#the first and last one make me feel things

[tonycries]

Hey, Venom Boy! - C.K.

Synopsis. Venom’s had enough of his host’s racing heartbeat and tíghtening pants around you. So he does what any good symbiote would do - help Choso lose his vírginíty, of course!

Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, Venom!Choso, best-friends-to-Iovers, PlNING, héats, he has tattoos and piercings, Venom in bold, first times (for Choso), PÚSSYDRÚNK CHOSO, oraI (fem. rec), spítting, ínappropríate use of the symbiote, LONG tongues, ríding, dúmbifícation, making it fit, size kínk, tummy buIges, creampíes, cúmplay, MARATHONS, matíng presses, overstím, squírting, cúmming dry, proposals, biting marks, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 8.5k

A/N. Inspired by this ask and this post by the lovely @/screampied.

“You like her.”

“Shut up.”

“You want to fu-”

“Shut up.”

“Heh- loser.”

And Choso was genuinely contemplating smashing his head against the nearest wall, if only it would yank out that damn parasite- “Oi, I can hear you.” -he had the misfortune of picking up.

Weeks - though, it felt like years - weeks since he’d wandered into his usual hiding spot at the abandoned Lady of Saint’s Church for a moment of peace and quiet; except, he wasn’t alone that day. Too busy poring over yet another sketch of your dazzling smile to notice-

“Your pulse rate spiked- you’re thinking of her, boy. You want her.”

But it’d been weeks since he’d had peace and quiet after this…alien symbiote had forcibly attached itself to his body that day. 

And the worst part was that he wasn’t even wrong. 

“S-so what?” Choso hisses out. “She deserves better than me anyway.” Wincing at the sheer predatory amusement in Venom’s voice as he purrs— 

“I have a plan…”

.

.

.

Your best friend was acting strange.

Given, it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for his fawn eyes to linger on you just a little more than what’s considered appropriate for a “friend”, or for him to burn with the prettiest blush whenever you caught him. 

But these days it was almost like he was avoiding you on purpose. 

Taking the longer routes after lectures, being struck pale as a ghost mid-conversation, always muttering away underneath his breath. 

Hell, one day you even had half the mind to jokingly ask him whether he was talking to someone you couldn’t see - to which Choso had sputtered and all but sprinted away from you. 

And here he was right now - towering right at your apartment doorway in just a snug undershirt and the sexiest grey sweatpants.

“Ch-Choso?” Your jaw drops slightly at his disheveled, heaving state. 

Milky skin simmered with a sheen of sweat that made his dark tank top glue to his broad chest, chestnut strands of his bangs falling out of his bun to hide his eyes from you, almost…feverish.

Frantic gaze bouncing off the beefy arm he’d kept leaned over your doorframe for support, “What happened- are you sick? Are you drunk?” A quick glance at the clock showed that it was well past 12AM, “Are you okay, Cho-”

And then he flinches.

Fuck- he flinches as if the sound of that very nickname falling from your cute lips made his entire body shudder with a thousand bolts of lightning. 

Baritone voice hot and murky once he utters, “Baby…”

Oh. 

You could feel the goosebumps starting to slither down your spine already, and you tug nervously at the paper-thin pyjama shirt you had on. Too-aware of the fact that it was the only thing you were wearing other than your thin panties- damn.

Noticing the way that every minute movement of yours seemed to make Choso’s pants grow heavier; you dare to take a step closer, and it only makes him grip onto the mahogany doorway until it splinters. 

Teeth grit. Nostrils flaring. Barely holding himself together.

Gasping, “Cho?”

“I need you.”

“Wha-” And it’s the last thing escaping your mouth before Choso surges forward like he’s being jerked, movements twitchy - desperate - he falls a few steps forward until he’s in your heated proximity. 

Your saccharine scent so sweet that he’d be on his damn knees if you hadn’t clawed a hand on one of his flexing biceps- a gruff whimper departing from Choso’s plush, pink lips. “K-kiss me.” 

Oh, fuck.

You watch with a carnal sort of desire at the way that he scorches with a breezing blush all the way from the tips of his ears, down to his collarbones. Fisting your dominant hand in the flimsy cotton of your best friend’s undershirt, just the tiniest, weakest tug makes him gulp.

Now that he started, he couldn’t stop.

“Kiss me- kiss me, p-please.” He’s finally darting his hazy peripheries up from the floor to look at you, you, and only you. Dragging in a deeeep breath of your air, his half-lidded pupils were begging- “Kiss me, baby.”

You’re humming, the curved edges of your fingertips curling ‘round Choso’s nape and pulling him in. 

He’s melting.

He’s melting and melting into the kiss - as if he’d been dreaming of this for just as long as you have. Even longer. 

Strong, sturdy hands wrapping around your waist to tug you against his hardened front, you gasp at the sweltering hot temperature he was radiating. Already feeling beads of perspiration starting to form across your forehead-

He’s sucking in a sharp breath, “Need to- need to tell you something.” 

Words huffin’ out through glides of his berry-pink lips across yours, each one wrenching out like it pained him to part from your candied mouth with each sloppy mwah! Blindly, he slams the door shut with the heeled back of his foot. “There’s- a- a thing-”

You’re grinning once his voice breaks - breaks, as soon as you’re sipping on the cold spherical piercing homed at the edge of his tongue like your favorite gummy candy. “A…thing?”

Through a slightly-cracked eyelid, your gaze sinks down between Choso’s thick, meaty thighs. Instantly feeling a wave of sap flood your mouth at the massive cylindrical bulge that tightened his sweatpants uncomfortably.

He was just too cute. 

“A ‘thing’, hm?” You’re breaking off to smirk, twisting a silky lock of his hair around your index in a way that makes the looming man in front of you shiver. Chasing and chasing your lips- he was so weak for you. 

Giving in, you’re just about getting ready to kiss your best friend silly once more - but what meets your ravenous mouth isn’t his soft, plump lips anymore. 

No, it doesn’t even feel human. 

What instead greets you is something frigid and slimy. Something that crushes you to him with a strength tenfold of what Choso had been using - almost animalistic - until you’re lurching back and gaping at the fact that your feet were now dangling almost two whole feet off of the ground.

Snapping your head to his face and- 

What…the…f-

“Don’t scream!” In a startling split-second, that black mass of goop masking Choso’s face slithers away in tiny tendrils to reveal, well, Choso. 

And honestly, you’re not sure if that wants to make you scream even more or just shuts you up completely. But whilst you ogle whatever it is in front of you, Choso keeps plowing on. 

“This- ah, this is what I meant by a…thing.” He’s stammering out nervously, dark brows crinkling with nervousness as he watches on for your reaction. “Basically- a few weeks ago- my body got infected by this alien thing- a ‘symbiote’, it said, and I-”

“Improved.”

You’re feeling that temptation to exhaust your lungs with yells once more as Choso’s swallowed up within that dark matter. 

Muscular and big. 

Except this time it was formulating a mouth - all wide and decorated in tiny, jagged canines - and slanted white eyes with not a pupil in sight. A dexterous tongue gliiiides down the crevice of its sharp mouth, glittered with strands of slobber. “We are Venom, pretty girl. And you smell…”

Venom’s voice was deep. Coarse. A rumbling bass that made the very bottom of your stomach quiver- you’re distracted only by the growling sniff he lets out. Monstrous ivory eyes locked right between your heated core-

“-delicious.”

Oh…he was reaching well near eight feet and twitching from the inside out once Choso fights to regain control. 

“A-as you can see-” Smiling sheepishly down at you - you blink, and your best friend was suddenly back. Eyes hooded, mouth snarling, looking ruined. What the fuck. “-he really seems to like your scent and it’s driving me-”

“Stop talking, boy, and mate the girl.”

“Shut up.” 

You blink almost owlishly in disbelief, and in something…else, as you feel your thighs clench together. A slight motion that Venom surely doesn’t miss, if the way that Choso’s lungs heave with more gulps of your sweet, sweet leaking pheromones was anything to go by.

And then, you’re finally piping up– “Let…let me see that tongue of Venom’s again?”

.

.

.

“A-are you sure? W-we’re best friends, and I’ve never…”

You’d be rolling your eyes at the repeated question if it wasn’t for the fact that Choso Kamo just looked so pretty when he was knelt obediently at the very foot of your bed. 

A thin sliver of sweat sliding down his temple, breaths coming out in heated gusts, slender hands balling into a fist and shivering once you smear your legs open just a fraction more. Twitching, white-knuckled like he was forcing himself to not just ruin you right then and there. 

“Mhm.” You’re nodding, and the very action is enough for him to snap his eyes down where your cotton panties were starting to dampen and swallow. “Please, handsome- don’t be coy.”

It was almost too good to be true. 

But, fuck, Choso wasn’t waiting around ‘till he wakes up from this dream.

With so much pent-up eagerness that he felt his lips twist into a sleazy grin- Choso’s crawling himself the few inches it was to stuff himself nose-deep between your pretty legs. 

“O-oh.”

First it was the tiniest tug on your restless hips, then it was a sniff- and then it was a bite of his honed, glossy pearly whites over the lacy lil’ bow homed on the hem of your underwear. A throaty groan snarling through his teeth– “Oh, baby…”

That did it-

Quick as a flash, he’s snagging his teeth on the flimsy fabric of your panties and all but tearing it off of you. Rip-rip-ripping to simply push its tatters to the side, Choso doesn’t even fully take it off before he was simply drooooling. 

Gulping and gulping the scent of your leaking hole. 

“Sweet.” He gasps out, words taking on a dark edge. And you swear the chocolate color of his irises looked as if they were almost glowing, “So sweet.”

“Hurry, the symbiote hungers.”

Sharp jaw ticking as he ignores Venom’s request, the fattened pad of his thumb spanks down on your swollen pussylips and spreads you all wide open. Cock twitching at the deafening wet squelch! that chimes once he gathers copious wads of saliva and spits. 

All over your lustrous cunt, slicking out a mess so great that it was already starting to form a puddle underneath your silken sheets. 

“And mine.”

“Tch.”

And Choso wasn’t just greedy - he was outright gluttonous. 

“You…you taste this sweet, baby?”

“Oh- ohhhh fuck–!” You’re shrilling out a syrupy moan once his chilly tongue piercing flicks at the tippy-top hood of your clit like a lollipop. Taking extra care to press down hard so that it has you thrashing-

“There? S’that good?” He’s roaming his mouth over your puffed-up lips eagerly, yearning. Not knowing what he was doing, just addicted. “You’re so wet, baby- s’this for me- r-really, really f’me?”

He just couldn’t believe it- and the only answer he’s getting is a few soft gasps of oh! and yes! Spit n’ whines overflowing your tongue with every slap of his textured tastebuds. You couldn’t help but nod your head down and admire just how drunken Choso was as he’s suckin’ away on your perky clit. 

The hollows of his cheeks sucked-in and flushed red, spit-glossed mouth wrapped snugly ‘round your sensitive nub. 

You’re whimpering, head thrown back at the grunts he muffles out between your legs. 

“M-more, Cho–” You mewl out in a tone that makes his tensed hips rut forward like an animal, immediately grinding against the firm base of your bedframe. Fuck. Snaking a hand down to intertwine with his mussed-up bangs, and tugging them free of his bun- “Wan’ more.”

“More.”

“Hear that? I wanna taste.”

His tongue’s so thirsty - throat so parched - that it lets out the most sinful sluuuuurp at the very first slobbery drag from the dewy base of your quivering pussy, openin’ up your plump folds so widely agape to lather down on the very top of your clit. 

Nodding and nodding and nodding- grinding up to tease the mushy tip of his tongue past your slippery folds just the tiniest bit. “More- please.”

And it’s not like Choso didn’t hear you - fuck, it’s that you’d broken him.

Because it happens in a singular nanosecond, it happens so fast you’re seeing cartoonish stars in your vision when he’s hauling you halfway across the bed like some glorified ragdoll. 

Thighs thrown over his shoulder, trembly hands guided through his sweaty scalp, mouth wolfish- 

“Keh. No wonder you’re a virgin, boy.”

“Sh-shut up.” He’s answering out loud, sending the most electric buzzes down your spine as he nips on the fleshy slope of your pussylips. His own ears pop! as the pointed curve of his chin hits your treacly cunt with a smack of skin-on-skin, so deep. Nose-deep till those lined tattoos on his face. 

Ready to suffocate if he has to.

“Oi- give me a taste, and I’ll give her…more.”

Upper lip glueing to your pussy, Choso’s making you scream every time the sharp ends of his fangs snag on your clit. “Shut up shut up shut up-‘

“Ch-Cho?” Fuck, it takes you every ounce of strength in your body to lift your head up from your creaky bedsprings. Glassily eyeing the way that his grip on your hips turns bruising with semi-circular claw-marks of his, “Everything hah! alright?”

And shit- he breaks off slightly from your dripping wet pussy once- twice. Thrice, each n’ every time letting off a pained grunt that forces him back to stuff himself at his favorite spot between your legs.

He couldn’t even break off to speak. To breathe.

Still murmuring his response at the outer edges of your saturated core, with so many numerous strings of slick dangling from his rovering, swollen lips. Gingerly, “It’s V-Venom, he…wants a taste too.”

“Oh.”

And shit- Choso didn’t need Venom’s superhuman abilities to notice the instant that you’re growing so much wetter. A silky torrent of sap gushing out of you to lacquer your inner thighs like a fountain, already making him lurch- and suck and suck up every pearly droplet.

“I…” You’re starting off, lip chewed underneath your teeth in a way that almost makes him jealous. The memory of his extravagant tongue still fresh in your mind, “-wouldn’t mind.”

“Oh? Well…”

“-about time.”

As Choso lets Venom take over, you can’t help but gasp.

Oh, you were never getting used to this. 

He was about two feet taller, hulking, monstrous. And the only thing more lecherous than that toothy grin he wore was his tongue - sliiiiding out all its endless inches and swaying teasingly to n’ fro in midair. Big. 

So, so big. 

“Eyes…” He’s looming over until scalding hot breath humidifies your features, tonality so gruff that it rumbles your very bones. Oh, he already knows of his effect on you - can flick his tastebuds out and taste it in the saccharine air. “Lungs…pancreas…”

The curly, reddened end of it stingingly slapping down on your thigh, Venom’s tongue is oh-so-long enough that he can lace it all over your shivering leg and wrench them further and further open–

“Pussy.”

And then it feels like you’re being split apart- just a few solid, thorough inches of Venom’s slimy tongue burrowing past your puffy folds, keeping your jolting legs pinned firmly by a few of his Stygian spirals. 

One taste. One taste is all it takes. 

You’re being rendered utterly stupid by the swashing flicks of his pointed muscle stirrin’ up your insides, wriggling in circular slurps around and around and around your gummy walls. Scarfing you down until his tongue reaches the very gooey bottom of your cunt and kisses your cervix. 

So hard that you’re pushed up the mattress and he’s forced to wrap a few tendrils that reel you back down again. 

“Heh, finish line.”

“What- oh…oh my god-” Tears drip down in constant rivers from your heavy lids, wailing whimpers breaking off from your larynx at every smack-smack-smack he left on that spongy end. Further pushing aside your panties, retracting aaaaaalll the way back to thruuuust- “Y-your tongue is sooo big.”

“So many snacks. How good.” He’s tittering out with a thundering pant, spiked ends of his canines littering your skin with gnawing bites. “How delicious. How…”

He’s sloshing his tongue almost aggressively inside, whacking your g-spot in-between his barreling journey to fuck you with his tongue just as much as he wanted to with his cock. 

Lolling sloppily, thrusting, dragging the ridges of his tastebuds across your g-spot. 

And it takes you a few more vulgar strokes, it takes you the sound of that familiarly melodic voice for you to flap your tear-heavy lashes open and finally look once more between your legs. “-mine.”

It’s almost as if both Choso and Venom couldn’t decide on who wanted to make out with your soft, candied pussy more. 

Because it was your best friend’s pretty upper half of his face peeking out from between your splattered legs, but Venom’s mouth that was pumpin’ addictively past your rubbery entrance. Over and over. 

“N-ngh pleeease!” Comes out your repeated record of whines, every mushy gyration so good that you can’t help but rock into every second of his frenzied cadence. Creeping down one of your hands to smear your pussylips wider with a soppy slurp so that he could go even deeper, “I-it’s so good- don’t stop don’t stop.”

And the look in Choso’s dark eyes is the most raw glint of disbelief that you’ve ever seen.

Unsteady thighs clenching as he hits his v-line against the wooden board of your bed and grinds, unwilling to angrily fist his raging cock the way he ached n’ leaked to, unwilling to take his hands off of you for a mere second.

“N-no no, move that hand, baby. Lemme see her- Please.” You’ve never seen your cute best friend dare to be so rude- urgently swatting away those few fingers of yours to replace with his own knobbly, greedy ones. 

Pressin’ on your weeping, swollen clit with the flat end of his digit - you’re coating his chipped black nail polish with so many layers of goopy slick that it trickles down to his wrist. 

And oh, you’d almost forgotten just got many frigid metal rings that Choso wore on his hot fingers. Sappily nuzzling the inside of your left thigh the very moment he’s slipping his middle past your widely messy hole and curling–

 “How could I? How c-could I stop?” He’s muttering away - octaves higher than you’re used to, hitting and hitting your bruised and battered g-spot at the very same tempo that Venom was, too.

Double whack after whack that made your spine arch curvaceously off of the dampened mattress, icy edges of his rings scraping your walls. Choso just salivates at the heavenly sight of you below him, “How could you even- think- I’m-”

“-addicted.”

And Venom chooses just this precise moment to make your stupidly muddled mind remember his presence until you can’t think at all. 

Prolonging his plumply constricted tongue - using his symbiotic powers and extending it even more feet stuffed inside your tightly cozy walls, slashing the very tip to become split-ended. 

“Pretty. Pretty pussy.” He’s groaning out carnally, and your throat rips with a scream once he’s starting up a thrusting pace that flicks at your weeping cunt with those two slithering ends of his monstrous tongue. “Don’t know who’s prettier- you or…”

You’re shivering then - shivering at the windy gust of air inhaled once Venom tugs you even closer by his black coils and sniffs. Breath hot, his French kiss on your pussy hotter. “-her.”

“Fuck- fuck, you’re making such a mess, Choso.”

“Mhmmmm—”

Shifting between both his tongue and Venom’s - every transformation had you dizzy. Alternating between Venom’s hard, almost violent thrusts with his split-end tongue to Choso’s sensual tickling of his piercing into your most favorite spots. 

Glittery slick and spittle dripping down like a glazing polish, Choso’s swallowing down every sweet gumdrop like he’s a man starved. 

Like a damn dog in heat, every pant of the honeyed pheromones between your legs was driving him fucking mad. Making his hips thrust-

“Sh-she’s drooling almost as much as ngh- me, baby.” He’s fighting back that damn parasite for more more more of you- for every squelch! once he’s mazing his second, third lengthy finger inside. 

Searching for your g-spot like treasure trove - hitting and hitting, you’re so pretty and gone that Choso’s chuckling. “Ride it.” Pap-pap-pap goes his hits to your delicate, most tender spots, faster. “Ride it- yeah, ride m’f-face like it’s yours, baby- ride it.”

“S-shoooo much–” And you don’t know whether it’s the torrents of slicked saliva falling from your mouth or the sheer overstimulation that has you jumbling up your syllables - but it’s enough to make both Choso and Venom grin. “It’s so ngh- haaaa–”

“She’s close.”

“Fuh-fuck.” He’s spitting into your drooling lips, right above your pulsating nub. Ringed digits so thick that it makes your knees shake and weaken. Sloppy. “Faster. Harder. Use me, baby-”

Again and again and again.

Your brain’s fuzzily stupid by the time you finally recognize that familiar twist at the bottom of your tummy, too. Blubbering out an unsteady, “P-please! M’not gonna- ngh! last, Cho.”

“I know- I know I know I know– make a mess.” He’s spitting out once more, letting a wad of saliva stream straightly down your slit and liiicking it all up before Venom overtakes him to keep on probin’ your entrance fully. Swirling every speckled tastebud until it was like the symbiote was trying to brand you–

And with a gluttonous swipe at the fresh beads of slick homed on top of your nub, Choso wastes no time before pinching your clit- 

“Cum. Cum on my tongue, baby. Mine.”

-and making your field of vision simply shatter with tears once you’re crashing into that built-up high. 

“Shit- shiiiiit. I-it feels so good, Cho- I’m- nghhh I’m…” It was an orgasm like no other- fuck, any of your toys were paling in comparison to Choso and his…parasite. 

Fully himself now, you gawk with your mouth unlatched into a sagging oh! at the primal way that Choso’s prominent Adam’s apple bobs with each eager swallow. Thin lines of sappy slick falling from the pink, puckered corners of his lips and waterfalling all down the side of his damn throat. 

“Th-tha’s it-” His sopping wet tongue drags uuuup n’ down your open folds to trawl you through your euphoria, every lolling flick of the curled end jostling against your thoroughly-stuffed folds.

Pumping, pounding your glutinous walls until they’re sticking to his barreling digits like adhesive, the metallic band curving his fingers smooches your g-spot softly. Dimly-lit molten eyes widening at the sheer ribbons of sap you’re letting off with every white-hot bolt of pleasure.

“This- this is all f’me–?” He’s crooning out, dazed. Letting his jaw fall open with every quiver you’re instinctively clenching with your cunt, “All for me- me. More- more, baby.”

“For me, you mean.”

Choso- Venom- Choso just keeps on alternating their slobbering drags of your hips until you’re completely wrung dry. Even the tiniest spank of their rugged tastebuds making you squeal with overstimulation, tears pinpricking behind your eyes. 

“Aw, c-c’mon–” Your best friend slurs out in a tingling, pussydrunken tone - so gone that his perspired head falls n’ cuddles your thigh. Begging, “M-more…?”

“But Cho…m’sensitive.”

And he’s perking his head up like the thought didn’t even occur to him - only then do you get a final, filthy look at your best friend after so long. 

Grinning, he sucks on each of his polished, soppy fingers. Each and every one - looking right into your dilated pupils, “That was my first time.”

Fuck.

He was pretty. 

Granted, you always did know that, but right now - with Choso’s dark strands of hair hooding his half-opened gaze, what little you could see of his eyes gleaming, cheekbones burning scorched red - he was dreamy.

He’s wearing your saccharine wads of slick like a medal of honor. 

Thickly coating everywhere from the tattoo on his nose, to the lower half of his face, to bubble all down his jaw. A slippery wire of it spills from the corner of his mouth as it starts moving, an almost airy tone seeping into his voice. “I-I’m never wiping this off- hey!”

Before he knows it, Venom’s tendrils dart out to filthily lick off the remnant excess his host cherished so much.

Grinning, “Delicious.”

Fighting back his damn alien acquaintance, you stifle a giggle as Choso’s rosy lips jut out into a pout. Lifting his knee onto the bed- well, grindin’ it right between your legs so that he’s putting pressure on your throbbing slope. 

Fleshy thumb and index squeezing your cheeks together, “Spit in my mouth.”

“Wh-what?”

“Spit-” His sweaty forehead sticks against yours, humid breath clouding up your senses. And you could count every long lash, every smudge of his dark eyeliner. Hiccuping, “-in my mouth.”

And the moment you do- fuck, the moment you’re pursing your spit-glued lips to let out a saccharine web of saliva that slops right down his pinkish tongue with a splat! So loud and filthy and sinful that Choso only as the time to breath out a shallow ‘fuck!’ before he’s cumming.

Burning hot and feverish. Right then and there to create a dripping damp spot in his trousers- “Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit- you’re t-too-”

“Great going, virgin.”

“Shut up-” Choso grits through clenched teeth, desperately trying to heave his breaths back into some semblance of normalcy. Failing, once you immediately reach over and tug his sweatpants down-

He was cumming and cumming so much that you’re met with a white, streaming wet mess that gleams down both of Choso’s meaty thighs. They’re shivering with each ribbony string of seed that oozes down his long limbs, “O-oh, so pretty, Cho.”

“Oho? She’s an interesting one.”

“I-I know…”

And you’re not just talking about his orgasm.

Because when you’d imagined - on those long, lonely nights - that your best friend would be big…you didn’t expect that he’d be big. 

Damn near ten- no, maybe even eleven inches of fat, hot girth that swelled his mushroomy tip to be as cutely pink as a strawberry and just as thick. 

Your mouth waters as you follow the winding lightning patterns of his puffy veins, oh-so-prominently bloated that you swear you could count every throb-throb-throb. 

And what- what was that?

No, you weren’t imagining it. Choso Kamo had a tiny studded Prince Albert’s piercing right near the tip-top of his bulging cockhead. Cold and sparkling underneath the dim bedroom lighting. 

Mindlessly, you’re darting over to swipe one of your thumbs across a creamy bead of cum that’d started drenching his dark happy trail.

“O-oh.” Choso grunts at the look on your gorgeous face once he’s letting his chubby balls twitch n’ soak your skin with yet another splurging streak of seed. Again. Just from you touching him. “No one’s ever touched me like this- fuck!”

And you just had to find out whether he tasted as sweet as he looked.

Planting your mouth over his juice-capped head with a wet plop! you hum with utter delight at the caramel salted taste of him. Aching and pulsing underneath his piercing with just the tiniest kitten lick to his leaking orifice. 

“Do it, boy.”

“Wh-what?”

“Do it. I’m inside your mind, do it.”

And Choso really wouldn’t have considered being that rude - really. 

He really, really wanted to take his time slow n’ sultry with the one person who’s been the girl of his dreams from the moment he met you.

But fuck- Venom was jerking his body so that with the slightest rock, he’s rutting like a fucking animal deep inside the hot cavern of your mouth. Staining a milky white lipgloss around your plumpened lips, pushing his seed inside—

Venom wanted to see you choke.

“M-mmpf—!” And you can’t lie about the way the sheer force and heady musk of Choso’s v-line made your thighs squeeze.

“That’s it- cry. Cry on my cock- atta girl.”

“Fuck! I’m sorry-” He’s panicking from above as your pretty nose detaches from the curly black tuft of hair at his toned pelvis. “I’m sorry I’m sorry, baby. Are you-”

Only…for all his concerned apologies to shrivel up on Choso’s tongue when he catches the way you’re smiling. 

Cockdrunk and stinging at the back of your throat with the way that Venom had actually elongated Choso’s already-massive cock just a few more centimeters by accident. Oh, fuck…

The hazed look that’d crept into your eyes as you look up makes the towering man shiver. Striking him to his very cock, “C’mon- fuck me, Cho.”

“C’mon. Don’t wanna disappoint the pretty girl.”

Choso doesn’t even remember getting rid of his undershirt, his sweatpants, everything but his silver rings and necklace - but what he does remember is the way your eyes had widened just the slightest fraction as you took in all of him.

Shit, was he sculpted by the Greek gods or what?

You could count every one of his eight, toned washboard abs - making the broad width of his pecs look so thick. So engulfing as they tense n’ ripple once your best friend slouches sexily on top of you to pull off your cotton t-shirt.

“Oh.” He’s gasping- you’re not wearing a bra. Completely naked underneath him except for the lecherous remnants of your torn panties still hanging on. 

Ones that he keeps on - even when you try to shuffle them down with a whine - once he’s flipping the two of you over to let you straddle his slenderly sculptured hips. 

“Keh- this position.”

“Shut up and watch.”

Blushing and pretty.

Choso’s teary lashes knock against the apples of his cheeks as he blinks furiously up at you, throat scratchily raw. Gulping more of your scent, “R-ride me, baby.”

“Cho–” You’re sliding the mounds of your ass gingerly against his aching hot length, shudders skittering down your spine at the sheer size of him pressing up into you. “Y-you’re so big, though- don’t know if it’ll fit.”

“I’ll make it fit-”

“A-am I actually that big?” He’s whispering, in awe. Watching with damply bated breath as he’s spanking his cock against your right ass cheek with a wet smack! smack! smack!

Pointing that curved, bulbous tip right between your pussylips and sliiiiiding it up n’ down so that you’re coating him in all your sweet juices, Choso’s guiding his girth until your hole was quivering for something - anything. 

Him him him. 

Panting at the first squeeze of his reddened, blushing tip- “Oh, you feel like th-this?” His pitched voice wavers almost as much as his heavy eyelids, falling apart with just that first taste of your perfect cunt. “Fuh-fuuuuuck fuck fuck fuck! Baby- you feel like this?”

This was heaven.

And he’s spurting out a few stray wads of cum just from feeling your velvety walls, letting it thwack! against your goopy innards n’ stick to your trembling folds. 

“You got it- you got it.” Choso’s voicebox cracks with a lil’ whimper at that snug resistance, “You can take it- you can take it. I’ll make it fit.”

“Oh- oh my god- Choso- Cho–!”

“S’it too biiig for my girl, hmm?” Croaking out in unison with the aged bedcoils of your mattress, each and every time Choso jerks his hips off the bed and pushes. Just to fit in. “Baby-” Choso gasps as you throw your head back with a mewl at the sheer size of him.

His painfully-aching cock was so big that just the stoutest inch being bullied inside was enough to make your vision blotch with white. Rounded circumference stretching n’ stretching your slick-flooded walls stupid- “I’m sorry, baby- sorry s’big. But you’re my girl- my girl can take it- you can…you can take it.”

It’s inch by overlarge inch.

Choso’s scraping his way down your walls so sensually that you could feel your fuzzy brain sparking every time one of his prominent veins was draaaagging a zig-zagging pattern along.

Curled toes twitching with each passing second, “S-s’it almost all the way in, baby–?”

“Mhm—” And you’re just letting out the cutest cry once he finally eases himself all the way in, practically impaling you. Head throwing back, tits bouncing, cunt overspilling. 

“Hmmm…maybe this position isn’t so bad.”

Choso didn’t disagree, but it took every single shred of rationality left inside of him to push back Venom’s rasping voice and wrench out a desperate thrust. Allll the way from the globular ends of his ruby-red tip till your sensitive pussy tickled against his soaked-through happy trail.

Tenderly caressing your palm down his hardened front, “I-it’s in–?” Your hitched tone makes his eyes roll back, and yet- and yet, he’s fighting to bring them back down n’ watch your gaped bounces back into his sloppy pace. “It’s in. O-oh my god, c-can feel you all the way in hck! here.”

He’s just so big.

And you’re swearing that Choso only fattens himself even bigger, fatter, wider once you slide your hand about halfway up your tummy. Feeling for that one spot he was bruisin’ right into your spongy cervix.

Biting his lip not to cum again, “Yeah-” You’re jostled ever-so-slightly on top of him as he’s sucking in a deeeep breath, “Yeah yeah yeah- you got it. Y-you better take all of it hngh! Take every. Single. Inch.”

Every vein, every sliding ridge, every throb that was bucked into your readily-awaiting entrance- Choso wasn’t just mazing open your cunt- 

He was spearheading you with such thorough thrusts that made your back curve backwards just so.

“Tch- I’d fuck her even better.”

“No you w-wouldn’t.”

Lazily weaving tendrils start tickling your outer pussy, threatening to slip n’ slide their greedy way past your lips. “Is that a challenge? Summon Venom, if you dare.”

“What’s he saying, Cho?” You coo, tear-shimmered lashes blinking adorably down at his internal argument. And as if he could ever say no to you - hell, the response is dripping from his tongue before he even realizes it.

Grouching out, though he couldn’t deny the way his own cock was jolting at the very idea- “H-he wants a try, too…says he’ll be even better.”

A cockdrunk smile plasters itself onto your face- “Prove it.”

And you were right in your prediction - Venom didn’t just make Choso meaner, it made him bigger. 

So big, in fact, that the bawling tip gently kissin’ your g-spot was instantaneously skidding past to give your cervix a longer, harsher probe. 

So hard that you’re sure there’s now a permanent crater of his exact meaty circumference. And you’re being filled with the distinct feeling that Venom could’ve gone bigger - he just didn’t want to break you…yet. 

Draping across his oversized pectorals, you’re nothing against his over eight foot height. “Y-you…”

Those slimy raven molasses covering his half-fucked face once more to form a rude Cheshire-cat smile. “Me.” Planting an Earth-shattering, mind-numbing ram you’re feeling all the way in your lungs, his pulsing length is so widely thick that Venom has to bite down on his lips and manhandle you for his thrusts to move to and fro. “I am inside your pussy, greedy girl. Me.”

Flicking his dexterous shaft to brush your tingling g-spot, he’s using his powers so much that you could almost feel yourself bonding with the symbiote, with Choso.

“I know every inch, nerve, and spot inside of you. I can make you scream-” Coiling mass contracting to barrel your elastic walls even wider, you’re rightfully crying out at the way he molds himself deliciously into your very walls. 

“Nghhh- fuck! Fuck, y-you’re in sooo deep-”

Stealing your sweetened scent, making him heated. “Hmmm, kiss me.”

But that didn’t mean that your best friend- your…Choso was going down that easy.

In a few more brushstrokes of his ravaging cock against your softest spot - before you can kiss him - Choso’s blinking back the cobwebs of his symbiote so that his face spies out. Only the lower half of his body - his length - partially-covered–

“Keh- annoying.”

“Should’ve- should’ve done this sooner-” He hisses out through a narrowed pant, flecks of spittle flying angrily across the non-existent space between your two faces. “-done this muuuuch sooner- you h-have no idea.”

“O-oh nghhh fuck fuck fuck–” The backs of your thighs ache after every slamming pap! you’re bouncing back into his swervin’ hips. 

Pounding away like he was crazed, every jackhammer only makes Choso grow more feral. Every swab of his prolonged cock inside your silken pussy feral-

His rummaging, fat-tipped shaft was so large that you could feel the way his ridged cockhead scraped your cervix with his studded Prince Albert’s, roaming like a searchlight to spot your most favorite angles.

Eyeliner practically staining down his cheeks now, “Should’ve fuh-fucked you the moment I ngh- met you. Should’ve fucked you r-right there on the lecture table in front of everyone- sh-should’ve—” You’re squealing once his doughy, ringed fingertips dart down to toy with that pretty lil’ clit of yours. “-should’ve let her drive me hck! crazy sooner, baby.”

Oh, he was babbling. 

Cooing, you slither one of your hands through the dampened valleys of his dark hair, “Awww– d-drivin’ you crazy, Cho–?”

“Yes.” He’s seething, he’s heaving. Saturated pheromones driving him mad, he can’t help but flop his pierced tongue across your lips and suck. “S-s’not even that damn parasite anymore-”

Pace growing sloppier by the minute, barely even noticing when those same digits coddling your clit had started to twist and turn in shape. Overtaken by Venom and his meeeean tendrils that alternate between dragging on your overstimulated clit and slipping inside…

“Sh-shit– Venom?”

“Sayin’ another man’s name when I-I’m here- ngh–” Choso’s nosebridge crinkles as he teases you, watery honeypool eyes dropping down to where your glossy hole was swallowing him whole. 

Mouth falling into an ah! at the way Venom’s wisping vines were still wrapped snugly to smooch your walls wiiiide open. And fuck- fuck, the sight. The sight of you bulging with all of his staggering cock still taking in more, more, more of him.

“I see…” He’s giggling - giggling, glassy eyes boring dead-on up at you through his curtained bangs and oh- they were shaped into hearts. Baritone voice rasping as one of his veins itches your walls, snagging past your underwear. “Greedy girl.”

It’s almost as if you didn’t know whether it was Choso or Venom taking over now, only fucked dumb with every sharp jut. Both his cock- his tentacle-like strands spreading you open, targeting your g-spot over n’ over with his plummy, split-ended tip. 

Digging inside, scouring so wetly.

Spread twice as open that the squelch! squelch! squelch! of it resonating each nanosecond was quickly becoming Choso’s favorite song. 

You were damn near shattered.

“I-I’m so close-” You’re hiccuping through your salty tears, brows scrunching at the stormy wave of bliss that was surely oncoming. “-f-fuck! Choso m’gonna cum.”

“Fuck- fuck, m’not gonna last either–” His response comes out guttural, and it’s just so sexy the way that he’s forced to gnaw on the strawberry gummy texture of the inside of his cheeks to stop himself from filling you up right then and there. 

Tender, aching balls squeezing dangerously before-

“Breed her.” Venom’s voice thunders out enough for the both of you to hear, excitement spiking down your spine and straight to where your pussy was drooling. “I know you want to. I know you both want it.”

Shocked, Choso sounds as if he could still barely even believe this was all real. “I-is that true, baby?” Tentatively craning you over to drag his lips softly against yours, “Can I really…inside…my girl?”

