, forcing you to take it. The tip of his stiletto pressing inside, rubbing up, down and in circles over your clit… the heel pressing into your thigh. Everything was damn overwhelming and agonizingly fast.. your orgasm building up as fast.

“Cum for me, doll,” he murmured, his voice soft, deadly. “Show me how much of a mess you can make for me.”

The final push—the sheer command in his voice, the ownership of it—was enough to wreck you. The idea of him literally almost fucking you with his shoe sent lightning-like shudders through your entire body.

Pleasure slammed through you, violent and overwhelming. Your body shook, your hands clawing at the carpet, your breath stuttering out in sharp, desperate gasps as your orgasm tore through you, dragging you under.

Seonghwa groaned—low, dark, satisfied—watching you come undone at his feet.

His heel was soaked—shining with your release—and he loved it.

Slowly, lazily, he dragged his shoe back—watching your body tremble, watching you struggle to come back to yourself.

Then, he crouched down—one hand tilting your chin up, his fingers pressing just enough to remind you who was in control.

His voice was low, velvet-smooth.

“Oh, doll,” he murmured, lips curling into a smirk. “We’re just getting started.”

Seonghwa didn’t move right away.

He just watched you—kneeling before him, body trembling, thighs still twitching in the aftermath of your orgasm. A pathetic little thing, wrecked from nothing but his heel.

A slow, knowing smirk curled his lips.

“Messy,” he murmured, tilting his foot slightly—watching the slick sheen of your release glisten on the leather. “You really got yourself off on my shoe, huh?”

You swallowed hard, heat burning through you. But before you could answer—

He stepped forward.

His stiletto-heeled foot pressed flat against your chest, pushing you back just slightly, forcing you to brace yourself with your hands behind you before your back hit the side of the bed frame, you still being on the floor.

Your breath hitched.

Seonghwa’s eyes darkened, lips parting slightly as he felt you beneath him.

“Stay put,” he murmured.

His foot dragged lower—slow, teasing, the smooth sole pressing against your stomach, then your hips, then between your legs again. A cruel little reminder of what he just did to you.

Your thighs twitched. Your breath was unsteady.

Seonghwa hummed, tilting his head.

“Look at you,” he mused, voice laced with amusement. “Still needy.”

You whimpered, fingers curling against the plush carpet, body hyper aware of the weight of his shoe pressing into you.

And then—slowly, deliberately—he lifted his foot.

Pressed the heel firmly against your thigh.

Pinned you down.

You gasped, your body jerking, but Seonghwa’s weight kept you there. The pressure was just enough—not painful, not quite, but unmistakably dominant.

His smirk deepened.

“God,” he exhaled, dragging the pointed toe of his stiletto up your inner thigh, stopping right at the edge of your ruined underwear. “You’re such a good little thing, letting me step all over you like this.”

Heat flashed through you, your core tightening, your mind spinning at the sheer humiliation of it.

Seonghwa noticed.

His foot pressed just slightly harder against your thigh.

“You like this, don’t you?” he murmured, eyes gleaming. “Like being under my heel. Like being nothing but a fucktoy for me.”

A whimper slipped from your lips. Your hips twitched.

“Oh,” he breathed, something dark and pleased flickering across his face. “I bet you’d let me grind my heel against you until you came again, wouldn’t you?”

The sheer filth of the suggestion sent a shiver through you, made something in your stomach tighten, made your thighs squeeze together—

Or, they tried.

But Seonghwa’s weight kept them pinned open.

His smirk sharpened.

“Filthy,” he murmured, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “And so easy for me.”

Your cheeks burned. Your body burned.

Then, suddenly—his weight shifted.

His heel lifted from your thigh, the pressure on your chest relented, and then—

He stepped back.

A sharp little absence of his touch, his weight, his dominance.

Your breath came in uneven gasps, your body still buzzing with need, your legs still trembling from everything.

Then, with deliberate slowness, he crouched down—one hand gripping your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

His eyes were ravenous.

“Tell me what you want, doll,” he murmured, thumb brushing against your bottom lip.

Your breath hitched. Your mind was hazy, body aching for more, and the words slipped out before you could stop them.

“F-Fuck me.”

Seonghwa froze.

Then—slowly—his smirk curled into something dangerous.

“Oh?” His grip tightened, tilting your chin just slightly higher. “You think you’ve earned that?”

You swallowed, pulse hammering.

He exhaled a soft laugh, dark and mocking.

“You can’t even speak properly,” he murmured, eyes gleaming. “You’re so far gone, you can barely breathe—and yet, you have the audacity to tell me what to do?”

Your body shuddered.

His fingers dug into your jaw slightly—not painful, just enough to remind you.

Then, his voice dipped—low, velvety, utterly merciless.

“Beg.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

He leaned in—lips hovering just inches from yours, his grip on your chin firm, his body radiating heat and power.

“Beg me to fuck you,” he murmured, his tone laced with amusement. “Beg like the pathetic, needy little thing you are.”

Your body twitched. Your thighs clenched. Heat pooled low in your stomach, your entire being trembling from the sheer dominance in his voice.

His eyes were locked on yours, his grip unwavering, his expression nothing short of ravenous.

“Go on, doll,” he breathed, lips curling into a smirk. “Let’s see how desperate you can get.”

You swallowed hard, your breath uneven, your thighs trembling under his gaze.

Seonghwa waited.

His grip on your chin was firm—keeping you exactly where he wanted, forcing you to look at him, forcing you to suffer under the weight of his dominance.

His lips curled, slow and cruel. “What’s wrong, doll?” His voice was taunting, his thumb brushing over your parted lips. “I thought you wanted me to fuck you.”

You swallowed, your body burning, your voice nearly caught in your throat.

But that wasn’t enough for him.

Seonghwa’s other hand slid down, fingers gripping your thigh—hard, squeezing just enough to make you whimper. Then, with no warning, he dragged you forward, forcing your body to react, forcing you to cling to him for balance.

“Oh,” he grinned, voice dark with amusement. “You do want it, huh?”

You nodded frantically, eyes wide, hands gripping his jacket for support.

But Seonghwa just laughed.

“Use your fucking words.”

You swallowed hard, shame curling in your stomach, but the desperation won over your pride.

“P—Please,” you exhaled, voice shaky. “Please, Seonghwa.”

His grip on your jaw tightened—just for a second, just enough to remind you.

“That’s a start,” he murmured. “But I know you can do better.”

Your body burned, your face hot with humiliation, but you needed him too badly to fight it.

So you begged.

“Please—fuck me, Seonghwa,” you gasped, your thighs trembling. “Please, I—I need it so bad, I need you—”

His grip yanked you forward again, his stiletto-clad foot sliding between your legs, spreading them wider.

He groaned at the sight—at the sheer desperation of you, at how easily you let him control you.

“That’s more like it,” he murmured, mocking. “But let’s see if you really deserve it.”

And then—finally—he moved.

With effortless strength, he lifted you, manhandling you like you weighed nothing. Your breath hitched, a shocked little gasp escaping as he turned and dropped you onto the edge of the bed.

The second your body hit the mattress, he was on you.

His hands grabbed your thighs, spreading them apart ruthlessly, exposing the soaked fabric of your panties. His lips curled, something dark and satisfied flashing across his face.

“Fucking soaked,” he muttered, fingers slipping beneath the waistband. “All that from just begging for me?”

You whimpered, hips twitching, but Seonghwa didn’t wait for a response.

He ripped the fabric down—yanking your ruined panties off in one swift motion and tossing them aside like they meant nothing.

Then, without a single second of hesitation—

He freed himself.

But he didn’t bother getting undressed.

No—Seonghwa was too impatient for that, too hungry.

He undid his belt with swift precision, unzipped his pants, and pushed them just halfway down—only enough to free his aching cock, the tip dripping, enough to fuck you without wasting another second.

You barely had time to process it before he grabbed your hips and lined himself up.

His tip pressed against your entrance—hot, hard, teasing—and your body jerked in anticipation, a desperate whimper slipping from your lips.

Seonghwa grinned.

Then—without warning—he slammed inside.

Your sharp gasp filled the room, your back arching as he filled you in one ruthless thrust—stretching you instantly, pushing deep without hesitation, without mercy.

Seonghwa groaned, his head falling forward for a moment, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise.

“Fuck,” he exhaled, voice strained with pleasure. “You’re so fucking tight.”

Your breath came in uneven, your body struggling to take him, to adjust to his sheer size, but Seonghwa didn’t wait for that.

No—he was already moving.

Already fucking you.

Hard. Deep. Unrelenting.

His grip on your thighs tightened, forcing them wider, forcing you to take every ruthless snap of his hips.

Your hands grasped at the sheets, your voice breaking into helpless little whimpers with every thrust.

Seonghwa watched you.

His expression was dark, starved, utterly wrecked by the way you clenched around him.

And yet—his taunts didn’t stop.

“Look at you,” he murmured, voice thick with pleasure. “Letting me fuck you like this—still wearing your fucking skirt, legs spread for me like a desperate little slut.”

You moaned—a humiliating, helpless sound, your body responding to every cruel word, every praise laced with degradation.

Seonghwa’s grin widened.

“Oh,” he groaned, his thrusts snapping deeper, his grip bruising. “You like that, don’t you?”

You nodded frantically, your voice nearly breaking.

“Y-Yes,” you gasped, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Yes—fuck, I—”

Seonghwa growled, his hands shoving your legs even wider, forcing you open for him.