“Mhm– please- please, I wan’ it all inside—!” 

“G-get ready.” 

The plush, cushy tip of his cock outlines a water-logged line straight down your cervix as Choso leans further into the bed. Feet planting down flatly so that he can pressurize his powerful, inhuman hips to thrust-

“She’s about t-to be full- so full.” You can feel such pangs of desire as his teeth pull back into a primal snarl, tear-glinted eyes locked permanently where his red, swollen cock was disappearing between your legs. “So full that you won’t even remember what it ngh- feels like w-without me stuffed inside this cunt.”

Squirming with a yearning for sweet, sweet release once he hovers a fingertip over to about halfway up your tummy and draws an invisible line there.

“H-here.” Deepening it with the pressure of his rude digits, Choso’s right hand still rolls over your clit with a few shapes of hearts. Once. Twice. Thrice. “Get ready here–”

Whining, “I’m- I’m gonna-”

Before Venom’s slimy tendrils pinch it once more and you’re cumming- and so is he. 

But Choso doesn’t even realize it - doesn’t even remember to breathe the very moment you’re creaming all down his pummeling cock. Such cute twitches taking over your body as you shut your eyes and riiiide it all out. 

Using his sloppily saturated shaft like a dart that was pokin’ the bullseye of your pussy again and again. Every brushing skid straight across slapping your g-spot repeatedly to drag out your high with a squeeeelch.

And Choso’s licking his lips at the glossy lathering that glued to your folds, then - and only then - catching sight of the dollops of creamy white that was frothing out of your glistening entrance. 

Thick and hot. 

Every splat! of his ribbony sap hits the back of your pussy like heavily condensed cream, swashing inside of you like a sizzling second skin. It feels so filthy to have his mess beading down your walls and forming such a soaking ring ‘round his bulky hilt. 

Your meaty folds spread to smear the puddle that was forming up his happy trail, “You- you feel so good inside.”

“O-oh-” Almost thankful as Venom’s dark strands push aside your torn, sullied panties further for his host to take a better look. Blushing all the way to the tattoos across his nosebridge, “A…a creampie.” 

He’d cum- he’d really, really cum - inside of you. Pressing down on the prettily jiggling tummy bulge he was fucking into you- and it’s enough to make you scream. “Want more.”

And you’re just tapering off from your own orgasm, eardrums nearly popped yet still managing to register those words. Clenching, “Wh-what? Will it- hngh- even fit, Choso?”

“No- nononono it will- it will.” Urgent, rapidly he’s flipping the two of you immediately over to hover on top of you and rut- like an animal. 

You’re gasping once your head plops down on the soft mattress, heels struggling to cling onto Choso’s sweat-laminated hips until he’s trekking his beefy arms underneath and hauling them over his shoulders. Bending, bending, bending into a–

Oh, a mating press. 

He had you manhandled like some lawnchair into a mating press. The sloppiest of its kind, he’s using Venom’s tendrils to lock your ankles together in just two blinks of his eye.

“I can make it fit–” Growling through the tiniest gaps of his grit pearly whites, he kisses his forehead to yours and inhales that sweet scent of yours still permeating the heady air. The chilly heard pendant of his necklace hits the front of your chin and makes you keen. Rough, rugged through punctuating rams, “I will- I will I will- it’ll fit- It will.”

Shivering and shuddering. 

He struggles to even focus his eyesight on you properly - and Choso’s heated maw droooops at the deafening squelch! your pussy pushes out once he sinks all the way back in.

A thick capping of white syrup rising all the way to the top once his massive girth once more fills out your every nook and cranny. He’s still so ravenous that the sight down there is enough to make his mouth water. 

And this position, this angle made Choso’s elongated shaft lean into your g-spot so bruisingly that with only a few more strokes you’re cumming again. 

Fleeting, and faster than you both know it.

It’s only once Choso sniffs at the air and grins that he realizes the rapidly pulsing ba-dump–! of your velveteen walls was because you’re bein’ his good girl and cumming once more. 

Heavy breeder balls striking the treacly slope of your cunt until they were raw and red - you’re sure that the both of you are bruised everywhere. His thighs on your own, your ass on his pelvis, you can’t even wriggle your ankles free because Venom’s keeping a firm grip on them.

Rendering you at the full mercy of Choso’s thrashes dragging out your high, “P-please- fuck- it just f-feels too good, Cho-!”

“S’good- s’good-” He’s flushing out in something that looks like a mix of relief and need. No sooner milking himself on your tightly clenched pussy until you’re being filled all over again.

This time with white, wispy ropes of seed that ache his sensitive shaft to spray out, still coating your gummy walls with viscid layers upon layers. So much.

“So good f’me- so good. Look how much sh-she’s ngh- suckin’ in, sooooo full and- and warm…” He was practically twitching right now, trembling. “Jus’ look at that greedy girl.”

You couldn’t even be moved without feeling all its wads splosh inside of you.

And he still wanted more. 

Yelping, your legs struggle to shut once his sloppy cadence turns even sloppier. Lazier. 

“O-one more-” Choso’s puffing out in a clouded pant, “Keep- keep those pretty legs hck! open f’me- I beg. M’begging- take it, baby.”

Vein-covered forearms placing attractively upon either side of your head to lace right on top of your crowned scalp and push- Weaving wines of the symbiote winding down to furiously pump his cock.

To bloat himself up oh-so-thick straight after two whole orgasms, flying up and down up and down up and down to make his cherry-red divot start weeping once more. “One more- one more.”

“Nghh fuck fuck- Choso–!” Your lower lip wobbles cutely at the carnal glissade of his washboard abs down your own front, he was so strong that you could count every flex and ripple. “S-shooo sensitive-” Eyes shuttering tearfully, you can only jerk your hips up weakly. “-so much. Too much.”

“Never too much.”

Venom’s voice speaks up from somewhere, and you’re feeling the snaking, slimy journey of his tendrils twistin’ around your tits to grope. A greedy handful that teases your hardened nipples so–

“Less talking. More fucking.”

“W-woah-” Choso breathes at the sight before him. You were ruined in only ways he’d seen in his wettest dreams - and it’s not like he was doing any better. Because the way your hips were moving…“B-birthing hips- look at h-her take that big fuckin’ cock. So pretty- so pretty so pretty so pretty.”

You’re so overstimulated that even the slightest brush of his lightning bolted veins makes you gasp- tears springing up to your eyes. “F-feels so…oh.” So good, his stamina was maddening. 

“Yeah? Yeahhh? S’all for you- only for you-” Purposefully pressing up close so that your poor clit gets rubbed over by that patch of tawny brown at the base of his abs. 

And by now, even Choso’s swivellin’ cold piercing was molten hot and drawing wet slides of cum across your walls. Fervently. 

He was fucking you like he couldn’t get enough - would never possibly be able to get enough. Every thrust had him pushing you down once more after the papping recoil, gliding your feverishly sweat-slicked bodies against each other because Choso couldn’t bear to part. “Only for you only for you only for you-”

So gone that he almost doesn’t even register Venom’s deep tone muttering in his ear– “Three.”

Every heated bang of his mushroomy tip plummeting to the back of your overspilling cunt was meant to milk himself. Over and over, he’s tempting out just one more orgasm - just one more to fill you up with more cream. “Two.”

And in your rambling stupor, you’re being drilled into the mattress so spellbound that you don’t even notice the way your unfastened mouth nibbles on Choso’s sexy silver necklace. 

“One.”

Gnawing on for dear life as you squirt.

“Oh.”

Simply spraying him with a voluminous heap of your sweet, sappy juices - Choso has the mindless audacity to crane his head even further downwards and catch whatever stray remnants hit his awaiting maw.

“F-fuck…” You feel like you’ve just been put through ten thousand wringers and milked dry from your poor, tingling core. Gushing and gushing- it’s almost embarrassing how much you’re leaking around Choso’s meaty base. 

Well, embarrassing for everyone but Choso…and Venom.

He was mesmerized - he was hypnotized. A glistening few droplets of pussydrunken drool slipping from the corner of his mouth as he just watched himself get drenched in all your torrential orgasm whilst he emptied out for the third- fourth, fuck he doesn’t even know - inside you.

Raw, and messy - milking himself until he’s hitting a damn dry orgasm. 

“O-oh.” Choso doesn’t even know what to fucking say above your cutely trilling mewls, every languid pump of his flinching cock sending massive shockwaves through both of you. He blushes, “Oh.”

“That was fun. Now, make her yours or I will.” Venom grumbles, the symbiote already starting to take over Choso’s body with its blackened mass. 

And the man jolts- remembering all at once that this was you you you underneath him. Thumb absent-mindedly reaching down to write his last name over the mess spurted across your tummy. 

You, who he’s wanted all his life- 

“M-marry me, my girl.”

The smile that breaks across your face is one he’ll remember for eons. 

“I love you, too, Cho–” You’re purring, tucking one of the mahogany strands plastered onto his forehead behind his ear. 

“I love you.” He’s bursting out at once- rose-pink lips wobbly and wet against your own. He’s kissing you like he needed you to breathe, “I love you- oh, how I love you.”

“Satisfying. But we need more.” 

“Dammit.”

And Venom doesn’t care - Venom cackles to himself as he seethes in yet another gust of your honey-dipped scent and pulls out. The sensitivity startling through your body is so shocking that he’s shooting out a dark web that attaches your hips to the bed. Unmoving. 

But, of course, he takes his leisurely time to stroll near the edge of your bed. Monstrously hulking over it to sweep apart your bloated pussylips and watch the way Choso’s cum driiiiips out.

Now completely encompassing his body— “A three course meal. Yum.”

He was far from done.

You’re sobbing at the sloooooow draaaag of his glistening, large tastebuds down your weeping hole. Unapologetic and primal. “F-fuck! Your stamina…” It was truly monstrous just how pent-up that he was right now, being pushed off by your new boyfriend- fiancé? for so long now.  

Holding you tight with a few tendrils ‘round your waist to keep you from running—

“We’re going to keep this one.” His long, venomous teeth sink into your inner-thigh, not toxic to you. Not at all, but claiming; and the feeling was as good as cumming again. “You’re ours now, pretty girl.”

A/N. RAHHH I TOLD Y’ALL I’D DO IT MWAHAHAHAH-

Plagiarism not authorized.

[mia-fey-needs-a-drink]

It's so annoying that to so much of the fandom Mia is just "boobs" or "girlboss", she's got so much more going on:

-She really struggles to remember people's names which often causes people to doubt her engagement despite genuinely caring and engaging with their situation and the case (she's just like me fr I really struggle with names (for probably autism reasons) and people really don't like that).

-She has a tendency to just not talk to people about things, especially about herself or her life. depending on when you think Mia actually started mentoring Phoenix he was a significant part of her life for at least a year and probably since 3-1, yet he only meets Maya and learns about spirit channeling after Mia dies, she never mentioned Lana either, or Diego, or DL-6, and this isn't just to Phoenix, she never told Maya about Diego either and it's vague how much Lana actually knows about her, hell it's vague how much Diego actually knew about her, maybe Grossberg only told him about DL6 and the Fey clan after he wakes up from his coma. Ultimately she isolated herself from everyone in her life to some extent and it's kinda part of how she died, no-one knew the danger she was in and she didn't want people to know.

-Her ineptitude with technology. Phoenix and Maya also have this, but I feel like Mia's and Maya's are so linked to their background in the fey clan, they were raised in a society and culture where they didn't have access to these things and integrating into broader society comes with difficulties.

-Her entire life and career is just things repeatedly going wrong and her being fucked over: DL-6, her disaster of a first trial, Diego being poisoned and just as she's about to try and finally put Redd White behind bars he finds out and kills her. She had shit hand after shit hand and was basically doomed from the start, but yet she persisted and she fought for what she believed and for the people she cared about and to make the world a better place, and everything good that Phoenix manages to do throughout PWT is thanks to Mia and everything she worked for, she laid the foundations for a better world for the ones she loved that she wouldn't get to live in and yet I think if she knew that it would all end this way from the start she'd do it all over again. I think a little part of me thinks that some part of her hoped White would kill her so there was something definitive to pin him with (which comes with some darker implications for how well she was dealing with life).

-Mia has such an interesting relationship to the legal system and her own sense of justice. So much of her experience with the law is with it failing her, repeatedly. DL-6 is a disaster that stripped her mother from her, her first trial ends in the clearly guilty party that murdered her client getting away with it, her boyfriend's murder goes unsolved from the same murderer who she dedicates the next 8 months to taking down, and then there's 1-2, her own murder trial. Mia has again worked for years to try and get this man convicted, the deeply corrupt legal system making it a near insurmountable task, then in the last stretch he murders her. The police immediately just try to brush it under the rug, blame her sister and get the trial over with. Grossberg is too afraid of White to defend Maya and Edgeworth is a slimy piece of shit the entire trial. When Phoenix finally finds the clearly guilty White, he simply makes a few calls and her understudy is the prime suspect. White goes up on the stand and just repeatedly comes up with any old blatant nonsense and excuses and no matter how many times and how much work goes into Wright picking apart every mistruth and detail and how many pieces of evidence he shows nothing will convict White, the court is completely corrupt, you'll never be able to defeat him within the system. So, what happens? Mia and Phoenix have to work outside the established rules, even working outside the rules of death itself. White is only defeated after Mia straight up blackmails him into confessing, and yet this is more justice than working within the law ever would allow them. Mia also only gets Dahlia through pushing the law to it's breaking point, she was a step away from being disbarred. I feel like it's easy to see her as a strong believer in the law but if you really look at it, to her, the law is not sacred or worthy of much reverence, if something is unjust, to hell if it's legal, she will try and reach justice no matter what.

-Look I may be projecting my woke onto the game a little bit but I can't help but feel the routine misogyny Mia faces in both the cases we play as her in T&T is more than just "a product of it's time" and more showing misogyny as an extension of the system being rigged against her.

Loooong post but there's so much going on with Mia.

[melodyofmbaku]

Mind Your Manners (Smoke Moore x Annie/Reader)

First line was was actually inspired by a line in this fic by @szatears, please check it out :)

Preview: “I done told you to watch that mouth ain’t I?” He snapped before undoing his belt and stalking towards you."

Word Count: 2.25k

Warning ⚠️: Strong Sexual Themes + Smut (18+ Material)

A/N I watched Sinners yesterday and pumped this fic out today. I'm back in my writing era 🤠💁🏾‍♀️ ___

If there was one thing Smoke didn’t like, it was an attitude. Whether he deserved it or not. 

So when the man who had skipped town 4 years ago appeared on your door step you knew he’d have something to say about you kissing your teeth, huffing and rolling your eyes. 

“What are you doing here Smoke?"

He took a drag out of his cigarette.

 “Now that ain’t no way to greet a man Annie.”

Your eyes slid over him. He was covered in a tailored tweed 5 piece suit and his bulk couldn’t be hidden. Thick arms, a broad chest and a wicked smile with golds peaking out. 

Smoke Moore. Nothing better. 

You took him in. 

“Ain’t you gonna let me in?” He grinned and leaned on your door frame. 

You squinted your eyes at him. Thoughts of that night at the Juke years ago surfaced. Your breath caught in your throat. 

“You ain’t never needed me to do that before.”

He sucked another mouthful of smoke from his cigarette. And blew it towards you. Your eyes watered a bit and you glared, gripping the doorframe tighter. 

“Maybe I need you to now.” There was a beat. 

“You don’t need an invitation. You just come and go as you please. I’ve given up on trying to keep you away. It’s a waste of time.”

He smirked something fierce. 

“Yeah you right. I was just fucking with ya.”

He flicked the cigarette into the grass and pushed past Annie, not without placing his paws on her body to maneuver her out of the way. 

One hand grabbed her waist, the other palmed her heavy breast before squeezing past her and into her quaint home. 

Smoke had it made for her. For them. 

One of the last things he did for her before he skipped town. 

——

He’d picked her up from her rotten daddies house and told her to pack a bag. He strapped her into that car and drove them over to the tiny plot of land he’d procured. And there it sat, a little home. 2 bedrooms and a “kitchen meant for cooking” as he called it. 

He held her as her eyes watered and whispered. 

“You like it baby girl? It’s yours. You ain’t never gotta worry bout a place to lay your head again.”

And there they spent the next 2 days holed up and christening the house. Even the kitchen meant for cooking. 

_____

Smokes eyes took the place in. The small house he’d bought, you’d made it into a home. You brought in an ice chest and had decorated it, your personality showed in every corner. 

He smelled bacon on the stove and the nostalgia hit him like a brick. 

“You making greens?”

“What’s it to you?” You replied with your back turned towards him. 

He loved your greens.

You didn’t know what to do with him back in your space. You felt activated. Didn't know whether to run to him or away from him.

You took a deep breath and composed yourself. And turned around only to see him fishing for a cigarette. 

“Don’t you smoke that shit in here.” You snapped. 

He looked at you and paused before nodding and sliding the pack back into his jacket pocket. 

He lifted his hands up. 

“You’re right sweet girl. My bad. I know you don’t like that in the house.”

“Thank you.” You whispered to yourself. Feeling relief at the inch of control you had gained back. 

He knew you thought it was a nasty habit and if he wanted to smoke, he’d have to do it outside your home. 

Say what you wanted to say about Smoke, he knew how important this space — your home — was to you. And you didn’t want anyone to ruin it. Even the man who built it for you. 

“Why are you here?” You asked. 

“We’re back now. I’m back now. For good.”

You scoffed.

“What you had all your fun? Running around Chicago with your brother? Fucking all them northern whores?” You sneered. 

His eyes watched you. You hated how they could see right through you. You weren’t jealous. You were hurt. 

His eyes glowered. “Watch your mouth.”

How could he just give you the best few days of your life and just leave without a trace? Leaving you to hear news about him and his brother through the grape vine. 

How dare he tell you what to do?

“Or what?” You snapped back. This was 4 years of pain. Of hurt. Of anger. 

“What, you tired of them? Wanted to swing back on down and fuck your southern whore too? Taste the mother fucking rainbow?”

“You not no whore Annie.” He warned again. 

Your eyes shimmered with angry tears. 

“How you know I wasn't up and down these streets? You not the only one who likes to fuck.”  You snapped back. 

He smirked a knowing smile on his lips. 

“You wasn’t fucking these niggas. You forget that I know you. You wouldn’t let em get a chance.” 

And you hated him because it was true. 

“Fuck you Smoke.” You spat. You could almost see the vein pop from his temple. 

Smoke didn’t like an attitude. Whether he deserved it or not. 

“I done told you to watch that mouth ain’t I?” He snapped before undoing his belt and stalking towards you. 

You backed up against the wall. Fiery defiant eyes staring back at him. 

He bullied his way into the space between your plush thighs. Sticking his face into your neck and breathing deeply. He kissed you.  Once. Twice. 

“Why are you back?” You whispered brokenly. 

He ignored your question and worked quickly to push your dress over your thick hips. 

“You weren’t ever this rude before Annie.” He mused while manipulating your body to be exactly where he wanted it to be. He knew your body like the back of his hand. You was his and nobody else’s. 

That was law. 

His fingers found your sex and you couldn’t help the gasp that left your lips. 

Smokes fingers stroked between your folds before sliding into her. The wetness soaked his fingers immediately. 

He kept his eyes on your face. He loved the faces you made. And right now your head was thrown back and your plump lips parted slightly. 

Quickly the sound of the small home was filling with deep breathing and whimpers. 

“Why? Are you back?” You managed to breathe out between moans. 

Was he here for good or was he just passing by? 

“I must not be doing a good job if you still asking me all these questions…” he mused. He added another finger for good measure. 

Unfortunately, that did shut you up. 

He took the other hand and palmed at your breast and tweaked a nipple and you groaned deeply. 

He smiled, nothing but pure joy on his face. 

“You ain’t have nobody here to tell you… to teach you your manners. That's why I came back.” He stated. 

He bent his fingers within you once before sliding out and replacing them with his tongue. 

He expertly licked into you. Letting your essence coat his lips. 

Smoke loved him some you. When he had his fill he stood up and captured your lips in his. 

You tasted yourself on him. 

He looked down at you. You were thoroughly debauched. “You ready for me?” 

You nodded lazily, you could barely think straight. Smoke liked you this way sometimes. Pliant and easy. He could move you any which way he wanted. 

He graciously turned you around and pressed you into the wall. 

“I’m gonna fuck you now princess. And you gon’ like it.”

“Yes daddy.” You whispered and that’s what drove Smoke to press himself right into you, and he felt you stretching to accommodate him. 

Now it was his time to groan. 

“Fuck.”  He spat out. 

You giggled. That didn’t last long as he pulled out slowly and thrust back in with intention. 

That giggle turn into a graphic sound he would file away for later. You were so responsive for him. 

There you began your dance. Smoke began a slow and intentional rhythm. Whispering sweet nothings into your ear the entire time. 

Still your question persisted despite the pleasure filled fog which filled your head. 

“Why you back Smoke?” You managed to whisper. 

He grunted. You wasn’t letting this go. Could he blame you? 

He changed his pace, to something more punishing. Something that would make you forget you were angry with him at all. 

“Why? I needed to set you straight. That’s why. Remind you of how to act right.” He thrusted after each sentence. 

Your moans got louder with every thrust. But he kept his pace. 

“You got this attitude because I ain’t been here to fuck it outta you. And for that baby I was wrong.” He crooned into your ear. 

“It’s my fault.” He stated. 

He pumped into you relentlessly. And you took every thrust like a champ. 

“Blame me mama.” He whispered. It almost got quiet in the room.

The unspoken "not yourself" conveniently omitted from the end of his sentence. Just two bodies doing a dance as old as time. 

He reached over to grip your breasts again and pluck at your nipples. 

Your broken moans filled the space. He knew your body like no other. You were made for him. 

“That’s right.” He encouraged, he loved to hear you. 

“I’m back now baby. Daddy’s here and he’s gonna take such good care of you.” He breathed heavily into your ear. 

You were overcome with emotion. Your eyes watered. Was that a promise? You couldn’t do another broken promise. 

“Don’t you say that Elijah. Don't you dare lie to me. I can’t take it anymore.” You panted out. 

“You’ll take what I give you.” He snapped. 

Why was he like this? Why did you love this? 

Your head dropped low. Because he was right. You would take what he gave you. Even if it was lies or castles built up in the sky. 

You were a fool. And you loved him. 

He slid his hand into your hair, grasping your curls. 

You were Smoke’s to play with. To have, hold, fuck and scold. You didn’t pretend you didn’t know it.

“Chin up.” You tilted your chin up and his grip on your curls tightened. 

“Good girl.”

You moaned.  

He kissed your ear before speaking. 

“This time I ain’t lyin’.” He kissed your cheek. 

This was feeling good. You were barley listening. He could tell you he could sprout wings and fly right now and you’d believe him as long as he didn’t stop. 

“I’m back for good. I did what I needed to do out in Chicago. For you. For us. We don’t never gotta worry about money ever again.”

“It was never about the money.” You managed to gasp out. 

“Shhhhh.” He coaxed. 

That was another thing that came up in the past. Smoke was money motivated. He didn’t understand that you just wanted him.  Nothing else. 

He never wanted to be under the control of another man because of some money. So he went and got him some. 

“I think…" He pondered for a bit before continuing.

"I think I’m gonna fuck a few babies into you tonight Annie. Your body was made for it. For me.”

Your walls immediately clenched onto him. 

“Gonna have a bunch of em fat and happy running all around this place.”

Tears dripped from your eyes. The pleasure, the visuals, the stimulation. It was all too much. 

He didn’t stop. 

“You want that baby girl? Want daddy to put a couple babies in you?”  

You wailed. Short circuited even. 

Because Smoke knew. He knew that’s all you ever wanted. Him. And a family. And he wouldn’t tease you about that. 

“Yes! Yes! I want — “

“Yeah? You gonna have to say please mama. You how I feel about them manners.” He grinned wickedly. 

How he managed to stay aware enough to play you like this was beyond your comprehension. 

“Please!” You wailed out. 

“Please what?”

“Please make me a mama!”

His finger slipped to your clit quickly and he watched your face in wonder as your orgasm washed over you.  

You clutched onto him desperately to prevent yourself from falling. 

“That’s my girl.” he hissed.  Before thrusting and unloading his seed right into you. 

—

It’s been a few hours and you and Smoke were laid out in a blanket on a cot on the floor. 

Drunk on each other. 

He had fed you peaches from the jar right from his hands and had quelled any fears you’d had about him leaving you again, from in between your legs. 

“If it’s a girl we gon' name her Amiyah. After my mama.” You whispered into his chest. 

He kissed your head. “Whatever you want.”  

“And if it’s a boy I wanna name him Erik Stevens.”

He furrowed his brow. 

“Erik Stevens? Where you get that name from?”

“I don’t know I just like it. You don’t like it?” You asked, looked up at him. 

He scoffed. “That sounds like the name of a bandit.”  

You pinched his skin between your fingers. “Hey.” You frowned. 

He looked down at your big brown eyes and melted. 

“You really like that name?” 

You nodded. 

“Aight, I can be convinced.” He brought you closer to him and you both just sat in silence basking in your love.

He scoffed again. “Erik Stevens…”

“What is your problem?” You asked perplexed. Fingers stroking his chest. 

“I don’t like it. He sound like a boy who ain’t go no manners.” 

“Oh brother.”  ___

I so enjoyed writing this. I hope yall enjoy!!

Taglist

@sarcastic-sunshines @chaneajoyyy

[paarksunghoon]

resignation (4)

SUMMARY: For the last six years, you’ve dedicated your career to ensuring Park Sunghoon never misses a day of work in his life. But you’re tired of endless days that seem to blend together, and seeing him living his fun, luxurious lifestyle makes you think about what else you might be missing out on. When Sunghoon finds your resignation letter on his desk, he does everything in his power to convince you to stay.

NOTES: please do not ask me about chapter updates.

WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: kissing & dry humping.

SERIES PLAYLIST + SERIES MASTERLIST

please leave a comment/reblog and let me know what you think!

***

What does it mean when you have a wet dream about your boss? 

Surely this happens to everybody. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about because the other party involved has no idea what transpired. This feeling is like accidentally calling your teacher “Mom” or “Dad,” only a thousand times worse. 

You don’t remember much, only fragments and jump cuts that make you question if what you dreamt was real at all. But you remember what his naked chest and torso looked like and the way your hands roamed the expanse of his skin as you sat on top of him. You remember the way his legs parted to situate your body on his thighs, and you remember the way he looked when he was tugging on his dick to finish all over your body. 

It was enough to wake you with a startle. 

It’s just before 5AM and nothing you do can put you back to sleep. Your heart is beating erratically, and your mind races from scenario to scenario. Revisiting the remnants of your dream makes you flustered and you feel guilty. Surely it’s normal to think about your boss like that, right? 

There’s not much that Sunghoon isn’t perfect at. He can be a bit impatient and particular, but he’s the epitome of everybody’s dream. He’s so sure of himself all of the time and knows what he wants. Most importantly, Sunghoon is not afraid of pursuing his goals until the very end. 

It’s unfortunate that passionate, secure men are exactly your type. You don’t play games; you’re too old for that. This will-they-won’t-they is a thing of the past and a scenario you would’ve loved to experience back when you were seventeen. In adulthood, you appreciate men who respect your independence and find it attractive, even. 

Hearing Sunghoon tell his colleagues he knows to trust you because of how you need little help does more damage than good. Sunghoon’s praise is not the basis of your career, but it’s an added bonus when it all comes down to it. 

He’s everything you could ever want in a guy, but you can’t do anything about it. You haven’t been able to think about how attractive you found him to be upon the first day of meeting him because Sunghoon is your boss. He’s the one who delegates your work and at the end of the day, it would be unprofessional. 

It doesn’t stop you from having wet dreams about him, apparently. 

Getting yourself to leave your apartment is much harder than it usually is. You refuse to get in your car for a while and try to stall yourself until the inevitable anxiety about being late to work pushes you to get in it. Music doesn’t help quell your mind on the drive either. It all sounds like static noise to you with how loud and vibrational the wet dream is. Pulling up to the parking garage and your designated spot feels like a challenge. Stepping into the lobby and riding the elevator up to your floor feels damn near suffocating. 

It’s just your luck that Sunghoon happened to show up earlier than you did for once, truly. You like to be prepared and have a daily agenda to go over with him, but you need your peace and quiet to gather all your thoughts and priorities before beginning the workday. 

He stands with his back facing you. Sunghoon’s broad shoulders are covered by a black button down with sleeves rolled up to just below his elbow. Your breath hitches and you don’t think you can handle seeing him if he turns around, especially when you know he could probably see how you’re out of it today. 

You take a few deep breaths before your heels click against the hardwood floor, alerting Sunghoon of your presence. He turns around when he hears you and you try not to trip and fall. Damn his good looks so early in the morning. Damn him for not needing any makeup while you caked your under eyes with concealer. Screw him for looking so attractive when you’re trying to think of him as anything but. 

“Morning.”

“You’re here early.” 

Sunghoon smiles. “I know. I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep, so I figured I’d come to the office early.” 

Did he have a wet dream about you too?

The thought disappears as soon as you think it because that seems both ludicrous and egotistical. Sunghoon doesn’t think of you like that. He sees you as his personal assistant and nothing more. 

Why does that feeling disappoint you? 

You’re desperately trying to keep a calm demeanor as you walk closer towards him. You try your hardest to push the dream away from your mind as the two of you look at each other, and instead take a seat by your desk. He follows behind you and lingers by the front of it as you take out your legal pad to write today’s agenda. The weight of his eyes are heavy.

“No meetings until 11AM when the Choi’s come for an informational meeting with the Decelis company for lunch at the InterContinental, and begin discussing the steps until I resign for good.”

“You have your shit down.” 

“It’s my job.”

“Do we really have to talk about the fact that you’re quitting?” 

You turn your chair to face him. “Yes. I’m leaving in a month and a half, there are a million projects I need to finish, and I need to make sure your new assistant has what it takes.”

“You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?” 

“I have. It’s my decision and I stand by it. But I really did enjoy my time at this company and I want to make sure you have somebody who can manage you.” 

“Manage me?” 

You smirk when he chokes. “Don’t act like you’re a saint, Sunghoon. You rely on me for nearly all of your business and I’ve learned more about this company’s inner workings than anybody else. My work is triple what other assistants do at this office, but it gets results.”

“I’m passionate about my job.” 

“So am I.” 

Sunghoon leans over your desk and puts both palms on the wood below him. He looks at you and bends down until he’s significantly closer to your face. Even with the clear distance between the both of you, your cheeks feel like they’re heating up. Suddenly, your dreams from the night before reappear in your vision. You start imagining what Sunghoon would look like without his shirt on at this very angle. 

“You’re the best at what you do. You’re smart, intuitive, and you’re not afraid to argue with me and hurt pride. I’ve never had a business partner who’s been as sharp as you.” 

You’re nearly stunned into silence. Sunghoon’s plush lips look inviting and his piercing stare makes you feel all kinds of things an assistant shouldn’t be feeling about her boss. His words still register and float around your head.

“Business partner is a stretch.” 

“You make ideas and execute them. That’s more than what a personal assistant would do. It’s commendable how much you’ve learned about this company over the years.”

“The best I can do is help you find a worthy assistant. 

“I suppose.” 

Sunghoon doesn’t say anything after that. Instead, he turns away without looking at you and retreats into his office. 

***

What makes a good assistant? 

So far, your list consists of:

Sense of urgency.

Able to meet deadlines.

Pays close attention to fine details and can multitask. 

Able to operate basic functions like Google and Microsoft Suite. 

Willing to work overtime, including nights and weekends. 

Manage calendars and be the bridge between employer and client.

Fulfill and execute holiday gifting for clients and partners. 

Create and maintain lists when needed. 

Of course, those are just the basic managerial tasks you do on a day to day basis. If you could be honest about what this job entails, the list would look something like:

Have a strong sense of urgency. 

Cannot be afraid to speak to strangers and build repertoire. 

Knows how to read a room and make judgment based on intuition. 

Knows how to speak multiple languages, even if merely conversational. 

Is an early bird and a night owl. 

Won’t be scared by how little time off is able to be taken.

Won’t be upset when needed to work very early hours and late evenings. 

Will not complain about accompanying the employer to personal matters. 

Knows how to be confident in a room full of people.

Doesn’t tolerate bullshit. 

Writing this job listing feels impossible at this point. It’s too long, too broad, and too complicated. You delete the entire draft and stare at the blank page as if to hope the listing to write itself. You’re trying to pass the time because your meeting with Sunghoon to discuss the next steps before you leave makes you feel like you’ll go insane.

But most of your projects are waiting on other people now. It’s a blessing and a curse to be one step ahead of everybody else. You’ve done all you could to follow up and distract yourself with your duties, but you can’t do anything until other people present their parts. 

Writing this job listing is something you’ve been putting off for the past week. It seems too hard to truly encapsulate what this job entails. It’s been bittersweet to walk down memory lane and think about all of the strengths you’ve learned over your time with Sunghoon. You want to do right by him and pick somebody that’s worthy of this position. You’ve spent so much of your career dedicated to him and the last thing you want is to undo all of the work you’ve done. 

Time doesn’t seem to be moving any faster and the thought of being alone with him after his obligations makes you feel uneasy. He lets you work in peace while he does his job. It’s not until an hour before his meeting do you see Sunghoon. It was hard to remain a stoic professional with a client when all you can think about is having sex with him on the large oakwood table your arms are resting on. When Sunghoon leaves for his lunch meeting, you picture his face buried deep in your cunt below your own desk. 

The way you think of your boss is unbecoming. There is a clear, set boundary you need to respect and maintain. But being near him makes things harder for you. 

If you were a better person, you’d quit while you’re ahead and stick to yourself until you were free from this company. It’s hard to work alongside somebody you’re physically attracted to. You see him walking around in his suits, so impeccably dressed that you’re not surprised at just how many people seek him out. He’s on magazine covers and rubs elbows with Korea’s rich and famous. Sunghoon’s circle resembles that of people who don’t need to think twice about spending money because they know it’ll never run out. The fact that he’s handsome, smart, and wealthy isn’t lost on you. In fact, it makes things that much worse. 

You’re not any of that. You don’t come from obscene wealth, nor do you have the friends and connections that Sunghoon does. You live in his world only as an adjacent, and then you go back to your apartment and order Chinese takeout while trying to feel like a regular human being. The imposter syndrome is what keeps you up at night. You’re afforded luxurious ways to travel, fine dining and drinks, and free clothes from time to time, but all of it is in the name of Sunghoon. He’s the one with the power to grant you these opulent wishes. You’re here because of him and who he is within society, not because it thinks you deserve to be here. 

It aches you to think that the next person to have your job will likely come to this startling truth like you did. Coming home to a small, studio apartment after an all expenses paid business trip to Berlin was a cold splash of water to the face. You are nothing without the company you work for. Somewhere along the line, you started to resent this lifestyle. It has consumed your life in ways you never thought imaginable. The late nights, days away from your bed, and the constant urge to prove yourself worthy is never ending. Even now, when most of Sunghoon’s colleagues and acquaintances know your name, people think of you as a mere servant.

The task then becomes how you can convey this through the job listing without making it sound like this job is miserable. It can be, but hinting at that is neither professional nor is it realistic. You need to find a worthy successor before you effectively leave. You can’t leave Sunghoon hanging without trying your best. He’s been good to you throughout the years, and the least you can do is make sure his next assistant doesn't make him resent having one. 

When Sunghoon is back from his lunch meeting, you’re calmer than you were at the beginning of the day. Knowing he’s been out of your sight has been good to quell your nerves. So has eating lunch. Instead of joining other assistants at the cafeteria, you’ve elected to pack yourself a lunch and enjoy the confines of your office until it’s time for you to go back to work. That hour is spent distracting yourself through Instagram, where an endless scroll of videos provides more entertainment than work does. 

It’s nearly four in the afternoon when Sunghoon comes back from his lunch meeting. He comes back looking triumphant and stops by your office after putting his suit jacket away in his office closet, knocking once before opening the door. 

“I take it the meeting went well?” you ask, not bothering to look up from your monitor as you type an email. 

“Swimmingly. Decelis has agreed to our terms and I had a very wonderful filet mignon as well.”

“BigHit called and requested a formal introduction. You have availability next Wednesday at 8AM and the following Tuesday at 10AM.”

“Let’s do Tuesday. Nobody likes an 8AM meeting.” 

“Got it.” 

Sunghoon steps inside and closes the door behind you when he hears the sound of an email being sent. You blink away the strain in your eyes from looking at a screen for too long and see him sitting on the chair in front of your desk. 

“It’s important we talk about what’s gonna happen for the next month and a half before you go, huh?” 

You sigh. “It is, Sunghoon. My time here has been good to me. I don’t want to leave you with somebody incompetent.”

“I feel touched that you’d extend your time here by two months to look for a new assistant.”

“You should. I’m trying to fill out a job listing before I post it. That’s been stalling me from figuring out what else I need to do. I figure I’ll tackle that and see what projects I can distribute until your new assistant gets the hang of things.” 

“What about the tasks you’re working on now?”

“Handled. I’m waiting for responses.”

“I’m gonna miss how hard you work,” he tells you. “It’ll be weird not seeing you everyday.” 

“You’ll get used to it. First up on the agenda: job requirements. I have a few basics–using software, meeting deadlines, accompanying you on business trips–what else is there that I can add?” 

Sunghoon looks over the list you’ve created. “Owning a passport and the willingness to travel is a must. But I’ll handle business when I need to travel by myself until I can fully trust my assistant.” 

You write it down. “Good idea. I think the first time I traveled with you was to Tokyo six months in. Pretty early to trust me, if I say so myself.” 

“Yeah, well, you proved to be a trustworthy person.”

“How so?”

Sunghoon shrugs. “I don’t know. You always seemed like you were keen on putting your head down and doing your job. Somewhere in the mix, I guess you started learning my habits and picked up on things quicker than other assistants I’ve had. I knew I could trust you when you had the briefings prepared when we met with Hybe.”

“Hybe?”

“You know, the independent record label we helped fund and is now considered one of the biggest music corporations in Asia?” 

“I know who they are,” you retort. Sunghoon just smiles. “But I don’t remember that at all.”

“You came into my office the day before the meeting and gave me an entire binder’s worth of prep I never asked you to do. Information on the company, the CEO and founder, artist growth potential, the whole nine yards. I’d never had a thorough assistant at that time. You walked into my office and apologized if you were overstepping before you left me with that behemoth of a binder. It was impeccable and it’s what helped solidify my decision to work with them. And now, Hybe is a major record label with business in America.” 

“Oh…I never knew that.”

“I tried to keep it on the down low so it didn’t get to your head. I was just getting to know you, and didn’t want to take the chance of your ego blowing out of proportion.”

You scowl. “It wouldn’t have.”

“I know that now. But at that time, we were still getting used to the swing of things. That let me know you were loyal to me and had my back. I knew I could trust you with the everyday administrative work, and I knew I could trust you to form a good, solid opinion when it came to this business. It’s why I decided to take you abroad for international business and to handle things back in Korea.” 

Sunghoon’s words make you dizzy. It’s as if a warmth has bloomed in your chest from all of the positive things he’s saying about you. You’ve tried your best to keep yourself humble when it comes to your career for the fear of crossing a boundary you shouldn’t have. You don’t have the power Sunghoon does, nor do you have the capital to back yourself up. The wins, both big and small, are celebrated by yourself before you move onto the next project. 

Everything he’s telling you makes you wonder if you never truly appreciated the things you’ve accomplished just because you were insecure about your role in the company. You’re an extension of Sunghoon, not his equal. Even when you’d assist him in decision making or give your input that ultimately influenced his opinions, it never felt like something worth celebrating. Not unless he’d give you a verbal praise.

The stories he’s telling you about his time working with you makes you look at your job differently. For as competent as you are, you’ve got tunnel vision. Work is work and there’s nothing more to it. You’ve always believed that the essence of your accomplishments lie with Sunghoon, but now you’re starting to wonder about all of the things he’s noticed about you without having vocalized them. The wake of your departure seems to have stirred up emotions within Sunghoon, but you’re having a hard time trying to figure out what they are. 

“I don’t know what to say, Sunghoon. Thanks, I think.”

“What I’m trying to say is, you’re really good at your job. I know it’s stressful trying to find a replacement, but I want to make sure they can reach your level with time. There won’t be anybody who can do what you do.” 

Your face heats up and you go back to brainstorming. 

“I’ve got a general idea for the listing now and I’ll type the copy for your approval by the end of the week. Let’s move on to our clients, shall we?”

When the clock hand tells you it’s six o’clock, Sunghoon asks if you have anywhere to be tonight. When you tell him no, he asks that you stay at the office longer with the promise of ordering takeout to be shared between the two of you. You decide to stay, even if it means you have to work, because you’d never turn down a free meal from him. It’s the only time you allow yourself to splurge on food and Sunghoon prefers to eat at high end restaurants anyway. 

You settle on dim sum. Sunghoon orders just enough for the both of you and it sits across the desk in the main meeting office with Thai tea in to-go cups. He’s loosened his tie and doesn’t bother with appearances now that most of his colleagues have left for the day. You don’t see this carefree side of him often, as he likes to dress to impress. Sunghoon believes impressions are everything in the business of venture capitalism. He doesn't want anybody to get the wrong idea about him because he knows assumptions run far and wild, and he’d rather have people say favorable things about him than not. 

You’ve done a good job at forgetting the dream you had by using work and food as a distraction. But the second Sunghoon loosened his tie and untucked his button down made your mind briefly flash to the dirty things that transpired in your mind. You will yourself to push those thoughts to the back of your head for the umpteenth time. 

“Humor me,” Sunghoon says to break the silence as he looks up from his pile of documents. “You told me you don’t have a personal life and that’s why you want to quit.”

“I didn’t say it like that.” 

“Could’ve fooled me. Weren’t you the one who said you don’t have time for yourself?” 

Curse him. 

“Yeah, I did.” He drops the document on the table and puts the straw of his Thai tea in his mouth, letting it dangle carelessly. 

“You surely have things and people when you’re not at the office. I don’t make you work here like you’re chained to the building.” 

“True,” you tell him as you turn to face him. “That doesn’t mean I have my shit figured out, though.”

“Who does?” 

“People like you don’t have to think about your future.” 

He nods. “Okay, I guess you’re right. I know we don’t come from the same backgrounds, but that doesn’t mean your life isn’t rich without money.” 

“It’s not that I don’t have anything, but lately, it’s felt like nothing sticks around long enough for me to make it part of my life. My hobbies are short-lived. My family lives far away. I don’t have many friends.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“What? Not having hobbies.”

“Not having friends.” 

“It’s true.”

“What do you mean by that?”

You push a dumpling in your mouth and speak between bites. “I didn’t have many friends before moving to Seoul. Everyone I knew from university moved after graduating except my roommate during my last year. She’s the only person who I’d consider my friend.”

“What about your neighbor, Nabi? The one who watches your cat when you’re with me?” 

“Is that friendship if I’m asking her for favors?” 

“Kinda. You trust her to watch over Pochi and you told me you’re both getting to know each other a little. I’d count that as friends.” 

“Okay, I have two friends. I don’t have an entire network of people I see. I never had many friends growing up because I was too focused on getting out of my hometown and making it in Seoul. Well, I did that, but it feels like I’m paying the price.” 

“I don’t think you have to worry about not being likable.” 

“That’s not the issue, though. I just…I don’t have time to make connections because this job takes up so much of my day. When people invite me out, I have to decline half the time or I come at the tail end of the night because I’m working late. All of that adds up. I’ve only known this job and trying to be the best that I can possibly be that I’ve forgotten how to have fun. I don’t know anything other than this job.”

He looks away from you for a moment before returning back to your gaze. 

“I’m sorry I contributed to that.” 

“It’s not your fault. It comes with the job and I knew what I signed up for. You’ve been a lenient boss compared to other people at this company, and that says a lot.”

“I demand a lot from you, don’t I?” 

“Will I be in trouble if I agree?”

He smirks. “Maybe.” 

“Then my lips are sealed.” 

Sunghoon laughs. “I can relate to this job being a lifeline. It’s what I’ve wanted for so long, did you know that? I watched my dad do this work when I grew up and I always had a knack for negotiating. It was my calling and I did everything I could to work my way up from the bottom, even though I knew he’d make me a partner whenever I asked. Sometimes I wonder if I’m too invested in this business. My parents keep asking me when I’ll settle down, and I never have an answer.”

“Will you?”

He looks directly at you. “We’ll see about that. For now, I don’t think about it too much. I like my life and it’s too busy to care about those kinds of things anyhow. If the opportunity doesn’t present itself, I won’t force one to appear.” 

“I’m the same way, I think. I don’t really talk to my parents all that much, but when I do, they’re always asking about when I’ll get a husband. It’s never about my job and my life. It’s always about whether or not their only daughter will grow to be a spinstress.” 

“Surely you’ve been on a few dates since moving to Seoul, no? I would’ve figured you found somebody by now.” 

You ignore his comment for your sanity. “I’ve been on a few, yeah. All of them went nowhere. I’m not the type of person who goes on multiple first dates, though. That kind of stuff doesn’t happen for me naturally.”

“Don’t you use dating apps?”

You laugh humorlessly. “I tried for the first year. Had people swipe right and talked a little, but nothing ever transpired from that. I wondered if I was that awful to talk to or if people who used dating apps were shallow. I deleted them one night and never redownloaded them again.” 

“Dating apps are a scam anyway. Jaeyun uses them from time to time and runs into that same issue. Ever the romantic at heart, even though he won’t admit it.” 

“I want to meet someone naturally and get to know them before I decide anything.” You look at Sunghoon. “Sorry, was that too personal? We’re still at the office.” 

“Nah. Don’t worry about that. I was the one who asked. So you’re the type of person who believes in fate.” 

“Kind of? I don’t know if I’d put it like that, but I’m like you. I don’t want to force things if it’s clearly not going to work out. I’d rather save my time and breath instead of wasting it.” 

“I think that’s admirable.”

“It’s slow and miserable, is what it is.” 

Sunghoon throws his head back and laughs. “Slow and steady wins the race, doesn’t it? 

“It’s taking its sweet ass time.” 

“Don’t tell me you’re the type to date to marry.” 

“Absolutely not!” 

“Just making sure.” 

“I want to like the person I date and not go out with a bunch of guys to see who sticks. That seems unproductive. I want a guy to take me seriously and not look at me like I’m a sack of meat, for once. Someone who will put me first and not leave me unsatisfied.” 

The tips of your ears burn red when you finish your sentence. The implication of your words ring in your ears as you look at Sunghoon, but he looks at you like nothing you said was out of the ordinary. If he’s picked up on what you mean, he doesn’t tell you that he does. 

“Love is a hard thing to find. I don’t know what I’d do if I had it.” 

“Me either. Quitting this job isn’t about finding a boyfriend, per se, but it’s part of it. I want to have enough time to do whatever the hell I want, and that includes dating.” 

Sunghoon doesn’t say anything for a minute. He looks at you like he’s trying to decipher something, and you’re having a hard time keeping still under his watchful gaze. But he turns his attention to the empty takeout cartons and the empty Thai tea cups, putting them back into the plastic bag before tossing them into the trash can. You watch as he compiles the documents back into its holding place before he looks at you. 

“We’ve spent a lot of time talking but we haven’t moved an inch with these projects. Are you up for coming back to my house and working for an hour or two? I can’t think in this damn office anymore and I want a glass of bourbon.” 

“I don’t know. I need to feed Pochi. I also drove to work today.”

“Tell your neighbor to do it. I’ll drive you to the office tomorrow morning.” 

When Sunghoon pulls into the driveway of his ginormous penthouse, you tell yourself the latest you’ll stay is ten o’clock. It’s half past eight and you’re not the least bit tired, which concerns you. Your neighbor has agreed to watch Pochi and knows where you keep your spare key in order to take her back to her apartment. Once she’s sent you a picture of Pochi eating from her bowl, you allow yourself to relax. 

His garage hides behind a served driveway that makes you feel like you’re at the entrance of a luxurious hotel. The garage itself looks like it could store five cars and Sunghoon’s Supra sits right next to the BMW he drives when he goes to work. The Supra is a convertible and what he likes to call his “weekend car.” It’s the vehicle he uses when he’s not working. It’s the one he used to pick you up when the two of you went to dinner. 

The foyer is as grand as you remember it. His interior is minimalistic with elements of nature scattered across the house in the form of decor. Photographs of sea and forests, sculptures, and delicate souvenirs decorate the living area. You’ve never been able to tone down your amazement when you visit. Sunghoon is clean and meticulous. His home reflects that. 

Like the gentleman Sunghoon is, he offers you alcohol when he pours himself a glass of bourbon, but you elect for ice water if you want to make it through the night on these projects. You need to be laser focused because you run the risk of sleeping right on his marble counter and on top of the documents currently sprawled out against the large kitchen island. He provides a salty, crunchy snack because he knows you don’t have a sweet tooth like he does. You cave in eventually and eat a few chips. 

It’s all business talk for the next hour and a half. He jumps from topic to topic in order to make sure everything is accounted for and things that need attention get taken care of. Working with him feels like fighting with a partner in crime. You understand the way his brain works and you’re able to keep up with him when he’s talking at a million miles an hour. This is the kind of attitude he puts up when he’s networking, and you’ve learned over the years that seldom do people get the full, talkative Sunghoon unless he’s trying to get something out of them. With you, it’s a never ending cycle of conversations and opinions. You hear from him more than you don’t and he doesn’t shy away from talking your ear off. 

It does make you feel special sometimes. Sunghoon always indulges you and never puts your ideas and opinion on the backburner. You like that he’s able to carry a conversation and knows when to shut up (for the most part). He gives you the same level of enthusiasm back and respects your space when you come into the office without your mood to socialize. Those days are for getting work done only, and you’ve come to appreciate Sunghoon’s ability to know when you aren’t feeling like yourself. 

It comes with working together for six years, naturally. Seeing each other more frequently than friends and family creates some kind of mutual understanding. You’d like to think it’s a great working relationship so far. Sunghoon starts with the big ideas and you fill in the details. He’s able to pull innovation out of you and you’re able to reel him in and think about logic. It’s like a perfectly oiled machine with no hiccups. It’s been like this since you can remember and you’ll miss it when you leave. 

Eventually, ten o’clock comes and your eyes grow tired of blinking. Sunghoon feels the same, as his tie is far too loose around his neck and his hair is sticking all over the place from him running his hand through it. You’re no better, either. Your hair is down from its updo and your makeup is smudging to the point of no return. 

You’re about to pack up and leave when Sunghoon stops you. 

“Stay the night.” 

“What?” 

“I’m too tired to drive you right now.” Sunghoon yawns. “I’m sorry, I know I said I would. I didn’t think I’d be so tired. You can stay in my guest bedroom.”

“I’ll call a cab or take the bus home.” 

“It’s late and I don’t want you out there by yourself. I’ll be awake and wondering if something happened to you.” 

His words feel oddly sentimental in the dead of night. You shake it off, though. You’re both tired. 

“Pochi needs me, Sunghoon. I can’t expect my neighbor to watch her without saying anything.”

“Text her, then. If she doesn’t want to, I’ll call you an Uber home.” 

you: Hi Nabi, I’m so sorry to text you so late. I’ve been caught up at work and don’t think I’ll be back until tomorrow. Do you think you can watch Pochi overnight and put her back in my apartment before you leave for work tomorrow?

nabi: ah, I see. you’re with your hot boss, aren’t you? If that’s the case, don’t worry about it. I’ll make sure pochi gets breakfast and replenish her water 

you: You’re a SAVIOR

nabi: didn’t deny being with ur hot boss. interesting 

you: Goodnight :) 

“Nabi’s gonna watch my cat for the night.” 

Sunghoon smiles tiredly. “Great. Let me show you to the guest bedroom and get you some clothes you can change into. There’s makeup remover and skin care stuff in the bathroom.”

“Do you make it a habit of keeping girls to the point where you keep that stuff in your house?”

He laughs. “No, but my sister comes to visit me often enough that I know to keep it in case she stays later than planned.” 

“That's…sweet.” 

“Just trying to be a good older brother.” 

He leads you to the guest bedroom and you’re far too sleepy to marvel at the sheer size. Sunghoon fetches a shirt and sleep shorts, both of which are a bit bigger on you, and bids you goodnight. It feels weird being in his house and staying the night, but Sunghoon was right. There’s no use calling a cab when you’re like this. You slip under the covers hoping for a restful, dreamless night. 

Except, you wake up three hours later and can’t seem to fall back to sleep. 

It’s like your body knows you aren’t where you’re supposed to be. You don’t recall any kind of dream when you realize you’re awake and staring at the ceiling. Tossing and turning don’t seem to be like great options either because it makes you feel even more restless than before. Surely a glass of water won’t be too much. Sunghoon is probably in his room and you watched where he grabbed his glass from. 

As you make your way towards the kitchen, you see the faint light of a television screen from around the corridor. Sunghoon sits on the couch in front of it. He’s watching a rerun of a drama that premiered earlier this year on low volume. When he hears your footsteps behind him, he turns around and is surprised to see that you’re awake. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” 

His voice is so raspy. Shit. 

“No. Don’t know why.”

“Me either.” 

He pats the seat next to him and you sit right next to him. Neither of you speaks, too engrossed in the drama to address how different the atmosphere feels. There’s no work, no obligations, and no boundaries that exist here. It’s like his living room is some kind of liminal space that’s putting you through a limbo you’ve never experienced before. Sunghoon’s body heat radiates into you and it feels like you might as well be sitting next to a human furnace. 

Neither of you talk about why you can’t sleep. You’re not sure why you’re having a hard time, especially since the guest bed is far more comfortable than the one you have back in your apartment. But you do notice Sunghoon peeking at you every once in a while. It makes you feel a bit uneasy because you’re not wearing any makeup and your hair is surely a mess from sleeping, but then you start to notice that he’s looking at you when the couple on the television screen kiss. 

It almost feels like you’re in a movie scene when you look back, too. Sunghoon catches your eyes and doesn’t look away this time. He holds your gaze and you gulp when you see his Adam’s apple move. 

Are you dreaming right now? Is this some kind of test the universe is putting you under? 

Time seems to have slowed down and you’re drowning out the noise of the television the more Sunghoon looks at you. At this moment, he isn’t your boss. He’s not somebody who you’ve learned from, nor is he somebody who is miles out of your league. Sunghoon is the handsome boy next door who you’ve had a small crush on for the past six years but have ignored for the sake of keeping the peace. He’s the guy you’d notice in the grocery store and would think about when you two eventually part ways. 

All of your thoughts cut off when you realize he’s leaning in close to you. 

On instinct, you lean in closer, too. The distance between the two of you closes slowly. He inches towards you like he’s attempting to be as cautious as possible, and you’re following his lead. Your body aches for him. That much you know. 

Sunghoon’s lips touch yours eventually and it’s nothing like the hot and steamy dream you had the night prior. Instead, it’s delicate like the touch of a feather. Neither of you dare to touch one another more than you already are with your knee brushing the side of his thigh. His lips feel so good against yours and that’s all you can think about. 

He pulls away after a brief moment and when he doesn’t see any resistance, Sunghoon moves to touch you. Sunghoon cradles your jaw so delicately and it’s a new feeling for you. Nobody has been this gentle while he’s touching you, and your confident demeanor lowers just a little bit. His lips are dangerously soft and warm. The sound of the kisses bouncing off of his walls makes you fall that much deeper. 

When you open your eyes for a peek at Sunghoon, his eyes are completely closed. 

You surge forward and put more pressure into the kiss. He responds well and matches your desire, tilting his head to the other side as if to explore this part of your mouth. It’s so wet and warm. Sunghoon’s hands move from your cheeks to your shoulder until it runs right down your arm. His fingertips dance along your own until he reaches the bottom hem of the shirt you’re wearing. 

Sunghoon’s hesitation turns you on even more. It’s like he’s trying to withhold himself from touching you even further for the fear of making you uncomfortable, and that grace alone makes you want him to touch you even more. Without a word, you push his hand underneath the material of the shirt, and Sunghoon grips your thigh like he’s never felt you before. You can’t remember a single time somebody has turned you on by a mere touch. Something about Sunghoon makes you want to run without looking back. 

There’s no real battle for who gets to be in control. You’re enjoying your time and it feels like Sunghoon is too, especially with the way he caresses your jaw while his lips are on you. You feel so safe in this moment and it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. Should kissing always feel like you’re ready to lose your inhibitions? Surely, this is a first for you. 

You don’t know who moves first, but you move onto his lap with his hands moving to your waist. He keeps you there like that with his mouth attached to yours and your arms balance on either side of his head while you sit yourself down onto him.

Sunghoon is rock hard underneath you. The two of you feel it. You gasp in shock and Sunghoon opens his eyes to look up at you. 

He’s big. You know he is. That taste of his imprint practically makes you salivate when you feel his dick perfectly slotted against your core for just a second. It excites you to no end, but the way Sunghoon’s looking at you makes you quiver.

“Fuck…” Sunghoon pushes you up and looks away from you to look at his dick straining against his sweatpants. “You weren’t supposed to make me hard.”

“You weren’t supposed to kiss me.”

“But I’ve always wanted to kiss you.” 

Sunghoon leans up to push a short lived peck to your lips. 

“I’m your assistant.

“That you are,” he says with a smile.

“And you’re my boss.” 

“That I am.” 

He smiles anyhow and maneuvers your body until he’s above you. Your back hits the cushions and all of a sudden, you can see just how turned on Sunghoon is. He looks like a mixture of innocent and mischievous, and you decide that’s a dangerous look for you to receive. 

Sunghoon bends down to kiss you again, this time with a little more bravado than the mere peck. Your arms wrap around his muscular shoulders as you pull him closer into your body. He braces himself with one arm beside the couch cushion and in the process, his covered dick pushes right against your core.

The feeling of Sunghoon slowly grinding against you is magnetic. It makes you grind right back into him and use his body as leverage to push yourself up from the couch. You let out a sharp moan when the fabric of your panties creates a delicious kind of friction against your clit. Sunghoon closes his eyes shut and moans too. 

His pace is moderate, but it’s enough for the two of you to become a bit lost. Sunghoon’s imprint makes you wetter when you realize he’s really big. It makes you shudder when you picture what it’ll feel like if Sunghoon puts it inside you. 

The two of you open your eyes at the same time. It’s as if some sort of veil has been uplifted when you see his sweaty forehead and when he sees your shirt ride up your body. The two of you back away from each other like fire and ice.

“W-Wow,” you stutter.

“I’m a good kisser, don’t you think?” 

You swat his bicep. “So arrogant and yet you were rutting into me like a dog in heat.” 

“Can you blame me?” Sunghoon asks, biting his lip. “You look like that while wearing my shirt.”

“Like what?”

“Sex on legs.” 

You choke. 

“Sunghoon.” 

He laughs and looks at the clock. It’s so late. You turn to look too, and the time makes your heart rate pick up. It’s past midnight and you two have to be up in four hours. 

“Shit,” you mumble. 

“Don’t want it to end, love?” 

You look back at him and, for whatever sheepish reason, nod. 

“We’ll have more time tomorrow.” 

Sunghoon bends down to kiss you twice more before pulling himself up and offering you a hand. He pulls you up as well and turns the TV off and leads you to your room before opening the door for you.

“Sunghoon—”

“I’ll make you cum tomorrow,” he promises before kissing you one last time. “For now, get some rest.” 

Your knees buckle when he looks you up and down. Sunghoon’s devilish grin doesn’t falter until you’ve forcibly closed the door on his face. 

***

taglist 1: @i58ssj @motherscrustytoenailclippings @immelissaaa @sunnyjayjays @skzenhalove @tobiosbbyghorl @babystrlla @sagegreenhairclip @doririsstuff @second-floors @sievenderz @favoritten @kiikiisblog @ynzyy @jessicaradreamer @questionsdearreader @leeymws @wonislife17 @semi-wife @synamon @letwiiparkjay @spicxbnny @bbinwrld @25dejulho @globaloppaaa @1-800-peakyblinders @heesunghooney @ambi01 @simpforskz143148 @shaysimpss @steddie-steddie @ning2lover @fairystudio @yujinxue @dearmyfavoritepeople-bts @in-somnias-world @mellowgalaxystrawberry @1ckyw1ckyyyyy @kgneptun @ithinkulikeme @kristynaaah @jessxxxfwd @lovingjongseong @intoomanyfandom-s @jeoncarla008 @just1moodz.

please adjust your setting if i couldn't tag you x

[thetriumphantpanda]

take me to florida | joel miller

summary | turning up on his doorstep covered in blood was not was Joel had expected of you, and when you open your mouth, he expects it even less. There's a shitstorm in Texas you both have to escape from, but how long can it last?

pairing | Joel Miller x F!Reader

word count | 4,496

warnings | it's a lot. Descriptions of murder (stabbing), blood, violence, domestic violence and the death penalty (yeah idk either don't ask), basically reader does a bad thing to someone who did bad things to her. One singular slap (reader to Joel). Mentions of adultery and cheating. Explicit smut - grinding/dry-humping, fingering, rough sex, biting, squirting. No use of y/n. No outbreak AU.

authors note | *taps mic* is this thing on? Hi! It's been a whilst hasn't it?! I've been doing life, enjoying being offline and in love and all of that stuff, but the new series has my brain WHIRLING and I wanted to share this with you all. I wrote most of this back in the autumn last year and was inspired to finish it, so here you go. Let me know if I've still got it! As always if you enjoy this, please like, reblog, comment or scream in my ask box. I've missed you.

Divider by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

It’s viscous, dripping down the back of your hand, seeping through the webbing of your fingers. Crimson staining the floor as it drips from the tip of the knife, pooling around the body, slumped against the wall now. Your limbs are heavy, vice grip on the handle easing, arm dropping to your side as the knife clatters to the floor. Your chest is heaving, sucking in air, you steady yourself by putting your palms against your knees, bending over, trying not to throw up. There’s a pool of blood forming against the toe of your shoe, deep red staining white canvas. No-one ever mentions how messy it is, but then again, not many people stick a knife into their husband’s ten times. There are splatters across the wall, you can feel some of the warmth seeping down your forehead, you can taste it on your mouth when you lick your lips to wet them.

You let out an animalistic groan as you straighten up, the fucker deserved it, you think, picking the knife up from the ground, wiping both sides of the blade against the white of your tank top. Pushed you and pushed you until you broke. Put his hands on you one too many times with no remorse, no punishment. Called you a useless whore for the last time. There was some sick sense of satisfaction the bloomed when your mind replays the the look of shock on his face when you’d stabbed him the first time, like he couldn’t believe you had the guts. By the fifth time, there wasn’t anything behind those eyes of his, but you added five more just to be sure.

There’s a rage simmering underneath your skin still. Rage at the fact that no matter how many police reports you’d filed, how many hospital trips for split lips and black eyes, the law were going to come for you, and you’d go down, no doubt about it. That distinct feminine rage that a man could push you to the limit and back, and it’s still going to be your fucking fault when you stand in front of a jury and plead your case. The mad woman, the violent woman, the unhinged woman. It makes you want to scream, makes you want to thrash, maybe it makes you want to stick the knife into your own middle and twist it deep. You don’t though. You take the knife, run it under the tap until the water down the drain runs clear, wipe it dry with the towel and then shove it into your bag.

The mad woman indeed, you think, unhooking your car keys from the hook by the door. Well, if they wanted to fucking fry you, they were going to have to catch you first.

The darkness makes this easier. The hood pulled up over your head, covering your face just enough that the few passing cars don’t notice a thing on the drive there. There’s only one place you think to go, one person you know will understand, probably getting ready to go to bed on the other side of town, none-the-wiser that you’re on your way to him, covered in blood with a murder weapon sitting on the front seat of your car.

His home is unassuming. Two levels, two bedrooms, one for him - brown wood and dark - the other for his dead daughter - still pink with the sheets messed up, not made or changed for years as some sort of fucked up shrine. His truck, parked on the driveway, right next to yours. Most of the houses on the road have their lights turned out, families tucked up and sleeping for the night, but the light in his lounge is on - hard day at work, you think - as your fist knocks against the wood.

It takes him a minute, but then again, it always does, with his aching knees and his sore back, but he opens the door anyway, looking at you with confusion for a second, like he’s forgotten you’d arranged something, until you look up at him, let the light hit your face and show the blood spatters, drying and flaking, then his eyes are concerned, his big hand on your shoulder, dragging you inside.

“What did he do?” He’s asking, voice gruff.

He does this a lot, when you turn up in the middle of the night, bruises on your arms or lip split and sore, threatens to kill him, threatens to kill the cops who won’t do anything. Soothes your wounds, puts plasters on you, and then fucks you into his mattress and promises to run away with you. Well, jokes on you Joel Miller, you think as he leans you against the kitchen counter to look at you, I already fucking did kill him, and now you’re going to have to run away with me.

“What did he do to you, baby?” Voice still gruff, but tinged with concern this time, his hands cupping your face, turning it into the light to try and find the injury.

You cup his face too, congealed blood in the palm of your hand smearing across his skin, catching in the coarse whiskers of his beard, “He didn’t do anythin’ Joel.” You whisper, watching as the realisation hits his face and he takes a step back from you, dropping his hands like you’ve burned him.

“What did you do?”

You smile at him, the way he looks a little scared, “I killed him, Joel.”

He sucks in a breath, takes another step away from you, pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs, “Why the fuck would you do that?”

You scoff, “Why the fuck do you think?” You snarl, “Had his hands around my neck,” You say, moving your head to show the red marks where his fingers had squeezed, “Told me I was a stupid whore and just squeezed harder.”

Joel’s eyes soften as he takes a step back towards you, “So I stabbed him,” It’s so matter of fact, “It was that or it was me Joel, do you understand?”

“Well then we go to the police,” He says, trying to reason with you, “One stab wound in self-defence and they’ll understand.”

“Ten.”

“What?”

“I said ten, ten stab wounds.”

He’s silent now. Those brown orbs staring directly into your soul. You can see the snarl of his top lip, the faint twitch in his left eye, “Fuckin’ hell, baby.”

And then it’s a whirlwind. You’re stood in his bathroom and he’s taking off your clothes, forcing you into the shower and scrubbing your skin raw like he doesn’t trust you to be thorough enough in doing it yourself. He shoves your blood-stained clothes into a bag, along with his own, worried that there’s enough blood on that shirt that they’ll come after him too. He dries at your skin, gives you the single set of clothes you keep at his house to change into, dressing himself frantically. Then he’s shoving more of his clothes into a duffle bag, avoiding your eye as he swipes the picture frame off his chest of drawers - the one of him and Sarah, soccer trophy in her hand - and shoves that in the bag too.

When he’s satisfied he has everything he needs, his palm grips the scruff of your neck and guides you down the stairs, like he’s scared you’re going to bolt, only letting go to put his boots on and pick up his keys. He makes sure to turn all the lights off, even the one on the porch, letting you go again to lock his door, then his hand is back on you, guiding you roughly to his truck, where he opens the door and waits for you to get in.

“Where are we going?” You ask.

“Just get in the fuckin’ truck baby.”

You’re two hours into the drive before he speaks, clearly trying to focus on getting as far away from the scene of your crime as he can. He’s silently fuming, having had to go back and put you back in your own car, have you drive behind him until he pulled onto the side of some deserted country road. He sat you back in the passenger seat of his truck, took the bag of bloodied clothes and put them in the boot of your car. You watched in the rear-view mirror as he doused it in petrol from a can and then set fire to it.

Neither of you looked back as you drove off.

“Are you okay?”

It makes you laugh, a full body-shaking laugh, the kind of laugh where you have to bite your lip to stop yourself. His hand is back on your shoulder, rough and tight, as it shakes you, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What the fuck do you think is wrong with me?” You spit, “I just killed my fuckin’ husband Joel, don’t ask stupid fuckin’ questions.”

He’s sailing down the highway, hand still gripping at your skin, “Do you have any idea what we’ve just done?” He asks, eyes forward, not looking at you, “You have any idea what they’ll do when they catch us?”

“Yeah, I got some notion.” You sigh, sinking back into the seat.

“What did you do with the body?”

You shrug, “I just left it there.”

“How long do you think we got?” He’s finally letting go of you, both hands back on the wheel.

“Couple of days,” You hum, “He ain’t due at work until Monday,” It was Friday now, “No-one’s gonna look for him until he doesn’t show.”

Joel nods, finally relaxing into his seat as much as he can, but he’s tense, you both are, and you’ve got to be careful. One wrong move and this is all going to unravel.

It’s silent then for another couple of miles until he speaks again, “I’m sorry,” He says quietly, “I’m sorry he did that to you and I’m sorry that you had to do that.”

“I’m not.”

It comes out at easy and breathing. Your asshole of a husband deserved it. Years of beating you around, of belittling you in front of your friends and family, all those nights of being curled up, forced to unravel and undress and lie there in the dark whilst he used you. You’re not sorry you had to do it at all.

You’re in a motel in Alabama when the news hits. It’s a shitty place, middle of nowhere vibes, with a receptionist who couldn’t have given less of a shit about the two of you when you arrived. Handed the keys to a room to Joel once she’d insisted on him paying cash for the three nights he wanted. Joel’s not long come back from the store down the road - a large bag of chips, two cans of soda and some candy shoved into a plastic bag, enough to stave off the hunger for the evening.

You’ve actively avoided the news until now, settling instead on trash tv for background noise, but it’s Monday, and you know that as soon as your shitty dead husband didn’t turn up for work, it would be a shitstorm back in Texas. There’s a woman, sitting behind a desk, looking incredibly morose over a dead man she doesn’t know. You listen intently to what she’s saying as Joel cracks open your can of soda and hands it to you.

It’s the basics right now, he’s been dead a few days, a brutal murder and the police are following all open lines of enquiry. They don’t mention you, they don’t mention Joel and there’s no appeal for witnesses. You sigh out some kind of breath of relief that you’re okay for now, but you know in the back of your mind you have to get moving. It’ll only be a matter of time before your photograph is pasted across the news channel, Joel’s too - you have to move on.

“Where are we going to go?” You ask quietly, sipping the sugary cold syrup from the can.

“Where do you want to go?” He replies just as quietly.

“Mexico?” You offer, it’s the only place you know that criminals go, crossing the border and down into South America to disappear into obscurity.

“Gone in the wrong direction for Mexico, baby,” He shrugs, “Maybe we head into Florida, lay low as much as we can, and then move on from there if the heat follows us?”

“Sounds good.”

There’s something about Florida that feels freeing. Sure, you’re in a dead end town, nowhere near a beach where you could enjoy the sun, but there’s something about the air here that feels different. Joel manages to find a small apartment for the two of you. Conscious that he doesn’t want anyone to know your faces when they start getting plastered across the news channels, he phones a number from a newspaper, asks for the keys to be dropped somewhere outside and three days ago you’d let yourselves in and settled down.

Joel had gone out and bought new clothes for the two of you, the old ones thrown in the bin, not sure any amount of laundry would have taken the smell away. He stocks up on simple groceries, and for the third night in a row, you sit down to spaghetti with tomato sauce from a jar. You’ve got the news on again, low on the volume, but just enough that you catch the news anchor speaking, “We have a development in the Austin murder case to bring you tonight.”

The spaghetti in your mouth turns to lead and what’s already in your stomach threatens to reappear when Joel turns around to find his face plastered across the TV screen.

“Austin local Joel Miller has been reported missing today by his brother,” The anchor continues, “And police have been open in explaining that they believe his disappearance is connected with the murder of an Austin man, found days ago in his home, stabbed to death.”

The camera cuts to a shot of Joel’s house, covered in police tape with an office stood outside his closed front door, and then to add insult to injury, the familiar face of Tommy Miller comes into view. He’d known about you, met you plenty of times, you think he liked you even, pulling cold beers out of the fridge for you and asking you how your day had been.

“I just wanna know where my brother is,” His Texan twang rings out, but you’re not watching him, you’re watching Joel, and the tick of his jaw as he grinds his teeth, “I don’t know where he is, but Joel, if you’re listenin’, come home brother, whatever has happened, just come home.”

Joel’s fist clenches the TV remote, turning it off, bathing the room in a dead silence that feels stifling. You don’t know what to do, except chew the spaghetti in your mouth for what feels like the hundredth time in an attempt to make you swallow it. He won’t look at you, instead he stares down into his bowl of unfinished food, jaw still twitching in the way it always does when he’s angry or stressed.

“Joel…” You trail off when he brings a hand up to signal you to stop talking.

“Don’t say anythin’.”

“They just think you’re missing,” You offer, trying to lessen the blow.

He snorts, shakes his head and looks up at you finally, his dark brown eyes blown almost black.