“Say it,” he demanded, his thrusts slamming into you, his tone firm, expectant. “Tell me how much you love being used like this.”

Your whimper broke into a moan, the pleasure building unbearably fast, your body shaking from how deep he was, how ruthless he was.

“I—” You gasped, struggling to breathe, struggling to speak as his pace only got rougher.

But Seonghwa wasn’t patient.

A sharp slap landed against your thigh, his palm stinging against your heated skin.

“Say it.”

Your body jerked, pleasure slamming through you, and the words spilled before you could stop them.

“I—I love it,” you cried, your voice cracking. “I love it—I love being used by you, I—”

A sharp groan left Seonghwa’s lips, his pace faltering just slightly—as if your confession had done something to him, as if hearing it had pushed him further.

Then—suddenly—his hand wrapped around your throat.

Not squeezing. Just holding. Just owning.

His thumb pressed against your pulse, feeling how wild it was, how your body shook under him, how your walls clenched desperately around him.

His breath was uneven, his smirk lazy but ravenous.

“Good fucking girl,” he murmured, his voice all silk and sin.

Then—without warning—his grip tightened just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Now cum for me.”

And with one final, brutal thrust—

You broke.

The orgasm slammed into you like a fucking wrecking ball.

Your body seized—your back arching, your thighs shaking, your vision blurring as waves of unbearable pleasure ripped through you.

And your voice?

It broke.

“Seonghwa—!”

His name tore from your lips in a shattered moan, raw and desperate, spilling out in a way that sounded utterly ruined.

And the second he heard it—

He snapped.

Seonghwa groaned, a sound so deep, so primal, as if your pleasure had wrecked him just as much as it wrecked you. His fingers tightened on your throat, his grip unrelenting as he chased after you, his thrusts turning sloppy, desperate, ruthless.

“Oh, fuck—” His voice was wrecked, his body shaking as he slammed into you one final time—deep, deep, deep—

And then he broke, too.

His head threw back, his jaw clenched, a groan spilling from his lips as his orgasm crashed through him. His grip on you tightened, his whole body trembling as he emptied himself inside you, filling you to the brim with his cum.

His breath was ragged, his thighs shaking, his entire body shuddering in the aftermath of his release.

But even as his orgasm faded—

Even as your body collapsed onto the mattress, spent, boneless, wrecked—

Seonghwa still wasn’t done with you.

You barely had a second to breathe before you felt it. He pulled back and lifted his leg.

The sharp, cool press of his stiletto heel against your inner thigh.

Your breath hitched, your eyes fluttering open—only to meet his dark, unreadable gaze.

He was still half-dressed—his shirt a mess, his pants still halfway down his thighs, his skin flushed from exertion.. his cock still hard, still dripping, still achingly eager to ruin you.

But his expression?

His posture?

Still completely in control.

Seonghwa’s lips curled into a dangerous little smirk.

“Mm,” he exhaled, tapping his foot lightly against your sensitive skin. “Look at you.”

Your breath was still uneven, your body still twitching from the aftershocks of your orgasm.

Seonghwa watched you.

Then, slowly, he dragged his foot higher.

Up your thigh. Over the mess he’d made inside you.

And then—cruelly—he pressed the toe of his stiletto against your overstimulated clit.

You whimpered, your entire body jerking at the sudden pressure.

Seonghwa’s smirk deepened.

“Oh?” he cooed, tilting his head. “Sensitive?”

Your thighs twitched, your breath coming out in a desperate little gasp.

Seonghwa chuckled. Mocking.

“Poor thing,” he mused, pressing just slightly harder—just enough to make your hips jerk involuntarily. “What’s wrong, doll? Too much for you?”

Your breath was uneven, your body burning from the overstimulation.

But Seonghwa knew you.

Knew how you worked.

Knew that, even now—even in the aftermath of the most intense orgasm of your life—

You wanted more.

His lips curled, eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

“You’re so fucking greedy,” he murmured, slowly moving his foot, dragging the toe of his stiletto up your slick folds, smearing your combined release over your ruined thighs. “You act all fragile, but you’d let me break you a hundred times over, wouldn’t you?”

A helpless whimper left your lips.

Seonghwa grinned.

Then, in one slow, deliberate movement—

He pressed the arch of his heel against your throat.

Your breath caught.

It wasn’t hard—not enough to hurt, not enough to truly choke—but enough to remind you.

Enough to show you exactly where you belonged.

Pinned beneath him.

Helpless under his weight.

His doll.

Seonghwa tilted his head, amusement flashing in his gaze.

“Oh,” he hummed, his lips curling. “You like this, don’t you?”

Your cheeks burned, your entire body betraying you as you clenched around nothing, your breath coming out in a helpless little whimper.

Seonghwa laughed.

Soft. Cruel.

His foot pressed just slightly harder against your throat.

“Filthy fucking girl,” he murmured, his tone dripping with amusement. “Letting me use you however I want, letting me step on you like a goddamn toy.”

His words sent a violent shudder through you, your body aching for him again, despite how wrecked you already were.

Seonghwa noticed.

And his smirk turned ravenous.

Then—without warning—he removed his heel from your throat.

A cruel little absence of pressure.

Then—

A sharp slap landed on your inner thigh.

You gasped, your body jerking, your breath catching in your throat.

“Oh, oh” he mused, running his fingers over the stinging mark.

His tone was mocking, but his eyes—

His eyes were hungry.

Then, slowly—deliberately—he lifted his foot again.

Dragged the arch of his stiletto down your stomach.

Down your messy folds.

Then—

He pressed the pointed toe deep inside you.

Your body convulsed, a helpless moan ripping from your lips, your walls fluttering at the sheer filth of it—

“Fucking hell,” he exhaled, watching as your body tried to take it, your thighs shaking under the intrusion. “You’re so fucking broken, aren’t you?”

You whimpered, your entire being spinning, your mind barely able to process it.

Seonghwa clicked his tongue, shaking his head as he dragged the toe of his stiletto back up your soaked folds, watching the way your body twitched, overstimulated and desperate at the same time.

“You’re insatiable, doll,” he murmured, his voice smooth, mocking. “I just fucked you, and you’re still spreading your legs for me like a needy little thing.”

Your breath was shaky, your mind hazy, but your hips rocked forward instinctively, seeking more friction, more anything.

Seonghwa noticed.

And laughed.

Soft. Cruel.

“Pathetic,” he mused, eyes gleaming with amusement. “But so fucking cute.”

Then—without warning—

He stepped away.

The sudden loss of contact made you whimper, a desperate sound escaping your lips before you could stop it.

Seonghwa heard.

“Doll,” he cooed, tilting his head. “Are you pouting?”

Your breath hitched, your thighs twitching where they still trembled in the aftermath of your last orgasm.

Seonghwa exhaled a mocking little sigh.

“You really don’t have a single ounce of shame, do you?”

His tone was dripping with amusement, but his actions—

The way he suddenly grabbed your throat and yanked you forward—

Were anything but gentle.

Your breath hitched, a quiet gasp slipping from your lips as he manhandled you off the bed, your knees hitting the plush carpet, your body folding under his grip.

And then—

You felt it.

The sharp, commanding press of his stiletto against your back.

Pinning you down.

Your heart slammed against your ribs, your entire body tensing at the sudden, cruel reminder of who was in control here.

Seonghwa exhaled a pleased hum.

“That’s better,” he murmured, pressing down just enough to make your breath hitch, just enough to make your arms tremble as you tried to hold yourself up. “Stay just like that for me, doll.”

Then—

A sharp slap landed on your ass.

You yelped, your body jerking forward, your breath stuttering at the sting that immediately followed.

Seonghwa laughed.

“Oh, and how you loved that..” he mused, delivering another—harder this time, making your thighs twitch. “You love being tossed around, love being used.”

Another slap.

And another.

Your body shuddered, your breath coming out in helpless little gasps, pleasure and pain melding into something head-spinning.

Seonghwa dragged his fingers over the now burning skin, his touch featherlight.

“God, you’re so fucking filthy,” he murmured, gripping your hips, forcing your ass higher, forcing your back into a deeper arch. “So fucking perfect for me.”

His praise made something inside you snap, a desperate little whimper escaping your lips as your walls fluttered around nothing.

Seonghwa groaned, shifting his weight, his heel pressing down between your shoulder blades again—keeping you pinned as he finally shoved his pants down the rest of the way.

Then—

He backed off, lined himself up and thrust into you.

Hard.

A choked scream ripped from your throat, your entire body jerking at the sudden stretch, the brutal force of it.

Seonghwa groaned—loud, unabashed, his fingers digging into your waist as he buried himself inside you, bottoming out in one smooth, ruthless movement.

“Oh, fuck—” His voice was wrecked, his nails leaving crescent-shaped marks on your skin.

You sobbed, your body clenching around him, overwhelmed, overstimulated, completely at his mercy.

Seonghwa felt it.

And grinned.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” he exhaled, shifting his stance, —only to slam his hips forward, fucking into you harder, deeper, making your breath break in your throat.

His pace was relentless, brutal, each thrust sending you rocking forward, your nails scraping against the carpet as you tried to ground yourself.

Seonghwa pulled out with a low groan, his release just shy of spilling over, leaving you aching for more, your body still trembling from the rough, punishing pace. You whined at the loss, your breath erratic, desperately trying to find the rhythm again, but Seonghwa wasn’t done with you yet.