“Missin’, huh?” He scoffs, “And when Tommy airs this whole affair we’ve been havin’, tells the police everythin’ he knows about us, what then?”

You scoff right back, getting up from the table, chair scraping across the floor as you do, “So what, you wanna run on back to fucking Texas and leave me here?”

“I didn’t say that,” He sighs, standing up too, “I’m just sayin’ it ain’t gonna be long until they realise what really happened, and then what?”

“We move on, just like you said.”

“We don’t have that kinda luck baby,” He’s started to pace, “They’re gonna find us eventually, and I don’t know how you’re gonna talk yourself outta ten stab wounds.”

“Oh fuck you, Joel,” You spit, sanity hanging by a thread, “Yeah I stabbed him, maybe I even fucking enjoyed it, but you’re just as guilty in this as I am, you’re harbouring a criminal right now, even if they don’t know it yet.”

“I’m as guilty as you?” He pries, stepping closer to you, making you step back against the kitchen counter, “I didn’t stab him baby,” His voice is dripping in sarcasm, “That was all you,” He drags out, taking another step towards you, “They might arrest me baby, but when they catch you, they’re gonna give you the damn chair.”

It all happens in such a blur, his taunting tone and the way he’s caged you in against the kitchen counters. Before you even know what you’ve done, your hand has flown up and slapped him right across the cheek, following by a spitting “How fucking dare you.”

You’re both breathing heavily, the sound of sucking breath the only thing you can hear in the room. His eyes are darker than ever as he takes one more step, tangles his fist in the hair on the back of your head and tugs hard, before his mouth is hot and open against yours, tongue sliding against yours. It’s the first time he’s touched you like this since you left Texas, hot and full of want as he presses his entire body to yours, your lower back digging into the edge of the counter. You groan into his mouth, let your arms wrap around the broad expanse of his shoulders, and melt into the hand his puts on your lower back.

There’s a fumbling of limbs when he finally lets go of the grip he’s had on your hair, palms against the globes of your ass as he pulls you up, legs wrapping around his waist. He’s kissing you as he walks to the couch - it’s old, pattern faded, and when you sit on it you feel the springs pressing into you from below, but none of that matters when you’re legs are splayed wide across his thighs, straddling him as his hands rip open the blouse he bought not two days ago. It’s torn from your body, cups of your bra pulled down, nipple sucked into his mouth, his tongue swirling it into a stiff peak before he’s switching to the other one.

Your hand is on the back of his neck, gripping tightly to the unruly curls there, body leaning back in pleasure as your start to subtly grind your hips down into his.

“I fucking hate you,” You breathe, knowing you don’t really, not deep down, just for right now, “This is all your fault.”

“All my fault?” He asks, voice gruff as his teeth nip at the delicate skin on your breath, “I didn’t force you to stab him.”

He sucks your nipple back into his mouth, this time adding his teeth, not enough to hurt, just enough to make your cunt throb.

“You shouldn’t have spoken to me that night,” You moan out when he lets your nipple go with a pop, moving to the other one, “If I didn’t know you existed this never would’a happened.”

You hear him chuckle a little against your skin, as if it’s not a bare-faced lie. Whether he’d have been here or not, you’re sure that knife would have found it’s way into your husband one way or another. Joel just adds a complication, another person who doesn’t need to be caught up in this.

He doesn’t reply, all he does is grip harder to your ass through your jeans and drag you across the growing bulge in his own. You can feel him pushing up into you, the friction of the clothes between you making you sigh as you continue grinding yourself across his jean-covered cock.

It goes on like this for a while, kissing and biting at each other, until Joel has enough. His hands move from gripping painfully to your ass to effortlessly unbuttoning and unzipping your own jeans. You lift up just enough for him to pull them down over your ass, taking your underwear with them. There’s awkward fumbling whilst you try and manoeuvre them off your body whilst staying as close to him as possible, but eventually you get there.

Before you can settle back to rubbing your wet pussy along the bulge of his trousers, his hand cups you. The heat is stifling, almost unbearable, hot skin against hot skin, but when his fingers find you soaked, and he’s pressing two inside you, everything makes sense again.

Nothing outside of this room matters. Not for the next few hours. The police, the dead husband, the nightmares that have started to creep in at night. None of it matters anymore. Not when Joel curls his fingers just perfectly, making you cry out to the ceiling with your head tossed back. When it’s like this you remember why you did it, to be with him, and only him.

“Knew this would’a shut you up.” Joel murmurs into your skin, face pressed between your breasts as he nips marks into the skin there.

Your hips are working in time to the thrusts of his fingers inside you, shamelessly grinding yourself into his palm so it’s not just his fingers inside that are setting you alight, but the palm of his hand rubbing against your clit on every move forward you make.

You can feel yourself tightening around him, getting closer, and you know he can feel it too, his fingers getting harder inside you with each push.

“Come on baby,” He coos, “Let go for me.”

And it’s always been that simple. He only has to say it and you do. Soft screams filling the room as your cunt spasms around his fingers. Body shaking as he holds you to his own, working you through it.

There’s no real reprieve for you after. Joel shifts you so you’re lying face down on the couch, and through the haze you can hear his belt buckle being undone and the zipper of his jeans being pulled down.

His hand fishes underneath your body, pulling you up so you’re draped across the arm of the couch, ass splayed upwards and legs spread wide. His hand runs up and down your swollen cunt a few times, gathering your wetness which you know he’s using to pump his cock with, before you feel the head of him at your hole.

He’s unforgiving when he pushes in, giving you everything all at once as he surges forward inside of you. He’s touching the deepest parts of you and you swear you see stars. You hear him sucking in breath behind you, his two hands gripping your ass to pull you open you he can watch himself slide in and out of your cunt.

There are no words spoken between the two of you, the only sounds that can be heard are the sounds of his skin slapping against yours, the obscene squelch of you cunt when he pushes in, and the moans you both let out.

He’s rough, but you don’t mind. You want it to consume you, the pleasure and the tinge of pain every time his cock nudges at your cervix. It means you don’t think about anything else, just how good this feels, how good he makes you feel and how right it feels now that there isn’t someone else to think about. Joel has always felt right, like the person you were always meant to find, but it’s different now.

One of his hands comes up to grip your wrist on the arm of the couch, dragging it underneath you until you feel your cunt.

“Rub it for me baby,” He growls into your ear, “I wanna do this one together.”

So you do - you circle your clit with your middle finger, pressing harder and harder on every circle as he pounds into your cunt like it’s the last time he’ll have you like this. He’s gripping the back of your neck, pushing you further down into the material of the couch.

“Come on baby,” He groans above you, “You can do it.”

“Joel,” You squeak out, almost pathetically, “I think I’m gonna-”

“Go on then baby,” He says, “I’m right behind you.”

You let yourself go, feeling your cunt squeeze his cock as you gush around him. Your mouth is dropped open but there is no sound, only the hot spark that flushes across your body when he buries himself as deep inside of you as he can and stills, filling every inch of you with his cum.

His body falls onto yours, both of you struggling to catch breath as you recover. Joel eventually moves enough so that you can both lay down, pressed up against his body, almost uncomfortably so. His skin is hot to the touch and you can see small bruises on his neck and chest starting to rise where you’d bitten him - you suspect you must look the same.

There’s silence for a while, his hand tracing gently up and down your back, before you can think to ask anything.

“What are we gonna do, Joel?”

It takes him a while to respond, probably weighing up his options. There aren’t many. He goes home and has to explain everything to the police and goes to jail, or he stays here with you, keeps running and hope for the best.

He’s quiet when he says it, but you can tell when he does speak that whatever he’s feeling is genuine. He’s too far in now, there’s no going back, and you both know that.

“We keep runnin’ baby.”

[muntitled]

Boa

Pairings: Geum Seongje x Fem!Reader

Summary: You're just a kid, caught in a gangster’s crosshairs. What happens when you don’t deliver like you should…

Warnings: Language, Dom!Seongje, Gangsterism, Bullied!Reader, Coercion, Bullying, Extortion, Mentions of Rape, Smut +18 (mdni), Dark fic, Dubious consent, Public Sex, Exhibitionism, Desperate Sex, Humiliation, Degradation

A/N: I'm not responsible for the media you consume. I wrote this for me so...

Ever since you've started working for him, you've learned to get extremely acquainted with the floor.

"I'm sorry, Sir…” your voice is brittle as you try to make yourself heard in the suffocating internet cafe, “I'm short on delivery today..."

Hardwood. Tile. Linoleum. It's become all too familiar to you. The floor is all you see in his presence.

You never looked Seongje in the eyes unless he addresses you first. He likes that, you suspect.

It's kept you alive this long so you must be doing something right.

"I got assigned a kid to tutor and..." you clear your throat, not daring to make direct eye contact, choosing instead, to keep your eyes trained on the dirty, cold floor.

The internet cafe is the very last place you'd want to be on a Friday evening. You were caught right in between two challenging essay due dates- one for English and one for AP English. Both hung gravley over your head, threatening to set off your sympathetic nervous system and have you fainting from academic stress. Seeing him was the very last thing you needed.

"That tutoring time fucked with my system and-" despite all your achievements, despite the academic prestige and the boundless knowledge… in Seongje's presence you feel insignificant.

A bug he's letting scurry around for no other reason except his enjoyment. You didn't want to get stomped on. You saw what happened to the other kids under his thumb and it kept you up at night. All that blood. All the merciless sadism.

You aren't dumb enough to hope an exception would be made for you.

"I'm sorry,” you conclude, and for a second, you get no response. He plays his game. His friends remain silent.

That's all until he pushes the bridge of his glasses up further against his nose. A calm, quiet sigh leaves his lips.

“Before you started working for me, do you know what you were?" Seongje doesn't take his eyes off the screen. His fingers run deftly over the keys as he speaks to you without ever really acknowledging you, "You were in an alleyway, about to get raped by Eunjang scum."

"Yes, Seongje, I know-"

"And in return for my kindness, what did I ask of you?"

"FUCK- COVER ME BRO!" Your eye snaps up to the source of the loud and sudden burst of energy. Your frightened and pitiful eyes find a boy seated adjacent to Seongje and his goons. He's bent over his screen, clearly not a part of the group. Clearly far too young.

Your heart sinks when you realize Seongje's eyes are trained on the boy too.

"Ya…” Seongje raises his voice a decimal above the cacophony yet it has you flinching. “Too loud,” he says to the boy, “Didn’t anyone teach you shut up when adults are talking?” he asks monotonously to the boy- a child really- still mourning the loss of his avatar on the screen. He doesn't pay Seongje any mind.

Of course he doesn't. He's a kid.

How could he have known?

He came to an internet cafe to play a game with his friends.

It's the boy's innocence that hurts the most.

He doesn't know that the monsters under his bed are very real.

They walk where he walks.

They don't hide.

They move about freely.

Your heart makes like the titanic and sinks.

"Excuse me for a second." Seongje addresses you politely, finally giving you a fleeting glance before pushing himself out of his gamer chair. You see his entire row of friends (if that's what one could even refer to them as) remain unfazed as Seongje rounds the table to stand directly behind the young boy.

He’s bigger, far bigger as he pushes the rims of his glasses up, staring directly at you

"I know you're smart so you're probably aware that your fuck-up won't be tolerated-” he says to you, despite slithering his arm around the boys neck like a boa as he squeezes. Everyone keeps their eyes trained to their computers. Your fist curls at your side. You want to look away but you can't because you're speaking to Seongje. You wouldn't want to aggravate him further by showing him his mindlessly violence bothers you. So you try not to flinch.

You try not to let the casual violence scare you. How nonchalantly he speaks while an elementary school boy flails in his arms, begging to be released from the headlock making his lips turn blue

“You knew there'd be a punishment,” Seongje is still speaking to you. You hold your breathe in solidarity with the boy choking in his arms, “-for fucking up your delivery-” crimson blossoms onto the little boys face but Seongje keeps his eyes on you, appearing unfazed by the boy flailing like an animal in arms, "And yet you came anyway. That's the kinda work ethic, I like-” he smiles, “I like it alot-"

Eventually, after what feels like forever, he lets go of the boy. You finally breathe as well, watching as the kid slumps forward ingesting the air in horrid gasps.

Seongje bends forward, patting the boy on the back.

"No more interrupting when I speak, yeah?" Whether the boy was new to this particular internet cafe, it was unclear, but you hoped to whatever divine being that he wouldn't dare come back.

"So I'll let it slide-" He turns his attention back to you and you watch, still shaken up as Seongje leaves the little boy to make his way back to his side of the table. When he breezes past you he smells like nothing. Like his eyes, everything about him is empty.

"Thank you, Seongje-"

He nods before adding, "After you get on your knees." The goon sitting nearest to you, all the way at the end of the table, his fingers hover over the keys, and just like before, the room is rid of all air.

"Excuse me?”

He pulls out his chair for you, like some mimic of a perfect gentleman he opens his arm, gesturing you in.

"I want you on your knees, under the desk.” His words hang above you all. It has tears threatening to spill. Bile rising.

“What’s with the face? Its not like I’m asking you to suck my dick,”

"Seongje, I need to get home-"

"If you can't do it yourself I'm more than happy to help."

That has your legs moving into action. In your periphery, it feels as though everyone's watching you. A thing in psychology called the imaginary audience. When you're so self-conscious you concoct this idea of being the center of attention… only this time, it's real. You know they're all watching you. You know no one will do anything about it.

"Under the desk you go," he chuckles before sitting down and pushing his chair back in. You back away, creating intense distance between you. Your back hits dirty wires and your knees press hesitantly down onto the grime just to achieve a more comfortable position. Everything you see is his legs, his friends legs and you're suddenly hit with the overwhelming urge to cry.

You want to scream at him to let you go. He's hijacked you from your endless pile of homework and yet the very thought of standing up for yourself causes a sea of nausea.

So you sit there in the dark, not knowing when this punishment would conclude. When would he let you go home? That sends you into another spiral. You've heard Seongje could game for 24 hours straight. Maybe more if he was in close vicinity to food and a bathroom. You knew this internet cafe would close eventually, that gives you the smallest sliver of hope and so you do your time.

Never once does he acknowledge you- the girl under his desk. Unbeknownst to Seongje, you catch one of his fellow gang members sneak multiple glances at you under the table. They all do. Like they enjoy seeing you under here. As time passes, and you slip further and further away from the stress, you realize that down here, on the floor, under his desk, the world is small. It's quite comforting actually and that wasn't the trauma talking.

You've always liked small spaces.

It definitely beat dealing with whatever he had going on up there half the time.

Slowly, your body begins to shut down. Your energy plummets from all the stress and all the thoughts. This is the first time you've been forced into a spot for too long doing nothing. No essays. No tutoring.

Due to tendencies from your childhood that you should've gotten rid of, you find yourself curling up against his leg. He stiffens and you snap out of the exhaustion long enough to reel back. Especially when you see his hand reach under the table. Your heart hammers in your chest, not a single word spoken as his hand searches for something. You move a bit closer until his hand catches on your hair. You wince as he drags you closer, pushing your head against his leg as you had done.

He leaves you there. You try to regulate your breathing as you feel him adjust in his seat above you.

You shift as well. Not your head. He clearly wants you there. But your legs are uncomfortable. You try to kneel and it's ridiculous because your head never leaves his leg.

No position seems comfortable enough until he stretches his leg out, right in between yours and you're made to straddle it. Above you, his fingers are still hitting the keys and you try to disassociate from the fact that his leg is pushing against your cunt. You try to sneak a peek at the surface, his glasses are trained on the screen. Not knowing whether it's your exhaustion making a reappearance but you could've sworn you hear the words, "good girl," release from him in a low drawl.

Something in his tone has you shifting over his leg. Your cunt warms against his leg and you fight the urge to buck against him. All you had to do was remember who it is that you're currently touching. That conscious reminder has you once again hellbent on doing your time with concrete resolve.

That resolve breaks.

It shatters when he eases his back against the chair, enough to once again slither his hand down towards you.

He curls his fist into your hair and tugs.

He pushes you down and lifts you up and you mindlessly follow his movements until you realize he's coaxed you into riding his leg.

He lets go of your hair, satisfied when your hips move out of their own accord.

You hate how good it feels to quite literally be beneath him. You look up and you whimper oh so quietly when you see that small smile play on his lips while his eye remains on the screen.

He's given you new instructions now and so you don't dare to stop moving your hips against him. Despite the damp spot forming on the seat of your underwear. You're not sure what it is that allows you to lose yourself so easily. Perhaps it's all the expectations that melt away when you're doing something so pitiful. You're breaking for him and he's letting you. You're not in control of anything and there's freedom in that.

“F-Fuck-” you didnt mean for the words to slip. There are still other people here but you also couldn't help the wave of pleasure that pushed up so suddenly. Your clit is moving against the fabric of his pants just right and your eyes threaten to roll to the back of your head.

The second that whimper escapes your mouth, he stiffens again.

You watch as he leans back again, this time his hand isn't reaching out for you. It's to ghost over the bulge forming in his pants. Somehow that spurs you on more.

You grind against him desperately and before he can take his hand away, this time you reach up for him.

You watch him closely. The glare from the screen reflects on his glasses. His jaw, tight.

He controls the game easily with one hand, while you bring the other into your mouth.

You're not sure where this other side of you came from. This vixen who rolls her tongue out and forces his index and ring finger into her warm mouth.

He becomes more and more restless… His breath hitching. Seongje's fingers hit the keys more aggressively, while his right hand forces his fingers further down your throat. His hips buck upwards and you can see the damp spot forming where his cock is straining against his pants. He's about to cum in his pants and you're about to cum on his leg and it's far too much for you.

You know his friends are about. You try to preserve even a sliver of dignity but it all goes out the window.

“Fuck-” he spits out, slamming his fist on the table before abandoning the game. There's a fire in his eyes as he sits back to watch you peer up at him with complete and utter desperation.

“What a fucking slut-” he snarled, cleaely audible enough for not only him but his friends too. It has your mouth snapping open. Your back arches as you try to watch him watching you cum on his leg.

You've never held his attention for this long and it sends you off the edge.

“S-Seongje-” you barely squeak out as your cunt spasms against his leg. You rut uncontrollably, spurred on by the name That fell from your lips as if your body needed a reminder of just who it was making you cum. Your tormentor.

It has you seeing stars.

For all of 11 seconds.

Until it comes crashing down on you. Your pitiful act has you reeling. Mind spinning.

You don't want to look up at him but you have nowhere else to look. Your heart sinks when you see a smile form slowly across his lips… Somehow you knew you'd never be rid of him.

[spaceyaemonds]

pairing: dr. jack abbot x reader

sum.: jack says some things he doesn’t mean after meeting your neighbor. the two of you somehow manage to quickly make up, though

warnings: age gap (jack is late 40s, reader is 23), unplanned pregnancy, jack is divorced, not a widower, slight angst, they argue (LIGHT term LOL), jack insecure and says some things he doesn’t mean out of jealousy, (probably poorly written) smut, unprotected sex (she’s already pregnant so 🤷🏻‍♀️), creampie, i think that’s all??? minors DNI.

notes: ahhh okay finally!!!! ugh sorry this took so long! there will be a slight timeskip between this part and the next part. i think i have this drafted where there will be 15 parts in the main story, as of this moment, with lots of side drabbles and future drabbles/one shots!! i am SO excited! unedited. and as always, any feedback is extremely appreciated, it helps keep me motivated. especially reblogs/comments/asks!

wc: 1.4k

prev next

The last thing Jack expects when he gets to your apartment is to find some guy standing in your doorway talking to you.

You’ve got a smile on your face that makes Jack almost stop in his tracks, an uneasy feeling creeping in his stomach.

He must catch your eye, because you look in his direction, and the smile on your face widens.

“Hey!”

He gives you a half smile before glancing back at your friend, who looks at him with furrowed brows.

“Oh! This is my neighbor's son. Jack, this is Dan. Dan this is Jack, my,” You pause briefly, “friend?”

It comes out a question, and he doesn’t have the right to get upset and he knows that, but it stings.

Dan glances at Jack, “Hey, man. She mentioned she was expecting company, so I was just leaving,”

Jack looks at you as Dan turns back to you, “If your computer keeps giving you a hard time, just shoot me a text or give me a call,”

Dan leaves with a wave, and Jack has no right to, but he feels out of place in the doorway of your apartment for the first time.

You don’t notice how quiet he’s being as he follows you into your apartment, talking animatedly as you tell him about your day.

He stops in the entryway to the kitchen, still silent as you put your oven mitts on to take whatever you have baking in the oven out.

“But anyway,” You sigh, setting the pie you made on the counter, “How was your day?”

You look at him, slightly taken aback by the look on his face.

“Jack, are you okay?”

Brown eyes finally meet yours, “Who was that guy?”

You frown, “Dan? He’s my neighbor’s son, like I said. They helped me get the desk up here, and he offered to just help me get it put together since he didn’t have anything to do this afternoon. I took him up on his offer, since I figured you would be really tired after a long day,”

He looks at you, half amazed you would even consider that, but half annoyed that you assume he’d be too tired to help you.

“I wouldn’t have offered if it was going to be any sort of issue,”

A pout forms on your lips, “Well, I know that, but I just,” You sigh, picking at your fingernails, “I hated the thought of you working all day and then coming here and dealing with all that mess,” You gesture with your hands towards your office

He sighs, feeling like an asshole, “I’m sorry. I had a hard day and…” He trails off, not sure what exactly to say.

You smile softly, “No worries,”

He gives you a half smile, “Do you know your neighbor well?”

You bite your lip in thought, “Well, I’ve known Carl since I moved in. But I didn’t meet Dan until almost a year ago,” You laugh to yourself, “He used to work in Philadelphia, but moved back here to take care of his dad. Carl actually did try to set us up once,”

Jack tenses up again, “He did?”

You nod, moving to plate the pasta you made, “Yeah, right after my ex and I broke up actually,” You frown at the thought for a brief moment, then shake the thought away, “but I wasn’t ready to date. And Dan isn’t really my type anyway,”

The statement makes Jack feel slightly better, but his mouth moves quicker than his head before he can stop himself, “So, just a dad that tried to set you guys up? Nothing else?”

You frown at his tone, at what he’s implying, gently setting the plate of pasta down and turning your whole body towards him, “Yes? What would make you think there was more to it than that?”

He looks away from you, “Don’t know. Jus’ felt like I should ask,”

All of a sudden you’re angry, “We’ve already had this conversation. And I already told you. You were the first guy I slept with in almost a year,”

He knows he shouldn’t do this. Shouldn’t let this blow up, “Well, I don’t know. You could’ve lied for all I know,”

The anger leaves your eyes as quickly as it appeared, hurt being the only thing remaining.

“I think you should leave,” You try to keep your voice firm. Steady. But all that comes out is a whisper.

He instantly regrets it, but to avoid upsetting you further, he leaves. He stops at the front door, mind screaming at him to turn around.

He closes the door quietly behind him.

Two hours later, you’ve finally finished cleaning your apartment. Between the mess with the desk, piled up laundry, and the dinner you didn’t even eat, the place needed a good clean.

Just as you're about to go to bed, there’s a knock at the door.

Sighing, you answer it without checking, shocked to find Jack there, hands in his pockets.

“I’m sorry,” His eyes don’t leave yours, “I don’t know what came over me earlier. I-“

He sighs, cutting himself off, “I don’t have any right, or claim on you, to act like that. I know this situation isn’t ideal for either of us but,” He shoves his hands in his pockets, “I think we have this connection, outside of the obvious,” head tilting towards your stomach, “But we don’t know each other, and I, fuck I don’t know,”

You’re softer and kinder than he deserves, “You got jealous?”

He huffs out a laugh, “I’m too old for that shit,”

You open the door wider, allowing him to come in, “You don’t deny it, though,”

He sighs as the two of you make your way to the couch, “The thought of you being pregnant but us never meeting again has been really eating at me. The idea of you, somewhere out there, pregnant with my baby, raising my baby, alone or with some other guy,” A pitiful chuckle leaves his mouth, “it makes me sick to my fucking stomach.”

You hum, fingers moving to his curls, scratching at his scalp. He closes his eyes at the sensation.

“You never said anything,”

He opens one eye and huffs out a laugh, “We’ve just started getting to know each other. This is a delicate situation. Plus,” He sighs, hand grabbing your wrist, “I don’t want to make you more uncomfortable than you might already be.”

Now it’s your turn to huff out a laugh, “If I was uncomfortable with any of this, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

He looks at you with both eyes open now, “Yeah?”

You just nod, causing him to let out a sigh of relief.

The two of you just sit there, looking at each other, for a few minutes.

Jack isn’t sure who moves first, but the next thing he knows, your mouth is on his with your hands in his hair. One of his hands cradles the back of your head while the other finds purchase on your hip, pulling you closer to him.

He groans into your mouth when you tug at his hair. His tongue licks the seam of your lips, begging for you to open them.

You comply, and he moans at the taste of cherries as your tongue tries to fight his for dominance of this moment.

He pulls you into his lap as you begin to tug at his shirt, begging him oh so sweetly to please take it off.

Who is he to deny you.

Clothes are removed quickly. Next thing you know, his pants are pulled down just enough to free his cock, and you’re down to just your bra.

You don’t even give him the chance to feel how wet you are, how badly you want him, before you sink down on him.

You both gasp into the kiss at the feeling of your cunt gripping his cock tightly.

Your hands fist his hair as his gently hold your waist, helping guide you up and down, hips thrusting up to meet you in the middle.

It would be embarrassing, how quickly you manage to make him cum, if you didn’t cum at the same time, a whiney whimper of his name leaving your lips as his fingernails dig almost too tightly into your hips as his seed paints your walls white.

There’s a lot, an obscene amount of him inside of you. He can feel it sliding out of you and dripping down his balls and onto your couch as you lay slumped against his chest.

Jack runs his hand up and down your spine, trying to catch his breath.

After a few minutes, you finally sit up straight, his cock still inside you.

“Do you want to sleep in my bed tonight?”

He huffs out a laugh before nodding, grabbing your jaw and bringing your mouth back to his, fighting off a groan as you grind your hips against his when you start to deepen the kiss.

[bluukive]

!MDNI: JJK Men x make-up sęx

warnings: angst kinda, degredation, fem!reader, consensual

ᡣ𐭩 G. Satoru

He talks a big game during arguments, throwing his hands in there like he's in some sort of performance. Satoru's sarcastic, even playful. But it's all an act to conceal how his heart is painfully hammering in his chest. He's hurt, and so are you. Satoru mopes around like a kicked puppy once you essentially tell him to fụck off and give you space. Satoru is terrified of losing you. It's like you've ripped his heart out when you tell him to leave.

Satoru gives you like, an hour max before he's back. More words are exchanged until you're bullied against the corner of some random wall, body smothered by his lanky one. He's begging so sweetly, mouthing wetly at your shoulders, neck, jaw. Anywhere he can get his mouth on. It's embarrassing how you're just letting him rut his hips against your own like it's the last time he'll ever get to touch you like this. It's even worse now that he's laughing a little at how you reciprocate, tịts right up against his. You can act as pissed as you want, but Satoru knows your body better than anyone else ever will.

He taunts you the entire time. Once you're finally dripping all over his cọck, Satoru doesn't let you cụm until he can feel the sting of your nails dragging down his back and chest. That's the least he deserves for being such an ąss to you. But he wants you to cry for him whilst he forces his thumb away from your clịt, edging you repeatedly until you apologise. It's only fair since he did first. He even makes you say thank you after he lets you climax.

Satoru can feel his lips dampen with your tears once you're done taking your frustrations out on each other. You don't even know when you started crying, but he's there to put you back together again. His large palms are squeezing at your waist, running up and down your back as you both collect yourself. Another apology leaves his lips. He won't stop until you're looking at him in the eyes again.

"Are you seriously still mad at me? Let your Toru kiss you better."

"Tell me. Use that sweet mouth of yours and say that you forgive me."

"Honestly? I can't fụcking breathe without you."

ᡣ𐭩 G. Suguru

Suguru hates it when you both fight. He feels like he's failed as a partner when he watches the way your eyes gloss over with tears. He doesn't have a choice but to give you space because if he doesn't, he'll just overbear you with attempts to fix things again.

When he's back, Suguru's on his knees, kneeling between yours. He's quiet and begging with his eyes first before he does anything else, hair hanging down in loose strands. Your eyes are on everything but him, but that does nothing to stop him from gently coaxing your hand in his and kissing your soft fingertips, your wrists, and finally, your thighs. Like he's worshipping you.

You're yelping and throwing your arms around his neck when he finally picks you up and carries you bridal style to the bedroom after your persistant silence. Suguru wants to make it right. But something about the bedroom atmosphere makes Suguru switch. Clothes are discarded and torn off, and your hips are held down as he fụcks you deeply and deliberately. You'll feel him for days after. Suguru gets pịssed if you try looking at anything but him. It's futile to try and hide from his reverent devotion. His slender fingers are harshly guiding your face back up as his large robes conceal you both. He didn't bother taking them all off. There are mutual bite marks littering both of you, and Suguru takes an enjoyment in watching your hips jerk when he licks the sting away with a languid drag of his tongue.

Suguru uses both hands to hold your head in place when your ọrgasm hits you. He refuses to let you look away as you sniffle and convulse beneath him. His own ọrgasm is triggered by yours, but he can't focus on that. All he can do is press his lips in a worshipping manner all over your skin as he murmurs the word 'sorry' over and over again.

"I know, I know. I fụcked up. Give me a chance to make it right, hm?"

"Shịt- you know you're all m-mine, right?"

"Hurt me. I don't care. Just don't fụcking leave me."

ᡣ𐭩 S. Ryomen

Sukuna's so mean. He really does fight dirty when you dare argue back. Usually, he enjoys it. But sometimes, you strike a nerve in him that has him saying cruel things he doesn't even mean. It's all just a defence mechanism he uses to avoid actually being vulnerable for once in his life. You're slamming doors when you think you're both done, hiding in the bedroom you both share. He's busy pacing around alone like a feral animal.

He stalks into the room not long after, though. Without knocking. Sukuna looks like he's about to snap with how stiff he stands if you don't touch him right that second. He's infuriated when you just sit there, sulking with your brows furrowed. There are no apologies leaving his lips any time soon, not when he's manhandling you onto all fours once you give him more of that sass he loves. Your back is in a nasty arch, face pressed against the bed as he fụcks one of his cocks into you, as if he's trying to breed you on the spot. You're drooling, and he just licks it all up after grabbing your hair and pulling you up to his chest.

Sukuna is filthy. He's got you folded, spitting into your mouth and watching your fụcked-out face swallow it all. Some escspes the corner of your lips, which he greedily licks back up again. His teeth are dragged down your throat as he makes you cry to be filled up. Sukuna doesn't accept anything less than you becoming utterly limp after he's done with you. He wants you to depend on him, make you realise that all you need is him.

When you're both done, you can't move. He's fụcked his apologies into you, holding you in place in bed. Sukuna's completely wrapped around you, and you can hear low grunts and tuts leaving him if you even dare to think about moving away from him.

"Little brat. I should have thrown you over my knee the second you gave me an attitude."

"Hate me all you want, wife. You're mine, and you can't do anything about it."

"Don't you dare move. Not even an inch."

ᡣ𐭩 N. Kento

It's rare you both argue, but when it happens? You hate it. He tries staying respectful, but Kento eventually grows eerily quiet. When he does speak, his voice is incredibly low and clipped. He's being snide underneath all that faux politeness, yet he can't stop. Kento forces himself to take a breather.

He HATES himself for it, and you do just as much. Kento's eyes are bloodshot when he's back, much like yours, and his shoulders are hunched. After a brief word of consolation, he's grabbing you and kissing you so heavily, like a dam has burst. As if he'd die without letting you know how sorry he was. Whilst he rips off his own clothes to the point there are buttons scattered all over the floor, Kento undresses you so carefully. He doesn't want to cause you anymore pain since the memory of you looking so hurt by him is burned into his mind.

You're both pent up, it's obvious. Kento keeps sẹx to just missionary, his forehead against yours as a lump forms in his throat. He's doesn't hold a single negative thought towards you, no. He's disappointed in himself that he let the argument go that far. All you can hear is him asking if you still loved him whilst he thrusted as slowly as he could. If you felt good, if you forgave him.

Kento feels it all deeply, much like you do. You can see the sweat mixing with the occasional stray tear coming from your dear husband as he tenderly rubs at your clịt. He's incredibly passionate and tender, but memories of him during that argument has the pleasure you feel ebb away. He notices it immediately, the way your face falls flat. Again, Kento's kicking himself for it, and the rhythm of his hips falter. He holds you tighter, praying that his actions and words are reassuring. He holds your face, murmuring about how devoted he is, how he'll be a better man for you.

"I swear. I never want to speak to you like that again."

"I need to hear it, m-my love. Please, tell me you won't leave."

"You still love me, don't you? I love you, too. I swear, I'll never stop."

ᡣ𐭩 T. Fushiguro

Doors are slamming, he's muttering filthy curses under his breath, saying things he didn't think twice about. Toji's genuinely the worst when he's mad. Even when he returns from his quick breather, he's still seething and unable to voice out how shịtty and sorry he feels. Toji looms over you, both pịssed and impressed at the audacity you have to get an attitude with him. He's backing you up onto the bed, and you don't even realise. You're too busy cussing you out, and he figures a cute thing like you could get it out of her system. He just wants you even more.

You find yourself whining at the sting of his hand connecting with your ąss, and the force of it makes you jolt forward on the bed. Toji lets out a satisfied grunt at the pitiful noises you make, a hand holding the back of your neck as he's fụcking consecutive orgasms out of you. The air around you both is hot and heavy, but also thick with unsaid words. Apologies that both of you are too stubborn to say out loud.

His cọck is heavy inside you, throbbing with the need to make you cụm first. It's his way of apologising without speaking. Toji kisses with teeth, nipping at you and sucking your lower lip into his mouth to get you to cry for him. But with you, he needs to hear you're sorry out loud. He's stopping his own movements completely until you're babbling mindlessly about how you'll never act up again (which is a lie).

He's surprisingly quiet after, his breathing heavy as he smooshes your cheeks together. Toji's calmed down, and so have you. He enjoys the way you try to push his larger body off yours, but he won't budge, because you're right where he wants you. There's no way he's letting you go any time soon. Not until you know how sorry he really is.

"Still being a little bịtch, huh?"

"I see. You just needed some dịck, didn't ya? Is that why you were acting up?"

"Louder, brat. Say you're sorry. Properly."

an - idk how to feel about this one

[4bsurdcreature]

Something is wrong.

Something is wrong something is wrong something is wrong.

You don’t drop your drink on the bar floor, you place it gently on the bar it was served on, as you feel your heart pulse in cut time, while your face flushes and your hands shake. Next to you, a warm smile, a gentle hand, a deep voice asks,

“Are you alright?”

And your heart sings, your pulse leaps, all you can think is I love you, I love you, I love you! and you feel sick with the infatuation of it all. “I’m fine.” is what you eventually say, but it comes out unstable, higher pitched, than you want it too, and in turning away you watch your friends trade glances with one another.

“She’s in love!” One of them, Rachel, says to the other.

“I never thought I’d see the day!” The other, Beth, replies.

Something is wrong! You try to tell them, but you can’t get the words out, as they trade giggles and hushed tones while you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom.

----

Inside, you face yourself in the mirror. Water has done nothing to calm the fire in your gut, and the butterflies in your stomach swirl to a stampeding rhythm.

You’ve never been in love before, and you never thought you would be. You love, you have always loved, or sometimes loved, or kinda sorta loved, before. But you’ve never been *in* love; beyond passing curiosity, you’ve never wanted to be. It took a while to be okay with that, and an even longer time to acknowledge it, but this is how you are and regardless of how you, or other people, feel on putting a term to it, it’s how you imagined your future remaining.

Asexual. Aromantic. The bane to love-song propaganda. The constant butt of every joke that cries “This is what it means to be human! To Love! To Love! To Love!”.

Right now, you don’t feel human. This feels wrong, like a violation, like someone reaching into your nerves and burning them with the uncomfortable jolt of electricity, forcing you to jitter and move against any conscious choice. Forcing your blood to rush, and your mind to fill with him, him, Him!

Ants bearing love notes and centipedes scrawling heart-felt confessions skitter and scrape across the undersides of your skin. You would cry, you think, if your mind wasn’t cotton stuffed full of Love.

“There you are!” Rachel says, entering the bathroom to find you, shaking, wiping down your face one last time with water and crumbling brown paper towels.

“Something is Wrong.” You tell her, finally able to think without that man drowning your thoughts, content to be a constant undercurrent for now.

“I’ll say!” She laughs, “Look at you, you couldn’t take your eyes off of Joshua back there!” No, no no, she has it wrong. You’re not here to think about Joshua’s soft blue eyes- Stop it! Blue: ice scrapping, chilling you to the bone.

“You don’t get it. This isn’t normal. I can’t stop thinking about him. I’ve never felt like this before.” You try to impress. You want to scream. You want to throw up, a little, too, but you can’t tell if that’s you or the Love.

“Twenty-seven is pretty late to get a first crush, sure, but Joshua’s a nice guy, I get it! Not to mention big, strong, and handsome~” She does that thing with her voice. That double entendre waver that you always thought was a little gross, when talking about someone in love.

Why doesn’t she understand- “No, I mean- Don’t you think it’s weird? Isn’t this out of character? I don’t-” You can’t, “But now-” You can’t even say it, “It won’t let go. It won’t stop. I want to be with him, I want him to be with me! I feel weird! This isn’t right!”

“You’re being dramatic... but I guess that makes sense- it’s your first time, after all! Oooh, I can’t believe I got to be there when you fell in love for the first time! This is so romantic, it’s like a fairy tale! No one was right, no one fit, you had resigned yourself to living a Loveless life, until suddenly, He appeared!” She sighs, dreamily. You think you’re going to be sick again.

But still, you stop and think. Stop to partition the little idiot in your brain that keeps designing cursive versions of your name next to Joshua, blossoming with bloodstained hearts in-between. Resigned, that’s how Rachel phrased it. Is that how she saw it, saw you? The bathroom door opens- it’s Beth. She’ll understand.

“You two were having a gossip party without me?” Beth says, but there’s no hurt in her eyes as she gives a sly smile.

“She’s In Love~” Rachel taunts you, incriminating flush branded deep in your flesh burning all the brighter.

“I saw!” Beth squeals, and your stomach drops, hope failing, while your Love soars.

“Beth, you’ll listen to me, won’t you?” You ask, desperate, a last ditch effort “This isn’t normal, this isn’t right- I think maybe someone poisoned my drink-”

“Oh, she just won’t stop.” Rachel cuts you off, rolling her eyes, “She’s convinced, that just because she’s never been in love before, that must mean there’s something wrong.”

“Being in love isn’t wrong!” Beth responds to Rachel, sympathetic gaze turned towards you, reaching out to hold your hands like you’re a child needing comfort, “Sure, you’ve never been in love before, and change can be scary when you’re not ready for it, but shouldn’t you be celebrating? Now you know you were wrong! It is possible for you to love! Isn’t that wonderful?”

You’ve known Beth the longest, you’ve confided in her the most. Every moment of your life had been charted out and experienced with her by your side, your best friend and confidant. She knew you before you had a name for what you were, and she had always acted supportive of your decisions. She was the first person you told, when you discovered your relationship with love.

Beth looked so happy, as she said those words ‘Now you know you were wrong!’

You can’t. You can’t look at them. But you also can’t stay here.

“I’m going home.”

“Already?” Rachel scoffs, arms crossed, looking at you like you’ve said something ridiculous.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of!” Beth calls out to you, as you shoulder your way past her to leave.

----

No one believes you. You think that’s the worst thing you’ve discovered, about being in Love.

They see how your rash of a blush spreads when you talk about him, how you choke and stammer out praises mixed in with your loathing. They think you’re an idiot, new to your feelings, bumbling about them like a hormonal teenager, Love too big to think clearly. That last one is true, (Love all but suffocates you) but not in a way that you can make people listen.

It’s amazing, how few people truly care, when they think it’s about Love.

You ask for help, but it’s not the kind anyone wants to give.

‘Self Sabotaging’, ‘Repressed’, ‘Denial’, you’ve learned there are a million different ways to tell you that you’re wrong for thinking it’s wrong you’re in Love.

----

It is with vindictive satisfaction that you eventually prove your claims correct. When enough time had passed without you throwing yourself at Joshua like he undoubtedly assumed you would (and you were terribly grateful you were able to prevent), you caught him in the act of poisoning another drink. You had proof, and you took it to the right channels; you were cured and he would never do it again.

You were overjoyed, for a bit, but the victory itself was tainted. You stopped the villain, but the damage had already been done.

How quickly did those close to you turn, and how alienating it was, for no one to believe you. Puppeted by Love, reciting poetry of rotting verses, they mistook sweetness for healing rather than underlying disease. They must have seen the festering spread of Love as something to fill in the cracks of your character, instead of covering what little of you there was left beneath it all.

A gift in disguise, you think bitterly to yourself, as you wash the whole event clean. If your friends and family wanted you to be in Love, they can hold onto that fantasy- you don’t plan on speaking with them again, after all. They can read about what happened to Joshua in the news, and you can find a better group of people to spend your time with.

It is with peace you find yourself, in a life without Love.

"Aro/Ace person gets given a love potion" story but instead of them being immune or whatever, it DOES work, and they realize IMMEDIATELY that they've been fed a love potion because this feeling is so wrong and foreign but everyone keeps laughing off the idea of it being a love potion because "they were probably just a late bloomer" or "no, you just finally found the right person!" and it's just a horror story about how no one believes them even though they know, they KNOW this isn't right and they can't stand it.

[ceoofglytchell]

A Monster‘s Bride

Summary: In the middle of the war, you are urgently called to Harrenhal to finally fulfill your duty and wed the Prince Regent Aemond Targaryen. However, you have heard what man he has become and the haunted halls of the ancient castle are not the only thing you are afraid of.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon!Reader

Word count: 5737 words

Warnings: MDNI, Angst, brief dubcon, Reader has Baratheon features, unwanted touch, mean!Aemond (at first), arranged marriage, dark fic, brief suicidal thoughts, secret longing, Alys Rivers making a cameo, brief smut at the end, no mention of Y/N

Notes: My first ever solo Aemond fic! I hope you like it! Likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated. Enjoy 💛

The first time Aemond Targaryen kissed you was the night he became a kinslayer.

He was supposed to choose one of the daughters of Lord Borros Baratheon of Storm's End to marry. He looked at all of you, all of your sisters, and leaned down to press a kiss to your lips.

You were the last.

You had watched him kiss each of your four sisters for a few seconds, but he never showed any reaction. Except maybe with Maris, when he grimaced afterwards.

And then he finally leaned toward you and pressed his lips against yours, his hand resting on your cheek. You stood still, not knowing what to do because you had never been kissed before. By no one. Not even by the stableboy you had liked for a while.

But the prince did not lean back as quickly as he had with your sisters. He sighed against your lips and ran his long fingers through your hair. When he finally pulled away and rested his forehead against yours, you could feel that he had found his answer.

"What is your name?" he whispered, out of breath.

You whispered it to him, and only then did he lean back, a small smile playing on his thin lips. It was the first and last time you would see him smile.

"Well, my prince? I hope one of my daughters is to your liking," said your father, who sat on his throne not far from you, scrutinizing you with eagle eyes.

"I want her," he replied simply, placing a hand on your shoulder, whereupon Lord Baratheon laughed softly.

"My youngest. She inherited her mother's beauty. I assure you that she will make a good wife for you."

Prince Aemond leaned back and let his one violet eye roam over your figure. He did not know how your mother had looked like, but she must have been beautiful. You were by far the most beautiful of your sisters. Long, raven-black hair, pale skin, a light blush that spread across his cheeks, and full lips that begged him to kiss them again. You proudly wore the colors of your house—black and yellow—and looked at him like a small, shy fawn.

He knew immediately that he had made the right choice.

"Please, speak to her. Even if she is quiet, I assure you she has a tongue," Lord Borros laughed, making a hand gesture that indicated to your sisters to step back.

Gently—too gently for a man of his status—he took your arm and led you a few steps away from your father's throne.

"Tell me of your interests, my Lady Baratheon," he demanded, but he did it in such a gentle tone that it did not sound like a demand. He gave you the illusion of a choice.

You hesitated, but then gathered your courage: "I enjoy reading, my prince."

Something flashed in his eye, recognition or perhaps interest. "What exactly?"

"Poetry, my prince. History and philosophy I enjoy as well," you answered him, looking down at the ground beneath your feet. The stone was cold and wet, as it often was these days.

"And beyond? Besides literature. What else excites you?" he asked you, his one watchful eye boring into your soul.

You were just opening your lips to answer him when you suddenly heard the sound of armor striding through the door. The guards had arrived, and among them was a young man—a boy.

He was brown-haired, wore a sword at his hip, held a message, and wore the colors black and red.

Your eyebrows furrowed in question, but you immediately noticed the prince's attention shifting completely away from you and his shoulders tensing.

You quickly learned who this boy was. Lucerys Velaryon. The boy who stole the eye of your betrothed. One of the many bastards of Princess Rhaenyra, who now wanted to be called Queen, even though her half-brother Aegon had only been crowned King a few hours ago.

A war was looming on the horizon, and the thunderstorm raging over Storm's End seemed to be only a harbinger.

"Give me your eye or I will take it, bastard!" your betrothed suddenly shouted, rushing toward the boy, but your father's loud voice held him back.

Lucerys disappeared as quickly as a frightened mouse, and Aemond adjusted his eyepatch, which he had apparently ripped off his face while talking to his nephew.

You did not see it because his back was to you.

Arrax flew away over Storm's End, and the One-Eyed Prince hurried off.

There was no goodbye; planning the wedding had not even been a topic of discussion.

It was not until the next morning that you discovered what monster would soon be bound to you.

Your betrothed was a kinslayer and the one responsible for the war that was about to come.

Your sisters repeatedly examined you with pity and sadness. Even in the weeks that followed, when you heard no word from the prince, they all knew that the gentle deer would soon be in the clutches of a bloodthirsty dragon.

You became fearful.

Every time you heard a guard approaching your chambers, you feared that your betrothed had come to finally claim you as his wife.

You did not want to become his wife.

Even though you could not forget the feeling of his lips on yours and longed for a gentle hand to pull you in, you were afraid of the chaos he would bring.

But he did not come.

Not even a letter reached you.

You had started one once, but you simply did not know what to write him. Why are you not coming back? Do you still want me? Has the betrothal been annulled?

You barely knew him.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months.

Your betrothed had now also murdered Princess Rhaenys and her dragon Meleys and now bore the title of Prince Regent. He was now on his way to Harrenhal to face Prince Daemon, who had already been residing there for a few weeks.

"My Lady! My Lady!"

The panicked voice of your handmaiden woke you in the middle of the night, and you sat up straight, your eyes wide and questioning.

"The Prince Regent—he has gone mad! He is burning down the entire Riverlands, and the Blacks have taken King's Landing! The king has fled, Rhaenyra now sits on the throne!" your maid explained to you, grabbing your shoulders as if she were trying to force the news into your body.

"What?" you asked her, not quite registering the words yet.

"Look!" your maid cried, jerking the curtain aside so you could look out the window.

And indeed—there were wisps of smoke in the night sky, and the distant sky was drenched red like blood.

You were the bride of a monster.

The very next morning, you emptied the entire contents of your stomach into the nearest pot at breakfast when a raven arrived with the news that the Prince Regent had slaughtered the entire House Strong.

Neither man, woman, nor child survived the massacre at Harrenhal.

You began to pray every morning, every night, that the Stranger would come for you. To you or your soon-to-be Lord Husband. You did not want to be held by hands soaked in blood.

You refused to carry the heirs of a madman.

Unfortunately, you had no choice.

The raven arrived a week later, just as the sun disappeared over the horizon, making way for the moon. Your father delivered the news to you personally.

"The Prince Regent wants you to join him at Harrenhal immediately," your father said in a monotone voice, your nails digging deeper into the leather cover of the book that lay in your lap.

"Did he write why?" you asked him, and although you tried to keep your voice as emotionless as possible, it still trembled.

"To secure the royal line of House Targaryen," Lord Borros replied, letting the small note that had been in the prince's blood-soaked hands just a few hours earlier fall into your lap.

You flinched. Slowly and carefully, as if his words contained a curse, you opened the note and ran your eyes over the dried ink.

The ink, too, looked like blood under the flickering candlelight.

The words were simple, but you could still hear his voice deep inside your head.

To Lord Borros Baratheon of Storm's End,

I hereby request the immediate presence of your daughter, my betrothed, at Harrenhal. With the pretender seizing the throne, the bloodline of House Targaryen hangs by a thread. Your daughter is needed to secure it. She will want for nothing.

May the Warrior give us strength in these times of war,

Prince Regent Aemond Targaryen

You dropped the note into your lap. Your hands trembled and you felt like you could not breathe.

"I will have your maids pack your things. A carriage will be waiting for you in the morning, daughter. Rest well," your father said before closing the door to your chambers behind him, leaving you alone again.

That night, lying alone in your bed, with the smell of your home spreading around you like a warm blanket, you considered opening the window and jump.

But were the Stranger's arms gentler than the prince's?

You closed your eyes, and in the far distance, in the cold ruins of Harrenhal, a cold-hearted prince did the same.

You dreamed of shadows haunting you. Of blood staining your dress, dripping to the floor, and carrying with every step. In your dream, you screamed when you saw him—his sword raised, flames surrounding him, his silver hair wild, his gaze mad, and his one eye resting on you and you alone.

The prince dreamed of gentle hands resting on his shoulders. Of a warm smile that could banish the cold of these corridors, and of a kiss he could not forget.

But you had one thing in common. You both awaited the morning. You with a heart full of fear, and he with a heart full of longing.

You hugged each of your sisters for several seconds before boarding the carriage. Cassandra waved goodbye to you, Maris turned away, Ellyn cried, and Floris embraced her tightly.

You were sure you would never see them again.

You traveled for thirty days.

After all, it was about seven hundred miles from Storm's End to Harrenhal, and you had to avoid King's Landing at all costs. The route took you and your guards from Storm's End northwest through the Stormlands, then through the southern Riverlands, which were still burning. The carriage passed Blackhaven; in the distance, you could see Tumbleton, from where you had continued southwest to Harrenhal.

The carriage stopped at two taverns along the way. The first was The Weary Traveler Inn, which was near a busy trade route. The food was good, and you were able to refill your water. You could also change and wash there.

On the outskirts of Tumbleton, you stopped at The Golden Stag Inn, which was even friendlier than the one before. You and the four guards who rode in the carriage to protect you stayed one night.

You knew it would be the last time you would see anything but blood and death, which is why you stayed late into the evening talking with some of the women who had sought shelter in the building after their homes burned down in the fire.

The fire your betrothed was responsible for.

You were not him and could not apologize for his actions, but when you finally left, you left behind a sack full of gold, which they would need more than you.

It was more than he would ever give.

The carriage bumped over the uneven ground, its wheels creaking under the weight of the ride and the strain. Thick fog surrounded them, creeping up from the shore of the Gods' Eye, and in the distance, the tall towers of Harrenhal loomed, almost like dark shapes, like the jagged teeth of a long-dead beast. The sun had not quite risen yet, bathing the ruins of the once-magnificent castle in a pale, sickly light.

The high stone walls loomed tall and imposing, while the ever-present whisper of the supposedly cursed place seemed to be carried on the wind. Everyone knew the rumors about this place. The dark expanse that dwelled within. You were sure that whatever dwelled there would quickly take a liking to you.

Hopefully, it would take pity on you and grant you a short stay.

As the carriage approached the gates, even the street seemed to grow colder, prompting you to pull your cloak tighter around your shoulders. The air felt stifling, heavy with the history of the recent atrocity that had begun there and the blood that stained these stones. The mounted guards rode in silence, their eyes scanning the shadows as if waiting for something—or someone—to emerge from them.

The gates of Harrenhal, massive and forged from ancient iron, loomed before you like the maw of a monstrous beast—a dragon. No banners waved here, no sign of life except the dark, watchful eyes that seemed to peer out of the broken windows in the walls. The only sounds were the muffled creak of the carriage and the soft shuffle of the horse's hooves as you reached the courtyard.

Your heart pounded in your chest. In the distance, beyond the walls, the faint call of a raven echoed through the silence. It was almost as if the air sensed something was coming. Or perhaps it was the castle itself—waiting.

No. It was he who was waiting.

You knew he was.

You took a deep breath before finally opening the carriage door and stepping out into the courtyard. The walls dripped, ravens flew over your head, but otherwise it was deathly quiet.

Your gaze wandered over your new home, where you would reside for the rest of the war, and then you saw him.

He stood high up on one of the balconies, engulfed in shadows. His pale hands gripped the railing as he looked at you and the intensity of his gaze gave you goosebumps and a lump formed in your throat. But then you noticed that he was not alone. A woman stood next to him.

You did not know who she was, but apparently he had let her live. The sole survivor of the massacre that took place in this very courtyard just a few weeks ago.

The realization that right where you were standing, people were being murdered in the most brutal of ways made your knees go weak. You stumbled to the side and would have definitely fallen to the ground if one of your guards had not grabbed your arm to steady you.

When you looked up again, the prince was gone, but the woman continued to look at you. Shadows played around her features, and for a brief moment, you thought you were staring into the eyes of death itself.

"Shall we escort you inside, My Lady?" asked the guard holding your arm. There was a hint of concern in his voice, and for a brief moment, you felt some warmth creep back into your bones.

The feeling immediately vanished when you heard hurried footsteps echoing across the stone floor.

"What is the matter with her?" The Prince Regent's sharp voice cut through the air, and when you looked up at him, you could see nothing but coldness in his one eye.

"I an afraid the journey has not been good for her, Your Grace. We have been traveling for a month," one of the guards explained to him in a calm tone.

Your eyes wandered to the sword hanging at his hip. Blackfyre. The sword Aegon the Conqueror once wielded, and which has already taken so many lives.

Vomit rose in your throat, even though you had not eaten anything that morning, and it took all your strength not to double over and empty the contents of your stomach right at the boots of your betrothed.

"Take her inside. She should rest," he instructed the guard, his tone leaving no room for questions, no opportunity for argument.

You looked up at him, and for a split second, you thought you saw a flicker of emotion on his face. However, it vanished as quickly as it had come, and you decided you must have been hallucinating.

"We will hold the wedding this afternoon in front of the Weirwood Tree. I will send for you."

A nod. That was all you gave him. Your arms brushed briefly as your guard led you past him and into the castle. You did not know which rooms were habitable or which were haunted by spirits from days long past. Let alone which room you would be sharing with your husband from tonight onward.

The mere thought of it made the fine hairs on your arms stand on end and sent shivers through your body.

"This one looks passable, My Lady," the guard said, giving you a cautious smile. At least there was one friendly person left within these cold walls.

"Thank you, Ser Garrick," you replied gratefully, closing the heavy wooden door behind you after entering the darkened rooms.

You could hear Ser Garrick walking down the corridor, and a soft sigh escaped you. You had never felt so alone in your life. Before, you always had your sisters, who annoyed you, but whom you still loved more than anything. Now you had no one.

You sat down on the bed, which was facing the wall, catapulting a load of dust into the air that made you cough. You slowly lowered your back onto the old mattress and looked up at the ceiling with tired eyes. Some shapes and symbols seemed to be carved into the wood above the bed, but you did not know what they meant. Your eyes suddenly became so heavy.

You blinked and suddenly you fell into a deep sleep.

The journey had probably just tired you out too much.

A sudden noise in the chambers startled you. The woman you had seen standing up on the balcony earlier was now standing not far in front of you. In her hands was a bowl from which steam rose. It smelled of tea, but something inside you doubted that this stranger would bring you tea just like that.

"Who are you?" you finally asked her as you cautiously sat up.

"I am Alys," she replied. She simply reached out and held out the bowl to you. "A tea to combat the tiredness from the long journey."

You hesitated as you accepted the bowl from her. Your fingers touched for a split moment, and not a second later, your hands began to tremble. It had suddenly become so cold.

"I have prepared a bath for you in the prince's chambers. You do not want to show up dirty at your own wedding, do you?"

"Are you his maid?" you asked instead, without answering her concern. The bath could wait. So could the wedding.

"Something like that," she answered, taking a few steps away from the bed you were still sitting on. "Drink. Otherwise, it will get cold and lose its potency."

You did not want to drink it, but for some reason, you did anyway. The liquid left a bitter taste on your tongue and burned its way down your throat. It should have felt soothing, but it did not.

"He let you live. Why?" you asked her, confused. The Prince Regent did not seem like a gracious man to you.

"I cannot say. I do not know what is going on in his head."

You nodded and took another sip from your cup. The tea stained your lips purple.

The woman, Alys, now stood with her back to you. Her hair was even blacker than yours, like the darkest onyx.

"But I told him I was once a wet nurse. Perhaps I can still be of value to you, My Lady," she said suddenly, and your hands immediately tightened around the wood of the bowl.

"It will be so lovely to hear these empty halls filled with children's laughter again."

You placed the bowl, still half full, on the bed next to you and stood up on unsteady legs. She was taller than you and quite a bit older, although you could not say exactly how old she was. She seemed infinitely old, yet young at the same time.

A dark suspicion spread within you, but you did not want to think about it right now.

"Where are his chambers?" you asked her, trying to make your voice sound as authoritative as possible. You were sure the attempt failed miserably because she turned to you with a knowing smile on her thin lips.

"Follow me."

Without another word, she walked past you and out the door, and you followed her with quick steps. The prince's chambers were not far from the rooms you had initially chosen. Alys opened the door, and you were amazed to see how well the room was. In fact, there was even a fire burning in the fireplace.

In the middle of the room stood a large tub, from which white steam rose into the air. The water seemed hot, and a smile crept involuntarily onto your lips. A healing bath was exactly what your muscles needed right now.

"Shall I help you undress?"

"No," you answered a little faster than necessary, to which the woman simply chuckled.

"Very well, My Lady. Your wedding dress is on the bed. Call if you need help getting dressed," she said, and immediately hurried back out of the room. The door closed with a loud bang behind her, before you could ask her how she would hear you if you actually called for her.

But you were now glad she was gone. She was frightening.

Your black dress with the yellow embroidery of little deer and antlers landed on the armchair in front of the fireplace, followed by your thin chemise and stockings.

The bathwater was still hot when you finally stepped in, and you could not help but sigh with relief. It felt a lot better than the tea, and you could immediately feel your muscles relaxing and a weight lifting from your shoulders.

But you were not relaxed. Not when you were about to marry the prince in the not-too-distant future. The white dress spread out in the middle of the bed was a constant reminder of that.

The bed. You did not want to think about what would happen right there later. On those sheets. Right where the dress lay, you would lie later.

At least you would be spared a bedding ceremony, you thought.

You washed yourself as best you could with the single bar of soap that was lying next to the tub. It smelled neither of roses, nor lilacs, nor any other scent you could identify.

You were not sure how long you bathed. All you knew was that as you dried yourself with an old, scratchy towel that smelled of old books, leather, and smoke, the sun was slowly setting outside.

It was almost time.

You quickly dried your naked body and untied your hair, which you had tied back to keep it from getting wet. You slipped into your undergarment, stockings, and shoes, and finally cleared your throat.

You opened the door a little and called for Alys.

She came in a few minutes later, and you were surprised to see that she had also done some tidying up. Her hair seemed more combed, and she was no longer wearing the dirty apron she had been wearing before.

"It has been a long time since I was last able to attend a wedding," she said simply, as she helped you step into the dress and tightened the laces at the back with nimble fingers. The bodice was so tight that you could barely breathe.

"Where did you even get that dress? I doubt there are any seamstresses left around here," you asked her, a hint of curiosity in your tone, trying not to curse as the older woman pulled one of the laces too tight again. It was almost as if she wanted you to suffer.

"It belonged to one of the Strongs. I do not remember which one," she said, smoothing your hair over your shoulders with surprising gentleness, letting it fall in soft waves down your back.

Your stomach lurched. You were wearing the dress of a dead woman.

Alys stood in front of you and placed her hands on her hips, examining her work. "He will like you. He has been waiting for you, you know? Told me about you in the nights while I made him tea."

Your eyes widened and you blinked. You did not know whether to be flattered or even more terrified than you already were. If he was waiting, then he had expectations. What if you could not fulfill them?

"He told you about me?" you asked, adjusting the sleeves of your dress.

The woman in front of you nodded her head, grinning. "He told me about the moment he chose you. He said you tasted the sweetest of all your sisters."

A blush flooded your cheeks and you immediately looked down at the ground. After all these weeks and months, he could still remember the taste of your lips? The feeling he had when he did it?

You could not believe this was the same man whose hands were soaked with the blood of hundreds of innocents.

"Are you ready?" her voice suddenly startled you from your thoughts, and you simply nodded.

Together, you both walked through the cold, empty, and wet halls of Harrenhal. Drops of water fell on your shoulder, you walked past a black billy goat, and you felt like thousands of eyes were staring at you, even though there were hardly any souls left in these halls.

The evening air was cold, but not unpleasant, when you finally stepped out into the courtyard with the older woman. Aemond Targaryen was already standing in front of the Weirwood Tree. The wind gently blew a few strands of his silver hair, and the setting sun cast a golden light on him and the tree, whose leaves shone red.

Only Alys noticed that the tree's face had finally stopped crying.

Next to the prince stood an elderly man dressed like a Septon of the Faith of the Seven. You wanted to ask where this man came from, since there was no Sept in the immediate vicinity, but you bit your tongue.

The Prince Regent seemed to have been waiting for this moment, and you did not want to ruin it. After all, you did not want to taste his wrath.

Alys let go of your arm and stood not far from you. Aemond's eye briefly flicked to the woman, and he gave her a nod- one of gratitude for her service.

"My prince," you greeted him, curtsying slightly to show his respect.

"My lady," he replied, extending a hand, which you hesitantly took.

You both turned to the Septon, who looked at you with an almost fatherly smile on his lips.

"We stand before the Old Gods, under the watchful eye of the Weirwood, to unite your hearts and your destinies. May you remain true to one another, in joy and sorrow, until the end of your days," the Septon began in a solemn tone. The wind in the courtyard began to shift, and it almost felt as if you felt a warm hand on your shoulder.

The older man pulled a red ribbon from his robe, which he carefully and patiently tied around your hands. Compared to the prince's, your hands were small and delicate.

He looked down at you, you looked up at him, and in that moment you thought you could see the ghost of a smile on his lips. Not a malicious smile or a cruel one, but a genuine one.

"You may speak now," said the Septon, once he had finished tying your hands together.

Aemond straightened his back and brought his other hand to your face, cupping your chin with two fingers so that you would not look away from him. He wanted to look you in the eye as he swore this oath to you.

"I am hers and she is mine," he spoke in a firm, confident voice.

For a moment, you just looked at him and swallowed the lump in your throat. A breeze flew over you, rustling the red leaves of the tree. From somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted.

"I am his and he is mine," you finally replied, but unlike his, your voice was soft and quiet.

It was a sound Aemond would call music.

The Septon placed his old, wrinkled hands over both of yours. They were ice cold.

"May the ancient gods watch over you, may your hearts be one, and may your love grow as old as the trees themselves," he announced, and even though you did not want to, you could not help but give your husband the slightest smile.

"You may now kiss the bride."

Your shoulders tensed, and Aemond sensed from the way your delicate hand twitched beneath his ever so slightly that you were nervous. He did not want you to feel that way in his presence. You were now his Lady Wife.

He leaned down slowly, carefully, as if you were a wounded deer that he now had to tend to: "Do not be afraid."

Your eyes moved down to his lips.

"I am not afraid," you whispered, a lie.

"Good. Because I do not want you to be afraid of me. Never, do you hear?"

You nodded your head. His warm breath brushed your cheek, and you instinctively leaned closer to him, seeking his warmth, while he could not wait any longer. Aemond closed the last distance between you two and pressed his lips against yours, while his free hand cupped your face.

Your lips were warm and soft, and you tasted just as sweet as he remembered. Fresh wild berries and something he would associate with you alone.

He sighed into the kiss, and you tentatively kissed him back, but that alone was enough to show him that you accepted him. You wanted him.

He only broke the kiss when he had no more air in his lungs, and even then, he rested his forehead against yours, for he could not bear to be parted from you any longer. Your breath came in short gasps, and your eyes roamed over his face, and for the first time, you saw him.

You did not see the monster that set the Riverlands ablaze, killed his nephew, and wiped out an entire bloodline. You saw the man behind it, and you found that you liked what you saw.

"Come with me."

Not a question, a command.

He untied the band that had been wrapped around your hands until just a moment ago and let it fall to the dirty ground in the shadow of the tree's roots, where the wind would soon carry it away. It would probably land in the Gods' Eye and disappear into the depths of the lake, never to be found.

Your husband intertwined his fingers with yours and led you, guided by his hand, back into the castle, where you already knew what awaited you.

Behind you, the Septon disappeared as if he had never been there.

Alys smiled and stroked her owl.

He was just closing the door to his—your—chambers behind you when his lips were back on yours.

"My prince—" you tried to say. "My husband, please."

"What is it, wife?" he murmured against your lips as he pushed you toward the large canopy bed.

He just could not stop kissing you. It was impossible.

"I need air," you protested, a small laugh escaping you. It was one of the most beautiful sounds his ears had ever heard.

His arms wrapped around your waist as his lips traveled down your neck, exploring every inch. Every single one.

„Better?“ he whispered as the backs of your knees touched the bed.

He gently bit into your warm flesh, eliciting a surprised gasp. No, that was his new favorite sound.

He wondered how sweetly you could else sing for him?

His hands smoothed the fabric of the white dress up your legs, desperate to get the fabric off you. He has been wondering for weeks what you would look like without it. Ever since the first time you kissed and you looked at him like a wounded little deer, he knew he could not resist you.

After arriving at Harrenhal, he had invited the witch into his bed to vent his frustration, but the moment her lips had touched his, he had pushed her away. Instead, he had talked about you.

The witch was a good listener, and that was why he let her live.

But he only wanted you.

Your arms wrapped around his neck and your fingers dug into his silky, silver hair, resembling the light of a full moon. The feeling sent an incredible heat through his chest, making him wonder if it had not been a dragon that had bathed him in flames, like he had the Riverlands.

He took satisfaction in the fact that they were still burning.

He pushed you down onto the bed and immediately climbed over you, his hands roaming up and down your curves, his lips exploring your neck, and you writhing beneath him.

You were about to lose yourself in his kisses and the feeling of his body's warmth when you suddenly felt his dagger pressing into your hip. The dagger he intended to use to attack his nephew, a sign of the violence and storm he carried within him.

Even now when he was laying with you.

The monster might have looked at you with a gaze full of gentleness, but it still slumbered within him.

The same hands that now touched you and ran over your body as if you were something precious had murdered and committed cruel acts just a few weeks ago.

His eye met yours, and he looked at you with such intensity that you could not help but lose yourself in him. You were a gentle breeze on a sunny day, he was the thunderstorm that followed.

He was what you were missing.

"Wife?" he asked you, his voice dripping with desire.

"Yes, husband?" you asked him, breathless.

"May I?"

He gave you the choice.

You nodded and he began to rip open the laces of your bodice with a sense of urgency and need.

And shorty after, when he thrusted in and out of you, your legs wrapped around his waist and his cock buried deep inside of your cunt, while he whispered of filling you up with his seed- you realized something.

Perhaps being loved by a monster was not as bad as you had thought.

The Divider is from the wonderful @zaldritzosrose !

Taglist: @bey0nd-1he-stars @sassypain @hisfavegirl @dahaenatargaryen @sylasthegrim @danytar

[masorciereviolette]

Could I request an Agatha Harkness x Reader Fic? One where Agatha is Reader’s Mom’s best friend but Reader has a huge crush on Agatha. Reader is in her last year of college and has too much to drink one night and calls Agatha to tell her she has feelings for her. Agatha picks her up and takes her back to her house but tells her nothing can happen between them. However, some time later they do sleep together but Agatha tells reader it can’t happen again as she’s her mom’s best friend. Reader gets upset and avoids Agatha when she goes round her mom’s house. But Agatha realises she also has feelings for reader so they talk it out and decide to have a secret relationship. Maybe there could be a mommy kink in there 🙈 thank you in advance.

Confessions In The Dark

Pairing: Au Agatha Harkness x Reader

Warnings: Small Time Jumps, Unresolved Feelings, Hurt, Pining, Comfort, Legal Age Gap Relationships, Minors DNI 18+, Graphic Sexual Descriptions, Happy Ending.

Word count: 16.3k

A/N: Thank you for this absolutely fucking phenomenal request. The older woman, forbidden relationship tropes are always a favorite of mine!!!!! I hope I did your request justice:))))))) if anyone would like to be added to my tag list please feel free to let me know!!!

Taglist: @harknessshi @atlasimagines

Masterlist Link

It starts with one too many drinks and a number you know, deep down, you shouldn’t have dialed. You’re slumped in the shadowed corner of a half-crowded bar not far from campus, the stale scent of beer and cheap cologne thick in the air.

The worn leather of the booth creaks beneath you as you fumble with your phone, your fingers clumsy, your vision a little too blurry. You stare at her name—Agatha—glowing back at you like some forbidden temptation. You shouldn’t call her , you know you shouldn’t.

It’s reckless.

It’s selfish.

It’s dangerous.

But she’s always been your comfort zone. Your mom’s best friend—the one who used to sneak you extra food at parties when you were a kid, the one who looked at you like you were seen when no one else seemed to bother. The woman who, at some point over the years, shifted in your mind from safe to utterly, devastatingly irresistible. And tonight, when your heart feels too heavy and your body too weightless from bad decisions, something inside you just—snaps.

You press the call button without giving yourself another second to think. The phone rings twice. Each second drags too long and not long enough. You almost hang up, panic flaring, when her voice comes through—low, tired, edged with sleep, but still that same velvety rasp that always makes your stomach flutter “Hello?”

Your breath leaves you in a shuddery rush “Aggie—” you slurred , her name falling from your lips far louder than you intended. You wince, glancing around at the other patrons, but no one’s paying you much mind.

“Hi,” you continue, blinking hard, struggling to corral your swirling thoughts into anything coherent. “I just—listen. I’m drunk. Like… bad. And I shouldn’t be calling you, but I did, and—I think you should come get me.” There’s a pause on the other end of the line.

A long one. You can almost feel the wheels turning in her head, the tension humming through the phone line. She’s weighing a hundred things you can’t see. When she finally speaks again, her voice has shifted—no longer groggy, no longer casual. It’s sharp. Focused. Worried “…Where are you?” she asks, tight but calm.

You glance blearily at the neon-smeared window beside you, trying to focus on the bar’s name painted in backwards cursive. You mangle it the first time you try to say it, dissolving into a breathy, embarrassed giggle before correcting yourself.

She sighs on the other end, soft and almost fond in a way that makes your heart lurch painfully against your ribs “Don’t leave,” she says. “I’m coming.”

You clutch the phone a little tighter, pressing it against your cheek like it could somehow hold you together “okay—,” you whisper.

And even as you end the call, letting the screen go black, your hands still tremble—not from the alcohol. But from what you just did. By the time she pulls up in her sleek black car, headlights cutting through the misty spring night, you’re already outside the bar, teetering slightly on the curb.

The pavement feels uneven beneath your shoes, and the damp chill in the air is just sharp enough to start dragging some of the drunken fog from your mind. When the driver’s side door clicks open and Agatha steps out, you blink up at her, heart thudding stupidly against your ribs.

She’s still in what must have been her evening clothes—dark jeans, black boots, a fitted jacket—but her hair is slightly mussed, and there’s a sharpness to her movements. Like she dressed fast. Like she came for you without hesitation. You see it immediately—the look on her face when her eyes land on you. Exasperation, yes. A familiar thread of it. But layered thickly with something else. Concern most likely.

She exhales through her nose as she strides over, slipping her coat from her shoulders in one smooth motion. Without a word, she swings it around you, tugging it snug across your frame before her hand finds the small of your back “You shouldn’t be calling me when you’re like this,” she mutters, steering you gently toward the car, her voice low and tight.

You catch the way her fingers linger at your side, more careful than irritated “You could’ve called your mom,” she adds, unlocking the passenger door.

You slump into the seat with a graceless thud, the coat swallowing you whole. The interior smells like leather and the faint trace of her perfume—amber and something sharp underneath. Comforting. Dangerous.

You turn your head to the window, forehead bumping the cool glass, and mumble without thinking “Didn’t want Mom.” Your eyes flutter shut for a second before you add, softer but no less true “I want you.”