Without a word, he pushed you hard in the carpet, your body a mess of heat and need, your chest pressed to the floor as you gasped for air. The moment your stomach hit the carpet, the arch incredibly perfect, Seonghwa gripped your hair roughly and yanked you back towards him, a cruel, possessive smile curling on his lips.

You couldn’t move—couldn’t escape. You were pinned, helpless under him, completely at his mercy.

Seonghwa chuckled darkly, sliding his foot between your thighs, placing the sharp heel of his stiletto against the soft curve of your ass before dragging it down your spine. His breath was heavy, but his gaze never left your trembling body.

“You’ve been a good little toy, haven’t you?” His voice was rough with amusement, low and taunting as his heel traced the curve of your back, his touch like fire. “Can’t even take a second without wanting to be filled, can you, doll?”

You moaned, your entire body shaking with a desperate need to feel him again, your slick folds begging for him as you pressed your hips back into the heel beneath you.

He smirked, watching your movements, the dark satisfaction in his eyes palpable.

“You want more, don’t you?” he asked softly, his tone sweet but edged with a sadistic edge. “You want me to fuck you again?”

You nodded quickly, unable to hold back, your voice breaking. “Please, Seonghwa... please.”

He stepped closer, his foot now pressing down harder between your thighs, forcing you to stay still as you gasped.

“You’re going to beg for it then,” he commanded, his voice cold and calculated. “Tell me how much you need it.”

You let out a shaky breath, your body feeling like it might crumble under the weight of his words. “Please,” you whimpered, your voice barely a whisper. “Please fuck me... need you inside me.”

Seonghwa’s lips curled into a cruel smile.

“Good girl,” he muttered, his voice dripping with praise laced in mockery. “Now stay fucking still.”

He lifted your hips off the ground slightly, your body entirely at his mercy as he finally slid back into you, thrusting into your aching cunt with no mercy. His movements were slow at first, drawing every inch of pleasure from you, but you knew better than to expect him to take it easy.

And when he began to fuck you, the pace was relentless. He pulled you back onto him with every savage thrust, making your body jerk with each brutal push, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

“Look at you,” he hissed, barely holding back a laugh. “Begging like a slut. I’m just using you to get off, and you fucking love it.”

You could barely respond, your head spinning with desire, the overwhelming pleasure and pain leaving you incoherent. All you could do was brace yourself for more, your body already clenching around him, craving the friction.

Seonghwa smirked, his hands gripping your ass tightly as he drove into you harder. “You’ll never be anything more than my little doll, will you?” he mocked, his tone dripping with cruel satisfaction.

You gasped, unable to answer, only able to take what he was giving you.

And then, as you screamed out in pleasure, your body finally breaking beneath him, Seonghwa came with a deep groan, filling you up, his breath ragged, but still unrelenting.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice shaking with satisfaction, leaving you completely spent, trembling from the aftershocks.

As Seonghwa finally withdrew from you, the room was filled with the sound of your heavy breaths. Your body trembled beneath him, utterly spent, your muscles aching from the brutal pace he had set. You could barely keep your eyes open, your mind still fogged from the intensity, but Seonghwa wasn’t done with you just yet.

He crouched down beside you, gently lifting your face so you could look at him. His eyes were soft now, the cruelty replaced with something much more tender, yet still possessive.

“Good girl,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your damp forehead, his thumb softly tracing over your lips. The harsh, rough edge to his voice had disappeared, replaced by something soothing, as if he was holding you together after shattering you apart. "You did so well for me."

You whimpered and smiled at him slightly, your body still trembling in the aftermath, and he leaned down, placing a soft kiss on your forehead, as if to ground you.

“I know it’s a lot,” he said, his voice low and comforting now. “But you’re mine, aren’t you? You did so well.” His hand gently stroked the side of your face, his thumb moving in slow, calming circles.

Your eyelids fluttered as you nodded, your voice hoarse, but sincere. “Yes, Seonghwa… I’m yours.”

He smiled softly at that, pleased with your response, before carefully lifting you in his arms and guiding you back onto the bed. He covered you with the soft sheets, his hands lingering gently on your body, ensuring you were comfortable.

“Just breathe, doll. You did so good. Let’s get you cleaned up.” His tone was warm now, almost affectionate, as he took a damp cloth from the bedside table and softly wiped your skin. His touch was gentle, making sure you felt safe, cared for.

When he finished, he kissed your forehead again, holding you close as you curled against him, your body still weak but melting into his warmth.

“I’m here, baby,” he murmured, pulling you against him as he wrapped his arms around your waist. “I know I can be hard on you, but you have to know I care. I’ll always take care of you after, no matter what.”

You snuggled closer, grateful for his gentleness, your body still humming with the memory of everything he had done to you. His embrace was warm and protective, a stark contrast to the relentless force he had shown you just moments ago.

With his soothing words and the warmth of his body surrounding you, you finally let yourself relax, the tension in your muscles slowly dissipating as you drifted off to sleep, knowing that no matter how rough the night had been, you were safe with him. And he loved you.

And that’s all you needed.

#ateez fanfic #⇢ ˗ˏˋ bia's masterlist ࿐ྂ #illusionnet #blossomnet #mirohsaurorasociety #seonghwa x you #seonghwa dom #seonghwa ateez #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa smut #seonghwa #dom ateez

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notjustjavierpena · 2 months ago

Text

Heat Of The Moment

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: A little gift for an anon who missed hubby and wife 💖 EDIT because I am forgetful as hell: Also dedicated to gorgeous hubby-enthusiast @javierpena-inatacvest because i rant in her DMs.

Summary: You come home after a night out.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: Yearning, domestic, drunk sex, creampie, breeding kink undertones, teasing, banter, kisses

Word count: 3.1k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63594517

Heat Of The Moment

You sigh in relief as you enter your and Javier’s home after a night out on the town, replacing the busy atmosphere of the restaurant with the soft hum of your shared home. The two of you had been invited out for a Friday night dinner by Connie and Steve, every expense paid by them, to celebrate a night without children. It hadn’t been long before Javier had made sure that Chucho was babysitting until Saturday.

You have been enchanted all evening by watching your husband converse genuinely and happily for hours out of the corner of your eye, in the meantime trying to keep up with the lively chatter from Connie who gave you a certain look when you were staring at him for too long. Who could blame you? Javier always looks good in these kinds of situations, enticing in the way he can charm his way through dinner parties and government meetings with authority or a smile.

As you hang up your coat alongside Javier, you can still feel the four glasses of wine lingering in your veins. You are a little more giggly in your buzzed state, a little more relaxed, flirty, and up for mischief.

It comes out by establishing a certain electricity in the air between you and Javier when you finally are alone together. You do it by brushing your hand along the back of his neck as you walk past him to take your heels off by the console table, using it for support.

Words are not necessary here. Everything is between the lines. Implicit. It is an invitation to more, a way of telling him that you’ve only had eyes for him the whole night despite being in the company of friends. It is one of the things that makes the two of you so great, the thrill of finding each other the most sexy when doing the most ordinary of things like smiling over a glass of wine when someone says a terrible joke.

Javier knows he doesn’t need to say much. He finds you with your palm splayed on top of the console table, one foot lifted off the ground to peel off your stiletto. He watches how the fabric of your cocktail dress tightens as you move, the way it sits around your thigh and your hips as you bend your knee. He doesn’t think you could look more inviting than now, perfectly gorgeous in your quest to dress down to the point where he feels a flicker of desire. Those hips have carried his beautiful son and his wonderful daughter. He must have you.

You smile tiredly at him as he steps closer, already halfway to getting down on one knee and reaching out to help you out of your footwear. He grabs your calf in his sure, warm, and calloused palm, and takes over the task without question or hesitation as if he has done this a thousand times before. It is only because he has; he knows your body’s weight, knows how to keep you upright when you lean into him and he eases off the shoe.

You have noticed by now that he has caught onto your subtle foreplay. Your heartbeat is a little faster and not just from the alcohol coursing through your body. Heat swirls in your belly too, making you bite your lip while you feel his fingers brush your bare ankles before letting the shoes drop to the floor with a soft thud one by one.

The fate of the moment is decided next when he starts straightening to his full height once more and lets his hands skim up your legs as he does it. He moves like a man who has waited all night for this. Like a man who doesn’t need to ask, a man who already knows the answer is yes. It is what each glance exchanged across the dinner table and what every seemingly casual touch that lingered just a second too long has led up to tonight.

His hands continue up till they reach the hem of your dress, gathering it in a secure grip so he can drag it up over your thighs, hitching it up higher and higher over your hips until your panties are exposed to the air in the room. Your cunt throbs impatiently, leaving the fabric clinging to it damp.

Reading your desperation, his hands find the back of your thighs and he effortlessly lifts you up onto the table along the wall. You settle on the edge with a little difficulty, the material not made for a person sitting on it with their full weight. It creaks in complaint and when you shift to steady yourself, you accidentally knock over the wooden bowl displayed on the side.

It tips dramatically until it falls off the edge, car keys and spare change scattered all over the floor not a second later. The two of you freeze for just a second at the clattering noises echoing in the quiet house, but then breathless, tipsy snickers bubble up in your throats.

But Javier’s laughter doesn’t last as long as yours. He catches a glimpse of your gorgeous thighs flexing as you giggle, the thought of them around his waist clouding out his amusement, his cock aching for it in his pants. It makes his laughter die down before yours but you follow suit when you notice the way his eyes are glazed over with how much he is burning for you.