She’s halfway around the car when you say it. You hear the stumble in her steps. When she slides behind the wheel, she’s stiff, too controlled. Her hands grip the steering wheel like it’s the only thing keeping her steady “You don’t mean that,” she says carefully, finally starting the engine.

But you catch the way her voice wavers at the end, the crack she can’t quite hide. You lift your head enough to glance sideways at her, your vision swimming just slightly. Your body feels heavy, pliant, but your heart is a live wire inside you “I do,” you whisper, blinking slowly. “I’ve wanted you forever.”

The words hang between you—thick, electric. Agatha doesn’t respond. She doesn’t even look at you. Her jaw tightens. Her eyes stay locked on the road. The drive to her house is silent except for the low popping of the tires against the wet pavement, the occasional sigh from the heater.

You don’t remember much of how you get inside. You just remember her arm tight around your waist, steadying you as you stumble up the steps. The warmth of her hand between your shoulder blades as she guided you inside. The familiar creak of her front door swinging shut.

The guest room—your room—feels exactly the same as always. Safe. Familiar. Infinitely more dangerous now. She disappears briefly down the hall and returns with a pair of soft pajamas “Bathroom’s the second door on the left,” she says quietly, not meeting your eyes.

You nod clumsily, managing to shuffle away, the pajamas clutched to your chest. She waits in the hallway as you change, giving you privacy but hovering close enough that you feel her presence like gravity. When you emerge—cleaner but still woozy—she just smiles tight and leads you back to the bed, pulling back the covers for you.

You collapse into them without protest, sinking into the familiar, worn sheets. It’s only when you’re curled up beneath the quilt, your cheek pressed to the pillow, that you notice her still standing there.

She lingers at the side of the mattress, her hand gripping the bedpost so tightly you’re amazed it doesn’t splinter. You blink up at her, vision swimming, throat raw with the words you barely have the strength to say.

“This can’t happen sweetheart….I- I’m sorry” Agatha says softly, it sounds like she’s ripping the words from her own heart. “You’re drunk. And you’re—” She falters, her jaw clicking “It’s not okay,” she finishes, voice breaking.

You watch her through heavy, hurting eyes “Is that the only reason?” you whisper, your words slurring, your consciousness slipping fast. Agatha’s mouth opens—but no sound comes out. You don’t hear an answer.

Sleep drags you under like a tide, pulling you into the dark. But if you’d stayed awake just a moment longer, you might have seen it The way Agatha’s hand twitched toward you— Then froze. The way her whole body leaned forward, like she was about to fall to her knees beside you.

The way her mouth formed your name on a breathless exhale she didn’t have the right to speak. And the way she finally tore herself away from the room, the door clicking softly shut behind her, leaving you alone in the bed… because if she stayed another second, she would’ve given in. And she knows once she has you—She’ll never be able to let you go.

It’s been almost two days since that night. Two days since you embarrassed yourself. Two days since you cracked your heart open and exposed the messy, desperate feelings you’d tried so hard to bury.

You woke up before dawn, the room still cloaked in a soft gray darkness. Your head was pounding, your mouth dry, but it wasn’t the hangover that made you want to sink into the mattress and disappear. It was her. The memory of falling into her arms. The ache of the things you said.

The unbearable kindness in the way she tucked you into bed instead of pushing you away. You slipped out of her house as quietly as you could, barely breathing as you eased the door shut behind you. You couldn’t face her.

Not then. You should’ve just left the pajamas on her porch. Dropped them like an apology you didn’t have the courage to say. But something in you—something stubborn and wounded and aching—needed to see her. Needed to really know. So here you are, standing on her front step, the weight of the folded clothes like a stone in your arms.

When the door finally swings open, it feels like the air is sucked from your lungs. Agatha stands there, framed by the soft light spilling from inside, and she looks—wrecked. There’s no polished mask today.

No carefully curated smile. Just raw exhaustion stamped into every line of her beautiful face. Her hair is pulled back hastily, loose strands falling into her tired eyes. She’s wearing a soft sweater that hangs off one shoulder, rumpled like she’s been dragging herself through the hours without really noticing.

Her gaze sweeps over you—sharp, conflicted, hungry. You swallow hard and force a sheepish smile, holding out the bundle of clothes between you like a peace offering “Thought I should return these,” you say, your voice soft, almost apologetic.

For a beat, she doesn’t move. Then her hand reaches out, slow and tentative, fingertips brushing against yours as she takes the pajamas from you. The touch is feather-light, barely anything at all. But that all it takes to shatter the fragile thread of restraint between you like a snapped cable.

You barely register the soft thud of the clothes hitting the floor before she’s pulling you inside, her hands fisting in your jacket, slamming the door shut behind you with a shaky breath. Your back hits the wall and then—then—her mouth is on yours.

There’s nothing tentative about it. Nothing careful. It’s brutal, needy, a crash of teeth and lips and desperate hands. She kisses you like she’s drowning and you’re the only air left in the world. You moaned into her mouth, your fingers scrambling for purchase in her sweater as her body presses flush against yours.

She tastes like desperation. Like regret. Like everything you’ve ever wanted but were too afraid to ask for. Her hands roam your body with a feverish intensity—tugging, squeezing, memorizing. She touches you like she knows she shouldn’t. Like every second of it is killing her and saving her all at once.

Heat floods you, dizzying and wild, the kind you’ve only ever dreamed about in the quietest corners of your mind. You barely remember how you make it to her bedroom. Clothes trailing behind you like discarded promises, your hands frantic and greedy as you pull her down to the bed with you “Fuck please—“

Agatha's eyes darken with a hunger you've never seen before as she propped herself up above you, taking in your naked form laid out beneath her like an offering. She licks her lips, a slow, deliberate motion that sends a shiver racing down your spine.

"Please what, baby?" Agatha purrs, her voice a low, seductive rasp. "Gotta tell me what you need, sweetheart. Tell me how to make this feel good for you..."

Her hand trails up your thigh, fingers dancing along your skin with a feather-light touch that has you arching into her, craving more. She leans down, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses across your collar bone stopping at your chest taking a nipple into her mouth, rolling the bud between her lips.

"Is this what you need, baby girl?" Agatha murmurs against your skin, her breath teasing, tormenting, making your core throb with anticipation. She nips at your nipple, not hard enough to mark, but enough to make you gasp, to feel the sharp sting morph into a dark thrill of knowing she wants you, desires you with a savage intensity.

"Or do you want my fingers baby?" Agatha continues, proving her words by trailing a finger down your stomach, pushing teasingly along your folds, not dipping inside, but tracing your slit like a map, committing every inch to memory.

"Want me to fuck this pretty pussy until you can't remember your own fuckin' name, sweetheart?" Agatha growls in between nips to your skin, the crude words falling from her lips like salvation, each syllable one step closer to the edge of the abyss. Your back arched in pleasure at her assault of your chest, each bite sending a bolt of lightning through your spine. your fingers slipped up into her hair tugging softly. Hips rocking forward, chasing her teasing strokes just shy of where you wanted her most “please mommy I want you—“

Agatha grins wickedly at your breathless plea, the desperation in your voice igniting a feral hunger within her. She can feel your body trembling with need as you arch into her touch, your fingers tangling in her hair, silently begging her for more "Listen to you, baby girl," Agatha purrs, her voice dripping with dark satisfaction. "Begging so sweetly for mommy's touch..."

She rewards your plea by abruptly thrusting two fingers deep inside your dripping cunt, burying them to the knuckle. Your slick walls clench greedily around the sudden intrusion, trying to suck her in deeper "Fuck, you're absolutely soaked," Agatha groans, pumping her fingers slowly, teasingly, watching your face for every reaction. "Such a needy little thing, aren't you sweetheart?"

Her thumb finds your swollen clit, circling it with a maddeningly slow rhythm, applying just the right amount of pressure to have you seeing stars. The stimulation makes you clench tighter around her fingers, aching for more.

"Want me to make this sweet cunt all mine?" Agatha growls, punctuating her words with a particularly hard thrust of her fingers, curling them just right against that spongey spot that makes your toes curl "You gotta show me, sweetheart..." she demands, scissoring her fingers inside you, stretching your walls exquisitely. "Show mommy exactly just how you need it..."

Agatha's other hand skims up your side, cupping the soft swell of your breast. She squeezes, kneading the tender flesh as her fingers plunge harder, faster, fucking into your desperate sex with a renewed vigor "Louder, baby..." she coaxes, thumb flicking quickly over your clit, the obscene sound of your juices filling the room. "Let me hear those pretty moans, please"

Your curled your fingers deeper into her hair, a pathetic mewl clawing up the back of your throat. Agatha hissed in pleasure as your nails sunk into her scalp, your hips bucking wildly against her hand as you chase your pleasure. She can feel your slick walls clenching rhythmically around her fingers, your body trembling on the edge of ecstasy.

"Fuck yes, just like that sweetheart. Take what you need from mommy's fingers," Agatha growls, pistoning them harder, faster, the obscene sound of your juices filling the room. "Ride them baby, paint my fingers with your fuckin' cum..."

She leans down and captures your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your shameless moans and whimpers as her free hand roams greedily over your curves. Agatha pinches and rolls your nipple between her fingers, sending jolts of electricity straight to your core.

Breaking the kiss, Agatha trails her lips down the column of your throat, biting and sucking as she goes. She's determined to mark you here as well, to claim every inch of your skin as her own as her fingers plunge mercilessly into your dripping heat "C'mon baby. Wanna feel you," Agatha demands, twisting her fingers inside you, rubbing your g-spot dead-on. "Let go, sweetheart"

“Fuck mommy—" you keened desperately, the words ripped from the depths of your lungs as your body seizes with pleasure. Your cries only spur Agatha on, spurring her fingers to plunge even harder, even deeper. Your cunt grips them like a vice as your climax crashes through you, wave after wave of electric bliss radiating from where you two are joined.

"Fuck just look at you—dripping all over me." Agatha snarls in unbridled lust as your release gushes out around her pumping fingers, soaking her hand. She punctuates each word with a savage thrust, drawing out your high until you're utterly spent and shaking. Finally she pulls her fingers from your fluttering channel.

You’re both lying there tangled in sweaty sheets, your heartbeat thundering against hers—you think, for a moment, she might finally stay. Might finally stop pretending. Might finally stop running from this.

The room is thick with the scent of skin and salt and something far too deep to name. Your bodies are still touching, limbs tangled loosely, breaths slowly evening out.

Agatha rolled to lie beside you, now utterly still. Her chest rises and falls steadily, but her eyes are open, staring blankly at the ceiling as if she can’t quite believe what she’s just done. As if the weight of it is crashing down on her all at once.

You shift slightly, reaching for her without thinking—but her body tenses at the movement, a subtle flinch so quick you almost miss it. She drags in a shaky breath. And then, like something in her breaks wide open, she moves.

She peels herself farther away from you with a gentleness that somehow hurts more than cruelty ever could. Her bare skin brushes yours as she sits up slowly on the edge of the bed, her back to you.

Her shoulders are stiff, her spine rigid—every line of her body radiating guilt, conflict, regret. You watch, helpless, as she buries her face in her hands, her fingers threading into her hair like she’s trying to disappear and you know. You know what’s coming before she even says it “This shouldn’t have happened—,” she says, her voice hoarse, broken.

“What?” you croak, even though you heard her perfectly. She scrubs her hands over her face like she can wipe the moment away.

“I shouldn’t have done that, fuck—” she says bitterly, the self-loathing clear in every syllable. “I’m supposed to protect you, not—” She cuts herself off with a frustrated growl, shaking her head like she can’t even say the rest aloud “This was a mistake.”

You sit there, frozen, the weight of her words pinning you in place. The ache in your chest flares sharp and ugly. You don’t argue. You don’t beg. You just gather your clothes in silence, hands shaking slightly as you dress. Ignoring the way her shoulders tense when you turn away.

Ignoring the way your heart feels like it’s splintering into a thousand pieces. You walk out of her house without another word, leaving her there—In a room that still smells like you. In a bed that still remembers us. And the worst part is? You already know.

You’ll never stop wanting her. Even if she keeps breaking your heart one shattered goodbye at a time. The door clicks shut behind you. And for a long moment, Agatha just sits there. Frozen. Numb, just listening to the hollow echo of your absence rattle through the house.

The scent of you still lingers in the air—sweet, familiar, devastating. It clings to the sheets twisted around her waist, to the pillow where your head had rested, to her own skin where your hands had touched her like she was something precious.

Slowly, she leans forward, her elbows digging into her thighs, her hands burying into her hair with a quiet, shuddering breath. She can feel it—all of it—settling heavy in her chest like a second heartbeat. The want. The guilt. The bone-deep ache of something she’s tried for so long to pretend wasn’t there.

Agatha squeezes her eyes shut. But it’s too late. The imprint of you is everywhere. She presses her palms against her face, her body trembling under the weight of it, and lets herself break—silent, small, unseen. No sobs. No dramatic collapse. Just the quiet, relentless pain of a woman who let herself taste happiness for a moment—only to shove it away with bloody hands.

She doesn’t know how long she stays there, anchored to the edge of the bed where your warmth is already fading. All she knows is she’s never hated herself more. And she’s never wanted you more.

The following weeks after—what was possibly the best and utterly worst afternoon of your life—are a special kind of torture. You avoided her Completely. At first, it’s easy enough. You’re buried under the weight of finals, endless papers, and late nights spent hunched over textbooks, your brain numb from exhaustion. It’s a ready-made excuse, one no one questions. Not even your mom. But the truth is darker, heavier. You’re hiding.

Because facing Agatha now—facing what you did, what you almost had—feels unbearable. You slip into a rhythm of evasion. You skip family dinners with vague apologies about needing to study. You dodge casual invites and gatherings with muttered excuses and sudden headaches. You stop lingering in places where you know she might be. You stop asking if she’ll be there. You stop saying her name.

You carve her out of your life like she’s a wound you’re trying to stitch closed—but every movement aches. Your mom notices the change before you realize you’re being obvious. The way your shoulders tense when her name comes up. The way you offer tight, hollow smiles instead of real ones. The way your patience shrinks, your presence in the house becoming something thin and ghostlike.

She doesn’t press—not yet—but you see the worry etched deeper into her eyes every time you brush her off and retreat to the isolation of your room. When you do see Agatha—on accident, through cruel twists of timing—you pretend you’re fine.

You school your face into something blank and pleasant. You speak to her like you’re making polite conversation with a stranger in a checkout line. Nothing more. You don’t let your gaze linger on the way her fingers twitch at her sides. You don’t acknowledge the way her jaw tightens when your eyes slide right past her.

You don’t dare notice the sadness leaking from the edges of her carefully composed smile. Every meeting becomes an exercise in survival. Smile. Nod. Look away. Smile. Nod. Look away. You have to, if you stop pretending, even for a second, you’ll crack wide open. And Agatha—She sees it.

Every calculated glance you avoid. Every breath you hold when you pass her in the hallway. Every word you don’t say. She sees it all. And she feels it like a blade twisting in her gut but she says nothing. Not yet, But it kills her.

One night, it all comes crashing down. You barely have time to brace yourself. You’re in the kitchen, sleeves pushed up, helping your mom prep dessert for what’s supposed to be a “small family dinner.”

You’re distracted, half-listening, until she mentions it too casually “Agatha’s coming too. She just got promoted! Can you believe it? I thought we could celebrate her with a nice homemade dinner.”

You freeze where you stand, the bowl of batter wobbling slightly in your hands. Before you can protest—before you can find an excuse to vanish—your mom turns and flashes you that look. The one that means no arguments “She’ll be so happy you’re here. So you’re coming.”

And just like that, you’re trapped. Now you stand in the kitchen, helping lay out plates and folding napkins with mechanical movements as the evening drags on. You haven’t even looked at Agatha once. Not properly. You feel her though.

Her presence presses at the edge of your awareness like a tide you can’t hold back. Every brush of her voice in the room. Every shift of her body when she thinks you’re not watching. It’s unbearable. And worse, it still hurts.

It throbs dully under your ribs with every laugh your mom shares, every glass clink, every casual conversation you’re expected to smile through. Then your mom suddenly claps her hands and chirps, “Shoot—I forgot the wine!”

You glanced up sharply “I’ll be right back,” she says brightly, already grabbing her keys. And before you can even suggest going yourself, she’s looking back over her shoulder key in hand “Y/N, keep Agatha company for me, will you? I won’t be long!”

The door swings shut. Silence falls over the kitchen. The weight of it is suffocating. You lower your head, pretending to fuss with the dessert, your heart hammering painfully against your ribs. You hear the slow, deliberate sound of footsteps crossing the floor.

You can feel her getting closer. The air shifts. Charged. Electric. Unforgiving. Then— “Why are you avoiding me?” Her voice is quiet. Low. But it cuts through you like a blade. You stiffen. For a second, you consider ignoring her. Pretending you didn’t hear. But something inside you is too tired to keep pretending anymore.

You turn.

Slowly.

Meeting her gaze for the first time in what feels like a lifetime. “Why do you think?” you ask, your voice rough and breaking around the edges. The hurt is written all over your face. You know it. You don’t even try to hide it, she didn’t deserve the curtesy.

Agatha flinches, just barely—but enough. She starts toward you, her movements cautious, deliberate. You stand abandoning your dessert on the table, taking an instinctive step back—But the wall behind you limited your space. You’ve got nowhere to go now.

“Don’t do that,” she says, her voice cracking a little around the edges now too. “Don’t push me away.” You laugh bitterly, blinking against the sting behind your eyes.

“You told me i was a mistake,” you breathe. Your hands fist at your sides “You said you didn’t want me. And I—I believed you.”

Agatha closes her eyes like the words physically hurt her. She presses her palms flat against the wall on either side of you, not trapping you—but steadying herself. She leans in just enough that you can feel the warmth of her body, the trembling in her breath.

“I was trying to do the right thing,” she says, her voice raw. “I thought it would protect you. Protect us. But it didn’t.” She swallows hard, and you see it—the regret carved into every line of her face “It felt like I was lying to both of us,” she finishes, her voice so soft you almost miss it.

You stare at her, your chest burning, every inch of you aching “So now what then?” you whisper.

Agatha’s eyes flicker—relief, sadness, longing—so many things crashing into each other at once. She leans closer, bracing her palms completely against the wall behind you. Not trapping. Just there. A barrier between herself and the urge to shatter all the rules again.

Her body cages yours in—but her voice is the softest thing you’ve ever heard when she finally speaks “Now we stop pretending this isn’t real,” she breathes. “I want you. I care about you. Im tired of pretending that I don’t.”

Her words sink into you like sunlight on frozen skin. Your heart slams against your ribs, aching so sharply you almost gasp. You breathe her name, a broken prayer “Aggie…” And she moves.

She kisses you—not with hunger. Not with desperation. But with something truer. Like it’s the only truth she knows anymore. Like she’s sorry for every second she made you doubt it. It’s meant to be a kiss. Just one. But the second Agatha’s mouth finds yours again, it’s over.

The tension between you doesn’t just crack—it shatters, spilling into every desperate movement, every hungry breath. Her fingers tangle in your shirt like she can’t bear to let you go again.

Your hands slide up her sides, pulling her closer, closer, until her body is flush against yours “I missed you—” you whisper between kisses, the words raw and broken against her lips.

Agatha groans quietly, her forehead falling against yours. “Fuck—don’t say things like that.”

“Why not?” you ask, lips grazing the shell of her ear. “You started this.” She doesn’t answer. Instead, she kisses you harder, like it’s a confession. Her hands dip under your shirt, trailing warmth over your skin. The air feels charged, like it’s about to combust—and maybe that’s exactly what’s happening.

Because for all her rules and restraint, she wants this. Wants you. You let her push you back , gasping when her mouth finds that sensitive spot beneath your jaw. Your fingers dive into her dark hair, tugging lightly, and that earns you a low, dizzying sound from deep in her throat “We can’t do this here,” she mutters, but she doesn’t stop.

“Don’t you dare fucking stop—,” you breathe, tilting your head back to give her more. She groans, frustrated, and kisses you again—slower this time. More deliberate. Her tongue slips past your lips, and your knees nearly give out.

You barely hear the gravel crunching outside. Barely see the familiar glow of headlights through the front window—until Agatha stiffens, breaking the kiss with a sharp inhale. Your head whips toward the window. Shit. Your mom’s car pulls into the driveway, headlights sweeping across the kitchen like a spotlight on two criminals caught red-handed.

Agatha stumbles back like she’s been burned, hair mussed and lips swollen, breathing hard “Okay—okay,” she says, more to herself than you. “This is fine. I can fix this.”

You blink at her, still breathless. “Fix what? We didn’t—”

“You’re flushed, your shirt’s wrinkled, and I look like I just rolled out of your bed,” she hisses, smoothing her blouse with shaky hands. You look down. Yep. Your shirt’s halfway untucked, your mouth still tingles from her kiss, and you’re 100% not emotionally ready to see your mom right now. Her lipstick is smudged telling you the evidence was most likely adorning your face as well.

“Go sit at the table,” Agatha orders, voice tight but composed. “Nothing out of the ordinary happened.”You nod wiping the back of your hand across your mouth wiping away any remaining proof, heart racing, you stumbled toward your chair just as the front door opens and your mom calls out cheerily, “I’m back!”

Agatha’s already plating dessert, her back turned to the door, somehow radiating the picture of calm. You’re not sure how she does it. But as your mom walks into the dining room and says, “You two behave while I was gone?”—Agatha doesn’t even flinch.

You swallow and nod. “Totally.” Agatha hands your mom her plate. Then, with a perfectly practiced smile, she meets your gaze and in that look—quiet, smoldering, unspoken—you know this is far from over.

Later that night, after dessert and wine and what should’ve been a perfectly innocent conversation that had you squirming in your seat, your mom finally leans back with a satisfied sigh.

The kitchen is warm, the soft clink of dishes being cleared mixing with the faint hum of music playing from the living room. Everything feels easy, relaxed. At least, it should. You can barely focus on your glass of wine, not with the way you can feel Agatha’s gaze brush against you every few minutes — casual, careful, but enough to turn your skin electric under your clothes.

Every laugh from her lips, every subtle glance in your direction, coils tighter in your stomach until you’re dizzy from pretending not to notice. You’re almost relieved when your mom claps her hands together and says brightly “Sweetheart, would you mind helping Agatha carry a few boxes over to her place before you head to bed? Just some books I’m giving her. They’re on the hall table.”

You pause, blinking as the words register. Your gaze flickers instinctively toward Agatha. She sits back in her chair, utterly calm, swirling her wine lazily in the glass.

Her expression is the picture of innocence — if innocence looked just the slightest bit smug. Suspiciously unbothered. Your stomach twists “Uh… yeah,” you say, forcing your voice to sound casual. “Sure.”

Your mom smiles, already pushing up from her chair “Thanks, honey. I’m gonna go get ready for bed,” she calls lightly as she disappears down the hall. She pauses just long enough to add, teasingly, “But if you end up staying awake a little longer when you come home, just be quite okay? I could hear your music playing last night.”

You swallow hard. From the corner of your eye, you catch it—the subtle curve of Agatha’s mouth as she hides a smirk behind the rim of her wine glass. You narrow your eyes slightly at her. You don’t trust it for a second.

Your heart beats faster as you gather the dishes, your mind already racing ahead even though you don’t dare admit to yourself what you’re hoping for. Because if there’s one thing you’ve learned about Agatha Harkness—It’s that she never plays fair.

Especially when it comes to you. The walk to her house is short. Too short. Each step feels weighted, heavy with everything left unsaid between you. You each carry a box—something light, unimportant—but it feels like you’re hauling the entire weight of the last few hours in your arms.

The night air is crisp, a gentle breeze lifting the edge of Agatha’s jacket, stirring your hair. It should cool you. It doesn’t. Your body’s still humming. Still thrumming with the memory of her hands brushing against you earlier.

Of her voice dropping low and wicked during dinner, making your heart stutter. Of her mouth—God, her mouth—haunting every single breath you take. Neither of you speaks. The silence stretches taut between you, straining with every step closer to her door, until it feels like a single word might snap it wide open.

When she finally unlocks the door and swings it open, the tension follows you inside, thickening the air. The familiar scent of her home wraps around you—clean linen, aged wood, something darker and headier that you recognize immediately as her.

She steps in first, setting her box down with an exaggerated stretch, arms reaching up lazily as if this is just another ordinary night. It’s not. You watch the way the hem of her sweater rides up, exposing a sliver of skin above her waistband. Your hands itch. Your mouth goes dry.

She turns back to you with an easy shrug “Put yours down anywhere,” she says lightly, almost teasing. You do—more by instinct than conscious decision—but your eyes never leave her. Not for a second.

The moment your box touches the table, you straighten and square your shoulders, something reckless burning low in your stomach “So,” you say, your voice rougher, lower than it had been minutes ago “Are you gonna act like earlier didn’t happen this time?”

The words hover between you—bold, daring. Agatha’s brow lifts in an elegant arch, the corner of her mouth twitching into something wicked. Slowly, she starts to step toward you, hips swaying just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Which part?” she murmurs, her voice a velvet drag over your skin “The part where you kissed me like you’d die if I stopped you…” she teased softly taking another step closer. “Or the part where headlights saved us both from making a terrible decision right there on the dining table?”

The memory flashes hot behind your eyes—her body pinning yours against the counter, her hands wandering, her mouth bruising yours like she owned you. You can’t speak. You can barely breathe. She stops just in front of you, arms folding slowly across her chest, head tilting as if daring you to deny it.

You meet her gaze, the words scraping your throat raw as you force them out “It wasn’t a terrible decision.” Your voice is steady. But your whole body is trembling. Agatha smiles then—slow and dangerous, like a fuse sparking to life. And before you can think, before you can second-guess, she closes the last inch of space between you and kisses you. This time, there’s no hesitation. No cautious pause. No careful pulling away. Only heat.

Only hunger. Only her. Her hands find your waist first—firm, greedy, trembling just enough to betray how long she’s been holding herself back. She drags you into her body, forcing a sharp gasp from your lips that she swallows hungrily as your mouth opens beneath hers, soft and desperate. You melt into her without thinking.

Without fear. Like you’ve always been hers, and every second spent apart was a mistake you’re finally correcting. Agatha pulls you even closer, her hands sliding around to your back, splaying across your spine possessively. Her mouth never leaves yours—not even for breath. She devours you slowly, deliberately, savoring you like she’s trying to memorize the taste.

And when you slide your hands under the hem of her sweater, your fingers skimming the burning-hot skin of her waist, she makes a sound— a low, wrecked noise in the back of her throat—that almost undoes you completely.

It’s raw.

Unrestrained.

Hungry.

She breaks the kiss only barely, her forehead resting against yours, her breath coming in fast, shallow bursts “I said this couldn’t happen again…” she pants against your mouth, her voice shaking, her fingers flexing at your waist like she’s already well and lost that battle with herself.

“You lied…” you breathe, your nose brushing hers.

A bitter, broken laugh escapes her lips “I did.”

You don’t hesitate—you tug her closer again, your grip fierce, your nails catching lightly in the fabric of her clothes. You need her pressed against you, you need her everywhere “What now?” you whisper, your voice cracking under the weight of it.

Agatha runs the tip of her nose along the line of your jaw, her mouth ghosting over your skin in a way that makes your whole body tremble. Her breath is hot and uneven, her chest heaving against yours.

“Now,” she murmurs, rough and ragged, “I remind myself what I’ve been trying to forget every night since I touched you.” Her words shatter something inside you. You barely register the way she laces her fingers with yours before she’s moving—guiding you, pulling you with her like a force of nature. Dragging you to her bedroom like she owns you. Like she always has.

Clothes fall away in a reckless trail behind you, careless and frantic—pieces of armor discarded in favor of something real. The door closes with a soft click that feels final. Inevitable. The moment is urgent—yes—your hearts beating loud and wild in your chests. But it isn’t rushed.

It’s slow.

It’s deeper.

Every kiss feels deliberate, each press of her mouth against your skin heavier than the last, like she’s trying to brand you into her memory. Every soft gasp and whimper you make is gathered up in her hands and tucked into the hollow of her chest like a secret she can’t let go of. When she touches you now—

it’s not reckless or proving. It’s reverent almost careful. Her fingers tremble against your hips, her palms smoothing down your thighs as if mapping every inch of you to memory. She touches you like you’re fragile. Like you’re precious. And every time she pulls you closer, every time she lets her mouth trail fire down your neck, it feels like she’s trying to say all the things she’s too scared to speak aloud.

You feel everything. Every shake in her breath. Every tremor in her hands. Every heartbeat slamming against yours. And when she finally whispers your name—quiet, reverent, devastated—like it’s sacred, like it’s hers, you forget the world entirely. There’s only her. There’s only this.

And you never want it to end. After, when you’re tangled together in her bed spent but satisfied, the room dim except for the faint golden glow of the bedside lamp. The sheets are a mess, twisted around your legs, the air still heavy with the scent of skin and sweat and something deeper—something dangerously close to love.

You lie there, blinking slowly up at the ceiling, your body still buzzing from her touch, your heart pounding a beat you don’t want to analyze too closely.

Her bare legs are intertwined with yours beneath the covers, warm and firm against your skin. One of her hands rests on your stomach, fingers splayed wide, grounding you there with the kind of tenderness that makes your chest ache.

She strokes absentminded patterns over your ribs with her thumb, lazy and slow, like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it. Like she can’t not touch you. You think she might say something this time.

You can feel the words perched on the edge of the moment, heavy and trembling between you. Something about your mom. About how wrong this is. About how much she regrets letting this happen.

You brace yourself for it. You wait. But she doesn’t. The silence stretches on, thick and strange but not uncomfortable. Not painful. It’s just—there. Instead of words, there’s only the steady sound of her breathing. The slow, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest against your side.

For once, she lets the moment stay. No running. No apologies. No breaking the fragile peace with things you’re not ready to hear. You stay there longer than you should, letting yourself memorize the feeling of her—her weight, her scent, the way her body curls slightly toward yours even in sleepiness, as if drawn to you by gravity itself. But you don’t stay the night. You can’t.

You know the risks. You know how reckless it would be. And if you don’t go now, you might never want to leave. So eventually, reluctantly, you slide out from beneath the covers, careful not to wake her fully.

You pull your shirt back on in the low light, the soft cotton catching awkwardly against your flushed, still-sensitive skin. You cross the room quietly, reaching for the door handle, heart clenching with every step away from her. And then—“Hey.” Her voice is soft, scratchy with exhaustion, but it stops you like a hand closing around your wrist. You turn, heart in your throat.

Agatha’s sitting up now, the sheet slipping down to her waist, baring the smooth expanse of her shoulders and collarbone. Her hair is a tousled mess, wild and beautiful, her cheeks still flushed with leftover heat. She looks unfairly beautiful like this. Raw. Unmade. A little unguarded, like she forgot for once to build her walls back up.

Her eyes find yours across the darkened room. “Be careful,” she says quietly, voice fragile around the edges “Someone might notice if you keep looking at me like that.”

Your throat tightens. You manage a small, wry smile, even though your chest feels like it might break open “Then stop looking at me like you want me just as bad,” you murmur back. Agatha doesn’t respond.

She just stares at you—long and slow and full of something you’re too scared to name. Something she’s too scared to say. She doesn’t stop looking at you. Not even as you slip through the door and into the night, carrying the ghost of her touch on your skin and the weight of her silence in your heart.

The Easter barbecue is your mom’s favorite kind of event—an excuse to decorate the entire house in pastels, make too much food, and gather everyone she loves under one roof. Family, old friends, your college buddies… and Agatha.

Of course, Agatha. She arrives a little late—draped in a soft lavender blouse tucked into high-waisted black slacks, sunglasses pushed into her waves, mouth painted a criminally tempting shade of plum. You nearly drop the deviled eggs when you see her “Don’t stare,” your neighbor teases, nudging you with her elbow. “She’s always been that hot.” You choke “What? I’m not blind.”

You laugh, but your face is burning—and it only gets worse when you check your phone and see a text waiting for you, Agatha: The violet you’re wearing is very pretty color. Very wholesome. A shame what lies under it isn’t.

You suck in a breath. You reply, half-defiant, You: Bold of you to say that when you’re the one who couldn’t keep her hands off me.

Her answer comes seconds later, Agatha: True. I could make it worse? Tell everyone here how our hosts precious daughter, moans my name like a filthy prayer.

You nearly fumble your drink. The next hour is pure torture. Agatha’s across the yard, sipping a lemonade and chatting casually with your mom’s coworkers like she hasn’t been whispering filth into your phone for days.

She’s teasing, calculated, throwing you little glances over the rim of her glass that make your stomach flip and your thighs clench. Your phone buzzes again while you’re helping serve food Agatha: Come say hi, sweetheart. Or are you worried I’ll behave badly?

You reply through gritted teeth You: If you keep this up I’m not gonna be able to restrain myself much longer

Agatha: Promise? You snapped. Not with anger—but with a plan. You wait until she’s leaning against the back patio door, her empty bottle in hand, half-listening to one of your cousins. Then, with innocent precision, you walk up beside her—offering her a new beer.

She smiles eyebrow raised suspiciously “How sweet—” And that’s when you “trip.” The drink slips forward, splashing cold and golden across her blouse and all down her chest. Gasps. A few laughs. A chorus of “Oh no!” from the group nearby. Agatha freezes. You gasp and lunge forward with a napkin, patting her front with theatrical guilt. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry! Let me help—I’ll grab you a towel.”

You grab her arm and guiding her inside before she can say a word. The second the bathroom door shuts behind you, everything shifts. She locks it “Accident, huh?” she says, voice low, amused, blouse clinging to her curves. You press her back against the door, your hand already sliding up her soaked shirt popping open each button at a time. “You’ve been torturing me all week,” you growl. “I warned you what would happen.”

Agatha smirks, eyes dark. “I was counting on it.” You kiss her hard, hungrily, your body flushed with adrenaline. Her hands are under your shirt instantly, nails dragging down your back as you grind against her with a soft whimper “Someone’s going to notice,” she breathes.

“Then shut up and be quiet,” you whispered kissing her again. Your hands slipped down around her waist unzipping her pants. You shoved them down around her hips, fingers slipping further, pressing against her soaked panties.

Agatha groans lowly as your fingers press against her, feeling the damp fabric cling to her aching sex. "Fuck, sweetheart, you've got mommy so fucking wet," she whispers breathlessly against your lips, rocking her hips to grind herself against your hand. "I've been thinking about this all fucking day, about bending you over that counter and fucking that pretty cunt until you scream my name—"

To emphasize her point, Agatha hikes your top up further, her hands splaying across your bare back, nails raking down possessively. You hissed softly nipping at her jaw teasingly “feeling territorial mommy?” You hummed trailing a line of kisses down her neck, across her collar bone and down her torso. You softly dropped down to your knees, curling your fingers into the waistband of her pants and panties.

You guided them, swiftly down her legs, lifting each leg up individually to remove them from under her. Tossing them aside you gripped one of her calves tightly, resting her leg over your shoulder before borrowing your face between her thighs. Agatha inhales sharply, the cool air hitting her dripping sex making her shiver with anticipation. She tangles her fingers in your hair as you guide her leg over your shoulder, opening her up completely to your hungry gaze.

"Fuck, baby, look at you," Agatha breathes, voice thick with desire. "On your fuckin' knees for me already, so eager for a taste..." She rocks her hips forward, painting her slick arousal across your parted lips, a filthy tease. "Go on then, sweetheart. Memorize just how wet mommy is for this greedy little mouth of yours."

Agatha tangles her fingers tighter in your hair, guiding your face closer to her aching cunt. Your nose brushes against her clit, and she can't help but gasp at the contact, hips bucking forward, trying to grind herself against your face.

You licked a broad strip up her dripping slit, lips wrapping around her clit, suckling the swollen bud as you groan your pleasure into her sex. The vibrations shoot straight through her core, making her legs tremble and her abdomen clench. You slipped both hands around her hips pinning them back against the door, Agatha lets out a strangled moan, fingers tightening almost painfully in your hair as your tongue delves between her folds to lap at her aching sex. Her hips buck against the tight grip of your hands, seeking more delicious friction.

"Oh fuck baby," Agatha gasps, head falling back against the door with a soft thud. "Your tongue feels...fuck, just like that..." She grinds herself harder against you, smearing your chin and cheeks with her slick arousal as you work her sensitive flesh. She can feel her climax approaching fast, spurred on by your dedicated focus.