Your hands find the back of his neck. You pull him in for a long-needed kiss, his mouth crashing into yours feverishly. It is unrestrained and hot, his hands running up the back of your calves until he can drag you flush against him by gripping the back of your knees. Beneath you, the legs of the table scrape against the floor.

You moan into his mouth when he rolls his hips once and he takes the opportunity to lick into yours until you both are tasting your smearing lipstick and the last glass of alcohol he had.

His kiss is searing and his body is warm underneath the fabric of his shirt. You reach and tug at the knot on his tie, pulling it loose so you can touch the skin underneath his collar directly. He breathes deeply in through his nose as you let your nails dance over the sensitive spots on his neck, swallowing down each content sigh you make while his hands go to work.

In response, his fingers dig into the waistband of your panties. Instinctively, you draw your hands away to grip the edge of the table to push yourself up so the fabric doesn’t snap when he starts dragging them down your thighs. After all, this pair is sexy, expensive ones that you don’t want to tear. They’re also already shiny where the fabric has stuck to you, a wet patch revealing just how ready you are to get fucked, bred, used by him by now.

He breaks the kiss to look down at them with you, making you breathe harder at the mere sight of him undressing your cunt that he’ll sink into soon. He draws back momentarily to roughly tug them over your knees. You kick them off when they dangle around your ankles, the pair of them landing next to the mess of household items on the floor.

With drunken haste, your fingers fumble for his belt then, still slightly clumsy from the wine buzzing in your bloodstream. You can feel how hard he is beneath his slacks, the thick girth of him straining against the front, and you don’t waste any time.

As soon as you have the belt unbuckled and the zipper down, your hand slips inside, wrapping firmly around him to stroke him just how he likes it. He makes a sound that has your already-fuzzy head swimming even more; a deep guttural groan that makes your whole pussy involuntarily clench with the need to be filled. Yet he isn’t about to let you tease him, too desperate to be inside of you that he takes action.

He reluctantly tugs at your wrist to remove your hand from his pants. However, he doesn’t actually complain, knows what is coming and it is worth a momentary frustration.

You watch him with the eyes of a siren, eyelids heavy and shiny with lust, as he nearly frantically shoves his pants and underwear down just enough to free himself. Then he pulls at your thighs to wrap them around his waist, takes his cock in hand and—

You gasp softly as he pushes into you and automatically drape your arms around him too, clutching at his clothed back. The impact of his initial thrusts makes the table bang into the wall repeatedly, one of its drawers sliding open from the mere force.

He settles on a rhythm that is hard and fast. The way he takes you is urgent and so fucking good, the perfect culmination of a night where you have been wanting each other with every meeting of your eyes. He makes the open drawer rattle violently, makes your hand come up to brace yourself against the wall.

You feel so close to one another when you get it on in the heat of the moment. It is a testament to how well you fit together, reading subtle cues and mirroring your desires so you can do this, slot together like this like you were molded to do it for the rest of your lives. And you are. By the state of Texas and the universe, you are meant to share moments of love and lust until you are gone from this world and then Javier will find you in the afterlife too.

Your hand slips under his collar once more, cupping the side of his neck. He feels your thumb brush his cheek, finding your eyes that hold a look that makes him twitch inside of your perfect cunt. Your gaze is tender despite the roughness of what you’re doing, filled with love and so soft, and he marvels at how he is the only one who gets to have you like this. And God, you take him so well with your soft walls fluttering around his cock and squeezing so heavenly when he fucks you just right to make you feel like he is the only thing keeping you tethered to the world.

You can feel everything building fast, coiling tightly in the pits of your belly and mounting into something you simultaneously long for and find overwhelming. It swirls like lava below your belly button, soon at the point where it will erupt like fireworks. Javier can see your legs trembling in his peripheral vision but you just tighten the muscles in them and curl your toes, urging him to go harder by letting your head bump against the wall with a quiet thud, exposing your neck to him. You let out a high-pitched string of moans, nearly in time with the thudding of the table against the wall. The mixed noises make him give in without hesitation.

Leaning a little forward, he hooks his arms underneath your knees to spread you wider on the table, opening you up to him completely. The angle forces him even deeper with each slam of his hips, and the sound that erupts from your throat is high and breathless. Your other hand braces against the wall too, a plea falling from your lips.

He grabs at your thighs to hold you in place and makes sure that each thrust is precise and just where you need it, slamming against your g-spot until you see God. Your hands start to scramble, trying desperately to find something to hold onto because they’re slipping from the wall as you teeter on orgasm.

And then finally, you’re there and he can’t stop himself from joining you when you choke around his pulsing cock, milking him into your tight heaven and perhaps he’s put a baby into your belly. Fuck, he paints your insides with another rope of his warm release at the thought. He wants to kiss your pretty, crying mouth but he cannot will himself to lean in and miss the way you look when you come with him. You’re not just beautiful when you finish but you’re also his, and it makes him come so fucking hard.

In the aftermath, he slumps against you, burying his face in the crook of your neck and listening to your panting. Your hands finally find purchase on the broadness of his back when he kisses your skin hot and open-mouthed right where your pulse still races. You stroke along his tired muscles, drunk and sated.

He says your name softly as you revel in the afterglow together. He can feel the way your walls clench weakly around him like your body hasn’t quite realized it is over yet. Like it still wants him. Like you still want him. He always wants you.

Slowly, he draws back and moves his hands up to hold your head in them. He kisses your mouth deeply, hears you inhale sharply through your nose as you open your mouth against his lips. He devours you, tongue sliding into your mouth to brush yours lazily. His softening cock slips from you and makes you whimper, makes you leak his come onto the wood of the side table.

His nose brushes along your throat when he breaks the kiss to breathe and descends on your neck instead, unable to keep his lips from your skin for too long. Your hands find his hair, your nails scratching his scalp gently while you’re just about to say something.

However you are interrupted by the noise of wood splintering and then the table tilting to one side, dropping at least an inch and taking you both by surprise. You let out a startled yelp and the sound makes Javier act on pure instinct, grabbing your waist to make sure you don’t tumble to the floor.

For a second, you both freeze but then you laugh so freely and sweetly that he feels a lopsided grin spread across his face from how lovely you are.

“Think we killed it,” he murmurs, tone meant to be funny while still steadying you, the whole situation not any better with how your bottom halves are still naked.

“What?” You try to catch on in your slurred state, mind foggy with wine and sex, “Oh, yeah, we’re great at that.”

“The table, baby,” he clarifies and knocks on the wood to make you snicker, “Fuck, we really gotta stop fucking on things that aren’t built for it and actually reach the damn bed.”

“I want you again,” you say, distracted by his gorgeous neck and shoulders, unfazed and with a lazy grin playing on your lips. Javier groans, his spent cock moving in interest because a buzzed version of you always wants him. He is fighting the part of himself who knows better but still can’t say no to you. Clearly, your drunken mind still hasn’t figured out that it is best to move off furniture that’s hanging on by a thread instead of having sex again. The table creaks in complaint underneath you, threatening to collapse.

“Fuck, get down. Get down get down get down,” he rushes you when it drops another inch, trying to haul you off the surface but his legs are still shaking from orgasm.

Luckily, you slip off the table. The moment you’re on your feet again, the wobbly leg gives out completely and the whole thing tumbles to the ground with a loud crash. You shriek, half with delight and half with shock, but then you lose it, shaking with giggles in his arms. He tries to give you a stern look, the floor a mess of clutter, wooden pieces, your underwear, and come, but you just beam up at him.

“Fuck’s sake.”

“Hey, you’re the one who threw me onto it,” you peck his pouty lips, the tip of your nose against his and your eyes blinking comically innocent.

“And I’m the one who has to clean it up because you can’t handle your booze,” he snorts, absentmindedly reaching to carefully drag your skirt down again and then pulling his pants up afterward. You’re still clinging onto him but he finally detangles himself from your arms that feel like they belong to an octopus.

“Twisting of the truth,” you head for the kitchen, passing him with your hand gently brushing his shoulder while he is crouched down, albeit slightly wobbly due to that last whiskey at dinner, to pick things up from the floor. You seem unbothered, your bare feet stepping carefully over the mess of car keys, spare change, and the remains of your underwear.

He watches you leave the room, knowing you are probably dripping him onto the kitchen tiles but that’s a problem for tomorrow, for sober Javier. The floors need mopping anyway.

He hears the sound of the fridge door being opened and you rummaging through the snack drawers that are actually meant for your children. Then, without looking at you, he hears the smirk on your face, “You know, speaking of ruining furniture. We have a perfectly good kitchen counter.”

Javier barks out a laugh and touches his forehead in exasperation. You walk to stand in the doorway to the hallway, wiggling your fingers at him, a carrot stick stuck between each finger as if you’ve been thinking of Wolverine while you grabbed them from their container. It’s so stupid that your laughter bubbles up too.

It goes on for a while until a nice silence settles over you. You nibble on your snack and Javier picks wood splinters out of the cracks between the floorboards. The air in the house is still buzzing with heat, but it is tangled together with love too.

“I love you,” you say suddenly and sweetly, mid-chew.

“I love you more,” he replies with the softness that only you bring out of him.

“Impossible,” you feed him a carrot stick.

He takes it and chews for a moment, “Actually, no, because you just ruined the table in the hallway and I am still here.”

“Well, if we’re casting blame—“

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, baby,” he warns smugly.

You glow, nearly sparkle, under his teasing, already off into another fit of giggles and God, Javier Peña could listen to it for hours. He is so completely and helplessly in love with you.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

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lazysoulwriter · 17 days ago

Text

standing tall. - pedro pascal.

requested! thank you for sending. tall girls supremacy!!!!! (not a tall girl, just find them hot)

---

It started with one photo. Just one.