You feel her thigh start to tremble and quiver around your head as you suckle her clit more greedily, your tongue flickering against the sensitive bud. Her grip in your hair tightens as she grinds herself shamelessly against your hungry mouth, desperate for release. "Fuck, fuck, fuck..." she chants breathlessly, the obscene wet sounds of your feasting filling the small bathroom.

"Don't stop baby, please don't fucking stop..." Agatha head thuds back softly against the door, letting out a strangled whimper as her orgasm crashes over her like a tidal wave.

Her sex clenches rhythmically, gushing arousal into your eager mouth as she rides out her high, holds you flush against her throbbing core, shuddering helplessly from the force of her climax. You released her pulsing bud, tongue stroking deeper between her folds, lapping at her clenching hole. Groaning at the taste, you speared your tongue inside.

"Oh god, fuck!" Agatha mewls, her orgasm still coursing through her as your tongue plunges deep into her fluttering channel, lapping up every drop of her release. Her grip on your hair becomes almost painful as she grinds herself shamelessly against your face, riding out the aftershocks.

"Fuck, I need... I need..." Her words dissolve into incoherent moans and whimpers as her pleasure builds again frighteningly quickly, her body still so sensitive from her first climax.

She hooks her other leg over your shoulder, balancing herself against the door to open herself completely to your hungry mouth and probing tongue as it fucks into her, curling and stroking her innermost depths. The sounds spilling from her lips turn higher, more urgent, her hips starting to jerk and shudder with a second impending release already.

"Please baby, please, god never stop—" Her begging dissolves into whimpers of ecstasy as a second explosive climax hits her like a freight train, she bit her lip attempting to quiet herself. Her second climax gushing out, flooding your mouth with her sweet nectar as she thrashes against you and the door wildly, completely lost to the intense pleasure consuming her.

She's not sure how long she stays like that, trembling and shaking apart in your grasp, her lip bloody from how hard she bit down. But as the waves of rapture finally begin to ebb, she collapses back against the door, panting and spent, thighs still trembling and squeezing around your head. Her fingers stroke almost gently through your hair as she slowly returns to herself, basking in the afterglow.

"God, sweetheart..." she manages to rasp out, voice wrecked. "That was...fuck, that was incredible. You're incredible." She smiles down at you dreamily, eyes hazy and unfocused. She stroked her hand through you hair affectionately "Such a good girl, making mommy come so hard. I'm so fucking proud of you right now." You guided each of her shaky legs down, one at a time, pressing soft kisses along the top of her thighs.

When finally you slipped back outside fifteen minutes later, a wicked smirk is painted on your lips. Agatha’s wearing your oversized denim jacket and a fresh white T-shirt, face flushed and slightly breathless. Trying very hard not to look like someone who just defiled the guest bathroom.

Your mom glances up from the grill and squints “Everything okay?”

Agatha smiles sweetly beside you. “Your daughter was a perfect hostess. Even offered me something dry to change into, are started a fresh load so the silk wouldn’t stain.”

You blink. Onec the attention was no longer on the both of you. Agatha leans in from behind you, lips brushing your ear “You’ll get your reward later—” she whispers, “Mommy promises.” The tempting words sent a shiver down your spine and suddenly you couldn’t care less about the parties proceedings.

It’s just dinner. That’s what your mom said, standing in the kitchen with a grin while she stirred something in a pot and adjusted the napkins for the third time “I invited Carol and her son Mikey. You remember her—from the office party last year?”

You nod distractedly, helping set the table. You vaguely remember Carol. Couldn’t pick Mikey out of a lineup. You’re not even really paying attention. Because Agatha’s coming, too. That’s all you really care about.

It’s been a week since the barbecue. Since the bathroom. Since you dragged her against the door, your mouth on her like you owned her. And she let you. You’ve seen each other twice since then—both under innocent circumstances. Family lunch. Errands. Nothing touching. Nothing obvious.

But the texts haven’t stopped. And the tension? It’s only gotten worse. By the time everyone arrives, the house smells like rosemary, garlic, and warm wine. The kitchen glows under soft golden lights, pots clattering gently in the background, and your mom is practically radiating happiness as she flits around, fussing over every tiny detail.

You hover near the dining room archway, offering a polite smile when Carol steps inside—elegantly dressed, her hair tucked neatly behind her ears, already chatting brightly with your mom like old friends. Behind her is Mikey. You straighten slightly on instinct.

He’s tall. Neatly put together in a way that practically screams med school or future suburban husband material—slacks, a button-up, a too-bright smile that feels just a little too polished “Hi,” Mikey says, stepping toward you with a confident grin, extending his hand.

You take it automatically, trying not to wince at the firm, eager shake “I’ve heard a lot about you,” he adds, chuckling lightly as he scratches the back of his neck.

You blink, caught slightly off-guard. “Oh?”

He laughs, a little sheepishly, as if realizing how forward he sounds “Yeah—your mom’s been kind of… hyping you up.” You force a polite smile, nodding once, even as your stomach twists uncomfortably.

“Cool,” you say simply, your voice a touch too flat to be enthusiastic. You’re saved from further small talk by the sharp creak of the front door swinging open again. You turn—and time stutters in your chest.

Agatha steps inside with the kind of casual grace that makes it feel like the entire room rearranges itself around her. She’s wearing black slacks that hug the lean lines of her legs and an ivory sweater—soft, slouchy in all the right places, clinging unfairly to her curves. She looks effortless. Polished.

Dangerous. Your pulse kicks instantly, heat creeping up your neck before you can stop it. Agatha’s gaze scans the room—and then lands on you. Her lips curve into a polite smile, but you see it—the stiffness in it. The way it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

Her eyes flick quickly to Mikey, then back to you. A flash of something dark passes through them before it’s tucked neatly away “Evening,” she says smoothly, her voice low and rich like poured velvet. She crosses the room to set a bottle of wine and a pie dish down on the table with a soft clink.

Carol lights up beside your mother “Not at all!” she chirps. “We were just about to sit.” Agatha’s eyes linger on you a beat too long. And then she moves. As she passes by you on her way toward the kitchen, her hand grazes your lower back.

It’s barely anything—a ghost of a touch, featherlight and practiced enough to seem platonic to anyone watching. But to you? It feels like she set fire to your skin. The spot she touched burns, and every nerve in your body strains toward her without permission.

You stand there for a moment too long, rattled, your heart thundering in your ears, desperately trying to pretend like you’re breathing normally. Like you didn’t just feel her claim you in front of the whole room—in a way no one else would notice. No one but you.

Dinner starts off pleasant enough. The table is set beautifully, candles flickering gently, the scent of roasted rosemary and butter still hanging thick in the air. Your mom is absolutely glowing, chatting animatedly with Carol across the table, her wine glass already half-full. The clink of silverware and the low murmur of polite conversation fills the room.

It should feel warm.

Comfortable.

Easy.

And it does—on the surface. Mikey, to his credit, is quite nice. Polite. Smart in the well-practiced way that checks every box your mother would ever dream of. His posture is perfect. His smile a little too polished. His answers to every question rehearsed like he’s been coached for this moment his whole life.

He should be perfect. But he’s not. Because no matter how nice he is—no matter how neatly he fits into the space your mom is trying to carve out—you barely hear a word he says. Not with Agatha sitting directly across from you.

She stirs her wine slowly, the stem of the glass turning between her fingertips with idle, calculated grace. Her head is tilted slightly, lashes lowered just enough to seem disinterested. But you feel it. You feel her watching you. Measuring. Seething.

Every laugh you force for Mikey’s sake goes unanswered by her. Every smile you offer dies a little more quickly under the weight of her silent stare. It’s suffocating. It’s thrilling. It’s Agatha.

“Do you like hiking?” Mikey asks suddenly, shifting just a little closer to you—subtle, but noticeable. You force your eyes away from Agatha and blink at him.

“Uh…” you hedge, stabbing at your plate with your fork. “Not really.”

Mikey grins, undeterred “Well, maybe I could change your mind sometime.” You open your mouth to respond—something neutral, something noncommittal—But you don’t get the chance.

Across the table, Agatha clears her throat. It’s a soft sound.Barely polite. But it slices through the conversation like a knife “Please,” she says, her tone all sugar and steel, “she once pretended to sprain her ankle just to get out of a two-mile loop.”

Heat floods your face immediately. You duck your head, cheeks burning. Mikey laughs it off like it’s adorable “Maybe she just needed a better hiking partner,” he says easily, flashing you a wink.

You risk a glance across the table. Agatha’s smile sharpens like broken glass “Doubtful,” she purrs. Your fork stills halfway to your mouth. The tension is sharp enough to taste.

You glance at her properly this time—really look—and your chest tightens. Her jaw is rigid. Her wine sits untouched by her hand, forgotten. She’s leaned back in her chair, legs crossed, looking casual—disengaged—but you know her better than that. You know every crack in her armor. And right now? She’s raging beneath it.

Your mom, of course, is oblivious to the slow-brewing storm. She beams across the table at you, radiating approval “Isn’t Mikey wonderful?” she says, practically bouncing in her seat. “He just got accepted into a law fellowship—”

“That’s great,” Agatha cuts in smoothly, her voice bright and pleasant in a way that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up “But,” she adds, smiling thinly, “I bet you’re very busy. No time for distractions.”

There’s a barb there. You hear it. You feel it. Mikey, bless him, doesn’t seem to notice the dagger buried beneath her words. He just shrugs good-naturedly, flashing another easy grin “You make time for the right people.”

Agatha’s brows lift elegantly. For a moment, she says nothing. Then her gaze slides to you—lingers just a second too long “And how,” she drawls, “do you know who’s right?”

Mikey chuckles, lifting his wine glass in a casual shrug “I guess you just feel it.” The room dips into a moment of tight, uncomfortable silence. You barely breathe.

Agatha smiles again—but this one is different. Tight. Dangerous. A flash of teeth behind velvet “Hm,” she hums, swirling her untouched wine lazily. “Dangerous logic.”

You can feel it building—the sharp edge beneath every word, the tightening in her shoulders, the bitter bite waiting just under the surface. You can’t let it go on. Before anyone else can speak, you scrape your chair back with a soft squeak, forcing a smile onto your face “I’m gonna… clear some of these,” you say, voice too bright.

You stand smoothly, grabbing your plate. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Agatha’s chair shift instantly “I’ll help you,” she says, already standing.

Of course she does. You don’t look at her. You don’t have to. You can feel the heat of her body already moving toward you, can feel the tension snapping tighter and tighter in the small space between you—And you know. You know this isn’t over. Not even close.

The moment the door swings closed behind you, the noise of the dining room muffled into a distant hum, you exhale sharply—like you’ve been holding your breath all night. The kitchen is dimmer, quieter, the warm overhead lights catching the shine of polished countertops and clean dishes stacked neatly by the sink. The air feels heavier here.

You set the stack of plates down on the counter a little harder than necessary and glance over your shoulder “Are you okay?” you ask, your voice low, tentative.

Agatha leans casually—too casually—against the counter, her arms folding across her chest in a loose, practiced motion. She tilts her head slightly, arching a brow “Peachy,” she says flatly.

You narrow your eyes at her “Peachy,” you repeat skeptically. There’s a sharpness in the way she holds herself, tension bleeding into every line of her body no matter how hard she tries to look detached.

“You sure?” you press, stepping closer, your voice softening just slightly. “Because you’ve been glaring at Mikey like he kicked your dog.” A muscle ticks in her jaw, almost imperceptible. She shrugs, nonchalant on the surface, but you see the way her shoulders stiffen.

“I don’t like the way he looks at you,” she says simply. There’s no humor in her voice. No teasing. Just that low, quiet simmer you’re starting to recognize too well—the slow burn of something darker underneath.

“Why?” you ask, searching her face, your heart pounding a little faster.

Agatha shrugs again, a roll of her shoulders that’s too sharp to be casual “He’s not subtle.”

You frown, stepping closer still “And you are?” The corner of her mouth twitches—but not in amusement. It’s a humorless, bitter thing. A crack in the armor she’s struggling to hold together all evening.

You stare at her. You stare until she looks like she might break. And then you whisper it—soft, but certain “You’re jealous.” Agatha scoffs under her breath, turning her head away like she can hide from it. But you see it. The way her throat works around the words she won’t say. The way her fingers tighten where they grip the edge of the counter, knuckles whitening.

“You are,” you murmur, taking a step closer, your voice coaxing, almost tender. “You’re jealous, and you won’t even admit why.” She closes her eyes for a beat, like she’s praying for patience she doesn’t have.

Then, quietly—so quietly you almost miss it—she says “I don’t like watching someone else try to take what’s mine.”

The words punch the air from your lungs. Your breath catches audibly, your heart stuttering against your ribs. She still won’t look at you. Still won’t move. As if staying perfectly still might protect her from the enormity of what she’s just confessed.

You hesitate, your hand curling loosely at your side. Then, voice trembling despite yourself, you ask “…Am I?” A beat “Yours?”

At that, Agatha finally turns her head. And when she meets your gaze—for a moment—she looks utterly wrecked. Like the admission costs her something she doesn’t know how to give. Her eyes flicker, shining with something raw, something broken and desperate, and she whispers “Yes.”

A simple word. A shattering truth “But I shouldn’t say that,” she adds, her voice a rasp, breaking apart on the edges. “I shouldn’t let it mean anything.”

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of everything hanging between you. You step closer anyway, closing the final breath of space between your bodies, your hand brushing lightly against hers in a barely-there touch “But it does,” you say, so quietly you’re not sure if you even breathe the words aloud. Agatha doesn’t respond. Not with words.

But the way she closes her eyes—like she’s fighting something inside herself—and the way her fingers flex against the counter says more than anything else ever could. You don’t push her. You don’t force her. You just stay close, breathing the same air, feeling the ache of what almost could be, if only the world outside didn’t exist.

Before either of you can say more, your mom’s voice cuts cheerfully into the heavy air, oblivious. “Dessert’s ready To be plated! Don’t stay gone too long—you’ll make Mikey think you’re not interested!”

You snap your head toward her voice, blinking hard to pull yourself out of the moment. Agatha straightens instantly, pasting a smile on her lips so quickly and flawlessly you might’ve believed it—if you hadn’t just seen her stripped bare. But her eyes—Her eyes don’t smile at all.

You say nothing, simply nodding, grabbing a fresh stack of plates with fingers that tremble almost imperceptibly. When you follow your mom back into the dining room, you feel it.

Agatha’s gaze, heavy and searing, pinned to your back the entire way “Would anyone like some dessert?” your mom beams, her energy undimmed by the undercurrents threading through the room.

She’s already halfway out of her chair and to the serving table, moving with that unstoppable hostess instinct that no one ever dared challenge—smoothing her hands over her apron, practically glowing with pride over the spread she’s laid out.

Carol and Mikey both nod politely, chiming in with soft “Sure”s and “Sounds wonderful”s. You muster a tight smile, your fingers clenching slightly around your fork beneath the table, willing yourself to stay composed.

Across the room, you notice Agatha hasn’t moved. She stands instead, lingering by the kitchen door—her purse gripped loosely in one hand, her body tense in a way only you would recognize.

Something twists low in your stomach. You look up, locking onto her just as she clears her throat lightly “I should get going,” she says, voice smooth but a little too rehearsed. She slings the strap of her purse over her shoulder in one fluid movement, her smile strained at the edges. “Something came up for work—I need to handle it tonight.”

You blink, heart stumbling “Now?” you ask before you can stop yourself, the word escaping softer than you mean it to. For a second—barely a second—her eyes meet yours across the space between you. It’s fleeting. But it’s enough.

You see it there. The flash of guilt. The sadness. The way her mouth almost moves like she wants to say something else—but clamps it shut instead. It’s a lie. You know it instantly. And it sinks into your chest like a stone, heavy and cold. Still—you nod. What else can you do?

You don’t argue, Not with your mom fussing at the dessert table, humming to herself. Not with Mikey sitting across from you, still smiling like he has a prayer in hell. You force yourself to nod again, sharper this time, biting the inside of your cheek to keep everything else contained.

“Thanks for dinner,” Agatha says sweetly, turning her attention to your mother, who blinks in mild surprise but recovers quickly, flashing a concerned smile.

“Of course, honey. Everything okay?” your mom asks, setting down a dish of pie with a little frown. “You brought the dessert it only fair you say and enjoy it a little—“

“Just one of those last-minute emergencies,” Agatha replies smoothly, breezing past the question with practiced ease. But then—Then she looks at you again. Just for a moment. And it’s different this time. Softer.

Heavy with things she can’t say aloud “I’ll see you soon,” she murmurs, the words almost an apology. You force yourself to meet her gaze but offer her nothing but a slight nod in return, your throat too tight to risk speaking.

You watch her turn away, her heels clicking faintly against the floor as she crosses to the front door. Every step she takes feels like it’s dragging something vital out of you. Tearing something unseen between you that you don’t know how to fix.

Your chest aches—deep and hollow—the entire time she walks away. And even after the door swings shut behind her, sealing her absence into the night, the space she leaves behind feels impossibly large. Empty in a way no one else seems to notice. Except you.

One painful hour and a half later, Carol and Mikey are finally gone. You breathe a small, almost imperceptible sigh of relief the moment the front door closes behind them. The house feels instantly lighter, though the polite hum of leftover conversation still seems to echo against the walls.

Mikey had been perfectly nice—charming, even—offering another too-bright smile as he pressed a folded napkin into your hand before he left. You didn’t even glance at it. You dropped it near the sink without a second thought, the scrawl of his number already blurring in your mind like it was never meant to matter.

Because it didn’t. Not when every thought you had still clung stubbornly to the woman who ran from dessert—and from you. Now, you’re elbows-deep in soapy water, scrubbing plates with mechanical movements, the heat of the water doing little to thaw the cold knot still twisted deep in your chest.

The kitchen is mostly quiet except for the low gurgle of the faucet and the occasional clink of glass against porcelain. You’re so lost in your own swirling thoughts that you barely notice your mom step up beside you. She moves casually, almost breezily, placing a glass pie dish down on the counter with a soft clatter “Hey,” she says lightly, like she’s asking you to pass the salt “Can you return this to Agatha tomorrow? She left in such a hurry, I doubt she even realized it was mine.”

You wipe your dripping hands on the towel at your hip before she even finishes speaking “I’ll take it tonight,” you say quickly, a little too quickly. Your mom blinks, taken slightly aback by the eagerness threading your voice. She squints at you—sharp, suspicious in that way only a mother can be—but you refuse to meet her eyes, busying yourself with folding the towel, setting it neatly aside.

“You don’t have to go now, sweetheart,” she says, slow and careful, watching you more closely now.

“I don’t mind,” you reply, your voice tighter, more clipped than you intend. For a second, she hesitates, like she might push. You brace yourself. But then she just smiles softly, stepping forward to kiss your temple.

“Tell her thanks again for the wine,” she says, her tone returning to easy warmth. You nod, grabbing the pie dish with hands that aren’t quite steady. You shrug on your coat, feeling the weight of the glass in your hands like an anchor tethering you to something you can’t walk away from. And with every step you take toward Agatha’s door—through the crisp night air, across the dark stretch between your houses—your heart beats faster.

You knock softly, barely more than a tap. For a heartbeat, you wonder if she’ll pretend not to hear. But then the door swings open—and Agatha stands there, framed in the warm, low light spilling out behind her.

She doesn’t look surprised to see you. If anything, she looks like she’s been waiting. Gone are the polished slacks and fitted sweater she wore to dinner. Instead, she’s in a loose, worn T-shirt and a pair of soft joggers that hang low on her hips. Barefoot.

Her hair is tied back messily, a few dark strands falling loose around her face. And for a woman who supposedly had an “emergency” urgent enough to skip dessert, she looks… eerily calm. Relaxed in a way that only makes your chest tighten painfully. You lift the pie dish in your hands, your voice small “Emergency handled?”

Agatha exhales slowly, a sound heavy with defeat, and steps aside, motioning you in “Come in,” she murmurs.

You cross the threshold without hesitation, your pulse hammering a little harder with every step into her space—the space that feels too much like home and too dangerous all at once.

You set the pie dish down on the entryway table, the faint clink of ceramic against granite sounding loud in the otherwise still house. When you turn to face her, she’s already watching you. There’s a beat of silence. Long. Heavy.

Only the soft tick of the clock on the far wall and the low hum of the heater break the quiet “You left early,” you say, your voice barely more than a whisper, too weighted with everything you don’t know how to say. Agatha’s mouth tightens “I did,” she answers simply.

“You lied about it.”

“I did,” she echoes again, her voice softer this time, almost like she hates how true it is. You stare at her.

At the woman you’ve loved in quiet, impossible ways for longer than you want to admit “Why?” you ask, your heart beating harder, the word raw in your throat.

Agatha crosses her arms over her chest, holding herself tightly, like she needs the pressure to stay upright “Because I couldn’t stand it,” she says, her voice rough around the edges.

Your stomach flips violently, your fingers curling slightly into the fabric of your coat at your sides. She keeps going, her words picking up momentum, tripping over themselves “I couldn’t sit there and pretend it didn’t bother me. Him, sitting next to you. Your mom beaming like it was meant to be.”

She laughs bitterly, the sound brittle and self-mocking “Watching him talk to you like he had any right to know you—”

She cuts herself off abruptly, dragging a hand down her face in frustration “It’s stupid,” she mutters. “I know it’s stupid. I shouldn’t—” You take a step closer. Not fast.

Not demanding.

Just there.

Present.

You wait until her eyes lift to meet yours. And then you ask, soft and steady “To what?” For a second, you’re sure she won’t answer. But then— Her gaze shatters. Tired. Vulnerable. Frighteningly, achingly possessive.

“I wanted to drag you upstairs,” she whispers, voice like steel, “make you whine my name so loud they’d all know exactly who you belonged to. Instead of trying to peddle you off like a damn dowery maid—”

The words hit you like a physical blow. Your breath catches painfully, your whole body going still. Agatha flinches at the silence, stepping back half a pace, her hands fisting at her sides “But I can’t,” she says quickly, brokenly. “I won’t. Because no matter how I feel, I’m still your mother’s best friend. I watched you grow up.”

Her voice cracks, and she presses her mouth shut hard for a second before continuing “I shouldn’t—” she chokes on the words, “—I shouldn’t want you the way I do.” You don’t realize you’re crying until her hand lifts hesitantly between you, fingers brushing lightly against your cheek, catching a tear.

The touch is unbearably gentle. You close your eyes briefly, feeling the tremble in her fingers “So you do,” you whisper when you can finally breathe again. “You do want me.”

Agatha exhales shakily, the sound like something crumbling inside her “Yes,” she admits, her voice breaking apart completely. “So much it hurts.”

Your heart splinters open. You step in, slow and certain, pressing your forehead to hers, feeling the unsteady rhythm of her breath against your skin. Your hand slides up her arm, anchoring you both to this moment, to this choice you are both making even if the world outside demands you don’t.

“Then stop running from me, I’m capable of making my own decisions….” you whisper. She lets out a strangled sound—a soft, broken thing that makes your chest ache

“I’m not good for you,” she murmurs, and you feel the fear in her words, the way she believes them like a prayer.

“You’re everything Ive ever wanted, don’t say that—” you say simply. Agatha trembles under your touch. So close. So desperate. So fragile.

“I’m scared,” she confesses, her voice barely audible. “I’m scared of what this means. Of how much I already care about you. Of what happens when it stops being easy to hide.”

You nod gently, your hand smoothing up to cradle her cheek, thumb brushing the edge of her jaw “Me too,” you breathe.

You don’t kiss her. Not this time. Instead, you just hold her face in your hands, cradling her like something precious and breakable. You lean in and press your forehead firmly against hers. Letting her feel it, All of it. Not lust. Not just aching want.

Devotion.

Care.

Something painfully real.

Something terrifying and beautiful that neither of you can outrun anymore. Agatha’s eyes flutter shut as you stay there, forehead pressed to hers, breathing the same fragile air. Neither of you speaks.

You just exist—suspended in the heavy quiet, in the aching hum of something too vast, too dangerous, too real to name out loud yet. It feels like the whole world narrows to the inch of space between your bodies. The place where her breath mingles with yours. Where her skin brushes yours, featherlight but unignorable. You feel it when she moves—slowly, tentatively.

Her hands settle at your waist, trembling just slightly as she spreads her fingers wide, like she’s trying to memorize the shape of you under her palms “Come here,” she murmurs.

The words barely reach your ears, so soft they might be imagined. You barely have time to react before she’s guiding you backward, her hand finding the small of your back, pressing there gently—grounding you, anchoring you to her as if you might float away if she didn’t tether you down.

Her other hand brushes your wrist, fingers skimming lightly over the place where your pulse thrums madly under your skin. Like she’s trying to steady herself with the proof of your heartbeat.

She sinks down onto the couch in one smooth movement, pulling you down with her—into her—like a tide drawing you helplessly toward the shore. You end up straddling her lap, your knees braced on either side of her hips, feeling the steady, burning heat of her body pressed close against yours.

Agatha exhales, a long, trembling breath that shudders out of her like she’s been holding it trapped in her lungs for days. You start to shift, unsure if you’re too heavy, if you’re asking too much—But her arms tighten instantly around your waist, tugging you flush against her.

“No,” she whispers against your shoulder, a desperate thread lacing her voice. “Don’t move. Just—just stay.” You do. You let your weight sink into her. You wrap your arms loosely around her neck, your fingers finding the ends of her hair, twisting them idly between trembling fingertips.

And in turn, she wraps herself around you—arms strong, certain, almost possessive—holding you like you’re something rare she doesn’t know how to trust but can’t bear to lose. Her face finds the curve of your shoulder, nuzzling there lightly, her nose brushing the warm skin of your neck.

Her breath is soft, steady, but you can still feel the faint shiver beneath it “I’m sorry I left earlier,” she says, her voice muffled against you. You smooth your fingers through her hair, combing them gently through the silky strands at the nape of her neck.

“I know why you did,” you whisper back. Agatha shifts a little, enough that you can feel the tension rolling off her shoulders, sharp and restless.

“I just couldn’t stand the thought of someone else touching you,” she murmurs, her voice cracking around the edges, raw and honest in a way she never lets herself be “Not when you feel like…”

She trails off, the confession breaking halfway free but too dangerous to finish. You lift your hand, cupping the back of her head, guiding her gently to look at you “Like what?” you whisper.

Agatha pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. And what you find there steals the air from your lungs. Desire, yes—an ache written deep into the stormy blue of her gaze. But also longing. Fear. Love—or something that feels terrifyingly close to it.

“Like home—safety.” she says hoarsely, each word pulled from her like it hurts to admit. “And I don’t even know when that started. Or how it got so deep so fast. But it’s there. And I don’t know what to do with it.”

Your throat tightens painfully. Your whole body feels full of something too huge to hold “You hold me,” you whisper, your forehead tipping forward to brush hers again. “You stop pretending we’re just a mistake waiting to happen.”

Agatha stares at you, her lips parted slightly, her breathing uneven. And then, slowly—so gently it feels like a promise—she presses her lips to your temple. She lingers there, warm and trembling, letting the touch speak all the things her voice is too broken to say.

“Okay,” she breathes against your skin. You don’t argue. You don’t push for more. You don’t need more—not right now. Instead, you shift closer, curling yourself fully into her lap, resting your head against the strong line of her shoulder. You breathe her in—clean linen, worn cotton, something uniquely Agatha that fills your lungs and steadies the wild beat of your heart.

Her hand traces slow, absent patterns down your spine—over and over, soothing, worshipping. The other hand comes up, threading gently into your hair, cradling the back of your head with careful fingers, like she’s afraid you might break if she’s not careful.

The room is quiet except for the sound of your breathing. The soft hum of the heater. The low, steady rhythm of her heartbeat beneath your ear. You both just exist there—tangled together, holding each other together. Until, after what feels like hours, Agatha speaks again—so quietly you almost think you imagined it “I wish I met you in another life,” she murmurs into your hai “Somewhere where I didn’t have to pretend I don’t need you to breath.”

Your fingers tighten in the hem of her shirt instinctively, as if anchoring yourself even closer to her “You don’t have to pretend with me,” you whisper.

She exhales shakily, her mouth brushing the crown of your head in a featherlight kiss that feels like it costs her everything to give. That night, you don’t ask for more. You don’t kiss. You don’t undress. You just stay—wrapped around each other like a lifeline—letting the weight of everything unspoken settle between you. Because somehow, impossibly, this—This is the closest either of you has ever felt to home.

You feel yourself melt deeper into her lap, your body sinking against hers like you were made to fit there. The warmth of her skin, the steady rise and fall of her breathing—it lulls you into something softer, something quieter.

Your fingers trace lazy patterns on the sleeve of her shirt, your head tucked against the curve of her neck. You’re so tired. But for the first time in a long time, it’s not the kind of tired that comes from running or pretending.

It’s peaceful. Agatha shifts a little beneath you, pulling the throw blanket draped over the back of the couch around your shoulders, tucking you closer like she can’t stand even a few inches of air between you. Your voice is small when it comes—barely a breath against her collarbone, so soft you wonder if she even hears it “Can I stay tonight?”

Agatha goes utterly still beneath you. You feel it—the way her entire body freezes for a heartbeat, as if the world itself has tilted and she’s trying to find her footing again.

You lift your head slightly, blinking up at her through heavy, sleep-laden eyes, your heart thudding painfully against your ribs “I’ll leave before anyone could see me,” you add quickly, voice picking up with quiet desperation. “Early. I swear.”

You pause, the weight of vulnerability crashing over you, and then, in a voice even smaller than before, you whisper “I just really want you to hold me tonight.”

For a moment, Agatha doesn’t speak. She just stares at you—really sees you—like you’ve peeled yourself open in front of her and handed her the fragile, beating thing inside your chest. Something inside her broke. You see it happen. Right there in her eyes. The cool mask she always wears—the teasing smirks, the sardonic shields—all of it drops away like it was never real to begin with.

All that’s left is raw emotion. Bare. Open. Unguarded. Her arms tighten around you without hesitation, an instinctive, protective gesture like she couldn’t say no even if she tried. Like the thought of turning you away is physically impossible.

“You can stay,” she murmurs, her voice rough, thick with emotion she doesn’t bother trying to hide. Her fingers comb tenderly through your hair, slow and soothing, as if trying to memorize every strand “Stay as long as you want.” Your throat burns. Your eyes sting with the pressure of unshed tears—but you don’t cry.

You just let yourself melt against her again, surrendering to the comfort, the safety, the overwhelming rightness of being in her arms. You pressed your cheek back to her chest, feeling the strong, steady thud of her heart beneath your ear. A rhythm you could memorize in your sleep.

Agatha presses absentminded kisses to the crown of your head—one, then another, then another—like she can’t help herself. Each brush of her lips is featherlight, reverent, anchoring you to her.

The world beyond the walls of her house fades into a muted hum, meaningless compared to the soft sounds of her breathing, the gentle glide of her fingers down your spine. You drift, caught in that hazy, blissful space between wakefulness and sleep, cocooned in her warmth and the steady cradle of her arms.

At some point, you feel her shift beneath you—so carefully, so gently it barely registers. She slips her arms under your legs and back, lifting you with surprising ease, cradling you close against her chest as she stands. You stir slightly, a quiet, content sound escaping your lips, but you don’t resist. You trust her implicitly.Her heartbeat thunders against your cheek as she carries you through the dim hallway, the soft creak of floorboards underfoot the only sound.

She reaches her bedroom and lowers you onto the mattress with painstaking care, like you’re something precious she’s terrified of breaking. She tugs the covers up around you, brushing your hair back from your forehead with trembling fingers. The touch is so tender it steals the air from your lungs.

Then she slides in beside you, slipping under the covers, letting you curl into her side, her arms coming around you fiercely—as if daring the world to try and take you from her. You cling to her without shame, your hand finding hers under the blanket, fingers tangling together tightly.

Her thumb strokes slow, soothing circles against your wrist, each movement like a promise she’s too scared to say aloud. The room is silent but alive—charged with everything you’re both too exhausted, too overwhelmed to speak.

And just as the last threads of consciousness begin to unravel, just as sleep pulls you deeper into the quiet safety of her arms, you hear her whisper—So faint you could almost believe it was a dream “I’m already yours.”

[thatsunnyalien]

The only thing I feel like I should add, because me and my doc love to go rounds on this one, is if you’re writing your trauma into characters make sure to take time for your own self care.

I had a habit of writing thousands upon thousands of words between our appointments, when I used to go once a month. I had been doing really well before I started writing. The first time I talked about it with her I was shocked that she was upset. She tried to explain that I was touching my trauma so casually without self care and how that could hurt me.

I was mad because I thought I was okay, I was able to write it and get it out in a way I could look at it. I was so excited, thinking it was finally over. So, I ignored her advice. I thought I was doing okay but it wasn’t until a few appointments had passed that she realized I had stopped eating, sleeping, or any of the general “you should be doing this for your body” things. I lapsed on my health completely, returning to things that were putting me back on the path to hospitalization. I was paranoid, anxious, and so so tired. Things I didn't want to admit to myself. When I wrote though, I felt like I was on top of the world. I was making something that made me proud! I was making so much progress! She absolutely hated it though. Trying to tell me that I should start taking breaks, at the very least, to stretch and use the bathroom. Surprise, I wasn’t doing that either.

I’m doing better now, even though I have to go to my doc more often and I still write too much because I’m hellishly stubborn, but not as much as I used to. I used to be afraid to talk about what I was writing with her because it was so vulnerable. Especially after I stopped caring for myself, worried she’d tell me to stop writing completely. Now, I’ll read her lines that I find important to share and she likes to tell me how she’s proud of me. She’ll tell me I’m saying the things that the younger version of me needed to hear. Which I find hilarious considering the plot of my last story. My experiences while writing are part of the reason why I’m no longer content with In Dreams of Blood and Water. I’ve re-read it with this new perspective, and I see how I still barely let myself touch what hurt. I want to do better.

Now, I need to do this right for myself and for them.

So be good to yourself, for yourself.

Write that trauma.

But do your self care.

And for fucks sake get up and go pee.

[harrysredroom]

Playing With Fire

word count: 4.5k

summary: 18+ content! basically just smut with loads of angst. enemies? lovers? who knows. they sure don’t. dominant/switch harry, submissive/switch y/n…they don’t discriminate. Harry and Y/N just can't seem to decide if it's love, hate, or lust.

a/n: hiiii, this is my first time posting something i’ve written. It’s not something i ever thought i’d do, so go easy on me lmao. let me know if you want to see more! 

"Hello?"

"We're doing pleasantries now? I'm here."

"I'm home."

"Then buzz me in."

"I'm watching a new episode of Criminal Minds."

"Jesus. You can watch it while I fuck you from behind. Buzz me in, Y/N. Now. I don't have the time -or the patience- for your attitude tonight."

That's about as long as their phone calls ever got. The pair sighed in unison before the call ended, the tension bubbling beneath the surface from the second Y/N saw Harry's name pop up on her phone screen. She hadn't seen him or heard from him for the past three months. 

Her and Harry had a complicated, long-standing situationship…and that was putting it lightly. A friend of a friend, a few drinks, a few months of connecting, heartbreak, and a mess of blurred lines. They were the kind of almost-couple that never quite got the timing right. 

Every goodbye was temporary, every reunion accidental but inevitable. The inability to stay away from each other? That was the real reason things never worked. Too much chemistry, not enough clarity. It was passion tangled with pain, affection mixed with avoidance, like trying to hold onto smoke.

Incompatible. 

Harry was consistently gone on tour and afraid of commitment. Y/N never left her tiny bubble of life and was emotionally unavailable. 

They didn't see eye to eye on most things. 

But...their sexual tension? 

It buzzed consistently like a live wire, twisting, crackling, and sparking to life. 

Harry was a constant thrum beneath her skin, rooted deep in her veins like a heartbeat she couldn't quiet. He had this way of making her feel like she mattered even if it only lasted a second. When he'd breathe into the curve of her neck, voice low and ragged, whispering how she was his, her walls would crack just enough to let him in. In those moments, she wasn't cold or closed off. She wasn’t numb. She could feel—really feel—something other than the dull ache that usually lived inside her. It was fleeting, sure, but it was real. And sometimes, that was enough to pull her back under.

Y/N was like a drug to Harry. He was always twitching, in desperate need of a fix. Being inside of her was addictive, his head in the clouds and far away from everything. But the comedown from the high? Brutal. The crash after they were done, after the kisses cooled, after the silence settled in, always hit harder than he expected. Each time left him hollow, questioning everything. Why had he stumbled back into her life again? What part of him kept confusing chaos for comfort, or her bed for safety? He’d lie there, heart still racing, staring at the ceiling like it might offer answers. But it never did. Just the same ache, the same regret, curling up beside him like a second skin.

Y/N adjusted the sleeves of her oversized jumper, fingers fidgeting for a moment before she stood from the couch. Padding toward the front door, she hesitated for just a second before pressing the buzzer to let Harry in.

The soft buzz echoed down the stairwell, but to her, it felt like a warning siren.

She had to stand her ground this time.

She couldn’t keep letting him drift in and out of her life like a tide she had no control over, especially not after this long. Usually, it was a few weeks, a handful of texts, and a night that bled into morning. But three months? That was different. That was silence she’d almost started to believe in.

Almost.

Harry’s lips curved into that familiar devilish smirk the second he heard the mechanical whirl of the front gate unlocking. That soft hum, the one that granted him access, always felt like the first drop on a rollercoaster. He pushed the door open once the metal gate slid back into place behind him, shutting it with a click that echoed in the empty hallway.

He practically jogged up the two flights to her flat, his pulse quickening with each step, a boyish eagerness he never could quite shake when it came to her. But when he reached her door, any fantasy he’d built on the way up hit a wall. Literally.

She was already there, standing in the doorway, her arms crossed, hips tilted, gaze unimpressed. No soft smile. No warm welcome. Just that unreadable expression he’d seen too many times before.

His grin only widened.

Of course she wasn’t amused. He couldn’t blame her.

But he was already in too deep.

“Aww, s’my sweet Bunny girl angry?” Harry crooned, voice dripping with mock concern as he looked down at her, eyes glinting with mischief.

Without waiting for a response, he brushed his shoulder past hers, slipping into her flat like he owned the place. The scent of her hit him instantly, intoxicating, wrapping around him as easily as her silence did.

"No." Y/N's tone was sharp and low, giving her away.

Harry clicked his tongue as he slipped off his shoes and hung his coat on the rack. Y/N followed him inside, closing and locking the door behind them. 

"Now, now, now...s'that what we're doing? Lying to each other? Thought we both agreed it’s just easier to be honest, did we not?" He tutted as he turned to face her. 

Before she could protest, his hands were grasping at the plushy flesh of her hips with rough vigor, tugging her frame flush against his own. Harry hummed, the sound gravelly and guttural as it rumbled through him. Y/N let loose a shaky breath, her lashes fluttering against her cheekbones.

A simple touch.

Just one very simple touch. 

That's all it took for them to fall back in head first. 

That’s all it took for their resolve to crumble.

Harry leaned in slowly, his movements unhurried and deliberate. His nose brushed against hers, a featherlight touch that sent a shiver down her spine. He breathed her in, sweet and familiar. That scent always did something to him, settled low in his gut and curled around his ribs. He could feel her heartbeat, rapid and erratic, thudding so hard in her chest it might as well have been echoing in his own. The corner of his mouth twitched. "There's my little Bunny, so nervous and jittery around me. S'addicting, y'know that? God, three months without you has been fucking torture."

His voice held the kind of yearning that made her lips itch to feel his own. 

His words were a plea, needy and desperate. 

Her hands moved up to hold the sleeves of his t-shirt, curling around the fabric, trying to ground herself.

"Need you t'use your words for me, love. S'that what's the matter, hmm? Been too long without me?” 

His thumb and forefinger came up to gently grip her chin, tilting up her head. “C'mon, sweet girl. Y'know I can tell if you lie. You wanna be good for me, don't you? Bad girls don't get what m'about to give you." 

Her entire body felt like hot molten lava, and she looked up into his eyes. 

Harry blew out a breath. Those big doe eyes of hers were going to kill him someday and he was certain it would be a happy death. “Fucking hell. I missed you. There. I said it.” 

Now it was her turn to tsk and chuckle, her cheeks flushed a soft shade of pink. “I don’t even have to speak and you’re a sputtering mess for me, Harry. It’s pretty desperate, don’t you think?” 

She watched the way his jaw clenched, felt the way his fingers dug into her sides, and how his pupils blew out, his eyes darkening. “You’re playing with fucking fire, Y/N.” He growled, low and primal, before driving her backward until her spine hit the front door with a quiet thud. In one fluid motion, his hands gripped her hips and lifted her, catching her beneath the thighs. She gasped as he pinned her there, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

His body pressed hard into hers, firm and unrelenting, holding her in place like he had every right to. The force of it stole the breath from her lungs, but it wasn’t just the impact. 

It was him.

It was always him.

Their breaths tangled in the charged space between them, shallow and uneven, like they’d both run miles only to stop just short of the finish. Their lips hovered, barely apart, neither willing to surrender first, both waiting, daring the other.

“Good thing I’m not afraid to get burnt,” she whispered, her voice low and velvet-soft, brushing against his mouth with every word. “I missed you too, by the way.”

That was all it took.

Harry closed the distance, crashing into her like a wave pulled too long by the tide. His mouth found hers with a heat that trickled through her system and she met him there, fingers threading through his hair, the other hand locking around the back of his neck to hold him close.

A quiet whimper slipped from her as his tongue slithered past her lips, insistent and hungry, tasting the sugary remnants of the candy she’d had in front of the tv before he arrived. He groaned low in his throat at the sweetness, and the sound of it unravelled her, hips moving instinctively against him.

They acted with fluid precision, like two pieces made to fall into place. Her fingers tightened in his curls, pulling just enough to draw another sound from him, and before she knew it, she was back on her feet with Harry pressed against her and his hands grasping the dip of her waist to lead her.

She didn’t remember the walk to her bedroom.

Maybe it was because her frame never left the wall of his chest, or maybe because Harry’s mouth never once left her body—trailing down her jaw, along the curve of her throat, kissing and nipping at the skin until her legs turned jelly. She walked backwards, trusting Harry to lead her in the right direction. The door creaked open behind her, and the next thing she knew, her back was pressed to her velvet comforter and Harry was hovering above, his eyes hooded and stormy with want. Her jumper rose up to her midriff, just a pair of plain pink cotton panties with a bow on beneath. She wasn’t expecting company, not that she’d have dressed differently even if she knew he was coming.

“Look at you…” he murmured, more to himself than to her, tracing the outline of her collarbone with a calloused fingertip. “Laid out all pretty for me, like some dream I haven’t earned the right to wake up from.”

She arched towards his touch, her breath hitching when he leaned in and pressed a slow, reverent kiss just beneath her ear. “Maybe you haven’t,” she whispered, breathless but teasing, her voice trembling with the effort not to beg. She said she wouldn’t crack, yet here she was.

Harry’s grin was all sharp teeth and wonderment, but his gaze softened as it swept over her face. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice thick, “I’d spend the rest of my life tryin’.”

Then he kissed her again, slower now, deeper. It wasn’t just need anymore. It was months of silence, of missing glances, unanswered calls, aching spaces where the other used to be. It was apology and forgiveness, grief and hunger all tangled into one breathless moment. His hands moved with purpose, mapping out the skin he’d gone too long without, relearning every dip, every scar, every shiver he could draw from her with just the brush of his thumb.

“I can’t wait, I need you right now, Y/N, can you feel my cock? It’s fucking aching.” Harry grunted out, pressing his hips down against her core to prove his point. She could feel the outline of him, rock solid for her, straining against his jeans. 

She whimpered at the friction, a damp spot already present against the fabric of her panties from the second he walked through her front door and looked at her with those eyes of his. 

“I’m going to indulge in you properly later, take my time, bury my head between your thighs like your pretty pussy deserves after bein’ so neglected. But right now? I just need to fuck you.”

Harry’s hand slid beneath the back of her thigh, pulling her leg around his waist and tugging her panties to the side as he breathed heavily into her neck, his lips trailing hungry, greedy kisses along her skin. 

“Then fuck me already.” Y/N bratted through deep breaths, her hands finding the hem of his shirt and tugging, needing him unclothed and fast.

Harry’s jaw clenched as he sat up just enough to look down at her. She was absolutely sinful like this, her pussy glistening with arousal, her eyes hazy with that smug, lustful expression. He scoffed out a breath as he ripped his shirt off from over his head, tossing it across the room as his fingers nimbly found his belt buckle. “Get it all out now, Bunny. S’not gonna be so funny when I’m pounding into you so hard you can’t breathe, and you know it.” He growled, his eyes meeting hers with stern warning. 

The metal clinking sound of his belt coming undone echoed in the small space, and he pulled it from the loops of his jeans with one smooth tug. He looked into her eyes as he looped the leather in half before snapping it together, the sound crackling the room. “Behave,” he warned.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, her mind flashing back to the time that Harry had tied her wrists behind her back with that exact same belt. She gulped, a glimmer in her eyes as she nodded, deciding this was her time to be quiet if she wanted to get her way.

A devilish smirk coated Harry’s lips, the dimple in his cheek protruding. “That’s my girl.” He murmured as he tugged down his boxers, his hard cock now resting heavy in his palm. He leaned down, the head pressing against her entrance. He slicked through her folds, each of them sighing in relief at the feeling. Without warning, he thrust in, hard and deep. She cried out, her back arching, her head tipping back against the mattress as he tore through her without remorse.

“That’s my fucking girl.” He growled as his body rocked into hers. The pace was unhurried but purposeful, like he was trying to relearn her from the inside out. Their sweat-slicked skin was sticking where they touched, their breaths loud and shallow in the dim light of her bedroom.

Every move he made felt like a question. Are you still mine? Do I still fit here?

And every answer came from the way she held him, close and needy, her nails dragging angry red lines down his spine, her hips rolling to meet his like she was trying to etch the shape of him into her bones. She wanted him to remember. Each time he caught a glimpse in the mirror, or the hot water of his shower cascaded over his back, he’d remember her and the marks she’d left him with.

It was messy. A little unsteady. Every shift, every gasp, threaded with the weight of what they were too stubborn to say out loud. She whimpered when his mouth found that sensitive spot beneath her ear again, the one that always made her body quake.

“Fuck,” he groaned, dragging his teeth across her jaw. “You feel the same. Still so tight f’me. Still so fuckin’ perfect.” Harry thrusts his hips forward, burying his cock deep within her. Each movement had her bed creaking, the sound of her arousal gushing around the base of his cock obscene and lewd in the best possible way. It coated his pubic bone and thighs, sticky and wet.

Y/N bit her lip, her head lolling back against the pillow, exposing the long line of her throat. “You think saying shit like that makes this less complicated?”

Harry didn’t stop. Couldn’t. “No,” he admitted, voice rough and low, “but maybe it’ll make it easier when I leave.”

Her chest hitched, a shiver rolling through her—not from his words, but from the ache in them. That aching little crack in his voice that sounded like regret finally catching up to him.

She shouldn’t have answered. She knew she shouldn’t have. But her voice came anyway, soft and breathless. “You’re the one who always comes back.”

That struck somewhere deep within him. His rhythm faltered for half a second, just long enough for the truth to land. But then his mouth crashed into hers again, hungry, silencing the sting with his tongue. He kissed her like he could steal her words, bury them inside his lungs so they wouldn’t echo back at him later.

And she let him.

Because she needed to feel something that wasn’t heartbreak. Something real. Something alive.

Her legs tightened around his waist, and her back arched into him, her body shaking under his touch as her release crept closer, hot and consuming. Y/N’s moans were nothing short of pornographic, breathy and sultry whines. 

Harry cursed under his breath, the sounds she made unraveling his restraint thread by thread. He reached his hand between them, two fingers finding her clit with ease, puffy and swollen for him. He hissed at the way her jaw dropped open, immediately moving his fingers in fast, tight circles around the bundle of nerves. He knew how sensitive she was, her thighs trembling in their position around his hips. His thrusts never stopped, the sound of wet skin slapping wet skin echoed her bedroom as he fucked into her. Harry watched the way her tits bounced beneath her jumper, each of them still half clothed, having been too caught up in the moment to worry about undressing fully. He didn’t need her nude to know how her body looked, how she felt. Her soft, blissed out features and the warm squeeze of her cunt around his cock would be plenty for him.

“C’mon, Bunny,” he murmured, voice shaking, forehead pressed to hers. “Wanna feel you. Let go f’me.”

The weight of him pressed down, grounding her, anchoring her to the moment, where nothing else outside the walls of her flat existed. Just Harry, just Y/N, and the quiet crackle of something neither of them dared name.

She could feel every inch of him, his breath against her collarbone, his fingers rolling over her clit with eagerness, the slow, torturous grind of his hips as he buried himself deeper, like he belonged there.

Maybe he did.

Maybe he always had.

“Say it again,” she whispered, her voice a velvet thread in the darkness.

Harry blinked, chest rising and falling against hers, lips ghosting over the curve of her jaw.

“Say what?”

“That you missed me.”

His throat bobbed with the swallow. His voice, when it came, was rough with more than just lust. “I did. I do.” His forehead pressed to hers. “Every fucking day I miss you, Y/N.”

That admission cracked something open inside her. Not all the way, just enough to let the ache bleed out, soft and messy. Just enough to let him in again.

She arched into him, her arms circling around his back as if she could pull him beneath her skin, as if she could memorize the weight of him and keep it when he left again. Because he would. That much she knew.

Everything about Harry was too much yet perfectly enough. His teeth nipped at the column of her throat before his tongue soothed the ache, his panted breaths hot and heavy against her neck as he fucked into her. 

Y/N was practically mewling, whimpering and trembling as she got closer and closer. Her stomach coiled up tight with each deep thrust, the head of his cock punching through her walls, rough and gentle all at once as if he couldn’t decide which half of himself to give into. Harry’s cock twitched inside of her, a telltale sign he was close. 

“Fucking hell…this pussy was made for me, wasn’t it, Bunny? C’mon, tell me who’s pussy this is and I’ll let you cum.” His voice was shattered, deep and sultry as his fingers slowed against her clit to a barely there pressure.

Y/N whimpered, the noise near pathetic as she tried to roll her hips upwards, desperately chasing her high. “It’s yours, Harry. I belong to you.”

Harry puffed out a breath as if her words were too much to handle. 

“Good fucking girl. My girl.” He whispered against the shell of her ear, his tongue flicking out to lick a strip against her jaw before, without warning, he sat up, his hands gripping the backs of her calves and pushing her legs up towards her head for an entirely new angle. 

She gasped, feeling his cock slip out to the tip in their shift. Harry smirked down at her, his grin devilish. He knew how much she loved this position, how perfectly it let his cock hit that spongy, sensitive spot inside of her. He didn’t waste a second before he tightened his grip and pulled back his hips before slamming them forward. 

Y/N cried out his name as he rocked into her with fervent need, groaning at the way her walls clamped down around his cock, desperate to milk him dry. He let one of her legs fall from his grasp, only to slip his hand between their bodies, his thumb rubbing messy, relentless circles over her clit. He drove into her again and again, burying himself to the hilt, never letting her forget exactly how perfectly she took him. His breaths were mixed with shattered low groans as he watched the way her chest rose and fell, how her cheeks had pinkened and her lips hung parted in a perfect, petal pink pout of pleasure. The headboard slammed against the wall in a frantic rhythm, just barely drowning out the filthy wet sounds of his cock plunging through her slick, stretching her open and claiming her in every way. He found his home deep inside her pussy—exactly where he belonged, exactly where he was meant to be.

His Bunny let out a string of whined moans, her thighs quaking, and he knew she was right on edge. “That’s it, sweet girl. Cum all over my cock, show me how much you missed me.” He panted.

Between the desperation in his voice and the way he slammed into her, it only took seconds for Y/N to come crashing down. Her pussy pulsated around Harry’s cock as she let out a low, breathless moan, the sound like music to his ears. The way her walls clenched around him had him thrusting in as deep as he could possibly go, his body surging forward to capture her lips in a hungry kiss. His orgasm hit him hard, pouring into her in long, hot spurts that left him whimpering against her mouth. Sounds of raw yearning and need spilled from him, muffled by their kiss, as her nails dug into the muscles of his lower back. His hips stuttered against her, his body desperate to stay as close to hers as possible, every last drop of him filling her completely. He rolled forward, pushing his cum impossibly deeper as if it would keep it there, keep him there.

Harry stayed buried inside of her, his forehead dropping to press against hers again as they both struggled to catch their breath. Their chests heaved together, sticky skin sliding, the heat between them nearing unbearable. He pressed a lazy, open-mouthed kiss to the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, then the hollow just beneath her ear, murmuring sweet nothings too soft and slurred for either of them to really understand.

“Fuck, Bunny,” he panted, voice rough and wrecked with pleasure. “Missed you. Missed this. Missed being inside you.”

Y/N let out a shaky laugh, still feeling every delicious throb of him, every aftershock rippling through her sensitive body. She tilted her head back just enough to meet his blown, dazed gaze, smirking despite the lingering tremors in her thighs. She’d missed it too, but she wasn’t about to say it, not now, not when she hadn’t gotten her chance to have the upper hand and remind him why he kept coming back here, back to her.

“You better catch your breath, pretty boy,” she whispered against his damp temple, her voice a low, teasing purr. “Because it’s my turn.”

Harry blinked slowly, still half drunk off the high she had just pulled him into. “Your turn?” he repeated, the lazy smile that tugged at his mouth making her want to kiss it clean off.

Y/N grinned, sliding her hands down the damp, muscular plane of his back before giving his hip a playful little squeeze that made him grunt against her. “Mhm,” she hummed, shifting her hips beneath him just enough to make him hiss, his sensitive cock twitching inside her pussy. “You think you can just come in here, fuck me like that after three months, and not deal with the consequences of your actions?”

He let out a rough chuckle, his body still twitching with sensitivity, but his hands found her hips again on instinct, holding on like he already knew she was about to wreck him.

“You’re playing with fucking fire.” She murmured in a mock of his earlier words against his jaw, nipping at his scruff with her teeth, loving the low growl it dragged from his chest.

“Is that right?” Harry rasped, the words barely a thread of sound. “Well…It’s a good thing m’not afraid to get burnt.” He mused, humming out her own response to the same question. 

“Mmhm,” Y/N purred, and before he could say anything else, she rolled her hips up into his with a slow, devastating grind. His whole body jerked, a broken moan escaping his throat. “And you, Mr. Styles, are about to find out exactly what happens to bad boys who don’t think they can be outmatched.”

She tightened her legs around his hips, flipping them with a surprising surge of strength and adrenaline that made him grunt out a startled, breathless laugh. He fell back against the mattress, wide-eyed and grinning even as he tried to process the shift.

Y/N straddled him now, hands splayed on his chest, hair wild around her flushed face, a gleam in her eye that promised nothing short of absolute, blissful ruin.

“You think you can handle it?” she teased, rolling her hips again, slow and purposeful, making him gasp and clench the sheets beneath him from the overstimulation.

Harry let his head fall back, the cords in his neck straining as he fought for control. “Fuck, Bunny,” he groaned, voice breaking on the nickname. “You’re gonna kill me.”

She leaned down, brushing her nose against his before catching his bottom lip between her teeth and tugging gently, making him groan again.

“Good,” she whispered against his mouth. “That’s the idea."

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

and that’s how it works; that’s how you get the girl

ft; haruka sakura, hayate suo, umemiya hajime

synopsis ; how did they get the girl?

cw ; violence (idek if this is needed since it's wbk but ykw screw it), fem!reader, swearing, use of (y/n), first time writing for wbk so tell me if this is shit

now playing ; how you get the girl - taylor swift

haruka sakura

haruka sakura got the girl by standing outside of your apartment in the rain for an entire hour because you got mad at him.

actually, he had gotten mad at you first. you doted on him and took care of him excessively while he was injured after a fight, and you refused to go home despite the fact that it was getting late and dark out. sakura knew that your apartment was only a few hours away, but he didn't see why you would be wasting your time on taking care of him when he could do it perfectly fine himself.

“you're pissing me off. i already said, i can just sleep this thing off. you're bothering me right now; go away. you're being annoying.” sakura cringed as the words replayed over and over again in his mind. when he first said it, he didn't think too much of it. but now? geez, if you had said those same things back to him, he would probably be having a way worse reaction than you.

you’ve been giving him the silent treatment for thirty-seven hours, twenty-six minutes, and thirteen seconds. not that he was counting. nope, he definitely wasn't counting. definitely not. he's probably checked his phone a thousand times today already, just waiting for a single text message from you; but none was found.

maybe he thought that this was a genuinely bright idea, because suo and nirei certainly didn't. maybe he really was just that desperate to see you again and for you to forgive him. maybe he's just plain stupid. yeah, probably the last one, but right after school ended, he stormed to your apartment complex as quickly as he could, ringing the doorbell and knocking on the door a multitude of times.

no response.

he knew you were in there; you always went straight back to your apartment right after school. “hey, i know you're in there. let me in.” he barely managed a slightly convincing calm voice, but he was panicking inside. he really didn't want you to ignore him forever. he really didn't want you to leave him. not when you meant so much to him.

it began to rain rather quickly. first, it was just a few droplets landing on his hair and gliding down his nose. but soon enough, his entire body was drenched in rain. he sneezed a few times, but his feet never once left it's location of standing in front of your apartment.

this was unlike him. he shouldn't be doing this. he would never do this for anyone else, so why you? his fists clenched as he heard the first clap of thunder; he should go back. but his legs refused to move, his heart refused to leave you. he glared down at his feet as if they were the reason for your anger at him.

“sakura?”

his eyes darted up, golden and gray-blue eyes meeting yours. “oh, hey,” he said dumbly, hands brushing the imaginary crumbs on his wet shirt. you both stood there awkwardly for a few moments, only the sound of rain hitting the concrete breaking the silence.

“how long have you been standing there?” you asked, a crease forming between your brows. sakura shrugged, as if he didn't spend the last hour contemplating his life and relationship with you.

“an hour.” i would've been willing to wait longer though, he thought. your eyes widened, mouth agape. you took his arm, attempting to take him inside, but sakura refused to budge.

“sorry, i was taking a nap! jeez, just come in already!” you exclaimed, trying to pull him inside with all of your body strength.

but sakura couldn't just come in. he knew himself well enough to he wouldn't feel the weight on his shoulders lift until he truly said what he needed to.

“i--i'm sorry.” his voice was slightly shaky. he probably didn't know how to properly apologize. “i didn't mean to make you upset or anything. i was just not used to it.” there. he should feel better now, right? but for some reason, the tension only weight down on him even harder. what more was there to say? he already apologized, he didn't need to--

“i love you.”

his tongue slipped before he could even control himself, and his entire face burned beet red as he practically jumped up. he didn't intend to say that, so why did his mind react faster than his body did? but you only laughed, hugging his rain-soaked torso with a blush yourself.

“i love you too.”

suo hayato

suo hayato got the girl by never judging you or being mean to you whenever you were being a clumsy idiot.

you were never particularly gifted when it came to reflexes; your hip always bumped into desk corners which left bruises, you almost stubbed your toes which had you crying out in pain, and you almost always trip or have some pretty damn close calls to tripping whenever there was some sort of object in front of you.

because of this, ever since childhood, your classmates quickly learned to avoid you. who knew if you would trip over them and break a bone and then claim that it was their fault? they didn't want to risk it.

and you did everything just to get better. you took classes, you learned online. you really were willing to do anything and everything just to stop being so damn clumsy. but it would never help; you continued to fall flat on your face multiple times.

people made fun of you. they mocked you. they made rumors about you. all because you were uncoordinated.

you've admired suo for a while. when he first came to furin and was out on patrol, you noticed how calm he was. how graceful he was even when it came to something as trivial as walking or talking. he never seemed to get too emotional, he never even got mad. not even when you slipped and fell on him.

he didn't fall down with you, but you practically slammed head first into his chest. you didn't think you could be any more embarrassed in your entire life; your face was on fire and crimson red. suo managed to grasp both of your shoulders so he wouldn't collapse with you, but you face was still in his chest. god, this was so fucking embarrassing.

“i'msosorryididn'tmeantoi'msososososososososorry--”

“it's fine. are you okay?”

did time just stop turning?

wait. he wasn't judging you, he wasn't brushing off his clothes in disgust, he wasn't looking at you with an awkward and embarrassed smile, he wasn't shoving you off, he wasn't doing anything nasty at all.

with two small sentences and one small action, your simple admiration of suo turned began to fall. you both literally and metaphorically fell for him; for this guy who you knew next to nothing about other than his personality, name, and age.

even after the incident, whenever he was out on patrol, suo always greeted you with a smile and wave. sometimes, he would even come over and talk to you for a bit. god, he was literally perfect. he moved on from the incident this quickly?

one day, one fateful day, one beautiful day, you asked suo for his number, and the best part? he gave it to you. he doesn't use his phone in front of other people, so he typed his number and name into your phone, and even gave himself a cute and funny contact photo.

he. touched. your. phone. what did you ever do to get so lucky? you must've been a saint in your past life to have so much happiness in your life.

“i literally love you,” you blabbered the moment he handed your phone back. you clasped a hand over your mouth right after, shocked at what you just say. “uh, platonically! platonically!” you exclaimed, waving your hand back and forth and front and back like a mantra.

but suo only laughed. “it's okay. the feeling's mutual. just not platonically.”

you were falling for him all over again.

hajime umemiya

hajime umemiya got the girl by being an absolute, yearning, pining, whipped, down bad, stupidly in love simp.

the funniest part to everyone was the fact that he didn't even try to hide it. everyone could tell that he was absolutely in love with you. you were an employee at cafe pothos with kotoha, and you were always helping kotoha out, especially when she was new there a few years ago.

teaching her all of the recipes--including your secret ones--, cleaning up messes that she was supposed to clean, cleaning her up and helping her with injuries whenever she got hurt…umemiya saw it all. he saw it so much that he didn't even have to interact with you or talk to you a single time to fall in love with you before even officially meeting you.

when he did officially meet you for the first time, he was so starry eyed and smiley that it seemed to the bypassers that umemiya was about to propose to you or ask you out on a date or something.

“hi! i'm umemiya, furin first year and kotoha's older brother!” he exclaimed, taking your hand and shaking it feverishly, grinning like a child on his first day of school. “it's so great to finally meet you!”

“yeah, you too.” you replied, smiling at him. “i've heard a lot about you from kotoha, umemiya. it's nice to meet you.”

it really spiraled from there. your apartment always had some sort of snack on your doorstep, along with a handwritten note to you from umemiya. whenever his vegetables bloomed, you were always the first person to receive them.

carrying things for you, calling you all night, talking to you whenever he sees you--no matter how inconvenient the time--, carrying you bridal style all the time; everyone was convinced that you were both secretly dating but were just refusing to tell them.

of course, you were aware of umemiya's feelings for you, and you returned his feelings. you really did adore him. you just didn't want to start dating in high school, so you held your feelings back and relished in his affection while trying to drop hints that you liked him back.

if you could make this last forever, you would. just you and him. no one else. no one asking when you were going to get married or how many kids you were going to have or what your plan for the future was going to be. you couldn't stop time or slow it down, of course. you would if you could though.

“umemiya! guess what, guess what?!” you exclaimed, practically bouncing to the rooftop of furin. you didn't even go to school there, but it was practically your second home because of how often you came here. your phone held high in your hand, you sat down in front of umemiya, who was planting tomatoes.

“what happened? is it good? are you happy?” umemiya asked, his gleaming like a puppy's. you held your phone in front of him, a beam paving into your face.

“i got into the university of tokyo! can you belive it? it's the most prestigious university in japan! i studied for so long for this, oh my gosh, i can't believe it, i really got in!” you were practically glowing with happiness, and your energy radiated to umemiya, who seemed just as elated as you were.

“i'm so proud of you! all of those late night study sessions really paid off!” umemiya obviously didn't do much other than emotional support during the late night calls. he was in furin for more reasons other than the fact that he was a great fighter and charismatic leader.

he suddenly froze, coming to a quick realization. “so then…you'll be leaving makochi then? you're going to go to tokyo soon, right?” he still smiled, although the glimmer in his eye was a bit dimmer now. umemiya wasn't going to college, but you were. so he won't see you for four years?

“yeah. but i'll always visit for holidays and breaks and all! and i'll make sure to text you and call you as much as i can.” you remarked, quickly sensing the slight change in atmosphere. “and i'll leave a bunch of my stuff here for you and kotoha to keep. plus, i'm leaving in a few months, so we still have time.”

umemiya nodded, though you could still sense his drop in mood. sighing and shaking your head with a smile, you cupped his face. “here,” you leaned in, and umemiya's eyes widened as his entire face flushed bright tomato red.

you just kissed him.

you pulled away just as quickly though, grinning. “that should be enough for you to hold onto, right?”

that was enough for umemiya to cling onto for an entire lifetime.

[strawb3rry-hon3y]

cliché but opposites attract with yeon sieun? can be a headcanon or a scenario !! whatever you want 🫶🏼 tysm

Impulse And Intellect

Pairing: Yeon Si-eun x GN!Reader

Requested: Yes

Summary: A headcanon about Si-eun falling for someone who is his complete opposite.

Length: 676 Words

Genre: Fluff / Light Angst

Warning’s: Fluff, outgoing/impulsive reader behavior.

Status: Complete!

♡. Si-eun first noticed you because you were everything he wasn’t. Loud laughter, quick emotions, and a warmth that seemed to follow you wherever you went. He didn’t understand you at first, and it lowkey annoyed him how you could just say whatever you were feeling so easily.

♡. You, on the other hand, found him fascinating. Calm, composed, and almost infuriatingly blank at times. Si-eun was like a puzzle you wanted to figure out.

♡. When you two started hanging out more (mostly because you forced yourself into his space, sitting next to him at lunch, dragging him into random conversations). Si-eun realized you weren’t just reckless, You felt everything deeply. But somehow, that didn’t make you weak; it made you strong in your own way.

♡. You love poking at Si-eun just to get any reaction out of him. Tugging his sleeves, mimicking his serious expressions, leaning way too close when he’s trying to study. Half the time he just blinks at you like "are you done yet?". But sometimes you catch the tiniest smirk before he hides it.

♡. You had no problem dragging Si-eun into chaotic adventures sneaking off-campus for snacks, last-minute study sessions that turned into you ranting about life, and even stupid bets like who could stay quiet longer, which are always his idea. (you lost every time, but he secretly liked when you talked).

♡. Speaking of, Si-eun secretly loves hearing you talk about your day, even when you ramble about random, pointless things. He won’t always respond with full sentences, but he listens so intently it makes your heart hurt a little.

♡. He doesn’t always know how to comfort you when you get upset. If you cry, Si-eun sits there awkwardly for a second before offering his hand or wordlessly pushing a snack and drink toward you. He’s trying, okay?

♡. Si-eun is the type to wordlessly fix your jacket if it’s slipping off, or move you to the inside of the sidewalk without saying anything, and press his hand lightly to your back when he feels you getting overwhelmed. No big gestures. Just quiet, constant care.

♡. He tries not to show it but seeing you upset messes him up more than anything. He’ll stay awake texting you, walking you home, or sitting quietly by your side, anything just to be there. Even if he doesn’t know what to say.

♡. You're the reason he starts carrying extra band aids or mini-med kits easy to carry. Not for himself: but for you. Because you keep scraping your knees, bumping into things, and somehow managing to get minor injuries doing the most ridiculous things.

♡. The first time he calls you "reckless," you grin and say "And you love it." without missing a beat. He looks like he’s about to argue but just sighs and looks away.

♡. Si-eun always pretends he’s not worried about you when you get yourself into stupid situations, but the way he shows up without you calling, and the quiet one or two word lectures he gives you afterward: kind of gives him away.

♡. When you’re feeling restless and impulsive, for example: "Let’s go on a midnight walk!" "Let’s dye our hair!" "Let's prank Baku!" Si-eun sighs.. but 95% of the time, he goes along with it. Quietly, Grumpily, But he’s there. Always.

♡. You once tried to teach him how to take silly selfies. He just stared at the camera like O_O the entire time. You love him for it anyway. (that exact photo became your home screen wallpaper.).

♡. He doesn’t say "I love you" first. Instead, it’s you blurting it out in the middle of a heated moment. Si-eun just blinks at you before replying in a small, quiet voice like it's the most embarrassing thing in the world: "I know. Me too.." Which is honestly more then you expected in that moment.

♡. People wonder how the two of you work so well together. What they don’t realize is that You don’t fix each other. You just make the hard days softer, the lonely days warmer, and life a little more bearable, together.

Taglist: N/A

Header’s Creator: @firefly-graphics

[becausebuckley]

michelle's buddie fic recs: week 17!

we're another week closer to buddie canon, i feel it in my bones <3

please take a look at both the fic ratings and the tags before reading! some of these contain spoilers for season 8. if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

all that you ever wanted from me | stevesconverse | 7.8k | T

the one where Eddie takes care of Buck when he's being plagued by a bad migraine. i'm such a sucker for fics like this <3 seeing these two take care of each other is just so, so good, and this is the loveliest example of that!!

flash mobs and jumbotron proposals | glorious_spoon/@glorious-spoon | 10.2k | E

Buck asks a question. Eddie dithers. this has such wonderful eddie characterisation!! i loved his thought process and also the conversation with bobby <3

it only hurts this much right now | daffodilsonaprettystring/@daffodilsonaprettystring | 7.1k | GA

Buck wakes up with a headache, but goes into work anyways despite the pain. Eddie is not pleased with this. But it's fine, Buck has done this before, he can do it again... right? such a wonderful fic!! i love the conversation buck has with eddie here <3

king of the castle | organyx | 12.5k | E

Buck and Eddie challenge each other to see who can go the longest without an orgasm. Eddie’s pretty confident he can win. this is hot and silly and freaky and has the absolute best buddie banter. so good!!

saddle up and ride | lecornergirl/@clusterbuck | 2.7k | E

He looks up at Buck, positioned above him like this, and he knows exactly what he wants. “Ride me,” he says, and only realises how authoritative it came out when Buck’s eyes widen. “I mean—if you—” JOINT. ACCOUNT. you will get this when you read it. just. JOINT. ACCOUNT. incredible fic <3

stress relief | greenbergsays/@greenbergsays | 5.6k | E

Set in the aftermath of the sniper shooting. Eddie is feeling frustrated and Buck offers a helping hand. hot and soft and just so very beautiful <3 what a vision of a fic!!

sweetness follows | pairofraggedclaws/@pairofraggedclaws | 4.3k | T

Buck and Eddie figure it out, through the eyes of Chimney, Hen, and Bobby. i love a good multipe pov fic and also i love the firefam and also i love buddie so basically this fic is perfect for me <3

want to feel you when i'm falling in love | smilingbuckley/@smilingbuckley | 1k | GA

Buck keeps getting cold at night and struggles falling asleep. Eddie cuddles him about it. listen i am a simple person, okay? i see the tag cuddling and snuggling, i see that the fic is written by an author whose work i love, i click the link and devour the fic like it's the first glass of water i've had in days. this is so very lovely <3

what a view | maybeamystery/@frysquint | 3.1k | GA

They’re coming back from a late call for a shift that was supposed to end at two-thirty but didn’t, and Buck has been keeping a close eye on the time. He’s a busy guy with things to do and places to be. One minute he’s glancing at his phone for the two hundredth time in the last thirty minutes, and the next, the whole world goes blurry and out of focus. this was a reread! i love the dialogue here, it feels so true to character!

what makes you smile | EiraLloyd/@unlifeira | 5.6k | T

Three times Buck draws something that makes Eddie smile, and one time Eddie draws something that makes Buck smile. well, guess what? this entire fic made ME smile <3 it's just so fun and so lovely and so buddie and i love the drawings!!

where we belong | carpediaz/@sofa-king-lame | 34.8k | E

The one where Eddie outsources his hair washing post shooting, meets Buck, and learns to accept the good things in life. okay but where do i make an appointment with hairdresser buck. please let me make an appointment with hairdresser buck!! i love the writing here, the descriptions are lovely and the dialogue is brilliant and the domesticity of it all is just <3

you make the world taste better | farfromthstars/@doeeyeseddie | 11.8k | T

Newly arrived to LA, Eddie decides to take his son to parent/child cooking classes. The instructor is so much more than he expected. this was a reread of one of my favourites <3 i love chris here and his relationship with both buck and eddie, and the firefam presence is so lovely!! just such a gem!

you touched down in the base of my fears | fruitsdoesnotknow/@fruitsdontknow | 10.2k | T

the 118 attempt an escape room. Buck and Eddie attempt to be normal for sixty minutes. if you need some cheering up this week, i cannot recommend this fic enough <3 i love hen and ravi and bobby and the buddie of it all and it's just so, so good!!