You and Pedro Pascal at an afterparty — him in a perfectly tailored suit, you towering over him in stilettos and a silk gown, laughing at something he whispered against your ear.

The internet lost its mind. “Tall girl supremacy!!” “Pedro with his goddess? I’m crying??” “He’s so real for this.”

And honestly? You loved every second of it.

You met Pedro on set — a supporting role in his new prestige series. From the very first table read, he made you feel seen. Literally seen.

While most people awkwardly commented on your height or made jokes, Pedro had simply looked up at you, grinned wide, and said, "Finally, someone who doesn’t make me feel like a giant."

It was easy after that. Late-night conversations on set. Inside jokes. Flirty glances over coffee cups. You tried to ignore the way your heart skipped when he laughed. Tried to pretend you didn’t notice the way he always found a reason to stand just a little closer to you.

Of course, Pedro made the first move. (Because you're gorgeous, and he’s not stupid.)

Dating Pedro was a whirlwind of soft affection and quiet understanding.

He loved how you wore heels without hesitation. He loved how you never apologized for taking up space — in a room, in a conversation, in his life.

"You’re statuesque, hermosa," he told you one night, tracing the line of your jaw with reverent fingers. "Like you were carved out of marble just to drive me crazy."

The only thing he didn’t love? Seeing you hesitate when the cameras were around.

Because no matter how confident you were, there was always that tiny voice in your head: Too tall. Too loud. Too much.

Pedro saw it. And he wasn’t having it.

The night of the afterparty, it all came to a head.

You hesitated before stepping onto the red carpet with him, shifting on your towering heels. Pedro caught your hand immediately, pulling you back into his chest.

"Hey," he said, voice low and sure. "You’re not dimming yourself for anyone tonight. You hear me?"

You smiled nervously. "I’m like... two inches taller than you right now."

Pedro chuckled, squeezing your hand. "And you look like a fucking queen. If anything, I should be wearing taller shoes to keep up with you."

You laughed, the tension breaking. He pressed a kiss to your temple, completely ignoring the flashing cameras.

"Let them talk," he murmured. "I’ve got the most beautiful woman in the room on my arm. I'm winning."

And just like that, you stood a little taller.

The next morning, you woke up to thousands of tweets, edits, and fan posts celebrating you both.

Pedro had even reposted one — a photoset of the two of you looking every bit like Hollywood royalty — with the caption: "Love when she looks at me like I hung the moon 🖤"

Cue the internet absolutely combusting.

Later that week, curled up on his couch in sweats and no makeup, you teased him, "You're really not bothered that I’m taller than you sometimes?"

Pedro set down his coffee, turning to you with that fond, devastating smile. "Sweetheart," he said, "I’m old enough to know when I'm blessed. You could be six feet tall or sixty feet tall — I'd still look at you like you're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

You hid your burning face in his chest, laughing. He wrapped his arms around you tighter.

"Besides," he added with a wink, "I like having to look up at you. Keeps me humble."

You giggled, feeling weightless in a way you hadn't in a long time. And as he kissed the top of your head, murmuring sweet nothings into your hair, you realized —

Yeah. This was the real win. Not just for the tall girls. But for you. For the love you had found when you finally stopped shrinking yourself.

----

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal imagines #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfics #pp #x reader #pedro pascal fics #pedro pascal one shot #pedro pascal oneshot #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal blurb #pedro pascal x tall!reader #ficreq

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itsbeeble · 4 months ago

Text

My Kink Is Karma

Summary: Sunwoo breaking up with you after three happy years was not on your bingo card. It's a good thing you believe in karma.

Genre: smut

Pairing: Kim Sunwoo x fem!reader

WC: 7.2k

THE BOYZ Masterlist MAIN Masterlist

PERM TAGLIST: @winterchimez @juyeonszn @flwoie @captain-brie

FIC TAGLIST: @sanaxo-o @from-izzy

WARNINGS: not edited at all tbh so please lmk if there's something that needs adjusting, Sunwoo kinda shitty in this, infidelity, credit card fraud (?), theft, oral (m and f receiving), making out, marking, p in v sex, overstimulation, swearing, a little bit of degradation, hair pulling, face sitting, fingering, and of course karma

18+ MDNI AGLESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

A/N: i miss being good at writing smut. Anyway enjoy this! Izzy has waited far too long and i'm sorry pookie :( I hope this is worth the wait

Sunwoo kicking you out on a random Tuesday afternoon hadn’t quite been what you planned for. In fact, you feel like you’ve been completely blindsided. Things had been going strong for almost three years— decent communication, his parents loved you, your parents loved him, and the sex was to die for. You had a shared group of friends, all of whom thought they would see the day you would get married if you could ever scrape together the money for it. You were young, sure, but you knew you loved him and wanted to spend the rest of your life with him, even if it meant spending your life savings on a cheap wedding and living in your parent’s basement for the next ten years.

It was humiliating for you and him, the way you clutched at his knees with mascara running down your cheeks, begging him not to do this. Not to leave you like this. Things were good, you thought things were perfect. Was it work? Was he stressed from work? Or, maybe, it was a prank. Something that Eric put him up to.

No, it’s just not working out. You had to leave, pack your things and leave the fucking apartment that was in your name just because he wasn’t as in love with you as you were with him.

Alas, here you were six weeks later, refreshed and over that bullshit relationship with your best friend who practically saved your ass with some speech about karma.

The nail salon is practically buzzing with life, techs and customers alike skirting through the small building in a blur of motion. You watch each person carefully, gnawing on your lip and tapping your feet against the tiled ground. Nervous habits that you had never been able to shake. Normally, a steady hand would be on your thigh or across your shoulders to calm you.

That steady hand, however, is no longer an option.

“You hear what’s going on with Sunwoo?” Hyori’s eyes turn to meet yours, the nail tech in front of her gently grabbing her hand to apply a fresh set of blue polish. You kiss your teeth, biting your tongue to hold back a stinging reply.

“Why would I care what that piece of shit does?”

Clearly, that doesn’t work very well. It does, however, bring you quite a bit of pain due to the sharpness of your teeth and the force you use to try and hold back the venom in your tone. The nail tech looks up briefly, breaking her focus on painting your stiletto-shaped nails dark green. You can feel the curiosity, the itch for drama in those eyes. Lucky for her, you’re in a very…dramatic mood, aching for a bit of karma.

“Well, I mean, he did leave you homeless, took your credit cards and ran you into debt that your parents very graciously paid off, fucked your sister…need I go on?” Hyori’s nail tech snaps her head up, eyes wide.

“That explains why I shouldn’t give a fuck. Why should I?”

“Well,” Hyori straightens in her chair, smiling so wide that you’re sure her cheeks are stinging. “I hear that he’s fuckin losing it lately. Like, destroyed his apartment so bad that the landlord kicked him out and he had to move back in with his parents.”

Your jaw drops open, an appalled noise coming out of your mouth. Some sort of half-laugh-half-scoff sort of noise that has heads turning in your direction.

“No way.”

“Mhm, apparently he was also getting with this girl who was, like, eighteen based on what Yerim told me.”

“Bitch, you better be joking right now,” you scoff. “What a fucking weirdo.”

“Don’t quote me on that,” Hyori shrugs. “You know that Yerim is notoriously unreliable.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. Remember the whole pickle situation?”

“Fuck, don’t remind me,” Hyori groans, leaning her head back on her chair. “I genuinely couldn’t leave my house for weeks after that— I was so embarrassed.”

“You and me both, girl.”

It gets quiet for a moment, both of you thinking about the question but not wanting to be the first to ask it. The nail techs, in this silence, are able to finish both of your nails and usher you off to pay. You can tell, just by looking back at them as you leave the building, that they’re just a bit pissed about not hearing the full story, about not hearing what you’re going to do about this whole thing.

“So,” Hyori sighs as you slide into her passenger seat, “what are you gonna do?”

“C’mon, Hyori…” you click your tongue, voice trailing off as you mull over your options. “You should know by now that I tend to make sure karma bites people right in the ass.”

“You and your fucking kinks, girl,” Hyori scrunches her nose, laughing quietly to herself. “Let me guess, you’re gonna make damn sure he knows he fucked up by fucking his best friend?”

“Eric? Nah, the kid’s cute but not my type.”

“I’m shocked, truly,” Hyori remarks. “What’ll you do then?” “You’ll find out soon enough, trust me.”

You never admit to Hyori just how much it turns you on that Sunwoo’s life is falling apart. You never told her how much you loved it when he crumbled and begged and pleaded for something. It was a secret, one that only you and Sunwoo knew about and that you ensured stayed between just the two of you before you left for good.

You most certainly don’t tell Hyori about how you touched yourself to the thought of him almost every night. How you thought about Sunwoo and only Sunwoo when you slept with a man. How no dates ever lasted that long because you always ended up comparing to how Sunwoo used to be. If she found out how you still wanted him, how you wished he would come crawling back to you even if it was just for one night, she would kill you on the spot.

The next time you hear about Sunwoo is exactly two months after your breakup. However, it’s less you hearing about him than it is hearing from him. You thought you’d blocked his number after the first week when Hyori had caught you drunk calling his phone, begging for him to come back to you and to try and make things work. Pathetic is what she’d called you when you’d burst into tears. Desperate is what you’d called yourself when she crushed it under her stiletto. He’d cheated on you, not the other way around, so why were you so desperate for him to forgive you?

Your good friend, Karma, seems to have hit him. His texts had been nonstop since the night before, and phone calls streaming in soon after that never seemed to end.

The first stream of texts were clearly drunk messages:

HFy bsby, plekde clal mfe

Im spory

Seh wasnt wothr if

Babyyyyyyyyy

Then came the voicemails, ones that you keep just for the future:

Hiiiiii baby! I miss you sooooo much, please call me back!

I know that I messed up, but I wanna make it work for us. The sex isn’t the same with her and no one could ever reaaaalllyyyy make me feel like you did. God, that tongue trick where you—”

The audio for that one cuts out, and you can only assume that his friends caught him in time. Something swirls through your gut like a snake—pride, perhaps. Something smug, knowing that you have made him just as desperate as you were. Another emotion curls around you, closer to sorrow knowing that you can’t have him anymore. You won’t have him. Not after what he did to you.

Your phone dings with another text and you put it on silent. The nail tech across from you, the same woman as last time, eyes it carefully.

“That the boy you broke up with?” She asks, painting your nails cherry red. You decided to keep the stiletto shape, loving the sharpness of it and how it accents each outfit you wear.

“Yeah,” you sigh and relax your hands a bit. “Hasn’t shut up since last night.”

“Why haven’t you blocked him yet?” She taps your palm and you slide your hand into the UV light.

“I dunno,” you shrug. Truly you don’t know the answer to that question. Do you miss him? After everything he did, do you really still love him?

“Hm,” The woman huffs and you sink back in your chair. “You should find out.”

“Hello?” Your phone sits on the counter as you cook dinner for yourself. Hyori is gone for the night, something about a date.

“Y/N!” The cheery voice of your ex-boyfriend catches you off guard and the spatula in your hand drops to the counter. “How are you?”

“What the actual fuck?” You turn off the stove, walk over to where your phone is, and stare down at it with nothing but shock on your face. “Why the fuck are you calling me, Kim Sunwoo?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” he says as if stating the obvious. “Why else would I call?” The amusement in his voice makes your eyes twitch and your teeth grind against each other.

“Is this some sort of sick joke? Did Eunbi put you up to this?” The feeling of your sister’s name leaves a bad taste in your mouth and you have to fight back a gag, placing the back of your hand over your lips.

“Eunbi?” Sunwoo sounds confused now and you can practically see the pout on his plush lips. The same lips that used to—

Down girl.

“Yeah, Eunbi.” You pick at a string on your t-shirt and huff. “My sister. The one you fucked in our bed? Remember her?”

There’s silence on the other end of the line and the the speaker crackles like Sunwoo breathed into it.

“Right. Eunbi. I forgot about that.”

Rage cracks through your veins, sending sparks through your body and your face begins to burn with it.

“You forgot that you fucked my sister?” You’re seething, your heart pounding and your breathing rapid. “Are you fucking kidding me, Sunwoo?”

“Listen,” he drags the syllables out like he had made just a simple mistake. “I only fucked her one time and she wasn’t even that good. I want you, Y/N. Just you.”

You scoff. “Well, you should have thought about that before screwing her and fucking up my credit cards, bitch.”

“Yeah, that I don’t have a defense for,” he sighs again, and there’s a rustling on his end of the line as if he’s adjusting his position or clothing. The burning in your cheeks eases as the silence goes on for a few minutes.

“Why did you call me, Sunwoo?”

“I wanted to talk,” he says simply. “Can you open the door now?”

Your body tenses when three knocks sound at your door. No fucking way did he show up here. For a few seconds, you refuse to move, rooted to your spot in the kitchen and reaching slowly to the knife holder next to you.

“Don’t reach for the knives, babe.” Sunwoo scolds and you drop your hand back to your side. “It was just me and I know you get nervous when you’re home alone.” The anger returns to your body in full swing and you slap your finger down on the red button to hang up. Your footsteps are so loud as you walk to the door that you know the downstairs neighbors will be pissed in a few minutes, but you can’t find yourself really caring about what they think about you.

The lock clicks and you swing the door open, stopping it just before it slams against the wall that you really can’t afford to fix at the moment.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” You snap, and Sunwoo grins sheepishly at you. Fuck, he looks good. Too good. Pathetic, maybe, but still good. His jeans hang low on his waist, showing the band of his underwear, and his black shirt has had the sleeves cut off and the hem potentially burned based on how messy it is. His shoes are stained and your nose curls at the mystery colors that could either be crayons or some sort of food he got at a club. You really aren’t sure which; not that you care anyway.

What really gets you is his hair. When you broke up, it had been naturally black and curly. You loved running your hands through it at the end of the night, loved yanking on it to force his lips to move to your clit when he ate you out. It was arguably your favorite feature about him aside from those wide, gorgeous eyes. When you look at him now, his hair is streaked with blond, sloppily done as if he’d done it at home with a grocery bag, cheap bleach, and a few beers on a Monday night. Your stomach churns, but not with anger this time. You recognize the feeling of arousal that pours through your veins and nearly washes away the rage entirely.

“I told you I wanted to talk,” he digs his stained shoes into the dirty rug at the entryway, not looking you in the eyes. “You were ignoring my calls and messages, so I figured I’d stop by and see you. I miss you.”

The pout on his lips is what makes you cave, and you step to the side to allow him into the apartment. You watch him carefully as he tugs his shoes off, letting him gaze around at your new (hopefully) temporary home.

“Cute place you got here—”

“Cut the crap, Sunwoo.” Before I cave and kiss you senseless like a fucking moron. “You wanted to talk. What about?”

He gestures to the couch, pursing his lips as you move past him to take a seat as far from him as possible. It’s tense, the air thick with words that will remain unsaid as long as you can help it. It’s hard to control yourself, though. Hard to keep strong like Hyori taught you when the man you thought you’d spend the rest of your life with is sitting right there looking just so…

Fuckable.

Fuck, maybe you’re just desperate.

“I…” Sunwoo fidgets with his hands, looking down at his lap for a moment. “God this is harder than I thought it would be.”

You soften just a bit, your body sinking into the couch and your legs tucking underneath you.

“I wanted to apologize,” he finally gets out with a tight smile. “For, well, everything. You didn’t deserve how I treated you. I shouldn’t have…slept with Eunbi, and I definitely shouldn’t have run you into debt. It was horrible of me, and I’m sorry.”

You kiss your teeth and he looks at you hopefully. “It was really shitty, Sunwoo. We were together for three years.”

“I know,” he turns fully toward you and reaches forward to take your hands in his. “And I’m sorry.” You search his eyes for a hint of anything that might tell you otherwise.

A smile spreads across your lips when you find exactly what you’re looking for.

Lust. Desperation. The exact emotions that you’d been feeling for the two months it had been since you’d broken up. And, with those emotions found and locked into your brain, you know exactly how to play with him.

“Sunwoo,” you coo and he jumps at the sudden switch of attitude. Your hands pull from his and you let them dance across his thighs. His eyes flick down, watching your hands and trailing up your body ever so slowly and eventually meeting your eyes. “You really mean it, baby?”

His cheeks darken, his lips parting in awe as you lean toward him, your breath fanning his face and sending shivers down his spine.

“Baby,” Sunwoo’s palm comes to rest on your hip, his thumb sliding under your shirt and rubbing gentle circles. “I don’t— are you— I mean aren’t you angry?”

“Of course I’m angry,” you shrug but the smile remains on your lips. Slowly, you begin to move your hand from his thigh to his crotch and press down just enough for his breath to hitch. “That’s why I want you to fuck me.”

He doesn’t move, his hand frozen on your hip, unsure of what to do and how to proceed. Your lips are centimeters from his, your eyes half-lidded and waiting for him to move. He continues to stay frozen, his breath uneven and heavy, so you kiss him. Hard.

You kiss him like you’re drunk—messy and wet, just as you know he likes it. Your tongue pushes into his mouth, pushing at his and forcing him into action. Your heart leaps at the feeling of his hands yanking you into his lap and his chest rumbling with a low groan. His lips move against yours with just as much passion and ferocity, his tongue flicking against yours and shoving past it to try and breach your mouth. He’s holding you so tight, his head shoving forward so you’re forced to lean back, but you’re not one to let him win so you push him back, grabbing his hair in one hand and yanking at the strands until he’s whining your name.

“What, baby?” You coo, pulling away from his lips and licking at the string of spit that connects your lips. “Don’t you like it when I pull your hair?”

Experimentally, you pull again and Sunwoo’s jaw drops open with an airy moan. “Mm, that’s what I thought.”

You connect with him again, biting and sucking and licking at them, enjoying the sounds he makes while he tries to kiss you back. His hands are squeezing your hips so tightly, pulling you down to grind against his jean-clad cock. If he can’t kiss you, he’s gonna make damn sure that you have a hard time focusing. Unfortunately for him, you know all of his tricks. You know exactly what he does and when he does it. For example, if you suck at the skin just beneath his jaw, right next to his Adam’s apple, he lets out such pretty whines.

“Baby,” he gasps out, hips jumping into yours. “Fuck, w-why do you have to k-know me so well?” You just laugh, sucking at the soft skin until it’s practically bruised. Pleased with your work, you bite down just enough for him to yelp before pulling back to admire it.

“You know me, Woo,” you purr, leaning forward again to lick a stripe up his neck and to his lips. They part, his mouth opening for you to lean over and gently kiss him with your tongue delicately brushing against his. Although maybe delicate isn’t quite the right word seeing as the moment your tongue is in his mouth, he starts to suck at it. One of his hands slides from your hip to tangle in your hair, holding you close to him as he sucks at the pink muscle and ruts his hips up into yours. You gasp quietly, just enough for it to get his attention. Sunwoo’s eyes are screwed shut, his hands holding you so tight that you’re afraid you’ll be bruised in the morning.

Who are you kidding, though?

If you aren’t bruised in the morning, you may just kick him out.

“Sunwoo,” you murmur but your words are muffled. He just groans, pulling you closer if it was even possible. “Sunwoo, baby. We’re not fucking on Hyori’s couch.”

“Then we’ll take the floor,” he grunts, pulling away in annoyance. “I haven’t had good sex in two months, I’m not wasting any fucking time on switching rooms.”

You scoff. “I’m not fucking you in my living room.”

He goes to argue with you, but you’re already moving off his lap. “You can’t be serious, baby.” There’s a challenge in your eyes as you reach for the hem of your shirt. Any arguments he may have had are gone the second your shirt hits the ground, your breasts sitting so nicely on your chest with no bra to hide them from his view.

“I’m very serious, Sunwoo.” Your hands move to the band of your shorts, the corner of your lips pulled into a smirk as you slowly pull them down your legs until you’re able to step out of them. As if in a trance, Sunwoo slowly rises to his feet, dragging forward until he’s merely a foot away from you. He reaches a hand out to grab you, but you take a step back. His brows furrow and he tries again but you’re still backing away from him. His trance seems to hold, much to your amusement, watching your breasts bounce with every step away from him until you reach your bedroom.

“You knew that would work.” Sunwoo pouts, but it’s quick to turn into a grin when you finally let him touch you. Immediately he pushes you down onto the mattress, crawling over you until you’re caged beneath him, your eyes wide with lust and anticipation while he tries to figure out where to start. “Fuck, been too long since I’ve seen these pretty tits.”

Your thighs rub together and you draw your bottom lip between your teeth as he shifts down your body until he’s face to face with your chest.

He’s a millimeter away from wrapping his lips around one of your nipples when you suddenly grab his hair and yank him back up, keeping his face in front of yours as you shift onto your knees.

“What the fuck?” He whines, eyes glassy and confused. “What’d you do that for?”

“You didn’t think I’d make it that easy, did you?” You pout at him, mocking him, and his cheeks flush. “After everything you put me through, did you really think I’d make it so easy to get me again?”

“Well, I mean,” Sunwoo gulps, letting out a grunt when you pull his hair again. “Fucking— If you keep doing that, baby, I swear to god I’ll cum in my pants—” You just laugh at him, your eyes gleaming.

“You think a little begging is gonna stop me, Woo? What if,” you lean down until your lips brush against his ear, “I want you to do it?”

Another yank at his hair and his whole body shudders, his hips jerking violently into yours and his mouth dropping open. Loud moans leave his mouth, a bit of drool seeping out of the corner of his lips that you’re quick to swoop down and lick up.

You loved toying with him like this. You loved watching as he desperately tries to hold it together, to keep himself from cumming in his pants like a teenage boy but failing miserably at just one faint touch from you. Your hand falls from his hair, sliding down to his shoulder so you can push him to lie down on your mattress. He lets you, his eyes dazed and confused by what just happened to him but still staring at you with awe.

“You know what you can do to make it up to me, Sunwoo?” You slide his shirt up his torso and he follows your movements, grabbing the fabric once it gets too high and tugging it over his head.

“I’ll do anything, baby, please,” Sunwoo squeezes at your hips and pulls you down over his likely overstimulated cock. “Tell me what to do to make it better.”

“Let me sit on your face,” you purr, “eat me out like the good boy you are. If you make me squirt, I’ll even suck you off before I fuck you.”

“I thought I was fucking you?” Sunwoo cocks an eyebrow and you kiss your teeth.

“Who says both can’t happen?” You retort, shifting your body until your dripping cunt is positioned right over his mouth. “Now get going before I change my mind and you have to fuck a pillow instead.”

Sunwoo wastes no time, his hands coming to grip your hips and pulling you down so you’re fully seated over his mouth. The motion earns him a quiet gasp, one of your hands coming to tangle in his messy hair and the other gripping your headboard. You’re more turned on than you’d let him believe, your cunt practically dripping into his open mouth, and Sunwoo’s body shudders at the familiar taste. You haven’t changed in the eight weeks it’s been since he left you, and neither has he. Truly he missed you, missed the way your body practically molded to his, missed the sounds you made, the way you spoke to him. Fuck, he felt like he was gonna burst in his pants if he wasn’t careful.

Your hips rock into his tongue, forcing the muscle to dip into you just a little more, dipping into your hole before swiping up to your clit. Sunwoo had, when you first started dating, developed this little pattern when he ate you out. He would drag his tongue as far down as he could, slowly work his way up until he found your clit, and would suck and lick and bite at the little nub until you were quivering and begging and soaking his face. He did this over and over, however this time it was different. He worked slowly, letting you work your hips over his face and letting you set the pace. His tongue laves over your clit with no sense of urgency, no hunger. His lips hardly move, but you can feel the way his breathing stutters and you can hear all of his little gasps and whines

Frankly, it pissed you off.

You wanted him to try to take over. You wanted him to try to dominate you, to drive you wild, to rough you up like he always wanted. Here you were giving him free reign to do whatever he would like, and he’s not taking it.

It’s not like him, and it pisses you off so you lift your hips off his face, rolling off his body until you’re sat next to him with a scowl permanently etched into your face. Sunwoo looks up at you, lips contorted into a pout and his eyes fully dazed with confusion.

“Why’d you pull away?” His voice pitches into a whine, his hands reach to grab at your hips and pull you back over him.

“You’re a piece of shit, you know that?” You scoff, leaning back against your headboard and watching him rise onto his knees to look at you.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He leans toward you, hand resting on your thigh, and you smack it away.

“Don’t fucking touch me unless you’re gonna make it worth it for me!” You snap, beginning to slide off the bad.

In that split second, it’s like something clicks in Sunwoo. His pout transforms into a smirk, his eyes glinting with something sly. He follows you off the bed, moving so fast that you could barely blink before you were pinned against your dresser, his hand on the back of your neck and the sound of his belt being undone fills your ears.

“You’ve always been such a brat, haven’t you?” He leans in close, his lips brushing the skin between your shoulder blades. You struggle against him, pushing your hands against the dresser to force him back, but he’s stronger than you and forces you back down until you let your body become limp and pliant in his hold. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it, baby?”

“Fuck you,” you writhe beneath him, the hand not holding you down sliding down your back and cupping your ass in his palm. “Let me go, Kim Sunwoo.”

He kisses his teeth, and you can practically hear the way he smiles smugly at you. “Is that really how you want to talk to me? After all, I’m practically in control of your pleasure here.”

“I can take care of myself just fine.” You retort and turn your head to attempt a glare in his direction.

“You and I both know that you don’t get nearly enough satisfaction without me,” Sunwoo purrs, squeezing the flesh of your ass in his large hand before slipping his fingers down to your sopping wet heat. “You never have.”

He’s right, but you’d rather take a lifetime of nearly worthless orgasms than admit it to his stupid face. Your eyelids flutter when his fingers dip into you, pushing at your pulsing walls and stretching out your cunt to his liking. It’s as if he knows you like the back of his hand.

Scratch that.

Sunwoo does, annoyingly, know you like the back of his hand. Emotionally, physically, any way he could possibly learn. He knew that you loved how it felt when he bit down on the junction between your collarbone and your throat. He knew that you loved when he was rough with you— pulling your hair, spanking you, choking you, bruising your hips with his fingers. He practically marked it in his brain every little sweet spot you had.

So yeah, when he plunges his fingers deep inside you and curls them towards your front wall, just brushing against that sweet spot inside of you and practically forcing a loud moan from your body, you’re a bit peeved. Your whole fucking plan going out the window because your loser of an ex-boyfriend just happens to know you better than you want him to. Why did you have to date him for so long?

“Fuck,” you hiss out and roll your hips back against his hand. “Fuck, Sunwoo, why are you so-o good with your hands?” You stutter, much to your own dismay, and he drops his head against your shoulder.

“Taught only by the best, sweetheart.” His other hand swoops around your front, his index and middle fingers driving against your clit roughly until you’re squirming and crying for him, your head falling against the dresser and your legs threatening to collapse. Sunwoo pulls moan after moan, sob after sob, any noise he knows you can make. He pulls them all from within you until your throat is raw and threatening to crack. “Gonna cum? Gonna cum for your ex-boyfriend, Y/N? What a sick little girl you are— dripping all over my hands, moaning for the man who fucked your life up. Do you feel dirty? Do you know how filthy you are?”

You arch your back against him, tears springing to your eyes as he drives you closer and closer to an orgasm.

“G-gonna cum, Sunwoo,” you gasp out, “fuck, gonna cum all over your hands like a dirty little slut!”

Sunwoo stumbles over his movements for a second, only briefly surprised by your words before he’s picking the pace back up. “That’s right, beautiful. You’re a dirty little slut, huh? You’re my dirty little slut.”

Your walls tense around his fingers, so tight he can barely hold his pace, and your eyes squeeze shut. A sharp bite of pain fills your veins as you bite down on your lip, drawing a bit of blood as you try desperately to hold back the sounds that you know he’s trying to pull out of you. You fail, whining his name and reaching a hand back to tangle in his hair, yanking at the strands as you cum. Your walls flutter around his fingers, your cunt gushing with your slick and dripping down his hand. Sunwoo draws his fingers out of you, leaving you empty but not without the feeling of his other hand rubbing at your clit. The pleasure is overrun with overstimulation, an ache that turns your cries into quiet sobs.

“Sun-Sunwoo,” you plead, trying to pull yourself out of his grip. Unfortunately, you find yourself still trapped between his larger body and the wooden dresser. “Pl-please, ‘s too m-much!”

“Oh, is it?” he coos in your ear, nipping lightly at the skin beneath it. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Didn’t realize you wanted me to stop.”

When he finishes his sentence he all but rips his hand away from you. Your body immediately falls slack, your arms barely having the strength to catch you as your ex-boyfriend pulls away and works at his belt. Sunwoo watches your trembling body, the smug glint in his eye returning.

“You’re an…an asshole.” Your teeth grit together as you stumble over to him, gripping his jaw in your hand and squeezing tightly. “A true asshole, Kim Sunwoo.”

His body falls back, his hands going from his belt to your waist as you work at the button of his pants. “You love me, though.”

You scoff, “you think I still love you?”

His eyebrow quirks. “Don’t you? Why else would I be here, in your bed, on a random night months after we broke up.” Sunwoo lifts his hips as he speaks, allowing you to pull his clothing down just enough to get his rock-hard cock out.

“Because I haven’t had a good fuck since we broke up,” you say simply, hissing as you sink down on him. You’d dated him for three years and even after all that time, the sting that came with fucking him never went away. “Shit, forgot how big you were.”

His grip on your waist tightens, his jaw ticking as your hips meet his. “And I forgot how tight your little pussy was. Guess we’re both taking a little trip down— son of a bitch—”

Sunwoo cuts himself off with a loud groan as you clench around him, lifting your hips slowly before dropping back down with a loud smack of skin against skin.

“Were you saying something?” Your words come out breathy, a quiet whine following soon after as you begin to grind yourself down on Sunwoo’s cock.

“You’re a fucking menace,” Sunwoo grunts, his eyes squeezing shut and his body going completely slack. His fingers slip from your waist, instead resting on the sides of your thighs. He lets you take control, lets you take as much as you want from him. “I missed you, missed your fucking cunt.” A tight squeeze against your skin before his jaw falls open and loud moans fill the air. You can’t bring yourself to laugh, your focus entirely on holding a steady pace and drawing the knot in your stomach back into place. The sting in your thighs is almost unbearable, almost too much for you, but you’d be damned if you didn’t finish what you started.

Your hands find purchase on Sunwoo’s chest, your dark green nails digging into his chest and breaking the skin. Slowly, ever so slowly, you raise your hips again and let them fall. His tip punches into the sweetest spot inside of you, pushing against it over and over as you repeat your motions. You let your body sink forward, your chest against his and your faces mere centimeters away from each other. You’re so close that you can see the tiny beads of sweat beginning to form on his face, the way his eyelashes flutter.

“Such a pretty boy, hm?” You murmur, dipping your head down and licking away a bead of sweat on his jawline. “So pretty, so good for me.” Your walls flutter again and Sunwoo wwhines, taking hold of your ass with both hands.

“C-can’t—” Sunwoo gasps out, but his words become choked moans. “Fuck, you- you feel t-too good.”

You laugh, sucking a hickey into his golden skin, biting at the purple mark when you’re finished. “Only the best for you, baby.”

His hips begin to thrust into yours, his hands holding your body in place as he chases an orgasm that’s so close that he can practically taste it. You watch as his eyes roll back, your own drifting shut as you let pleasure overcome you again. He doesn’t stop, and you don’t want him to, even when liquid spurts out of you and coats his lower body, your sheets, and everything beneath the two of you. Even when his cum drips out of you in thick white globs and smears against your skin. He doesn’t stop until his hips are jerking and not a single drop of cum can be pulled from his cock.

Your body is shaking, but you find enough strength to pull your body away from his, sinking to your knees in front of him. Sunwoo can barely lift his head to watch you, his hand lacing into your hair as you take his softening cock into your mouth and suck gently at it, moaning at the taste of your cum mixing together, You place your hands on both of his thighs, sucking and licking until there’s nothing left, leaving him half-hard and twitching in your mouth.

“You’re fucking insatiable, sweetheart,” Sunwoo moans so prettily, trying to tug you off of him. You giggle, letting him pull you off but dropping your head to give his balls the same attention you’d given his cock. “Son of a— baby, baby wait—”

You pull off him when he says that, laying your cheek on his thigh and watch him try to catch his breath. His chest heaves, his grip on your hair tightening and loosening repeatedly in an attempt to ground himself.

“Had enough?” Your lips press against his warm skin and he scoffs.

“You’re terrible.”

“Mm…is that so?” you press another kiss and he sits up, sliding his hand from your hair to your chin and grabbing it between his thumb and pointer to pull you toward him.

“I fucking love you.” The kiss he gives you is hot, wet, and messy. His tongue dips into your mouth pushing further and further until he’s practically in your throat before pulling back and staring down at you. “My little minx.”

You smile, eyes fluttering when he closes the gap between your mouths again.

“What the fuck? Sunwoo stares at you from the couch cushion, eyes narrowed into a glare. “You’re— what the fuck?”

“I want you out of my apartment.” You shrug, crossing your arms as you sip at your coffee. “Simple as that.”

“But I—” he shakes his head, rubbing at his eyes as he tries to comprehend what you’re saying. “I thought that you— I thought we had a good time. I thought you…that you wanted me back. I don’t— I don’t understand.”

“You thought I wanted you back?” You scoff, lips twitching into a smirk. “What gave you that idea?”

“Maybe the fact that you said you did!”

You kiss your teeth and set your coffee down on the counter behind you. Sunwoo watches your every move, feet tapping against the carpet beneath him.

“Sunwoo, do you know what my favorite kink is?”

“I don’t fucking know, somnophilia?”

You can’t help but laugh at his response, tilting your head back and putting a hand on your chest. Sunwoo, however, isn’t laughing. He looks at you with confusion and anger, a mix of emotions you can relate to all too well.

“You’re so funny, baby.” You’re close enough now that you’re able to sit beside him and let your hand tangle in his hair. You practically straddle him, one leg thrown across his lap and your lips sucking at his neck, adding to the…decorations you had left the night before. “But no, it’s not. Close!”

He leans into your touch, although it may be a bit reluctantly if the look on his face is anything to go off of.

“What is it, then? Hm? What, do you have some sort of like, secret piss kink?” He pulls your face toward his, kissing you and almost making you doubt your decision.

“Ew, Sunwoo,” you wrinkle your nose, scratching your nails lightly on the back of his neck and relishing in the goosebumps forming under your skin. “Karma. That’s my favorite kink.”

“And why is that?” He noses at your jawline. “Why would you wish karma on me, hm? Don’t you like how I touch you?” You tilt your head back, humming as he mouths at your throat.

“Of course I do,” you admit. “But I also have self-respect. And you fucked my sister.” He tenses, pulling back from you.

“I thought you were over that?”

“Why would I get over you fucking my sister?” you smack the back of his head and stand from the couch. “You’re a fucking idiot, Kim Sunwoo, and I truly hope I never see your face again.”

“You can’t be serious.” He’s standing too, reaching a hand toward you in a desperate attempt to get you to talk to him. “C’mon, baby. Isn’t this too much? We would be so happy together!”

“We tried that once before,” you push him back, forcing him closer to the door. “And it didn’t end well.”

“I made a mistake, so what?!” He snaps, almost dropping his shoes as you shove them into his arms. “I admit it! I was wrong! I shouldn’t have cheated on you. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“I want you to get the fuck out of my apartment and never speak to me again, actually.” You open the door, waving your hand in a shooing motion. “Bye now!”

He tries to speak again, but the door slamming in his face stops him. You breathe out a sigh of relief, leaning back against the cold metal, and close your eyes.

“He took that shockingly well,” the door of Hyori’s room clicks shut as she steps into the living room, and you open your eyes to look at her. You smirk a bit, letting your body relax.

“I expected him to try fucking me again.”

“Honestly so did I,” she hands you the mug of coffee you’d set down and takes her seat on the couch. “Was it worth it?”

“Hm?” You tilt your head.

“You know,” she waves her hand at the door. “That. Was fucking him and kicking him out really worth it?”

You shrug. “Yeah, I think so. I mean, I at least got some good shit out of it.”

“A good fuck.” Hyori agrees.

“And some money.” You smile, that same smug smile that Sunwoo had been flashing you all night. It was almost uncanny, and you watch Hyori’s nose wrinkle.

“He paid you?”

“Ew, no, I realize that came out wrong.”

“Oh,” she sighs. “Thank god, I thought I would have to smack some sense into you and then take the money for myself.”

“No, never like that.” You shake your head and smile. “More like the money that was in his wallet.”

Hyori barks out a laugh. “Yeah, right. You had the time to get the money from his wallet between everything that…that was happening…” she trails off, sinking back in her cushion as you pull a massive wad of cash and a credit card out of the drawer in the side table next to you. “Holy shit, how did you…how did he not notice?”

“I’m a very good distraction,” you shrug.

“Why did you…why the fuck did you do that?” She’s appalled and, for the record, you completely understand why. However, you have a perfectly good reason.

You only shrug in response to her question.

“Isn’t it obvious? Karma.”

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